Free Soul Identity by Dennis Batchelder Page A

Sawyer’s lamb, as in ‘Mary had a Little Lamb.’ The author was from Sterling .”
    I filed away the trivia. “How often do you come here?” I asked.
    “Oh, maybe three or four times a year, sir,” he said. “We will arrive in six minutes—would you like to put on your uniform?”
    I didn’t really want to change in the car. “Is it necessary?” I asked.
    “Yes, sir. Otherwise I have to bring you to the guesthouse first, and as you can see,” he held up his left arm and showed me his watch, “it’s already two forty-five. You have a three o’clock appointment with Mr. Morgan.”
    I looked at the black jeans and polo shirt. “Will these clothes fit me?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “How do you know my size?”
    He smiled. “Madame Flora told me. She’s been pretty accurate in the past.”
    Definitely wackos. I finished changing just as we rolled up to the gate.

six
     

    Bob flashed his membership card at the guard, and the gate rolled open. We turned into a large and empty parking lot.
    I couldn’t see any buildings. “Where are we?” I asked.
    He got out and opened my door. “Mr. Scott, it is my privilege to welcome you to the Soul Identity Headquarters.”
    “Can only true believers see it?”
    He pointed behind me at two mounds covered with a carpet of lush green grass. “The main hall is right behind those hills.”
    I gestured at the empty parking lot. “Are we the only people here?”
    “Of course not, sir. Hundreds of employees work in this office. The limo doesn’t fit in our underground parking lot.” He took a deep breath, brushed some fuzz off his pants, and straightened out a wrinkle in his shirt.
    I watched his preparations. “It looks like you’re getting ready for a date,” I said.
    “Something like that.” He bent down and checked his hair in the limo’s side mirror. “While you are meeting with Mr. Morgan, I will be with membership services, planning my century award ceremony.”
    “This is for the hundred years of service?”
    He nodded. “I have to make a speech.”
    We drew closer, and an immense Georgian Architecture building loomed in front of us. It stood three stories tall and over a hundred feet wide. The occasional dormer window broke up the otherwise straight black roof line. White trim accented its pale yellow siding. I could see an underground garage entrance on the building’s left side.
    “I feel like we’ve stumbled into an Edgar Allen Poe story,” I said.
    “There’s nothing scary about our headquarters, sir.”
    Bob sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He walked across the driveway and up the porch steps. “Let’s go inside,” he said.
    I hurried to catch up. We entered through a tall wooden door and stood inside a large lobby. A young receptionist smiled from behind a massive oak desk across the room. “May I help you?” she called.
    We walked closer, and I saw she wore a light green silk blouse and small emerald earrings. “Bob!” She jumped up from the desk and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I was wondering when you’d get here.” She went back to her seat, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her.
    I looked at Bob. “So that’s why you fixed your hair.”
    Bob’s cheeks flamed red. “ Elizabeth , this is Mr. Scott Waverly. He’s got a meeting with Mr. Morgan.”
    Elizabeth stuck out her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Waverly. Especially since your arrival brought Bob back up north. He’s been avoiding me, I think.”
    Bob looked at me with a ‘what can I do’ expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth . I’ve been—”
    “Busy, I know.” She held up her hands and mimed quotations. “Number one delivery person in the Mid-Atlantic region.” She threw me a wry smile. “He’s very proud of that, Mr. Waverly.”
    “I’ve noticed.” I looked around the lobby. “Who are the people in all these portraits?”
    Elizabeth pointed at the walls. “The current overseers are on your right, and past