“What should we do with the old computer?” Cynthia asked as she and Nick wrangled the heavy wooden desk out of the living room and into the spare room they had designated the office.
“It’s not good for much other than parts at this point, but you never know when we might need them. Let’s hold onto it for now. We can stick it in the closet.”
They slid the desk under a window that looked out onto the street, and Nick began setting up his own computer on it.
“No! Don’t do that!” Tim screamed, even though he’d already figured out that screaming was useless – Detective Ramirez and Melissa had certainly not heard him as he complained loudly about the officers removing the computer.
“Did you hear something?” Cynthia asked.
“No.” Nick was on the ground, plugging the cords into the surge protector.
“I think there might be someone here. I’m going to check.”
“Okay. Bring the old computer in here when you get a chance.”
Cynthia walked to the living room and opened the front door. A bum was standing at the edge of the sidewalk in front of the bungalow, staring at it. She moved to close the door.
“Where’s Mr. Tim?” the bum asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Mr. Tim. Is he home?”
Realizing that the man was referring to the previous owner, she said, “I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Tim died a few months ago.”
“But I just saw him last week.”
Tim remembered: last week, George had knocked on the door and Tim hadn’t bothered to hide. He’d just stood in the living room and watched the bum pound on the door. He’d been more persistent than usual, but Tim had chalked it up to George being very hungry. Now, he thought there might be another reason. He went to the window and stood where George might see him.
“Maybe you saw my husband. He was working here last weekend.”
“No. I know what Mr. Tim looks like.” George shifted his eyes to the window and said, “See? Right there! Hi, Mr. Tim!” George waved.
Tim waved back, bemused. Why can George see me? he thought. Pulling the El Pad from his pocket, he read the answer:
Some living humans, particularly those suffering from a chemical imbalance of the brain, are able to see and interact with you. Unfortunately, this imbalance frequently leads others to label these individuals as insane.
Great, he thought. If I want to hang out in an asylum, I can have all the company I want.
Yes, answered the El Pad.
*****
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