Free Soul Identity by Dennis Batchelder Page B

overseers are on your left.” She pointed above her, and I saw a picture of a middle aged lady wearing a green scarf over a lime colored blouse. “That’s Ann Blake up there, the depositary chief. She’s also my mom.” She picked up her yellow telephone. “Excuse me while I inform Mr. Morgan of your arrival.”
    I walked around and examined the portraits. Apparently there were only two current overseers: one painting was of Archie, looking forty years younger than he appeared in the video. The portrait of the other overseer was of a younger man barely out of his teens.
    Elizabeth hung up the phone. “Mr. Morgan is ready. Bob, please escort Mr. Waverly upstairs.”
    As we walked through the door behind her, she called out, “And come back here after you drop him off.”
    The door closed, and we stood in what appeared to be an elevator lobby. I nudged Bob with my elbow. “Somebody’s really happy you’re in town, dude.”
    Bob leaned in close to my ear. “I’m scared of her mother,” he whispered. “I’m afraid to get anywhere near her daughter at the office.”
    “Why, is Ann Blake an old battle axe?”
    “Actually, I’m very nice, Mr. Waverly.” A live version of the lady in the portrait above Elizabeth ’s desk stood next to me. She had a strong Texas drawl. Four men in spiffy dark green suits stood behind her and waited as she smiled and stuck out her hand. “Ann Blake.”
    “Call me Scott.” I took her hand.
    She squeezed hard and released.
    “Do you know Bob?” I stepped back to get out of the line of fire.
    “Of course I know him, and I like him too, whatever he may think. We wish we saw more of him around here.” She slapped him on the shoulder. “How are you, Bob?”
    He stammered out a “Good afternoon, Ms. Blake.”
    “You’re coming for dinner at our place tomorrow night.” She pointed at me. “Bring Scott with you. Be there at eight thirty sharp.” She strode off with her retinue.
    I smiled. “That went well.”
    Bob shook his head. “I’m going to be sick.”
    “Is her cooking that bad?”
    “No, sir. She intimidates the heck out of me.”
    “She puts on her pants one leg at a time, just like you.” I smiled. “But then you put on shoes, and she puts on cowboy boots. Maybe it’s the boots that are scaring you.”
    “Maybe.” He pressed the elevator call button and the doors opened. An ancient elevator attendant sat inside on a yellow stool. He was wearing green pants with suspenders, a white shirt, and a green cap.
    “Third floor, James, we’re going to Mr. Morgan’s office,” Bob said.
    James sat up straight. “Next stop third floor. All aboard who’s getting aboard.” He closed the doors and the elevator hummed. It stopped, and the doors opened. “Third floor, and mind the gap as you disembark.”
    We got off, the elevator closed, and we stood on the marble floor of a grand foyer. “James used to be a train conductor,” Bob said. “Old habits die hard.”
    “Was he a train conductor in this life, or in a previous life?” I asked.
    “Of course this life, Mr. Scott. Nobody remembers anything from their previous lives. Except what you learn in there.” He pointed to the left. “The depositary is just down that hall.”
    We walked to the right, made another right, and entered an open door on the left. Archie sat at the same desk, in the same pose, wearing the same smile he wore in the video. He sported a different bowtie, though: this one had green and white stripes. He stood up when we approached.
    “Welcome to Soul Identity, Scott.” Archie shook my hand. “Did you have a nice trip?”
    “We had a great trip.”
    Archie turned. “Welcome back, Bob. Thank you for taking good care of our guest.”
    Bob nodded. “You’re welcome, Mr. Morgan.” He reached into his pocket and handed me a card. “Mr. Scott, here’s my phone number. When you’re ready to go, just give me a ring.” He left.
    I walked over to the window and gazed down at a green field