Two
"I'm going to need some bacon!" Ray declared, getting up from his seat and heading to the fridge.
"I don't know what it is about bacon, but sometimes I just need it. How about you?" he asked, and turning, saw Dave shaking his head, more adeptly this time.
"Oh that's right", Ray mumbled. "Not hungry. Don't suppose you'd be wanting any human flesh or nothing?"
He smiled a bit uneasily and was reassured to see another head shake by his nephew, who was now writing again and pushed over a note that read - 'don't need food'.
"Well, that's something", Ray said, starting to fry up his breakfast. "Guess I never gave it much thought. What it'd be like, and all. Course since it's impossible!" he snorted.
"So it's pretty clear you were murdered", he announced, turning back to Dave. "Who did it?"
Dave shook his head again.
"Don't know? How can you not know? Stabbed you right in the gut, looks like to me. Must've been standing right in front of you. Maybe caught you by surprise, eh? That it?"
"Don't remember", Dave wrote and pointed at the note.
'Anything', he added.
"Anything? Huh. Must remember something. Remember me, right? My house? You got yourself here, didn't you?"
'Don't know you', Dave wrote, and then added. 'Don't know me'.
He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently as Ray was too busy wolfing down his necessary bacon and didn't see the latest note at first. He pulled it across the table and looked at it thoughtfully for a few moments while he chewed.
"But you found your way here", he murmured, and glanced up to see Dave's version of a shrug.
"Body memory, maybe", Ray theorized. "Huh. Well, what can I tell you. Name is Ray. Already told you that, didn't I? Thought so. And you, Davey, are David Connor, my little brother's boy. Your dad, Harry, may he rest in peace. More peace than you, at least."
Dave was getting used to Ray's attempts at humor, and didn't bat an eye at this one either. In fact, he rarely blinked at all, just enough to keep the eyes moist enough to function, it seemed. His whole body seemed foreign, behaving in ways he didn't expect and didn't understand. Ray was still talking.
'Must be about thirty or so by now. That'd be about right. Your dad was about your age when you were born. Your mom, remember your mom? No? Chloe Simkatki was her name. Glad to be a Connor when she married your dad. Both of them gone now, sad to say. Taken too young. Cancer, the both of them. As for you ... got no brothers, no sisters. Used to come visit here sometimes on holidays. Or I'd go there. Yeah, that's right. You don't live here in Spring Hill, never did. Grew up in Wetford, down the river. Worked at some kind of storage warehouse last I heard. Been a few years since I've seen you, though. Not since your mother passed. I could say 'my how you've changed', heh."
None of this information seemed especially interesting to Dave. He couldn't picture his mother or his father, but he thought if he saw a photo they would both seem vaguely familiar, like Uncle Ray. It didn't matter to him, though. The names and places brought back no concrete associations in his mind. He was aware of an increasing sense of distress, though, and realized, when he glanced up, that it was the light of the dawn peeking through the kitchen window that was causing this unease. He reached for the pencil and wrote 'light. not good'.
Uncle Ray didn't understand. It took several more notes before Dave was able to convince him to take him someplace where the light could not get in. Uncle Ray had a downstairs, a sort of converted den he'd built down there out of the garage and some storage space. There were no windows in it and Dave immediately felt better once he'd situated himself on the couch. The room had very little in it. Aside from the couch, a small table and a recliner chair, it had a television, a few books, and an old-fashioned radio kit.
Dave had brought down the pencil and paper and wrote to Ray explaining that he would like to remain in that room as long as it was daytime outside, if that was okay. Ray told him he had to go to work - he still made a regular appearance at the barbershop down by the boathouse - but he'd be back after lunch. That was all right with Dave. He had a lot to think about.
Ray did too. It wasn't every day you had a dead guy come to visit.