“Really! You just got the joke now?!?”

It was Hugh's time to spring the trap, and he did so with a laugh of his own, albeit with too much gusto. Those on the benches looked up but did not join. They shot perturbed glances Hugh's way and then dove back into their screens.

“I see you have a touch of gullibility yourself.” Hugh said, ignoring the lack of laughs. “I was laughing at being the butt of all your jokes, you know, taking them in stride.”

The girl carefully put the stick down, as if she were handling an artifact.

“Well, a discovery has been made.” She said. “A true breakthrough! We have discovered that you have a sense of humor! Let us tell the wisest scholars in the most prestigious universities!”

“I'll be sure to tell them as soon as possible.” Hugh joked. “But what these scholars really want to know is why you are digging holes with a stick and not a spade”

“To tell you the truth,” she said looking down at the stick as if it her artifact had become a pitiful creature, “I don't have a spade. If I had one, I would use it.”

Hugh raised an eyebrow.

“You could have said that right from the start.” Hugh said. “My grandmother loved gardening and I have boxes of her old stuff. There should be a spade around somewhere.”

A look of excitement sparked in the girl's face, then died out. Hugh could read on the girl's face that she was reluctant to ask him to go and search for the spade.

“Wait here for a bit, and I'll go and check.” Hugh offered. “If I find it then you can use it.”

“Thank you,” the girl said, and Hugh could hear the embarrassment tinted on her words. “I'll be waiting here and continuing my journey to the center of the Earth.”

Hugh returned to his entrance way and slid his key over the electronic keypad. The door beeped and chirped for a few seconds and the lock disengaged. Hugh pulled the door open thinking that the unlocking process was a bit too long and that lock makers made it so because they were so proud of the sound effects and wanted to show it off to others.

Entering the building, Hugh bound up a small flight of stairs and took a right down a corridor that led to the elevator.

As soon as he made the corner, two tiny dogs pounced on his legs with tails wagging and wide eyes that begged for cookies and belly rubs. The first dog was a gracile Yorke with oily and weighed down fur that said it was long overdue for a bath. The second was a stout and plump Westie that would have looked right at home in a child's toy store on a rack for premium stuffed animals. They weren't big enough to topple Hugh, but their nails threatened to a hole or two into his trousers.

Hugh gave each dog a generous pet atop the head and maneuvered himself towards the elevator and out of clawing range. The dogs dropped to their front paws and straightened into a sitting position, their heads craned upward, and eyes trained on Hugh the entire time. Hugh could hear the swishing and pattering of their tails on the tiled floor behind them, their bright-eyed stares and fractional head tilts striving to tell Hugh that they were not only good dogs, but the best of the best.

Hugh backpedaled from the loving looks that only a dog could give, reached for the elevator button, but forced his hand to fall to his side.

Hugh was in a hurry, knowing that the black-haired girl was waiting for him to return, but he couldn't bear to leave the dogs alone and unattended.

Keeping watch on the dogs, Hugh stood on the first step of stairs and looked up through the spiraling staircase in search of a soul seeking their lost pets. From Hugh's vantage point he was able to spot two pairs of legs on the second floor. He readied himself to call out to them but the content of their conversation, which had been drifting like snowflakes of white noise but then crashed down on him like an avalanche, glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth and bridled his lips against the formation of words.

“Oh my! That's terrible news.” The first set of legs said in a hushed tone.

“I can't believe it myself, they found him dead, all alone in his apartment.” The second pair of legs added, fruitlessly trying to stay quiet in a stairway that echoed the faintest of noises.

“I feel for his family – a wife now a widow and son fatherless.” The first pair of legs expressed her condolences.

“May he rest in heaven.” The second pair said

The final word echoed down the staircase and slammed into Hugh's gut like a battering ram, sending butterflies fluttering and pools of acid swirling in his stomach. Hugh stumbled down the stairs from the rising nausea and doubled over. He slapped one hand over his mouth to prevent that which was bubbling deep inside from spilling out.

“Hugh, sweetie. Come and sit down with me.” A familiar and sad voice said from the down the corridor.

Despite his mounting queasiness, Hugh whipped himself around to face the voice that he knew was his mother's.

The corridor was empty save the two dogs. Hugh propped himself up against the wall and tightened his seal over his mouth. The fluttering butterflies had melted into the acidic stew that was now churning in his stomach, and Hugh knew that something was trying to escape.

“You haven't done anything wrong Hugh. We need… To have talk.” Hugh's mother said again. This time Hugh was able to locate the source of his mother's speech. It was coming from the Westie.

“Sometimes in life… We need to be strong, not physically… But emotionally.” Although the Westie was speaking with the voice of Hugh's mother, the dog wasn't addressing Hugh. It was solely fixed on its canine compatriot—the Yorkie. “Can you do that for me sweetie? Be emotionally strong?”

The Yorkie lowered itself to ground into a laying position, resting its disheveled tiny head onto its paws, and looked up at the Westie.

“I can.” The Yorkie said meekly.

The Yorkie’s voice was that of a four-year old Hugh.

“Your dad… It's about him.” Hugh could hear his mother choking back sobs and nose harassing sniffles. Despite the emotion in his mother's speech, the Westie didn't wipe away tears or lift a paw to blow its nose. It merely stared at the Yorkie and performed the role of a record player that projected Hugh's mother's speech through its maws. “Hugh… My sweet boy… I've got some bad news.”

Hugh heard his mother’s words echo in his ears – “I’ve got some bad news.” It echoed in his ears five more times.

Each echo was a repeated dose of medication that reduced the turnover in stomach and the urge to vomit. After five rings of the phrase in his ear, the echoing stopped. So too did Hugh’s nausea.

“Did something happen to dad?” The Yorkie asked, acting a record player to project sound just as the Westie had.

“Dad… He’s… He’s gone to heaven.” The Westie said.

“When is he coming back?” The Yorkie asked and the audio recording ended.

The Yorkie stood up and both dogs plopped down into a sitting position. Their tails resumed wagging and innocent eyes blinked back at Hugh.

Hugh stood up straight, rested the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

His hallucinations were typically strange visions fitting for the realm of fiction, fantasy, and the imaginary. Never had they been so personal and related to real events that had transpired in his life.

Never had they touched upon his childhood.

Masha had told him not to think about the past, but, as evidenced by what he had just witnessed, that lonely kingdom of time in his life would not relinquish him. Hugh couldn’t understand why. He didn’t want to live in the past because he hated and loathed that his father had passed away, that the double burden of motherhood and employment had strangled his mother, and that. as a result. he was left in a childhood of loneliness.