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I woke suddenly, a muffled scream dying on my lips. I lay on the bed for a long time, glad that Marc didn’t hear me cry out. There was a light sheen of sweat on my forehead and the terror from the dream clung to me.
I rolled over and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. Even though I was a grown man in my late forties, Mom had always been my first call whenever I was upset, or even its polar opposite, overjoyed. She listened better than anyone I knew, even Marc.
She answered on the second ring.
“Mom? What are you doing?”
“Just got out of the bathtub, so good timing. How’s things, Sammy?”
We chatted for a moment about the weather here, the weather there, how she’s planning on making vegetable soup for dinner, the leak in her roof, the pain in her lower back. I needed this time to ease into my question, probably because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
But after a lot of the usual blather that meant little other than a mother-son connection, I came to the reason for my call.
I took a deep breath and dove in. “I had a visitor today. Someone who said he was from St. Clair.”
“Oh? Who’s that?” Her voice betrayed no suspicion. She was probably thinking an old classmate or neighbor had shown up, wanting a reunion. I was sure Jeb was the furthest thing from her mind. His name hadn’t come up in conversation in years, decades maybe. I was sure she’d recall him, but not certain at all she ever thought of him.
I didn’t know how to say it, so I just blurted it out. “Jeb Kleber.”
There was a long silence on the other end. And then she sort of laughed, but there was no mirth in it, only confusion. “What? What do you mean?”
I relayed how I was simply reading when an unexpected visitor showed up and how he claimed to be Jeb. “It was unreal, in the truest sense of the word.”
“Oh sweetheart, that just can’t be. Didn’t they rule him dead?” She paused again and I could almost hear the wheels turning. “Yeah, they even had a memorial years ago, erected a headstone and everything. There was something like a GoFundMe to pay for it all. I even contributed a few bucks. But gee, that was ages ago.”
“I know, Mom.” And I did. I’d forgotten about the memorial because it had to have taken place more than twenty years ago. But she reminded me. “But he washereand told me his name. He even called me Sammy without any prompting. No one calls me that these days, except for you. I’m just Sam, or sometimes Samuel, if I’m at work…and in trouble.” I chuckled, but it didn’t dissipate the dread in my gut.
“Well, this is someone playing a joke. Although I have to tell you, that’s one sick prank.”
“How would anyone know about the whole thing, Mom? I mean, yeah, it was news back in the day, but it wasn’t big news like Elizabeth Smart.” I used the only missing person I was sure would register on her radar.
“Everything is on record, hon. Even if it’s just on microfiche in a library, if people look hard enough, they can find the news stories about Jeb from back then.”
I conceded she had a point. But even if someone did do research—and that would be one hell of a deep dive—the big question was what was the motivation. I asked her, “Why, though? What reason could he have for showing up here today?”
“Did he say?”
“No.” And I told her how he vanished from the condo as soon as Marc came home, darting out the back door.
“This is creepy,” she said. “I don’t like it.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like enough to report it to the authorities. But I wanted to ask you. He said something about returning to St. Clair fifteen years ago. He said his dad had passed from lung cancer. And that his mom couldn’t bear to see him.”
“Not true. Those are lies. The Klebers both died in a fire when their trailer went up. A lot of folks think they were cooking meth, but I don’t know. Probably falling asleep with a cigarette is more likely. But, god, when was this?” She paused. “I’m sure it was about eighteen years ago. I remember because I was dating Charles back then. Remember him? Dark beard? Hare lip scar?”
“Vaguely.” Mom had only recently given up on dating losers, given up on love, really, only in the past five years or so. Her parade of unsuitable loves just became too much to bear and after much, much trial and error, she’d realized she was better off alone.
“Yeah, yeah. I can probably look it up for you—the stuff about the fire. Everything’s online nowadays.”
“Yeah, would you? And could you text me a link if you find something?”
She said she would. But I knew she was right. “The fact that he made up a story about his mom and dad really tells that he’s not on the up and up. If he’s lying about his parents, then he could be lying about who he is.”
“Sure, that’s it.”
