by H. D. Gordon
Russell and the boys helped her clean up after dinner, and before she knew it, it was time to put the boys to bed. It was a school night for all of them. Davis, of course, would be going to UMMS with her tomorrow, and Dominic had preschool. Mina asked Russ to stay awhile longer, and he seemed more than happy to do so.
After the boys had fallen asleep, both of them curled up and peaceful in their beds, Mina kissed them both on their foreheads and thanked God for them. Sure, they could be pains in ass, but they were hers, and she wouldn’t have traded them for the world.
Russell was waiting for her in the living room. She smiled when she saw him. He was truly an exquisite man, a gentleman, and easy on the eyes, too. Mina couldn’t believe how lucky she was.
When she took a seat next to Russ on the couch, he put a strong and comforting arm around her shoulder and held her close. Mina rested her head on him and sighed at how right it felt to be in his arms.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m not sure if I said it before, but thank you again anyway.”
Russell kissed her forehead. “It’s no problem at all. You’ve got two great boys. And you’re not too bad yourself,” he said, giving her a slanted smile.
Mina gave a sly grin. “Oh, I don’t know, sometimes I’m bad.”
He looked down at her, his slanted smile still present, but intensity smoldering behind his eyes. “Is that so?” he asked.
She nodded, and he took her face between his hands and kissed her. And it was great.
At some point, she invited him into her bedroom, and that was great too. As Mina drifted into a deep and peaceful sleep, his strong arms wrapped protectively around her, she thought to herself that this was a great way to spend a Sunday. Or any day, for that matter.
It was a night during which one could not find the care to think about the worries of tomorrow.
And, yes, it was a good way to spend the Sunday, indeed.
Chapter Forty-Two
John
While Mina was putting her children to bed and kissing them goodnight, John stood in front of the long mirror that hung from his bedroom closet. His parents were already in bed, but he was too excited to even sit down, let alone sleep. Tomorrow he would see his Jodie again, even if only once. He had decided it didn’t matter what happened then. At least seeing her one last time, he might be able to erase his last image of her crying and screaming his name as her father dragged her into the old house and shut the door forever. If he could just get rid of that image, that would be enough. Maybe he could move on then, cut his hair, start fresh. Or maybe—he was afraid to even consider it—but maybe she was coming to return his love. It was a possibility, even if it was far-fetched.
He had rummaged through his closet and decided on a t-shirt with a button-up gray sweater and gray slacks for tomorrow. It was the nicest outfit he owned, even if it was from the thrift shop around the corner. It wouldn’t matter anyway. His Jodie had never been the judgmental type.
So, as Mina was kissing her kids and cozying up to a fine man named Russell, John stood in front of his long mirror in nothing but his tightie-whities and a pair of orange socks. His long black hair hung all the way down his back, and his long fingernails hung at his sides. Music with no lyrics, just sounds of the wind and whistles and small instruments, played lowly from his iPod, and John swayed and gyrated in some sort of happy love-dance as he thought on and on about the return of the lost-girl he loved.
He watched himself in the mirror, but instead of seeing his gangly body and flowing hair sway and roll, he saw his Jodie smiling back at him. John couldn’t think of a time when he had been happier or more excited.
It was one of those days when the promises of tomorrow are so great that they wipe worries and fears right out of existence.
And it was a good way to spend a Sunday. Despite the fact that tomorrows are notorious for not living up to their promises, it was still a good way to spend a Sunday.
Chapter Forty-Three
Claire
While John gyrated, Claire sat on the couch in her apartment and stared at the television screen without really seeing anything on it. She had eaten nothing but junk food and ice cream all day. And somehow that was okay. Claire didn’t consciously know it, but it was sort of a “last meal” kind of thing. She had always had a major sweet tooth, but she normally avoided the sugar to keep her figure. Today she indulged her cravings. Because…why not?
The noise of the television was nothing more than a low drone in Claire’s ears. She had gone through several stages of awful feelings today. First the heartache, as she thought over and over again about how the father of this thing in her belly was going to marry some stupid whore Claire used to consider a friend. She had cried and cried and screamed into her snotty-tear-soaked pillow until her throat ached and her nose clogged. Next the anger, when Claire seriously considered calling up the little whore and telling her about how her fiancé’s child was growing inside of Claire. Claire just bet that Brad hadn’t told the little bitch about that. She just bet. And now, numbness. She preferred this stage over the others. She had cried all the tears she had to cry and screamed all the curses she could scream, and after releasing all that poison, she realized it had been the only thing inside of her. Now she was just an empty, senseless shell. And numb, so very numb.
Behind her, the door to the apartment opened.
Looking tired but happy, Nikki tossed her suitcase and purse aside and came to sit beside her sister on the couch.
“How’d it go?” Claire asked.
“It was so amazing!” Nikki said.
Claire looked over at her sister. Nikki was practically glowing. For some reason, this deepened Claire’s numbness.
“Three different agents asked to see my manuscript! Not only that, the keynote speaker asked to see it, too! I’m going to do some final edits and send it out. I just know that once they read it, they’re going to love it.”
Claire could feel the smile on her face stretching her lips upward, but that void was still behind her eyes. Nikki stared at her for a moment, worry sweeping the excited expression right off her face.
“What’s wrong?” Nikki asked.
To her credit, Claire took a small amount of time to think before answering. Something inside her knew that if she was ever going to back down from the ledge, this was her last chance. If she was going to let Nikki steady the plank under her shaky feet, now was the time to do it. Claire tried for a moment to remember how she had felt last night, when she had all but decided to spill the beans to her sister, release the poisonous secrets that had brought her to this final state. But, the poison had already been spilled, and Nikki had missed it. Claire made her final decision. The only decision an empty shell like her could have made. And surprisingly, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders as her resolve grew strong and certain.
Claire smiled. “Nothing,” she said. “Tell me more about the conference.”
After only another moment’s hesitation, Nikki did. She was too excited and bubbling over to notice that her sister’s nods and smiles were just movements, that her I’m-so-happy-for-you’s and congratulations were just words.
It was one of those days when you take comfort in the belief that things could not get any worse—when you think to yourself that this is the most pain you will ever feel, and soon it would be over anyway.
But Claire, so young and naïve and green, was about to learn an important life lesson.
Things could always get worse. Always.
Chapter Forty-Four
Joe
I climbed the steps to my apartment, sparing one last look at Michael in his car. I wondered briefly what he thought about all the things that had happened today, and what he thought about the last stupid comment I had just made to him about when he would see me again.
“That, even I don’t know.”
It was a reckless thing to have said to him. Really, though, what did it matter? It’s not like Michael was going to jump straig
ht to the conclusion that I was clairvoyant. He may think I’m strange, but again, who cared? Well, me, I guess. I cared. I wanted him to like me, but the harsh reality was that if he couldn’t accept my strangeness, then we were wasting our time anyway. Also, there was tomorrow to contend with. If things went poorly tomorrow, I wouldn’t have anything left to worry about. I would be dead.
Morbid thoughts, I know, but legitimate nonetheless. I paused when I reached the landing that served Mr. Landry’s apartment and my own. I felt drained and tired, but I was under no delusion that I would be able to get any sleep and I was anxious to hear what the old man had to say. Better to get it out of the way. I had other plans to make, unless I wanted to improvise, which I didn’t.
I knocked on his door twice, the sound of my fist small and timid against the wood. I was suddenly overwhelmingly nervous, almost hoping that Mr. Landry wouldn’t hear my knocks. I waited. I counted to ten in my head. Just as I was about to turn away and head into my own apartment, the door in front of me swung open.
“Joe,” Mr. Landry said. He wore a clean pair of slacks and a short-sleeve button-up shirt tucked into his pants. He was still wearing his loafers. I wondered if he ever wore more casual attire.
“Huh-how’s it guh-guh-going, sir?” I asked, my stutter growing stronger as my heart increased its pace. Mr. Landry had that same strange look on his face. The one I hadn’t been able to place. I wasn’t sure I liked it.
“Just fine,” he said. “Come on, come on in. Don’t want to be cooling the whole neighborhood.”
Mr. Landry left the door open and sat down at his kitchen table. I stepped in, shut the door behind me, and joined him at the table. For a long moment, neither of us said a word. We just stared at each other, and I began to grow more and more nervous. I could think of nothing to say.
Finally, just before I was about to stand up and leave, Mr. Landry said, “I feel like I owe you…well, a lot for the way you’ve helped me out over the years.”
I waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s no puh-problem, sir,” I said. “I duh-duh-don’t mind the wuh-wuh-work at the shop—”
“That ain’t what I’m talking about and you know it,” Mr. Landry said, cutting me off. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the kitchen table. “I’m gonna be straight with you, because I don’t really know no other way to be, and we both know that you have helped me out on many occasions that have nothing to do with the shop. Hell, just the other day you saved me from a spill down them stairs, didn’t you?” He stopped and gave me a deadpan stare. I shifted in my seat, my thoughts flying in a million different frenzied directions. How much did this old man know?
“So,” he said. “Are we at an agreement about how you’ve helped me out in the past?”
I nodded, my hands clenching into nervous fists.
“Okay, then. Like I said, I feel I owe you, and so as much as I don’t like getting involved in other people’s business, I can’t sit by knowing I can help you and not doing it.”
I swallowed. “S-s-sir, I-I-I-I duh-don’t understand.”
Mr. Landry sighed and stood up. “Hold on a second. I’ll be right back,” he said, and grabbed his cane from where it leaned against the wall. He left the kitchen and returned a few very long minutes later holding a blue plastic case. He set in on the table in front of me.
I looked up at him, asking the question with my expression.
Mr. Landry resumed his seat at the table across from me. “It’s a gun,” he said. “The first gun I ever owned, actually, and it doesn’t have any serial numbers. I got it a long time ago. It’s a forty caliber Smith and Wesson. The kick ain’t too bad, and it’s easy to fire. It’ll get the job done.”
I stared at the weapon on the table in front of me. Then I stared at Mr. Landry. What the hell was going on here?
Mr. Landry smiled crookedly at my expression. “All right,” he said, placing a hand over the blue case. “I know you have a lot of questions, and much as I’d like to avoid them, I suppose I should answer a few. But time is short, Joe. I know you know this, and there are other matters that need tendin’ to, so go on and ask them.
I opened my mouth, the first question popping into my head easily.
Mr. Landry held up his hand before I could get a word out. “I’m not so different from you. I’m…special, you might say,” he said. Before I could ask what that meant, he answered, “Well, you got your troubles and I got mine.”
I frowned, my heart thumping out of my chest. Seeing that I needed him to elaborate, Mr. Landry did. Despite the fact that in hindsight I could see it so clearly, I wasn’t expecting what he said next.
He sighed, and the words looked almost painful to say. I understood completely.
“Well,” he said, “you see things before they happen, and I hear people’s thoughts. Fucked up world, ain’t it?”
I’m not sure which one shocked me more, Mr. Landry’s admission, or his use of a curse word. You would think being the way I am, I would have no trouble accepting the possibility of a telepath, but that was not really the case. For what seemed like several long moments, Mr. Landry said nothing, but instead just let me absorb what he had told me. When I could finally think straight, I thought: So I don’t have to talk and you can hear me?
I wasn’t truly expecting an answer, but I got one.
“No you don’t need to say nothing out loud—probably make it easier. But I want you to know that I do my best to stay out of your head, and everybody else’s for that matter, as much I can. Most of the time I manage it, but with the thoughts and images you been projecting these last few days, I couldn’t help but pick up bits and pieces of it. I apologize for that.”
All sorts of things were flying through my head. If Mr. Landry was telling the truth, that meant he knew everything. Amazingly, I felt a weight fall off my shoulders, and I found myself smiling at the same time as a tear escaped my eye. I wasn’t alone. I can’t describe how beautiful that thought was.
I’m not alone. I’m not the only one.
“No, you ain’t the only one,” Mr. Landry said, and he patted my hand. A cough wracked his body, and he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth. When he was finished, he said, “I’ma be straight with you, Joe. You’re in some kind of pickle. I can understand that, because my gift—if that’s what you wanna call it—has got me into some messes in my own day. I wish I could help you more, but Ima old man now, and I can help you, but you gotta understand that you’ll be the triggerman.” He stopped and studied me. “You pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?”
I nodded.
“Good. Then I’ll help you, because this thing you’re up against is bad. Like I said, I only picked up bits and pieces of it, so I need you to tell me what you know. You can just think it in your head if that’s easier.”
It was definitely easier. My thoughts are not impaired like my speech.
A psychopath is going to shoot up UMMS. Tomorrow, I think. I don’t know for sure, but I just have a strong feeling that it’s tomorrow. A lot of people are going to die if I don’t stop him. I have a sketch in my apartment that I drew that shows the scene. You want me to get it?
Mr. Landry shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. I seen a lot of terrible scenes when I was on tour. I ain’t got the stomach for the stuff no more. I don’t even like gory movies.”
I understand. Sorry about that, sir.
He waved a hand in dismissal. “Well, I won’t even ask if you’ve considered calling the police. If you’re like me you won’t risk them finding out about you, which is good by the way.” He leaned forward again on the table, his voice old and wise and serious. “If you never remember anything I tell you, remember this: there are people out there who would love to get their hands on someone with your ability. That paranoid, gut instinct you feel about keeping your secret, it’s there for a reason. You understand, Joe?”
I nodded. Yes, sir. I understand, but I won’t lie to you, you’re scaring the spit out of
me.
“Ah, well, never mind all that for now. First things first. You know how to fire a gun?”
Yes, sir. I think so. My father taught me how to shoot his when I was a kid, but that was a long time ago. All I remember about the gun was that it was a Sig Sauer. I was a pretty good shot with it, though.
“Well, at least that sonofabitch did something right,” Mr. Landry mumbled. Then he cleared his throat. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I’ve known you for some time now, and even with my control I’ve picked up some things I ain’t got no business picking up.” He shrugged. “Story of my damn life.”
It’s all right. I understand, sir.
“Yeah, suppose you would.” He held out a hand to me. “This’ll go faster if you just let me go in and see for myself everything that you know, so I can know what we’re up against. But if you prefer, if that makes you uncomfortable, I understand, and I’ll listen if you just want to recount it all.”
I thought about this a moment, and came to the conclusion that this wouldn’t bother me. After all, I’ve never wanted to be judged for the way I am, so how could I shy away from Mr. Landry’s strange capability? I wouldn’t. Also, hearing him say what we’re up against had comforted me greatly. I reached out and took his hand.
I wasn’t expecting anything, and that’s what I got. My hand didn’t tingle where he touched me, and I couldn’t feel him rummaging around in my head. I will admit that it was a bit unsettling, however, to know that someone else was floating around in your thoughts. I felt a pang of sympathy for him then. I didn’t know whose curse was worse—mine, or Mr. Landry’s.
He released my hand and sat back. “Oh, I’d say we’re about even. Though I gotta admit, I wouldn’t want to have your gift right now. This man you’re after is trouble. He means bad. I couldn’t hear his thoughts, but I saw the man you saw at your school today in your memory of him, and even from far off, I’d say your instincts are right on key. I think that’s him.”