Abandonment - Part 10 - Final Instalment

I'm glad you're here. What took you so long? Ed's about to leave and wrap things up. Let's watch:

Seeing the Austin disturbed me. I felt like I was being watched. I felt paranoid. I felt an itch to get away PDQ. 

I closed the window, 

drew the curtains, 

shaved,

showered, 

dressed,

combed my hair, 

brushed my teeth,

put meds in my pocket,

found my old leather driving gloves and put them on, 

peaked out the window,

saw the Austin was gone,

held one of the papers over a light bulb,

saw some printing,

packed up the papers,

snuck out the back way, 

looked over my shoulder,

scuttled to the drugstore to buy an envelope and stamps,

looked over my shoulder,

got papers ready to mail,

looked over my shoulder,

bought snacks, 

ate snacks, 

looked over my shoulder,

rode streetcar halfway to Leslie's, 

got off streetcar,

looked over my shoulder,

found some out-of-the-way mailbox and dropped the package in, 

removed old leather driving gloves,

tossed gloves in trash can,

looked over my shoulder,

got back on streetcar,

rode to Leslie's stop, 

got off streetcar, 

looked over my shoulder,

bought some decent non-snack food at grocery, 

walked to Leslie's carrying groceries,

looked over my shoulder,

pushed Leslie's doorbell with my nose,

didn't drop groceries,

Leslie opened the door, took a grocery bag, and let me in.

I followed Leslie into the kitchen. We placed the bags on the counter. She started to unpack them. I saw the coffee brewing on the far counter and asked, "May I have some coffee?" I quickly remembered some manners and followed up with, "Would you like some?"

"No, I'm fine," replied Leslie and then added, "The mugs are in the cupboard over the coffee maker."

I walked over to the machine, found a mug, and poured some coffee,

Leslie turned momentarily to give me a look and continued, "I was talking to Mary on the phone and she said Markie used to belong to The Lone Trainmen."

"When was that?"

"She quit maybe a year ago. Mary said Markie was having arguments with people in the group and left."

"She's got a big layout in her basement. Maybe the lab didn't have what she wanted?"

"Maybe."

"Did Mary have any idea why Markie was parked outside my place this morning?"

"No."

Leslie was putting stuff away and it looked like she was getting some things ready for a meal. It was well passed lunch, but far from dinner, so maybe this was lunner ?

I wandered with my coffee into the living room. It had all the usual things: couch, two Queen Anne chairs, coffee table, tv. And something that wasn't usual: Adams. He was sitting in one of the chairs, but wasn't looking relaxed in its overstuffed magnificence. He was talking to a wall, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. And then there were his eyes. He didn't have any. His face had deep black empty holes where his eyes should have been. I put my mug down on the coffee table, sat on the couch, scrunched into a corner, and stared at him. I called Leslie to come see this.

Leslie came in, looked around, and then at me, "What's up?"

"You don't see him?"

"No," was her reply. She put her hand on my shoulder and continued, "Maybe you haven't had enough sleep?"

Before I could answer, her eyes were on the chair and she continued, "I see him now. He's talking to the wall. God."

She lifted her hand from my shoulder. "He's gone." She put her hand back. "He's back." She lifted her hand again. "I see what's happening."

Leslie walked around the coffee table and sat close beside me on the couch so that our sides and legs touched. I took a little risk and put my arm around her shoulder. Leslie moved in a little closer, then stared at the chair and said, "He's still talking to the corner, but I don't hear anything."

"Me neither."

"He doesn't have any eyes."

"That's new. He had 'em all those other times."

We sat there looking at him. He sat there talking to the wall. All was quiet.

Then he stopped.

And slowly turned to face us.

He spoke.

"Hello Ed. Hello Leslie." His Vaderian voice was gone. He sounded hollow and echoing like he was speaking from deep in a cave. "I think this is the last time we will be meeting. I feel I will be going on a journey."

I was frozen. My mind was blank. "Did you accomplish what you had to?"

"Yes, thank you for your help. I have done what I could."

Think. Think. Think. "Can you tell us anything? Why were you with Markie?"

"She followed you. I do not know why, but she might be troublesome." He paused for a moment and then continued, "Do not do what I did. Try to make things better if you can. We have limited powers and limited time. At least do not make things worse."

Leslie asked, "Where are you going?"

"I do not know."

Adams looked all around the room like he was searching for something. His unblinking eye holes were scanning everything. His gaze finally landed on Leslie.

She asked, "Will you be back?", to see if he had changed his mind.

"I do not know."

A few seconds after answering Adams disappeared.

Leslie and I continued to stare at his chair. We didn't move. He didn't reappear.

Leslie turned to me and asked,"Can you stay?"

"Yes."

THE END 

(or just abandoned?)

Abandonment was the fate of many, maybe most, streetcar and various types of electrified interurban light rail systems in Canada and the US in the 20th century. Basically, the onslaught of the automobile and sharp business practices did them in. It'll be interesting to see what happens to the various streetcar revivals that are happening in several cities. Things aren't looking good for Ottawa's new light rail system, what with the ongoing provincial inquiry and all. As this article in The Narwhal  states, "It's becoming a running joke in Canada's capital city: come rain or snow, the Ottawa Light Rail Transit (LRT) system won't run smoothly  - or at all." (A good summary of all the Ottawa LRT's woes are presented in this TVO article, Ottawa's colossal LRT debacle: A brief-ish history). As I've written before, the Ottawa LRT is basically a streetcar system in disguise, so maybe abandonment or a 21st century equivalent is in its future too .

This mini-series was called Abandonment as that's what I had felt I was about to do with the bigger series and its characters. Maybe they've run their course, maybe not, and if not, they need to seek new horizons. The series abandons Adams and the OSI, but if anything is in store for Ed and Leslie, well, time will tell. I don't believe that simply mailing incriminating documents to a high placed ally in an organization like the OSI could solve much of anything in the real world, so Ed and Leslie could still be entangled with OSI if they so choose. I don't think they will, but as I said, only time will tell.

P.S.: If by some odd chance you dropped in here out of the blue and are wondering what the heck is going on, you can find part 1 to Abandonment here.

Abandonment - Part 9

Still groggy from last night? Can't remember why you're wearing pink rubber gloves? Friend, you need to review the last instalment. Now that you know why, let's dig in:

I heard ringing. Loud, nasty, incessant ringing.

It was the phone.

I stumbled off the couch and over to the telephone table. I picked up the receiver with my still pink gloved left hand.

"Hello?"

"Hello." It was Leslie. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm ok thanks. My head was aching a little, so I took one of those prescriptions I picked up on my way home. They pack quite a punch. Hang on. I need to open a window."

I carried the phone over to the window and set it on the floor while I pushed up the sash. City noises rushed in, but so did a refreshing breeze. I took a few deep breaths and started to feel better. I sat on the floor under the window and picked up the receiver.

"Adams was here last night."

"He was?"

"He told me the papers are blank because they're printed with invisible ink."

"Invisible ink? You've got to be kidding."

"That's what I said."

"Is it true?"

"He said if I took a page and held it over a hot light bulb I'd see some faint printing. I haven't tried it yet. I just woke up. Hang on. I'm going to stand in front of the window so the breeze blows over me."

"Are you dressed?"

"Yes, I fell asleep in my clothes."

I struggled up and stood facing the open window. Full breeze contact was great. The view, not so much. A faded blue Austin ElectraBeam with its ragtop duct taped down was parked on the street below. Adams was in the passenger seat. 

He waved to me. I waved back.

I glanced over to the couch. Maybe he was coming back. He wasn't there. I looked back at the Austin. He wasn't there either now.

"Hello, Ed, are you there?" I didn't realize I hadn't said anything for awhile."Ed?"

"I'm here. Markie's Austin is parked outside. For a second there I thought I saw Adams in the passenger seat. He's gone now." I glanced back at the couch, and then back to the window just to make sure.

Leslie sounded concerned and said, "That car can't be a coincidence. Maybe you should get away. Can you come over to my place? But, mail those papers first. You need to get rid of them."

"Ok. I'll need to buy a new envelope because our finger prints are all over this one." I glanced over at the kitchen table. The envelope and papers were right where I left them last night. The papers were probably ok, but the envelope was likely covered with our prints. 

"Get changed too."

She was right. Yesterday's clothes that I'd slept in, accessorized with pink rubber gloves, didn't make for a fetching ensemble.

"Ok, I'll see you later."

Part 10, the final instalment, can be found here.

Abandonment - Part 8

Blank stares. Blank slate. Blankety-blank! In our last episode it turned out all those files that Adams asked Ed to get were blank. If you've been up all night waiting to find out why, wait no more! Go get some coffee, then let me fill you in:

It was still light when we got back downtown. I asked Leslie if she wanted to come to my place for dinner and a talk. She said no and caught a streetcar out to the west end. Just as well, my head was starting to ache. I figured I should take some of those meds the doctor prescribed and get some rest. I didn't want to risk a brain blow-out.

After Jess and I divorced I had a little money left over for an apartment, so I moved out of the suburbs to get away from my old life. My place was small, but at least it was mine.

When I got in I plopped the envelope on the kitchen table, got a glass of water, sat at the table, and washed down two pills. Arrrrgh. I got up and rummaged around under the kitchen sink looking for some rubber gloves. I didn't want my fingerprints on the papers. I found them.

I sat back down at the table with my hands suitably ensconced in pink rubber, opened the envelope, and spread out the papers. I looked at each in detail hoping to find something. They were blanker than blank. 

I could feel my eye lids drooping. The meds were starting to kick-in. I went over to the couch to lie down. I couldn't fully stretch out because Adams was sitting at one end.

I babbled as I adjusted my head on a throw pillow, "They're blank. I found blank pieces of paper for you. I could have made life easy on myself and just bought some at a store."

"They are not blank."

"I know, you're dead, and your eyes don't work like they used to, but trust me, they're blank."

"They are not blank. They are written in invisible ink."

"Oh brother! Invisible ink? Is this some Hardy Boys meets Nancy Drew meets Encyclopedia Brown afterlife prank you're playing on me?" I could barely stay awake and was in no mood for jokes.

"I photographed the originals and printed the copies with invisible dyes. I never stole documents from government files. I am not disloyal. I just photographed them. Hold one of the pages over a light and the heat will make the image faintly visible. Mail the papers to Douglas. He will know what to do."

Not disloyal? Invisible ink? Where're the negatives? Scarboro streetcar layout? My head was spinning. I had to lie down and sleep. I kicked at Adams to get him out of the way. He didn't feel anything because he was gone.

Part 9 is here.

Abandonment - Part 7

In our last episode Leslie and Ed's pleasant streetcar ride to Scarboro was interrupted by Adams' ghost deciding to come along for the ride. Luckily they arrived at their destination without an ectoplasmic incident. Dim the lights as we watch Ed and Leslie visit with Markie.

I rang the door bell. 

A dog barked somewhere deep within the house. It was a modest post-war brick bungalow faced with cut stone. A ratty outer aluminum screen-door protected a beautiful inner wooden front door. The mailbox was stuffed with flyers. A hockey stick was leaning against the shrubs. There was an old faded blue Austin ElectraBeam with a torn ragtop parked in the driveway.

I heard some shuffling feet and the barking got nearer. 

The wooden door swung open. A tiny dog jumped up and down behind the aluminum screen-door and barked its lungs out. A woman tried to shoo the dog away. 

"Quiet Samson!"

Samson quieted, gave me a menacing glare, and then scuttled off into the house. The woman unlatched the screen-door and opened it a crack to better hear what I had to say.

"Hello Ms. Lawrence. I'm Ed Bryce. I called earlier. I think your cousin might have called about me."

The woman smiled and said brightly, "I'm Markie. Please come in."

Markie opened the screen-door and motioned me inside. I entered and mumbled a thanks.

"Your friend can come in too." Markie waved at Leslie who was admiring the ElectraBeam.

Leslie thought it was better if she stayed outside in case something went wrong. No point having both of us in a pickle if Markie Lawrence turned out to be a garden variety psychopath. She could get help if Markie decided to stretch me out on a rack or something.

Leslie waved back to us, and I said, "She's ok."

"Ok. The genealogy files are in the basement. Why don't you follow me."

I bent over to take my shoes off and add them to the pile near the door.

"That's ok. Leave 'em on. The basement floor's cold."

She turned and marched off into her house. I followed.

A narrow door lead to some steep, rickety stairs that took us down to the basement. At the bottom Markie pulled a chain and lights came on.

And lo, the light revealed a basement filling model railroad mazed with narrow aisles. It wasn't quite a plywood-plains setup, but it was close. Clearly, operations were its raison d'être. Markie walked through the aisles to a far wall, ducked below the layout, and called, "They're over here!"

I followed the aisle to where Markie was crawling around under the layout. There was a long row of cardboard cartons, some double stacked, pushed up against the basement wall.

"I haven't sorted through these yet."

Markie started to open a box at one end of the row and asked, "What're you looking for?"

"Some sort of file labeled Smith. Can I help you look?" I ducked under the layout and started to open a box at the other end of the row.

"Ok."

We sat on the cold floor, systematically opening boxes and looking for anything Smith. I tried to make casual conversation. Not my forte at the best of times, but the mood of basement's dusty silence and cold floor seemed to need lightening. "Your model railroad's impressive."

"Thanks. It's mainly traction. Mostly Scarboro streetcar routes."

"Nice. Have you seen the big streetcar layout they've got downtown at U of NT ?"

"Yes, a long time ago. A friend told me…" Markie stopped mid-sentence and pulled a brown inter-office envelope out of a box. "Is this it?"

She passed me the envelope. Smith was handprinted in a corner in neat little letters. Although I was dying to open it, I didn't. I didn't want Markie to see its contents and start a discussion. "Yes, that's it." Then I lied and added, "There's supposed to be another. Can we keep looking?"

We did. We crawled along the row of boxes checking each in silence. My attempt at casual conversation had fizzled. 

There were no more Smiths to be found.

We got up, dusted ourselves off, and snaked our way back through the aisle to the stairs. I clutched the Smith envelope. 

Before we climbed the stairs I tried again to be cordial. "Thanks for all your help in finding this." I gave the envelope a little shake.

"No problem. Glad I could help."

We exchanged pleasantries and casual promises to someday get together to run the layout and look at it in more detail, but the tone of the conversation said we'd never meet again.

I was back on the driveway two minutes later.

Leslie was leaning against the car and asked the obvious, "Did you find it?"

I waggled the envelope at her and replied, "Yeap."

We walked down the driveway and headed to the streetcar stop. I offered Leslie the envelope. She opened her shoulder bag, took out a pair of elegant driving gloves, and put them on. She then took the envelope, unwound the looped string keeping it closed, and slid out a sheaf of papers. She examined them with a deepening frown.

"They're all blank."

Part 8 is here.

Abandonment - Part 6

In our last instalment Ed was deemed as sane as could be expected and sprung from the hospital with some meds and a renewed desire to live. Before lunching with Leslie, he made a few calls and located Adams' missing evidence files at his niece's house out in Scarboro. Get your streetcar tokens ready! We're off to get those files.

The good thing about Scarboro is that it's only an hour from Kresge's downtown lunch counter and Ottawa is five. 

And, you can take a superPCC to get there. They're longer, faster, and more plush than the regular ones. Yeah, these seats are great. We'd only been on this thing for ten minutes and the comfy seats were already working their relaxing magic.

And, on this route to Pinebrae in deepest Scarboro there're a lot fewer stops. But, it costs more. You cross zones, so you have to pay twice as much.

Ah, well, the quicker we get there, the quicker this will all be over. Leslie was sitting to my left, and I think she was nodding off now and then. To my right was a window with a great view of Scarboro's endless parade of highrises and strip-malls. Which was great, but Adams was blocking my view.

Adams? There he was sitting on the other side of window moving along with us as if he were sprawled in a barcalounger bolted to the outside of the streetcar. He gave me a little Queen Elizabeth wave and said, "Hey Dude."

Great, hippie Adams was back. I liked angst-ridden, neurotic, tightly-wound Adams better. I guess in the afterlife the personality traits that are better left repressed get released once the ego no longer has everything under its thumb.

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore it. It, him, I have no idea. It's a hallucination damn it! I opened my eyes. He was still there and he continued on, "Dude?"

"Yes, what now?"

"You're on your way to see my niece?"

"Yes."

"Be careful dude. She's weird."

"She's weird? I think we've both got weirdness covered."

"Dude, just play along with whatever she says, and when you've got the files just drop them in the mail to Douglas. Then, easy-peasy, you're done."

"Yes, I'm done all right." Someone was calling my name. Leslie was calling my name. People were staring at me. I turned to stare at Leslie.

"Ed, you're talking to yourself."

I was. I looked around and gave the onlookers my best what-are-you-looking-at glare. Some cowered, some didn't. I didn't care. I stopped talking. I returned to staring out the window. Adams was no longer blocking my view.

Part 7 is here.

Abandonment - Part 5

Background and the story so far

Back in the spring of 2020, which seems like a long, long time ago, I started writing a new pulp serial featuring Ed Bryce, Leslie Warden, and the recently deceased Zachariah Adams to give me some diversion during lockdown. Abandonment was its name. I posted the first four instalments, but a wave of lockdown blues put an end to it even though I had the rest "in-the-can", so to speak. 

If you need to catch up, here’re the first four parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4. If you scroll down to the bottom of Part 1, to the Understory section, you’ll find a history of the Light Ray Blues series, of which Abandonment is the third instalment. The Understory section of Part 2 has a list of characters and locations.

Ah, the Light Ray Blues series. In 2012 I wrote a pulp serial called Light Ray Blues (the first instalment is here). Why? For a few reasons. Stories were integral to E. L. Moore’s work, and I wanted to see what I would find if I used stories as a way to think about my own work. Also, I had a conceit that I could write a somewhat tongue-in-cheek retro-noir mystery that featured streetcars, streetcar drag racers, ray guns, obsessed scientists, the bizzaro world of a place called New Toronto, conspiracies, blimps, trans-Canada maglev mono-rails, and model builders. The results were mixed :-) Although, it was the most popular series of blog posts until I started the E. L. Moore series in the summer of 2013. In 2015 I thought I’d give it another go and wrote a second series (the first part is here) with the same characters, but based in and around Ottawa. Along the way there were also some stand-alone stories: One day in July of 1967, A Christmas Kitbash, and You say layout, I say model railroad, Let’s call the whole thing off. 

In the world of Light Ray Blues, Ontario, and most of Canada, is criss-crossed with a rather dense network, dare I say an omnivagant network, of railway track of various weights and gauges. It’s called the InterTrack Network, and its operation is governed by the InterTrack Routing Protocols. InterTrack, Internet, lame I know. One sub-network is dedicated to small, personal rail vehicles that are much like today’s handcars, speeders, rail bicycles and motorcycles, and Thaddeus Lowe’s personal trolley, but in the Light Ray Blues world there’s a far greater range of vehicle types. That sub-network primarily crisscrosses Ontario’s towns and backcountry, and with the track springs up all kinds of places with their own unique characteristics. Even Ed Bryce has a place along a remote section of the network. 

Recently I realized the Loonar Module was likely something from that personal light rail area of the Light Ray Blues world that’s been stewing in my mind for quite awhile. And that got me back to thinking about the abandoned Abandonment. It’s a clunky story, but, like I said, it’s got me thinking again. I’ve started to wonder about a new series where The Lone Trainmen are forced to move the Centre for Rail Guided Transport and its huge layout out of the downtown campus of the University of New Toronto to an outlying area. Once settled in a warehouse that has stood idle for several decades, they begin a new project: to create the definitive map of the InterTrack Network. No doubt the proving grounds of the Loonar Module is a place of interest :-)

Ok, the world of Light Ray Blues is on my mind again, so strap on your ray gun and let’s head back to the mean streets of New Toronto with Ed and Leslie. 

Part 5

I was positively giddy. A minion medic said it was a good thing I had a thick skull. A supplicant shrink said I wasn't any more or less crazy than anyone else. The big-cheese doctor said they'd done all they could and I was taking up space, so get out. I thanked the nurses for all they had done and their infinite patience. 

Then I ran for the nearest exit. 

And kept running. 

And got to Kresge's as fast as a New Toronto streetcar would take me. Which delivered me there an hour before I was to meet Leslie. And what a glorious hour it was, wandering the store and marvelling in its wonders. Revelling in being amongst the carefree living, concerned only with pleasant everyday banalities. I concluded my grand tour at the holiest of holies, the longest lunch counter in the city. It was still early and the lunch rush hadn't hit. I had my choice of stools and dropped myself on one that had a good view of the main door so I could see Leslie when she arrived. Once parked, I ordered a malted and contemplated the nature of existence.

I had only just begun working on my malted when Leslie arrived. I waved. She came over and sat on a stool next to me. She said, "You're looking better. How're you doing?"

"Thanks. I'm fine. They said I was ok, but they gave me a list of instructions to follow and a prescription to fill."

She eyed my malted on the counter and said, "Ready for lunch? I'm starved."

"How about ten minutes of business first and then lunch? You can have my malted if you want? I've only taken one sip."

She took it, removed my straw and added a new one.

I swivelled my stool a bit so my body was aimed at the phone booths across from the counter. "Before we eat I'm going to give Adams' daughter a call to set something up." Leslie nodded slightly as she worked on the malted. I slid off my stool and headed for the booth directly opposite.

I settled into the musty booth, closed the door, and got Adams' daughter's number from my notebook. She was in Ottawa, and it took the long distance operator a little while to connect the call. 

"Hello?"

"Hello. Am I speaking with Zachariah Adams' daughter?"

"Who's calling?"

"I'm Ed Bryce. I was a colleague of your father."

The previously warm and friendly tone turned a little icy. "Oh yes. What do you want?"

I didn't know her name and she wasn't offering it. "Miss Adams, your father once mentioned he put some OSI files in with his family genealogy files. I'd like to retrieve them for the agency." I hope she didn't know I'd been fired from OSI a long time ago.

There was a pause. Maybe she didn't like the 'Miss Adams' bit. Maybe she just didn't like me. Maybe daddy's ghost told her I'd call.

"I don't have the files anymore. I gave them to my cousin. She's the keeper of genealogy in this family."

"Could I get in touch with her?"

She gave me a name, an address, and a phone number in Scarboro. We exchanged cool good-byes and that was that. I hung up. 

Lunch and some friendly chit-chat with Leslie was awaiting. 

Part 6 is here.