The Fifth Octave

James walked down the corridor to his room, took out the key, inserted it and began to turn it, but stopped and thought for a moment and took the key out. He kneeled down and looked through the keyhole. What he sees is a memory…something that may have happened years ago,...or did it?...Or is it maybe something that will happen?…he kneels again to look. Jim is about 27 years old—¬¬¬dark blond hair, steely grey eyes, tall and slim, quite handsome. He’s not ready yet to turn the key…not afraid, exactly, but he knows he’s not ready… A SUDDEN SOUND—What was that? Jim was not ready and jumped a mile. What was it?. . .What...was…it. . .? Not a bang. No, nothing violent…a soft bang, maybe a knock?. . .no, not a knock…a voice…maybe a voice, but softer…a whisper?. . .yes, that was it. . . a whisper. . . Suddenly Jim shivered violently. The shivering continued. The shivering did not stop, but became more violent. His whole body was shaking. All the muscles in his neck, his back, his legs…gradually all his bones, and then his nerves—all of him!!...It continued...it became even more violent... And then everything began to slowly quiet down—his nerves…his bones...his muscles...and finally he was himself again, except for a very faint sound of whispering. So soft, so faint. He could not make out the words, but he could hear it, he could definitively hear some whispering. Something was telling him that this time around he would never know what it was saying, but he would know that it was there. Jim made the effort to pull himself together. He was James, the mighty tight end of the Colts football team, the former Marine, medaled (gold!) for unusual valor during the war, the man who never looked back. He pulled out the key again, strode purposefully to the door, unlocked it and entered his room. Everything was as he had left it. Everything was as it should be. There was some email to read on his iMac, including a mash-note from Lucinda, some “hello’s” and “let’s get togethers” from various friends, nothing that needed immediate attention. Jim decided to get a good night’s sleep instead of reading his latest science-fiction thriller. Clothes off, lights out, window partly open, and into bed he went and curled around his extra pillow as usual. And as usual, he began to fall asleep. Almost...almost. . . Something was keeping him from falling asleep. He tried to disregard it, and almost did. Almost. . .It was a very quiet, nearly imperceptible voice. Whispering. . . When Jim awoke the next morning he lay on the bed for several minutes trying to remember what it was that had bothered him so much the night before. Nope. Couldn’t find it. Couldn’t remember what it was. Probably not too important. No more football practice. Season’s over. Good. Tired of having to win all the time. Well, anyway, he’d made the winning touchdown again. Getting to be a habit. But everybody loved it. Yeah. They always do. So, one more season and then—out. Made enough money to last a couple of lifetimes. That’s what he said last year. But this time he meant it. Said that last year too. Come on, Jimbo. When are you gonna quit and start doing what you...Don’t know how to say it...oh well, let’s see what they offer this time. Should be a very healthy bonus besides. OK, just one more year. And this time I really do mean it. Yeah!! Jim phoned Lucinda, but of course she was out at her job. He was not supposed to call her at work, so he sent her a nice email in response to her note. Always fun to be with Lucinda, but they both knew it would not lead to a permanent relationship. That was something neither was ready for. Well, what should he do now? Go downtown and see what’s happening? Nah, nothing interesting was ever happening. Downtown was just for spending money and eating and flirting, and he’d done enough of that over the years. He would like to do something real, but he couldn’t think of what. Suddenly Jim realized that for the first time in years he had no idea of what he wanted to do. Not a clue. So Jim went out for a walk, and soon he was jogging, and that turned out to really running on the High School track, then sprinting and pushing himself as he hadn’t done for weeks, and soon word got around that Jim Faulkner the great tight end was working out over at the High School track, and he couldn’t stop, till he had to stop because he got terribly out of breath. All the kids were shouting “Hey Jimbo” and he waved to them and got his wind back, and just walked around for a while and waved to the kids again, and they all yelled “Hey Jimbo” again, and he loved it, and walked out and caught a taxi and went home. When he started toward his flat and pulled out the key, it reminded him of something, but he couldn’t remember what. He turned the key and opened the door and went in, trying to remember, but it was no use, the memory was gone. He went over to his study and turned on the TV, and scanned the latest news—nothing particularly interesting, and then looked to see what movies were on. As he passed channel 75 he heard a man’s voice whispering and a different voice answering, and then the first voice whispered “Uh-oh, I think we made a mistake— he’s starting to remember,” and then there was silence. Jim waited and waited, and turned the sound up as high as it would go, and waited some more, but the whispering voices were gone. He realized that his heart was pounding wildly, and he was very scared. Jim walked over to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of cold water and drank it slowly, remembering now the whispering last night. He knew that the voices had been speaking about him.