Ardent sighed heavily as he peered at the glowing monitor before him. So far, in roughly three months of searching through the libraries archives and microfiche, he was meant to believe that Soldier Boy had 19 wives.

 

Nineteen…

 

There were also the 35 children claiming to be his illegitimately – some of whom belonged to the aforementioned 19 women while others never mentioned the specifics about who mom might have been – claims that ultimately fell apart with only cursory fact-checking and the application of just a touch of common sense.

 

“There was a time the written word could be relied upon to be at least marginally true,” he muttered darkly, as he reviewed a story claiming that the Soldier Boy program was actually reverse-engineered from DNA taken from the Roswell crash site.

“Ha!” Loretta said as she moved up behind him carrying a tray upon which two steaming mugs and a plate of cookies could be seen. Once again, he’d never heard her approach, and this both amused and intrigued him. Perhaps it was some meta-human ability all librarians possessed? He swiveled silently on his chair and frowned as she placed the tray on a nearby stack of books, then dropped heavily into an overstuffed brown leather recliner near the desk.

 

“How many wives now?”

 

“19.”

 

“That many?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Number two still seem to be the most promising lead?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The two were in an old office in the libraries basement, a small, cluttered room that Ardent had more or less moved into in the last month. It contained a battered wooden desk upon which sat a fairly modern computer set up, numerous tables and filing cabinets, stacks of books and reference materials, and maps of the city upon the walls. The maps were covered in lines and grids, where they weren’t bristling with vari-colored pins, or blanketed in yellow and green and blue post it notes. Fox Mulder would have felt right at home. 

“And 35 children.”

 

“My goodness,” Loretta replied as she leafed through a stack of mail that had also been included on the tray. Her vest today was a silver and blue paisley that did absolutely nothing for her. But then, that’s not why she wore them. “Busy little bee our Soldier Boy. How he had time to save the world I’ll never…” her words trailed off as her eyes flicked over a letter she’d pulled from one of the envelopes.

“Never what?”

“Ardent, you’ve been invited to serve on a panel discussing the impact of magic and the supernatural upon the modern world.” Loretta replied in answer to his question.

 

He stopped swiveling, his chair now facing her. “I’ve what?”

She waved a typed letter towards him. “Been invited to serve on a panel, “ she began as he took the letter and scanned it. He waved a hand silently, brows drawing together in a look of irritation. He looked up at her, eyes green as the sea. “What in the world do they think I have to say on this subject?”

 

“Well, let’s see: you died. And you came back with what could be called classically supernatural powers. Which sort of makes you one of a handful of experts on the subject to certain people, don’t you think?” She saw him take a deep breath to respond, and made shushing noises as she handed him a mug of tea. “I know how you feel about it, so don’t start ranting.”
 

He accepted the mug without saying anything, then slumped back in the chair and took a resigned sip. Mint – his favorite.

 

“My favorite,” he said. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

The letter lay in his lap as he stared at the wall and sipped quietly. Loretta continued sorting through the mail, separating the envelopes and flyers and circulars into various stacks on the books surrounding her chair. “You should go,” she said as she worked. “You could give them your point of view and maybe head off the next one at the pass.”

 

He raised an eyebrow, but neither moved nor said anything.

Done sifting, Loretta leaned back and munched on some of the cookies she’d brought, dipping them into her tea one by one and neatly but steadily devouring them. “What about Lance Manly? Anything there?” she said seeking to change the subject.

 

“His parents need to be beaten for naming him that.” Ardent said distractedly.

 

“Well, yes, but he’s someone you know to be real. Shouldn’t be that hard to find him.”

 

“I think you’re right.”

 

Loretta was about to point out some facts to back up her assertion about Lance being a real lead, but then she realized that wasn’t what Ardent was talking about. She dabbed at her lips daintily with a paper napkin as she waited for him to continue.

 

“I think until I tell my story, people will continue to make up their own. I’ll go.” He was still sitting there, stock still, quiet as the grave and staring unblinkingly at the wall. She nodded and settled more comfortably into the recliner, marveling at how fate had brought this strange young man to her door. Neither of them said anything for the next long while, Ardent lost in whatever mental landscape he retreated to when he grew still, she watching him like some sort of maternal hawk.

Finally he smiled and took up the letter, scanning it, then laid it once more on his lap as he swiveled and scooted back up to the desk. His fingers danced over the keys for a moment as programs opened and closed, and she could see that he was going to be busy for a bit. She gathered up her mail, then stood and took his half-full cup and her own empty and placed them once more on the tray.

“You’ll of course tell me all about it.”

 

“Naturally,” he replied softly.

 

“And thank you for the check. They’re putting in the new carpet in the children’s reading room on Tuesday. You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“Of course I did, you’re family,” he said as his eyes flickered across the screen. She stood there a moment, surprised at the intensity of feeling that warmed her at hearing him say such a thing. She saw that his eyes were a deep blue, and his gentle tapping of the keyboard softly filled the small room.

 

She finally laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezed once, and then bent to pick up the tray. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Of course.”

 

 

From: Ardent@yahoo.com

Date: August 31, 2009 1:11:43 PM

 

Mitchell,

 

Thank you for your interest in having me on your discussion panel. I look forward to discussing this with you further. Please consider this my acceptance of your kind offer.

 

Ardent

 ________________

 

Lift the veil was the motto of The Hudson City Paranormal Society, but on the day of their 44^th annual conference it might as well have been at least it's not snow. A freezing rain was pounding down with a particular ingenuity for getting down collars. The nasty weather made the Ramada Inn on route 14 look positively cozy, and contentment if not cheerfulness could be heard in the babble of voices that filled the dingy lobby.

 

 

Ardent followed the general drift of the crowd towards the ballroom, accepting a registration packet from a distracted young woman wearing an astounding amount of eyeliner who was frowning at a walkie-talkie

 

“Where-” he began, and she held up an index finger without glancing at him. Ardent raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly in amusement. “Say. Again?” she spat into the walkie-talkie with evident exasperation. A loud screech was the only response. Ardent sighed and walked away before his ears could be assaulted again.

 

A dozen or so tables were set up outside the ballroom. A quick scan suggested the wide range of believers present today, and he kept his expression neutral as he waded through them, but only just. On one end of the spectrum was a company that rented surveillance equipment to paranormal investigators, and an author whose stern countenance was multiplied in miniature on dozens of copies of The Cult of Pseudoscience. At the other end of the spectrum were booths selling crystals and Egyptian jewelry, and a recruiter for The Psychic Training Institute of New York City. Somewhere in the middle a representative of the Owl's Roost Bookstore practiced diplomacy by stacking Uri Geller and James Randi videos side by side.

 

There were enough eccentrically dressed people bustling about that Ardent's costume hadn't attracted much attention, but now that he'd stopped to take in the scene he was drawing second and third glances. One young woman dressed in dun colored robes had even asked him if he thought he was the Kwisatz Haderach; she’d fled when he’d gestured, and her sketchbook had started wiggling like an unruly puppy in her arms. “Fear is the mind killer,” he’d muttered to no one in particular as he searched the room with more urgency, seeking someone official looking.

 

As he scanned the room a poster mounted on a placard outside the ballroom caught his eye. He moved purposefully towards the entrance. The poster was obviously of a professional charlatan, a so-called psychic. It was a moody black and white shot that announced how very mysterious the man was. The odd thing was that the fellow wore a mask, like -

 

“Avatar!” screeched a pair of young women. As they fumbled for their camera phones, Ardent followed their gaze to find a familiar figure just inside the door. His new teammate was apparently being interviewed by an intense man who held a voice recorder just inches away from the psychic's face.

 

Avatar glanced in the direction of the commotion to dispense a quick smile and wave. Then he registered Ardent's presence and smiled broadly. He murmured something to his interviewer and strode briskly to the door.

 

“Ardent!” his voice boomed happily. He shook the young man's hand and clapped him on the shoulder as if they were old friends. “I'm so glad you could join me today.” The girls began whispering and giggling to each other.

 

“Join you?” Ardent mouthed silently.

 

“Mister Avatar,” came a hesitant voice from the hallway. Ardent turned to see a middle aged man with watery eyes, a shaved head and a concerned look on his face. He carried a clipboard and walkie talkie. Ardent wondered if that meant he outranked the girl with too much eyeliner, who only had a walkie-talkie.

 

“We might need to start late,” the man continued, “there's no sign of Alison DeBuchet or Ardent.” At that he registered Ardent's presence and added, “Oh.” He blinked twice and said, “Well, we could start without her, I suppose. What do you think, Mister Avatar?
 

“Mister Avatar?” the man repeated. “Mister Avatar is my father.” He winked at Ardent and grinned broadly. There was a boyish charm to the man's enjoyment of such a hokey line. He was clearly having a good time at the conference. One of the teenaged girls giggled and the other simpered.

 

“I'm happy to start late, Mitchell,” Avatar continued. “Ardent and I will wait in the hospitality suite.” With a gentle tug on the arm, Avatar led Ardent further down the hall, past a sign that read Staff Only, and into a small dressing room overflowing with two couches, a coffee table, and a few folding chairs.

 

“Did you eat?” he asked. He gestured vaguely to a half-demolished platter of finger sandwiches and vegetables. Ardent glanced at the sandwiches, and then silently took a seat on one of the couches. “No need.”

 

He regarded the grinning figure before him out of eyes gone a rich hazel. “You seem to quite be in your element here,” the younger man said.

 

“Like old times,” Avatar shrugged. He slid into a seat opposite Ardent. “I thought you'd be in your element too.”

 

“No.” Ardent replied, and then considered what he’d just said more carefully. “Rather, I want to make sure that people understand my point of view on the subject. Much has been said that is far from the truth.”

 

“What is your point of view, and on which subject?” There was sarcasm in the reply, but genuine interest on Avatar's face.

 

Ardent leaned back, crossing his legs at the ankle. “On the subjects of ghosts, life after death, the boogeyman, vampires, crystal gazing…” he chuckled. “Hogwash, the whole lot of it.”

 

“The whole lot of it,” Avatar repeated. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Today he was afffecting a soul patch that didn't quite fit with his Wall Street-ready 3 piece suit. “Granted,” he continued, “99% of everything at this conference is pure woo-woo. But even here you might find a kernel of truth.

 

“I thought you of all people would be more open-minded. Certainly on the subject of life after death”

 

 Ardent studied the wall across from him, eyes moving slowly across the beige surface. "Huh..." he finally said - more of a grunt really. "I have no answers. None that would make any sense." His face was blank, all expression wiped away, the only movement came from his eyes as they roved the wall, colors sliding across his irises like an oil slick. "No answers at all." 

"You're here looking for answers," Avatar suggested. "Like the rest of us."
 
Emotion animated Ardent's face once more as he turned his head to regard the man sitting opposite. He smiled. "I'm always looking for answers Avatar. But not to the questions posed here." One foot began to move back and forth, perhaps to some internal music. "So many people seem to think I know something, and they're putting words in my mouth, making suppositions in my name. I'm here to put an end to that by putting my point of view out there for all and sundry." 

Avatar smiled. Ardent was peculiar in a dozen ways, but being alone with him the psychic was very aware of the strangest - the palpable sense of otherness he exuded. Most people didn't seem to pick up on it, but Avatar felt something akin to seeing shadows in your peripheral vision....the uncanny sense that something was there that shouldn't be.

In short, the fellow was damn spooky. And claimed not to believe in the supernatural. Right.

"I was under the impression," Avatar hesitated a moment and plunged on. "The papers say you came back from the dead."

"Yes, they do," Ardent replied. "And that's as good an explanation as any I suppose." His foot continued to move back and forth, back and forth. "A young man died on an operating table roughly a year ago. And as he died, his body changed and here I am. Just coughed up a bunch of blood, opened my eyes, and started babbling."

Back and forth, back and forth.

"And he looked nothing like me. And I look nothing like him. And neither of us have any sort of identifiable past or records - blood work comes up with nothing, fingerprints the same." 

Ardent's right hand was slightly curled, first two fingers extend, last two curved in and down. It looked like he was holding a cigarette that wasn't there. He gestured with the hand as he spoke, but Avatar would have bet his next paycheck that Ardent had no idea that this had happened. 

Ardent sighed heavily. "People seem to believe that, having come back from 'the dead', that I have some sort of knowledge about the beyond." Ardent tilted his head and regarded the ceiling speculatively, eyes squinting. "What I have would just confuse them." 

"Do not question the ways of the underworld," Avatar quoted. He studied the younger man frankly. He'd seldom encountered anyone more difficult to read. It was a little unsettling. But very interesting.

"You're not being entirely honest," Avatar said softly. He shifted in his seat and leaned in. "This conference is just about the worst place to try to set the record straight. You can't change the mind of the woo-woo brigade. I think you're hoping to find some kind of clue here."

"I'm always honest," replied Ardent calmly. "It's all I have." His foot continued its back and forth as he considered the rest of what Avatar had said. "And why are you here?" 

"Practice," Avatar replied simply. "Practice being Avatar." He tapped his mask for emphasis. "Secret identities, playing a role...this stuff is all new to me."

Ardent raised an eyebrow. "Is that what this is? Playing a role?" 

"All human behavior is role playing," Avatar riposted. He leaned back and folded his arms. "Glib, but pretty accurate." His eyes drifted towards the celing as he turned something over in his head. "Anyway," he mused, "I want to be able to go back to my old life when and if I need to. That means I need to protect it."

His eyes met Ardent's. "I guess you know who I am," he said. "But that's not for general consumption."

The younger man said nothing. Merely made an acquiescent gesture with the hand holding the invisible cigarette.

"Besides," he continued with a smile, "Ophilia seems to be under the impression that I'm some kind of expert on spooky stuff in Hudson City. The least I can do is get the lay of the land. This is as good a place as any to start."

"That's certainly true," Ardent agreed, as the door opened and Mitchell stuck his head around it. The man's face was shiny with perspiration, but he looked excited. "Five minutes gentlemen!" Bright eyes took in them both briefly, then his head disappeared behind the closing door. 

"I have no idea what I'm going to say," Avatar said brightly. "Do you?"

"Yes. I do." Ardent stood and headed silently towards the door. "I just hope that they listen," he said as he opened it.

"Well, I don't think you'll have any trouble holding their attention," sighed Avatar as he got to his feet.