I saw Beemis again, the other day.
      He was sitting, as usual, on the bench near the elm tree. Just sitting, enjoying the afternoon sun, and the view. When he saw me, he nodded in casual greeting, and I went over and sat down, as I had so many times, the last couple of years.
      Now, to look at him, you wouldn't have thought there was much to him -- just a very ordinary looking fellow, much like any other fellow sitting on a park bench, enjoying the afternoon sun, and the view. Not someone you'd look at twice, or give a second thought to, if you were passing by. And yet, he was one of the most pleasant and interesting men I'd ever met, even if more than a bit -- well, let's be generous, and say 'odd' -- in some ways. So, whenever I saw him, I'd sit and visit a while.
      "Afternoon, Frank," he said, softly.
      "Afternoon, Beemis."
      "A nice day, isn't it?" he observed.
      "Yes, it is," I agreed.
      Our conversations always started like that. Just a nod and a hello, and a comment about how nice the weather was. Which it always was, because he was only there on nice days.
      "Been a while," he said, apologetically.
      "Yes, it has."
      "Been busy, back home. Tests and things."
      I smiled. "I imagine so." He was often busy with one thing or another, or so he said whenever he apologized for not being around for a while. And I was sure they tried to keep him busy, or at least distracted, wherever 'home' was.
      He looked at a young couple a dozen or so yards away, then back at me.
      "You've been busy, too."
      I blinked. I had been, but I couldn't imagine how he could know that. Still, he often said things that were surprising, then explained them away in such a simple and obvious way that they didn't seem surprising at all.
      "Yes, I have. But how did you know?"
      He nodded toward me. "Your clothes look like you've been living in them, you haven't shaved recently, and your eyes are bloodshot. You've been busy."
      I smiled at how obvious he made it seem, and nodded. "Yes, I have. A lot of new patents filed, and my boss..."
      "Mr. Hardy," he interjected.
      "Yes, Mr. Hardy. He can't hire another man, what with the budget cuts, and he won't listen to reason. Just wants things done, and done now, whether I have time to properly study them, or not."
      "Well," he pointed out, "most are never brought to market, so I don't suppose it makes much difference..."
      I nodded. "That's true. But still, what's the point of doing my job, if I don't do it right?"
      He smiled, a common thing for him. "True. There'd be no point in it, no point at all -- would there?"
      I shifted uncomfortably. I was still young, but not as young as I once was, and had often thought just that, especially given what we'd talked about, as often as not. For his fantasies, though having nothing to do with reality, stood in painful contrast to my deadly dull job -- for that matter, to my deadly dull life.
      He took another look at the couple, sighed, then turned to me. "Frank..."
      "Yes, Beemis?"
      "You remember the first time we met?"
      I nodded. "I think so. About two years ago, right here, on this bench."
      He nodded. "Yes. Right here, on this bench. You remember how we met?"
      I didn't really remember, but since we always met the same way, I hardly needed to. "You nodded toward me, and mentioned what a nice day it was."
      "Yes. It was. A very nice day."
      "Just like today," I pointed out.
      "Yes."
      He looked around, took a deep breath, as if he were savoring the day and the view for all they were worth, and nodded.
      "Well met."
      "What?" I said, in puzzlement.
      "Well met," he repeated. "We were well met, that day."
      "Yes," I said, "I suppose we were." For despite the limited nature of our relationship, we often seemed the oldest and closest of friends. Or at least that's the way it seemed to me, and he acted as if it seemed the same to him.
      "You ever think about fate, Frank?"
      I shook my head. "Not really. I'm not much for philosophical ruminations. Not like you."
      He smiled. Chuckled, even, as he shook his head. "Not like me." Then he sighed a great sigh, as if some great sadness had overtaken him. Which was odd, because he didn't look -- never looked, for that matter -- at all sad. Even when he didn't look particularly happy, either.
      "You remember how I greeted you?"
      "Yes, I do." In fact, now that I'd had a chance to think about it, I remembered it quite well, as it had seemed very strange, at the time -- at least, until he'd explained it.
      "Afternoon, Frank, I said."
      "Yes."
      "You were surprised by that."
      "Yes, I was, since we'd never met. But then you pointed out that my badge had my name on it."
      He smiled. "That was convenient."
      I nodded. "Yes. It made it easy for you to confound me for a few moments." He always liked to confound me, and I knew, from our long association, that he must have very much enjoyed my confusion.
      "Yes. It made it very easy to explain it away."
      I sensed that he was about to launch into one of the flights of fancy which, though very interesting at the time, often bothered me, afterwards. And though I knew -- or at least presumed, given his gentle manner -- that he was completely harmless, it was a little disturbing to know that you were sitting on a park bench, talking with a complete lunatic, as if he were the sanest man in the world. Because, after all, doing that couldn't help but make you wonder about your own sanity, as well.
      "You ever wonder about my name, Frank?"
      I frowned slightly, as I wondered where he was going, and nodded. "Well, yes, in a way..."
      "Beemis. Such an ordinary name. One you could pick out of the air, and no one would ever think about it, even for a moment, to wonder whether it was real, or not."
      "I don't think it's all that ordinary. After all, the Beemis Building is an imposing old edifice, and I imagine that old man Beemis, if he's still around, must think his name less than ordinary." I nodded toward the building across the way.
      Beemis chuckled. "Yes, I suppose he must. If he's still around."
      "Though I have to admit, I did wonder, at times, if it really was your name..."
      He looked at me, and smiled. Smiled like a cat smiles, so to speak, at a mouse. And spoke, low and very quietly, as he always did when he smiled like that.
      "That's good, Frank. Very good. What made you wonder about that?"
      Of course, I couldn't tell him the real reason. That I'd been to every nut-house within ten miles, asking about anyone with his name or appearance who might have wandered away. Because it had been quite a while between-times on a couple of occasions, and I was concerned about his welfare. Or at least, that's what I liked to tell myself.
      "Nothing in particular," I said. "Just something about the way in which you introduced yourself."
      He nodded, still smiling that disconcerting smile. "Yes. I looked around for a bit, then turned to you."
      "Beemis, you said. Like the building."
      "That's right. Just like the building."
      He looked at the building for a few moments, then turned back to me.
      "You ever wonder about my first name, Frank?"
      I nodded. "At times. But you seemed a private sort, and I didn't want to pry."
      He nodded. "Not the best of things, for casual friendships like ours, to pry."
      "No," I said, wondering if he'd gotten wind of my trying to do just that, and was warning me.
      He looked at the young couple again. They were kissing, not in an overly intimate way that would have been out of place in such a public place -- not that you don't see that sort of thing all too often these days -- but in a merely pleasant, friendly way that communicated a sense of closeness and caring so appealing that you couldn't help but wish that you were in a relationship like that. Not that someone like me had much hope of ever being in such a relationship; but still, one can dream.
      "A nice couple, that," he observed.
      "They do seem very nice," I agreed. "At least, to each other."
      He laughed. "Yes. Especially to each other."
      We continued to watch them as we chatted. I don't usually do things like that, as it seems intrusive, even when, as in this case, the couple had to expect that others might watch. But since Beemis was watching, it didn't seem all that wrong for me to do so, as well.
      "You ever think about being in love, Frank?"
      I hesitated a moment, then nodded.
      "Of course. Who doesn't?"
      He nodded as well. "Exactly. Who doesn't?"
      The lovers' actions grew more intimate, and we fell silent, as though loath to break the spell that bound us to them. But within a few minutes, the couple became aware of our interest, and flustering on her part, and glaring on his, packed up their things and left.
      Beemis watched them go, a bit wistfully, I thought.
      "Love is a wonderful thing, Frank."
      "Yes, I suppose it is," I agreed, dully.
      He turned to me. "You don't have any love in your life, do you, Frank?"
      I shook my head, not even wondering how he knew that, because the tone of my words would have made it obvious, even to someone far less perceptive.
      "No, I don't."
      "Too busy with your job, no doubt."
      "There is that."
      "And afraid of getting hurt."
      I looked at him -- looked so intently as if to look right through him -- wondering how he could possibly know that, but unwilling to ask how he did. So I gave the answer I always gave anyone who asked about my love life, or lack of one.
      "I just haven't met the right girl, yet."
      He chuckled. "No. You haven't."
      I nodded, more forcefully than really necessary, trying to convince myself, more than him, that it wasn't a completely facetious answer.
      "No. I haven't."
      "Would you like to?"
      His sly smile and the twinkle in his eyes showed he was baiting me, so I cautiously smiled in return.
      "Of course. Who wouldn't?"
      "Yes. Who wouldn't?" he agreed, with a dreamy quality to his voice.
      I looked at my watch. Twenty of, already. Almost time for me to head back to my office.
      "Not long before you have to go," he observed.
      "No."
      "I have to be going, as well," he added.
      "I suppose so. But I imagine we'll meet again, soon."
      "No. We won't," he said, very quietly, but very firmly.
      "What?"
      "We won't see each other again," he repeated. "This is my last visit."
      I felt a surprising distress at his statement. After all, despite our seeming closeness at times, we were really only casual acquaintances -- just a half hour or so at lunchtime, once or twice a month, for the last couple of years. And yet, so nearly constant in the time and manner of our meeting, that it seemed as though a part of my life -- and in this instant, a terribly important part -- was about to be ripped away.
      "Surely you jest," I said.
      He shook his head. "No. I don't."
      "But why? I thought you enjoyed our visits..."
      "I do. I have. I always have, Frank."
      "Then why?"
      "I'm dying, Frank."
      I stared at him in disbelief. He couldn't be dying. He looked the picture of perfect health. A bit old, perhaps. In fact, quite a bit older than me, but still, not much more than middle-aged -- certainly not a doddering old wreck, apt to keel over at any moment.
      And then it struck me. Of course. In his fantasy world, he might well be dying. And being mentally ill, if he thought he were dying, he might take drastic measures -- measures which any concerned citizen, let alone someone who considered himself a friend, should try to prevent.
      "Now, look, Beemis. I know you think you are old, but that's no reason to pretend that you're dying."
      "I am, though, Frank. I'm dying, and there's no getting around it."
      "But not here. In the other world. Your parallel world. Not here, surely."
      He nodded. "That's true. Not here."
      I set my jaw. To hell with my schedule. If it took all afternoon, I wouldn't let him go until I talked some sense into him.
      "Then stay here. Don't go back."
      "I can't stay here, Frank. I have to be with her."
      "Her?"
      "The girl, Frank. The one you haven't met, yet."
      I stared at him, my mind racing, afraid of saying something that would set him off, yet desperate to say something, anything, to hold him here.
      "How could I have met her, when she doesn't exist?"
      "She exists, Frank. As much as you or I, or this bench, or this park. She exists."
      I gripped his hand. "It isn't real, Beemis. I know you enjoy the fantasy, and I don't blame you, but it isn't real. And if you think you're going to die there, then you must come to your senses, and stay here."
      He placed his other hand on mine, and gently patted it.
      "It is real, Frank. As you will soon find out."
      I blinked, and swallowed hard.
      "Now, Beemis."
      "Call me Frank, Frank..."
      "What?"
      "Call me Frank."
      "Why should I do that?"
      "Because it's my name, Frank. Our name, Frank."
      "Now, Beemis..."
      "Frank."
      I gritted my teeth. Best to humor him...
      "All right. Now, look, Frank. There's no such thing as parallel universes, and even if there were, you couldn't possibly slip between them, with just a... a..." I struggled to find an appropriately derogatory term for the odd device he'd shown me, when most fully involved in his fantasy. "A stupid fishing lure," I finally settled on, unable to think of any better way to describe the thing.
      "It's not a fishing lure," he said. "It's a trans-spatial-temporal quantum valve. And it's not stupid, at all." So quietly he said it, and so calmly, almost as if he were rational, instead of the lunatic I knew him to be, that I could almost have believed his words.
      "Right. And I'm Captain Kitt, of the Intergalactic Space Rangers," I said, in as dismissive a way as I could manage, given my chaotic state of mind.
      "We always liked that show, didn't we, Frank?" he said, smiling in the serene way that complete idiots usually smile -- or at least, the way I imagined they would, if I knew any besides him.
      I goggled at him. "We?"
      "Yes. We. When we were young, we liked to put on our Captain Kitt space helmets, and our Captain Kitt space gloves, sit in front of the television, and..."
      "Now, look, Beemis..."
      "Frank."
      I sighed. "Now, look, cFrank'. I don't know how you know that I liked to do that, but..."
      "Because I was there, Frank. Because I was... am... you, Frank."
      The hairs prickled on the back of my neck as I removed my hand from his, and warily eyed him. He was obviously too far gone to reason with, any more. If I'd had any sense, I'd have hurried away as fast as I could, returned to my safe, sane, albeit mind-numbingly dull job and life, and dismissed him and everything about him from my mind. But I couldn't dismiss the friendship we'd shared, and leave him there, to do heaven knew what with himself after I abandoned him. So, despite my misgivings, I did what I could to calm my nerves, and my voice.
      "Now, Beemis."
      He shook his head, and sighed. "All right... Beemis... if you insist."
      Point for me, I thought. Now, just reel him in carefully, and hope the thin line of sanity won't break.
      "Now, Beemis. I know that you like to pretend that you go off to this other world -- this never-never land, where you live a life of ease and pleasure..."
      He smiled. "Yes, I do. Like it, that is."
      I nodded. Anything to keep him happy, for however long it took.
      "I know that you like it, and I suppose that your life here is dull and boring..."
      "It was dull and boring," he admitted, "as dull and boring as yours."
      At least he hadn't lost his sense of humor. "That would be going some, but let's give you that..."
      "Yes. Let's," he said, with that cat-like smile.
      "So you've made up this thing, to entertain yourself. And it is entertaining, I have to admit..."
      "You have been very patient when I talked about it."
      Very patient indeed, I thought. Doing all I could to humor the nut-case I'd grown so fond of and, I have to admit, half-wishing at times that it could have been true. Not that I would in any way admit that to him, of course. Especially now. Not when I was trying to save him.
      "Yes, I have. And I think you ought to give me some consideration, for being so patient."
      "All right," he said. "I can do that."
      It was working. I could feel it, as surely as I could feel the warm sun on my face, and see him sitting right there, beside me. And with some luck, by the time the afternoon was over, I'd get him to let me take him 'home', so I could give a stern lecture to his careless caretakers, and make sure they kept a closer watch on him. Or if not, I might at least put him off-guard enough that I could follow him there, for once.
      "Of course," he added, in the same complacent tone, "that doesn't change the fact that I'm dying..."
      "You're not dying," I insisted, doing the best I could to keep the anger and fear out of my voice. "You're as healthy as I am. I mean, just look at yourself. Do you think that you can convince me, for even a moment, that you aren't the picture of good health?"
      He looked down at himself, then at me, and smiled. "Well, no. But then, I'm twenty years younger, here."
      "Right..." I said, with more than a touch of sarcasm. Not the smartest thing to do, I admit, but I was under a strain, and it didn't help to realize he was merely humoring me.
      "You'll see, Frank. You'll see."
      A sense of a sense of resignation tinged with despair settled over me.
      "If you say so," I said, glumly.
      He smiled. "Yes. If I say so."
      He looked at his watch, and shook his head. "So little time. Always so little time."
      "Surely you can stay a little longer," I suggested, hoping I might yet bring him back to his senses.
      "Yes. A few minutes more. For old times' sake."
      I smiled. "Yes. For old times' sake."
      He looked around, and sighed. "It's too bad that she was..." He paused, as if he'd somehow misspoken, then continued, as if unaware of the pause. "Too bad that she couldn't live in this world. If both of us could have come, we'd have had more time."
      "She..."
      "Yes," he said, turning back to me. "She. The girl that I married... that you will marry, when the time comes. The one you've been waiting for."
      I forced a thin smile, despite the tightness in my chest. "I see..."
      "I suppose I should have told you the truth sooner, but you were always so skeptical about the thing, even though you pretended to believe it, to humor me."
      "You have me there," I admitted.
      "And, too, I didn't want to rush it, for fear of changing things. But I didn't count on dying. And now, there's just no more time. No time, at all..."
      "Surely you have a little more time..."
      He shook his head. "No. I don't. If I stayed here, of course. But I can't."
      "Can't? Or won't?"
      "Well... won't... but how could I, when she's on the other side?"
      "But if you're dying..."
      He smiled, that soft, sweet smile so perfectly suited to him that it seemed to sum up the whole of our relationship, and explain in an instant why I so enjoyed our chats, even as unsettling as they sometimes were.
      "Yes. I'm dying."
      "So why can't you stay here? What point is there in going back?"
      He shook his head. "Frank..." he said, with a note of infinite sadness.
      "Yes?"
      "Imagine that you were a man trapped in a dead-end job... in a dead-end life, for that matter, with nothing -- nothing at all -- to make him feel as if his life had any purpose or meaning."
      Of course, it hardly took any imagining to do that, as it was a perfect description of my life; so I nodded, though the nod was more to humor him, than to admit to anything else.
      "And imagine that one day, you find a way to meet someone -- someone wonderful, who can make you feel complete, and give you a reason to live."
      "The girl," I said, skeptically.
      "Yes. The girl."
      "All right, suppose I did... in my imagination..."
      "What would it be worth, to find her? What would it be worth to woo her, and win her, and keep her safe and happy, for the rest of your life?"
      A pang went through me, despite the desperate nature of the situation. For I had often wondered what it would be like to be in love, even though I'd never had any real chance to be so.
      "I... well, I suppose..."
      "It would be worth the world," he said, very quietly, but very firmly. "Worth anything in the world. Worth, even, your life."
      "Well," I said, doubtfully, "I don't know if..."
      "Remember, Frank. We are talking about a dead-end life, with nothing worth living for. Wouldn't it be worth giving that up, to be with someone like that?"
      I reluctantly nodded. I knew it was wrong to agree; but how could I argue with logic that so perfectly fitted my own feelings? Even though I feared I was losing the battle, by doing so.
      "Exactly. It would be worth everything. Even if, by giving up your present life, you had to sacrifice ten, even twenty years, if they were twenty years of misery, it would be worth it."
      "I suppose, maybe, if I... that is, your hypothetical man... could be with her for a long enough time to make it worth while."
      "For the rest of his life. Whether it was twenty years, or twenty hours, wouldn't it be worth it?"
      "It would depend upon the man... and the girl..." I muttered, almost half-convinced that he was the one who was sane, and not me.
      "Yes. It would depend upon the man. And the girl."
      He looked off, into the distance, as if to spy on the young couple who left, or perhaps another couple, who weren't even visible, save in his mind's eye. Then he turned back to me.
      "This is goodbye, Frank."
      A chill came over me, at the finality in his tone. Not that I had any intention of letting it be goodbye, of course. I would follow him, no matter how he tried to evade me, and make sure he was safe. I owed it to him... to me... to the tenuous friendship we had... to make sure of that.
      "If you say so," I croaked.
      He smiled. "Yes. If I say so."
      He rose, and I rose with him, in case he tried to dart off into the woods.
     "Sarah Jane Allgood, Frank."
     "What?"
     "Sarah Jane Allgood. Twenty-two West Tenth Street. That's the girl. That's where she lives."
     "If you say so."
     "I do say so. Now, why don't you say so, so that I know you'll remember it?"
     I shook my head, and sighed. "Sarah Jane Allgood. Twenty-two West Tenth Street."
     "Very good. Be sure to look her up, when you cross over."
     I gaped at him. "When I cross over?"
     He smiled. "Yes. It will be quite soon, now."
     A shiver ran through me. Never had I looked madness so full in the face, or had it smile back at me with such calm certainty, and it shook me to the core.
     "Quite soon?" I croaked.
     "Yes. Less than a week now, before the application comes across your desk."
     "Right," I said, nodding as though I believed what he said, and wondering why there was never a policeman around, when you needed one.
     "Be sure to take it home and study it, Frank. Study it carefully. You don't want to make any mistakes. Your life... our lives... depend upon it."
     "I..." I sighed, and nodded. "Of course, Beemis. Whatever you say."
     He smiled, and held out his hand. I hesitated a moment, then took his hand, and shook it. The firmness of his grip surprised me. He was obviously regretting this being 'the last time' as much as I was, albeit for very different reasons.
     "You're sure you can't stay..." I said.
     He shook his head. "No. I can't."
     "But if you're dying, over there..."
     "She's there, Frank. She's there..."
     "But if you're dying..."
     He shook his head, again. "It doesn't matter. I'd rather be with her, for even a little while longer, than live the rest of my life without her."
     I swallowed, hard. The love in his eyes and his voice was so obvious, that I knew he truly was in love with the girl, deeply in love with her, though she was only a fantasy.
     "She must be some girl," I said, shakily.
     He smiled. "She is..."
     He released my hand. "I have to go, now, but I want you to promise me something."
     I sighed, and nodded. There was nothing I wouldn't have promised, if it gave any hope of saving him.
     "Promise me, that when the patent comes, you will study it, build the thing, and make it work. And that you will find her, win her, and keep her safe, for the rest of your life. Promise me."
     Might as well promise the Moon, I thought; but I went ahead and promised. After all, what does a promise hurt, when you know you needn't keep it?
     He smiled, a warm, friendly smile, the smile that had drawn me to him the first time we met.
     "Well, I'd best be going," he said, in the same casual way that he'd said, 'good afternoon', half an hour before.
     "I suppose you must," I said, with a sigh.
     He reached in his pocket, and took out the contraption — the oddly shaped fishing lure, or whatever it had been before he toyed with it — and held it out for me to see.
     "It won't look quite like this," he said. "I changed it a little, to make it easier to use. But you'll recognize it, when you see it."
     I nodded, as if believing every word.
     "It'll take a while to figure it out, but I have every confidence in you..." He winked, as if he'd just told a very sly joke.
     I sighed, nodded again, and he held out his hand.
     "Goodbye, Frank."
     I took his hand, and shook it. "Goodbye, Beemis."
     "You have a great future ahead of you, my boy. A great future."
     "I hope so, Beemis."
     He smiled. "I know so."
     He released my hand, and I reluctantly released his.
     "Goodbye, Frank."
     I nodded, and started to say goodbye myself, but as my mouth opened, he did something to the fishing lure, and... how can I put it? Just winked out of existence, as if he'd never been there, at all.
     I stood in stunned shock for a few moments, then looked around wildly, wondering what in the world had happened. Wondering how he had hypnotized or dazed me, then scurried off, before I recovered. And once I realized that no matter how he'd done it, I wouldn't be following him, I returned to my office, and did what I could to forget the distressing affair.
     That was the last time I saw Beemis. But I'm not so sure it's the end of my story. For this morning, a paper came across my desk. A patent application for a 'quantum matrix gauge', whatever that means. A sort of measuring tool, as far as I can tell, which even if it works, wouldn't actually do anything, let alone the miracles Beemis claimed his toy could perform. And if not for one thing, I'd have logged it, put it in the filing cabinet, and promptly forgotten it. Namely, it looks for all the world like the thing Beemis held in his hand, the last time I saw him.
     So, each time I look at the cabinet, I can't help but wonder whether I ought to keep my promise to Beemis, however idiotic it seems during my more rational moments. My very few rational moments. For when I think of the look in his eyes when he spoke of his lady love, I can't help but wish that there really were parallel worlds that one can visit, using only an odd-looking fishing lure to do so.
     I know that there can't be, of course. But it does make you think, doesn't it?