“I'm so exhausted, yet so wired at the same time,” she said to him, closing her eyes.
“I have no idea what to expect from tomorrow,” Harry said, “And it makes me very nervous. I don't like not having a plan.”
“We have a plan. We go to the parent's home, and we see what happens.”
Harry didn't want to go to sleep, and he didn't think he could, even if he tried.
“Why the rubber suits?” he asked, out of the blue.
Without opening her eyes, she said, “They aren't rubber, they're vinyl. It started when we first joined the bureau and were running training drills. We stuck together like we always had, and we got a lot of looks our way. I think that a lot of the negative attention came from envy. We were far and away better than anyone else in the drills. So anyway, we decided to give it a plot. We picked the outfits out at a costume shop, and we started spreading rumors about ourselves. We gave everyone something to look at, so they were no longer really looking at us.”
“That kind of thing takes so much guts,” Harry said. “You have to commit and own your persona. I could never pull that off.”
“Everyone pulls it off every day. Nobody is who they show the world. We actually made it easier on ourselves by creating an identity that was so bizarre it could never truly be a real person. It's far harder for people to pretend that they're just the same as everyone else than for us to be the Blue Bloods. All I do is put on a costume. Everyone else puts on a personality.”
She turned over then, and backed her body into his. He put his arm around her and relished the feel of her soft skin against him, but didn't attempt to do anything but hold her. She hugged his arm against her chest and they fell asleep listening to the sounds of the night through the thin teepee walls.
FORTY ONE
Shelly had never spent so long a time with someone without sharing a single word. Robert was stoic, eyes plastered to the passing landscape, though Shelly doubted that the man actually saw anything but the inside of his own head. His only movement was the interminable rubbing of the skin on his forearms, as though he was vigorously applying lotion. At the start of their drive, he had only done it intermittently, but now he was at it full force.
She had made two stops for gas along the way, and Robert had not left the car either time. He had not even gone to the restroom, though that wasn't entirely surprising as he hadn't eaten or drunk anything since he had been with her. At a fast food drive through, when she inquired as to if he would like something, he had made no response, and as she chomped her own burger and drank her Pepsi down to its last annoying slurp, his face never turned in her direction.
Previously, when she was in his presence, her skin would dance electric and her heart would speed with deadly hysteria, but that feeling waned the farther they drove. It felt like the cloud of vitality that hovered over them was dissipating with every mile. She knew that Robert's state of mind was growing darker, even without his input, and that made her press the accelerator harder.
It was growing dark on their second day of driving, and though she knew that they could easily make it to their destination, she thought it best that Robert's homecoming occur during the day. She needed everything to go as smoothly as possible, and she didn't want to contend with the night, on top of everything else. She would give him his family time, and then she would get her interview. She would have to use a little trickery to get it on film without him knowing, but she didn't think that would be hard. He was most likely completely ignorant of that sort of thing. Then, after she got what she needed, she would call in the cops–simple as that.
She stopped at the next motel they came to and got them a room. She had not wanted to sleep in the same room as a ravenous murderer, but her fear of losing the story was greater than her fear of him. He hadn't killed her yet, anyway, so why would he suddenly change his mind? He needed her.
She also hoped that maybe, in the confines of a motel room, she could get him to talk. She had not been successful the night before, but she hoped tonight would be different. She kept a digital recorder hidden in her front pocket, and it was always on. Anything that she could get on tape would be icing on the cake. If she asked the right questions, found the right topics, she was sure that he would speak to her. Maybe she could get him to relax. If she could get him to have a drink, maybe the alcohol would loosen his tongue.
As she parked in the lot of The Village Inn, Robert finally spoke. They were the same words that he had spoken at last night's motel.
“Why have we stopped?”
“We can't make it all the way there tonight,” she lied. “We have to stop here and make it the rest of the way tomorrow.”
She knew that he had no concept of how long the trip would take. She couldn't even tell if he had a firm grasp on time itself, with the exception of night and day. He seemed to accept her answer, still voraciously rubbing his skin, trying to get at what lay beneath.
Inside, Robert sat on the end of one of the beds, staring through the wall opposite him.
The room had a minibar, or rather, a small mini fridge. The sort that one would put in a garage to hold beer. Posted on the wall above was a list of contents, and how much her credit card would be charged for each. She cracked open the refrigerator door and grabbed two, five-dollar miniature bottles of cheap vodka. She took them to the corner of her own bed, nearest Robert, and sat down.
“I was thinking we could have a drink,” Shelly said as she held out one of the bottles to Robert. “It's been a long day.” She held the bottle out further, so it cracked the man's field of vision. His eyes caught sight of it, and surprisingly, he took it.
“The day is always a different length,” he said, spinning the cap off the bottle and drinking it down. He cringed from the burn. “That does not taste very good.”
“Yeah, I know. It isn't very good vodka. But it does the trick, as they say.”
“Who says that?”
“I don't know. It's just a figure of speech. Would you like another one?”
“I have already said that it does not taste good.”
“Well then, I'll see what else they have. OK?”
“Yes. A man needs sustenance to live. I have not had any for a long time.”
Robert turned his head back to the wall and began to rub his arms again. Shelly brought out two more shot bottles, whiskey this time. She also grabbed a Coke and a couple of glasses. Moments later, she was back on her bed corner with two mixed drinks.
“This one should taste better,” she told him.
He sipped it deliberately, and then took a larger swallow. “That is better,” he said.
Shelly mixed two more drinks, and this time sat down next to Robert on his bed. He took his drink as she sipped her own. She was beginning to feel the effects of the booze herself, but Robert appeared the same as he always had. She needed to try something to get him to open up to her, and decided to appeal to him as a friend.
“I want to thank you for allowing me to speak with you after you're reunited with your parents. It means a lot to me. Is there anything else that I can do for you?”
He had taken to scratching his arms now, and the skin was beginning to crack in places.
“I think I can help you, Robert. If you let me.”
He turned his head slightly toward her, and she took the opportunity to reach out and place her hand on his shoulder. She could feel his body clinch and spasm at her touch, and before she realized it, he had grabbed her by the wrist.
He yanked her body by the arm, pulling her across his lap. Then, he lifted her in the same manner that a person would lift a heavy log. He stood and spun his upper body, tossing her across the room. She bounced off her own bed and crumpled into the wall on the other side.
“Do not touch me again, please.” Then, he laid down, his face toward the wall.
Shelly collected herself from the floor, dazed and confused. She took two more bottles from the minibar, and drank them down, the spirits barely touching
her tongue. She kneeled down on the bed and let her body fall to the side. Her head missed the pillow, yet she did not attempt to grab it. Her vision was blurring, and the pain she felt was growing. She would just stay still. Very still.
When she woke in the morning, her body was sore, along with her head.
Robert was sitting back on the edge of his bed. She quickly gathered her things, no longer caring about anything other than getting this fucking psychopath to his parents and getting her interview. Then he could fucking rot, for all she cared.
“Let's go. We'll be there in a few hours.”
“That isn't a long time,” he said as they got in the rental.
“No shit,” she replied.
“Do you have the address to the home of my family?”
“Yeah. It's written down on the pad there,” Shelly said, pointing to a small pad of sticky notes in the console. “It's something Butterscotch Ave. Can you believe that?” She laughed, despite herself.
Robert reached down and took the note, smiling.
FORTY TWO
“So Robert, there has been a complaint from one of the nurses. She claims that you shoved her into a wall. Do you remember this?
“Yes, Doctor.”
“She isn't injured, but you scared her. Can you tell me why you pushed her the way that you did?”
“She… touched me.”
Quiet.
“Robert, what do you mean when you say she touched you? We've had many talks on this haven't we? Two human beings touching is normal. A nurse trying to help you may need to touch you.”
“It wasn't like normal.”
Dr. Willis immediately looked concerned.
“Tell me what happened, Robert.”
“She,” Robert said. And, that was all he said.
“It's OK, Robert. You don't need to tell me. I think that I understand.” The doctor jotted down a few notes before he continued.
“We've had talks about women before. I know that it makes you uncomfortable, but I think this is the right time to discuss it again.”
Robert remained quiet.
“You have shown no interest in women, and that's fine. However, I know that you want a family, and you know that touch is a big part of that. Do you remember what I'm talking about?”
“Yes.”
“OK. I'm going to have a talk with the nursing staff, and remind them to only touch you when they absolutely have to. If anything else happens, I want you to come straight to me.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Now I don't think that we need to let this incident affect your release. I'm going to write it up as a misunderstanding. In the future, if anyone touches you in a way that you don't like, just politely ask them to stop. You have the right to your personal space, just like any other man.”
“OK, Doctor.”
“Good. Now I'm still working on getting you on the path to release. The board is giving me a hassle about it, and I'm not sure why. But, I'll get to the bottom of it, and we are going to get you out of here.
“You will still be around to help me, right Doctor?”
“Of course, Robert, I'll help you through the transition, and I'll always be available to you should you need any guidance.”
Robert sat silently for some time, looking down at his own hands. Eventually he popped his head back up to look at the man across from him. “Doctor,” he began, hesitantly, “are you my friend?”
Dr. Willis sat back in his chair and looked Robert in the eye.
“I'll always be your doctor first and foremost. It's my job to see that you succeed in life. But, more than just my job, I genuinely want to help you Robert. I care about you and how you're coping. That makes me your friend. That's really all a friend is when you boil it down–someone you can talk to that cares enough to listen. I am your friend, Robert, and in time, you will have plenty more.”
Robert smiled. It was a normal, everyday smile. The kind that people get throughout the day when things go well, or something is amusing. A genuine look of happiness that people get all the time.
It was Robert's first.
FORTY THREE
Shelly didn't know why Robert had insisted that they stop. She told him that the place wasn't open, but he insisted, and after last night, she wasn't going to protest too loudly. They were parked in the vast, and empty, lot at the site of the Wisconsin state fair.
She leaned against the car as Robert wandered along the boarded up front entrance.
He said, “I remember this place. I want to see it again.”
“Well that's fine, but like I told you before, it's closed. Notice the boards.”
Robert reached up to one of the boards covering one of the front ticket booths, and with a quick yank, removed it. Moments later, he was climbing into the booth and opening a door that lead to the rest of the fair grounds.
Shelly had no choice but to follow him, but as Robert's attention was elsewhere, she grabbed the Taser she kept in her bag and stashed it in the waist of her jeans.
They walked slowly through the dirt paths that meandered between closed game booths and dirty animal pens. Her shoes were getting filthy; as recent rains had made puddles throughout. The smell of pig shit had not dissipated much since the fair's closing, and Shelly held her hand to her nose. The smell didn't seem to affect Robert at all, as he investigated nearly every nook he could find before finally pointing to something ahead of him.
“There, that's where I want to go.” He pointed in the direction of a funhouse located at the back of the grounds. He sped up, and as she struggled to keep up with him, she slipped and fell ass first in a large mud puddle. In a strange showing of consideration, Robert came back and picked her up out the mud. She thanked him, and started walking, but it wasn't long before he rushed past her again, his long strides dwarfing her own. He had not responded to her thanks, but did she really expect him to?
Though slightly peeling, the funhouse was vividly painted with all manner of ghoul and ghost. A large plaster clown head with sharp teeth hung above the entrance, and the area in front of the building was covered with fake gravestones and old wooden fencing.
Attached to the right of the funhouse was another building with the words Freak Show! along the side. Painted on the building was a bearded woman sitting on the shoulders of a large, reptilian man. The paint on this part of the building was peeling more than the others, and the walls were crusted with dirt.
To the left of the funhouse was a house of mirrors. Its façade was painted in mostly blacks and purples. There was a spiral painted across the entire front, and in yellow letters and spooky font, was written the words, Gaze into the Abyss!
This was where Robert headed.
Each building was boarded up, but just as he did with the fair entrance, he made short work of the boards on the mirror house. The door behind the boards was padlocked and proved a little more difficult. Robert searched and found a rusty steel pipe, smashed the lock, and opened the door.
Inside was blacker than black, and gazing into the abyss didn't seem too far off in description. Robert stepped inside, and after a moment, a light switched on. Shelly was amazed that the fairgrounds still had power. Robert beckoned her inside.
They stood in a small room with another door in front of them and a thin staircase to the left. The door had another padlock, but this one wasn't locked. Robert reached up, removed the lock, and pushed the door open.
“Go in there,” he said.
“What? No, I don't think so.”
“Go. There is a light switch on the right wall.”
She had no idea how he would have that information, and stepping into the darkness with Robert behind her wasn't her idea of smart.
He took a step back from the door and motioned her to it.
She had gotten herself stuck in another impossible situation. Visions of the night they met filled her thoughts, but she shook them lose. She knew that Robert wasn't going to let her leave, so her only option was to move forw
ard. He needed her, she reminded herself. However, if she was wrong, and if she was quick, she could get in, find the light, and have her Taser in hand before he could try anything.
Again, he told her to go inside.
“OK, but I thought you wanted to get to your family,” she said in a last ditch effort.
“Soon. Very soon,” he responded.
Faced with no other viable option, Shelly moved quickly through the darkened doorway. She turned to the right and immediately grabbed for the Taser at her waist, but there was nothing there. She patted all around her jeans, and found nothing but denim.
Swiftly, she found the right wall, hoping that the promise of a light switch wasn't a lie.
It was there. Sliding her hand across the wall her fingers eventually found the switch and flipped it. As the lights turned on in the hall of mirrors, she spun around expecting Robert to be on her, but she was alone. Standing before her was a dozen or so reflections of herself, and she could see the fear on her own face everywhere she looked. She checked her waistline again, but still found no stun gun.
The mud. It fell in the mud.
Then the door slammed shut and she heard the click of the padlock. She went to the door and tried it, knowing there was no hope that it would open. She slammed her body into it as hard as she could, pleading to the man on the other side.
He didn't respond.
* * *
He ascended the stairs as the woman banged on the door behind him. In the blackness at the top of the stairs was another room, and he felt around in the dark until he found the old oil lamp. It was just where he remembered it would be. He turned the small knob and the lamp lit up the room. Several lockers lined one side, and a desk with a control panel was on the opposite. In the corner were several small iron steps that led to the top of a large metal cage that encompassed the whole of the mirrored hall.
He sat down in the desk chair, the lamp sitting in his lap. As he watched the fire flicker across the walls, he remembered his childhood.
His parents had brought him to this place, and he had wandered away, as he usually did. A gnarled old man had been standing outside the house of mirrors. When he had showed interest, the man showed him how the hall worked. It was a memory that he had lost until the moment he saw the Fair's sign by the highway.
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