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The old man strode up to the door at the end of the hallway. He peered at the lettering on the door. "Hartnell, Troughton, and Baker, Attorneys at Law," he read aloud. "Lousy lawyers, taking over the world..."
He opened the door and moved forward. He hesitated at the threshold, closing his eyes briefly, and taking a deep breath. Then he stepped quickly through, and was inside. Opening his eyes, he looked to his left. A young, pretty woman was seated at a desk, a shiny computer in front of her, and a telephone off to her side. She was typing away at the computer and barely looked at the elderly gentleman. "Do you have an appointment, sir?" the young woman asked without looking up.
The old man just looked at her not looking at him. He pulled a face, bugging his eyes out and mouthing nonsense words, but making not a noise. There was no reaction from the young receptionist. So he just stood there, waiting.
The young woman, Barbara, as it turned out, finally looked up from her work, and noticed the old visitor. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked, a bit more politely.
The old man sighed, as if this was what he'd been waiting for. Finally, he thought. "Yes," he said proudly, "I'm just here to take care of something."
Barbara nodded, and said, "Yes, sir? And what might that be?" She doubted that the elderly man had been called in for a plumbing job or a computer service call. Perhaps he did need a lawyer after all, and was just a tad senile in his old age. She'd seen it before.
"Don't worry about me," the old man said as he moved along, past Barbara's desk, and down the hallway. Barbara was about to get up and intercept him, but thought better of it. The old man looked like he had...a purpose, she supposed. She watched as he moved down the hall. He paused as he reached the first set of doors on the right side of the hallway. He opened the doors and slipped inside.
The room was still green, he noticed first of all. He smiled. Some things never change. He looked around, and saw two fairly cheap-looking desks at either end of the room. Two similar looking young men sat at either desk. Filing cabinets lined one wall, and bookcases lined the rest, filled with what appeared to be law books.
One of the young men stood, and asked, "Can I help you, sir?"
The old man shook his head. "No, thank you, son. That'll be all right." He turned and left the green room, leaving the two young men dumbfounded.
The old man continued down the hall, entering the next room along on the right. There was still a desk in the office, but a different desk. There was no radio in the room, just more filing cabinets and bookshelves filled with books. The walls were a drab grey, a dull lifeless corporate grey. A man of about 70, grey-haired but looking as strong as an ox, stood up from his seat behind the desk. "I'm Mr. Hartnell, sir, and you might be...?" Mr. Hartnell wondered how someone got past Barbara without her notifying him. Then he saw the look in the old man's eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"
The old man continued looking around the room. "No, thank you. That'll do." Again, the old man turned, and left the room.
By this time, the two young men had joined Barbara out in the hallway. They stayed back a bit, not wanting to interfere with the old man or his purpose. Mr. Hartnell moved to the doorway of his office, also quietly watching.
The old man paused. He wanted to go further, and continue down the hallway. But he knew he'd better not. He didn't have the time, or the strength. Instead, he started heading back towards Barbara's desk and the exit. One more to go, though. He pushed through the doors to his right, which were just across the hall from the green room.
Once inside, the old man stopped, and stood still, closing his eyes. He opened them a moment later, and looked around. This was the place, this was where it all happened. The mysteries, the adventures, the symphonies, the games, the laughs, the tears. This was the place he really belonged, the only place he truly had felt home. Surrounded by friends, able to do the work he loved for an audience that loved him for it. But what was it now?
It was exactly the same. The old man couldn't believe it. Over there, the organ. Just over there, all the doo-dads and watchamacallits for the sound effects. Microphones. The control room through the window. He knew the place hadn't been used as a radio station in, oh, long about forty years now. But the place looked exactly as he had always kept it in his mind. Except for one thing, and this one thing hit him hard.
His shoulders sagged as he thought of them. All gone now, laid to rest. Eugenia and Mr. Foley, Maple, Jeff and Hilary, Betty and Scott Sherwood, Senator Comstock. Even Celia. Even C.J. He had visited all their graves. When the old man had read of the death of Mr. Tom Eldridge last week (he had died peacefully in the front row of the downtown theater showing a touring company's production of "The Rivals", a smile etched on his weathered face, according to the newspaper), the old man knew he had to come here one final time.
The old man took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
"It was in the contract," a voice behind him said gently. "Whoever leased these offices were required to keep this room in exactly the same state as you see it now, and to maintain it as such. The owner was quite adamant about that, insisting we sign our names to the contract, followed by the phrase, 'Understood completely.' A bit unusual in the business world, but we felt we owed it to him. It wasn't a matter of humoring an old man. We could see it in his eyes. We did understand, completely." Mr. Hartnell paused, unsure of what to say next.
The old man nodded, smiling at the thought. "Thank you. I'd best be going." He left the studio a bit quicker than he had entered it.
Mr. Hartnell watched him, and said quietly, "Thank you, Mackie Bloom. The Man of a Thousand Voices."
The old man paused, shocked. He turned to face Mr. Hartnell. "How did you...I mean, aren't you a bit young to..."
Mr. Hartnell smiled, shaking his head. "I grew up listening to Amazon Andy, Rance Shiloh. All of them. I couldn't get enough of them. It hurt when the station was closed down years ago. LIke all my friends had been taken away from me."
Mackie's eyes misted over, as he focused on something unseen in the distance. "I know what you mean," he said quietly. With that, he turned to go. Mr. Hartnell, Barbara, and the two young men, respectfully watched him go.
Out in the hallway, Mackie paused as he was about to close the door. "Good-bye", he said, slowly pulling the door shut. "...old friends..."
And Mackie Bloom wept.
--THE END--
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