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"You are not Krall Jones."

"Then who am I?"

The old lady stared at me.

"You don't know who you are?"

"What?"

I shook my head, frantically.

"Of course I know who I am. I am Krall Jones."

I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Officer Seaman.

"I knew Krall Jones and you are not him."

I turned and was about to say something, when I saw the sad look on his face.

"I was the one who found Krall," Officer Seaman continued.

"No one had heard from him in about a week and Mrs. Parsons telephone us, concerned about his whereabouts, since she had not seen him in so long."

I was speechless.

Old Lady Parsons hardly even recognized me half the time and I am sure there were more times than not, that she even forgot I rented from her.

"His work was concerned too. His manager called us ..."

His voice faded off as my mind went in a different direction.

Now I knew this was all bullshit.

The manager of the Canadian Tire, where I worked, did not even know my name, or that I even worked there.

My own supervisor would even ask me who I was.

"... and I found him, laying in his bed. A needle sticking out from his arm."

"WHAT?" I yelled.

"He died of a heroin overdose," Officer Seaman said sadly.

I had never done any drugs in my life. I loved my booze and beer, but drugs never interested me.

The old lady spoke up.

"My sister found a letter from him saying to sell all his things and donate the money to the Catholic Church."

I was Salvation Army by birth.

I was in a daze. I had no idea what to do or say.

"So you from around these parts?" Officer Seaman asked.

"Yea," I nodded.

"I bought the old estate outside of town that Baron von Curtainbach owned."

Officer Seaman offered me his hand.

"I heard the old house had sold."

I shook his hand.

"Yea."

"So," the old lady said.