by Dan Jolley
He smiled a little sheepishly. “Along the same lines...authenticity and such...my, ah, name isn’t really Tim.”
Janey didn’t know what to say. She finally managed, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s Tarik. It means ‘Morning Star,’ among other things. Mom—my step-mom—her boss, when I was a boy, was named Tim, and I wanted to be just like him. So I told all my friends to call me Tim, and, well, it just sort of stuck. Even Mom calls me Tim now. Most of the time.”
Janey shrugged slightly. “I think Tarik is a beautiful name.”
He smiled lopsidedly. “Yeah...I’m okay with it too, now that I’m grown. But I’m too used to Tim to switch back.”
Janey hesitated. Glanced around at the restaurant and back to him. “I like this place. Authentic or not, I like it. I’m glad you wanted to come here.”
“Good.”
At her suggestion they split the bill. In the parking lot, as Tim waited for her to unlock the passenger-side door, he said, “Do you really want to go to the movie?”
Janey took a half step backward. “Don’t you?”
“Well...no, not really. Look, when you go to movies you sit for an hour and a half and don’t say anything. And I was thinking, to begin with, that that would be okay, ’cause I wasn’t sure how this was going to go. But as it turns out, I really enjoy talking to you. So no, I don’t really want to go to the movie.”
Janey shrugged. “Okay. But I’ve got to tell you, as a by-product of not going on any dates for two years, I’m clueless as to what there is to do around here. I mean, as far as social activity goes. What do you have in mind?”
Tim grinned again, his flawless white teeth flashing. “I love the way you talk.” While Janey tried to think of a response to that, Tim said, “C’mon, I’ve got an idea.”
* * *
Tim said, “Oh, good, there’s a parking place.”
Janey swerved the Civic into an empty slot in a six-space parking lot that faced a circular area of well-kept, very green grass. Nestled between a post office and a long, gently sloping embankment covered in kudzu, the clearing managed to preserve a certain pastoral serenity, if one could overlook the discarded beer cans and fast food wrappers littering the parking area. A white wooden post rose from the ground at the far edge of the pavement, and looked as though it might have once supported a sign, but it ended in worn splinters after four feet.
“Welcome to Anonymous Park,” Tim said as Janey got out of the car.
“I never knew this was here,” she said, gazing at the statue that rose from the grass in the middle of the clearing.
“Not many people notice it. That’s what makes it so cool. C’mon.”
He took her arm, a very cordial gesture, and guided her out onto the grass, which felt springy and soft under her feet.
In the clearing’s center stood a fifteen-foot-high bronze man dressed in Revolution-era clothes, holding a massive book under his left arm and gesturing passionately with his right hand. Thoroughly imposing, he stood on a bronze rock partially overgrown with vines. Janey noticed a square indentation in the rock directly below the tips of his shoes; a plaque had once rested there, Janey guessed, but now the space was empty. Three low concrete benches surrounded the statue, and Tim dropped onto one of them and patted the space beside him. She sat down slowly.
“Isn’t he great?” Tim asked, waving at the statue.
“Yeah.” Janey didn’t quite know what to think about it. “Who is he?”
“I have no idea! That’s why I call this place ‘Anonymous Park.’ I found it a couple of years ago, and neither the sign nor the plaque was here then either.” He craned his head to look up at the massive bronze face. “I heard somewhere he might be Francis Bacon. Who knows? He’s pretty awesome, though.”
Janey tried to think of some kind of comment concerning the statue that wouldn’t sound like total garbage, and realized Tim had moved slightly closer to her. She looked over at him and, before she could change her own mind, put one hand to his face, quickly caressed his cheek, and kissed him.
It was brief, but there was heat in it, and as soon as their lips parted Janey wanted to disappear. Jump up and run away. She felt split down the middle, as one side of her desperately wanted to touch him again, while the other side jammed a pitchfork of guilt into her stomach.
Tim gave her that smile that continued to kick her in the ribs. She didn’t scoot away from him, but instead swiveled on the bench and pulled her knees up to her chest. It was an elegant way to stay close to him while establishing a sort of barrier.
Tim said, “I...wasn’t expecting that.”
Janey rested her forehead on her knees for a second. “I don’t think I was either.”
She tried to calm her breathing and her heartbeat, and hoped none of her sudden panic came through on her face when she raised it again. “It’s hard work. This being-an-average-human thing.”
Tim grinned again, and as he did Janey caught another trace of his after-shave. He said, “I don’t think there’s a single average thing about you.”
Janey blushed deeply.
The two of them sat on the concrete bench and talked, under the watchful eye of the bronze statesman, until night fell and the cicadas began their determined droning. They talked about movies, and religion, and touched briefly on national politics. They discussed the space program, and whether they liked green or blue glass bottles better, and what their favorite rides at Disney World were, and the pets they’d had as children.
Somewhere along the way Janey realized she was falling in love with him, and it felt like dying, and she couldn’t stop it.
* * *
Tim felt adrift, somewhere far away and warm and comforting.
Objective, objective, stay objective.
Tracing squiggly patterns on Janey’s shoulder with one finger, he drew in a deep breath and said, “Okay...here’s a hot-button topic. What do you think about gun control? For or against?”
Janey grimaced, and didn’t answer immediately. “I’m hesitant to say. How do you feel about it?”
“No, no, I asked you first.”
“Well, I’m fine with guns, honestly. It’s those hard little pieces of metal they fire that I have a problem with.”
“Come on, I’m serious.”
Janey tried for a smile. “So am I, actually. …You realize you’re handing me a soapbox?”
“I like tall women. Climb on up.”
She sighed, and ducked her head. “I just…it’s…”
Janey fell silent. Her jaw clenched tight. The air around them turned hot—stifling—and a sudden fear Tim couldn’t explain crushed his lungs. What the hell?
She turned away, breathing heavily.
“Janey…I…”
Janey slumped forward and put her face in her hands, and a cool breeze swept away the strange, oppressing heat as quickly as it had appeared. It took with it the baffling fear, leaving Tim trembling from what now seemed to be pointless adrenaline.
What the hell just happened? He tried his best to think straight.
Janey exhaled, long and slow.
“Tim…could we just not talk about it?”
Normal! Act normal! No nervous breakdowns!
“Of course.” Tim took a few deep breaths and, once the trembling stopped, he put a hand on her back. “I shouldn’t have pushed.” When she didn’t pull away, he lightly scratched the area between her shoulder blades, and when she still didn’t pull away, he added, “Think there’s any way we could get back to a, uh, a more light-hearted tone?”
Janey straightened up and met his gaze, and before he could stop himself he said, “My God your eyes are gorgeous.”
She closed her eyes, and her cheeks turned a vivid pink. Finally, a slow grin crept onto her lips. “I could go for some dessert. You know any good dessert places around
here?”
* * *
Janey hadn’t thought she could feel like this again.
Driving back to the LaCroix, they stopped at a small ice cream shop—she got two scoops of strawberry in a waffle cone, he got a cup of orange sherbet—and both of them had just finished when Janey parked the Civic in apartment 9C’s reserved spot.
She turned to Tim. He set his cup on the dashboard, and leaned over and kissed her. His lips and tongue were cool, and tasted like oranges, and she made a small sound in her throat as they kissed, not quite a moan. She could tell he liked that, and she felt the pitchfork twist.
After their lips parted, Janey sighed and unhooked her seat belt.
“I guess we should go in,” she said softly.
On the way into the building Tim quietly took her hand, and Janey didn’t know if her feet would stay on the ground or not.
Inside, Janey followed Tim past the elevators to the door of his apartment. He pulled his keys from a pocket and unlocked the door, and turned to her before he opened it.
“Janey... I’ve had a great time tonight. Would you...like to come in? For a while?”
He touched her side. Very lightly.
Oh God. Oh God. There’d been nothing...no one since Adam, and she couldn’t...she just couldn’t...
The pitchfork tore into her and the wound filled with salt.
“I, uh, I can’t, really, I...”
Tim’s forehead wrinkled. She was blowing this, and knew it, and she backpedaled a few steps anyway. “I’d like to, really, but I can’t, um, I have to go. I, uh, I had a really good time tonight too, though.” Stupid, stupid, that sounded patronizing, dammit!
His eyebrows drew together. “Oh...okay. So, do you want to text me? …Just wait till we run into each other in the hall again?”
Janey forced herself forward, took his hands in hers. “Tim, you’re great, you really are, and—I’m sorry, I know I must seem like a lunatic, I just...I do want to see you again. Maybe...maybe tomorrow? I’ll come by the office?”
“Sure. If you want.” Pain filled her eyes, her face, and Tim’s expression softened. “Janey, are you okay? Do you want to talk about this? Whatever it is that’s bothering you?”
She made a tortured sound. “Yes. Yes I do. But...not...not right now. Not yet. I’m sorry.”
She released his hands and turned and moved down the hallway, through the glass doors, into the darkness outside.
* * *
Just inside his apartment, Tim leaned against the door and ran his tongue over his lips. He could still taste her. Strawberries. Aloud he said, “Well. That was surreal.”
No it wasn’t.
If this bat-shit insane idea turns out to be right…
It would all line up perfectly.
A new feeling, an icy thrill rippled through him. Objectively, intellectually, he called himself a reckless dumbass, and knew he ought to promise himself he’d stay as far away from Janey Sinclair as possible.
But he knew he wouldn’t.
What else did Grandma say? “Try your best to minimize the crazy in your life?”
Tim took a deep breath.
So this is what the inside of the rabbit hole looks like.
The taste of her danced across his tongue. He savored it.
CHAPTER NINE
Nathan Pittman made the turn out of his subdivision and drove away from his home, slowly and more or less aimlessly. He liked to drive at night, by himself. It helped him clear his thoughts.
Nathan owned a 2000 Grand Am, originally black, now black with a red driver’s side door and a white left front quarter panel. Nathan referred to the car as “Frankie.”
He pulled into a Jiffy Mart two miles from his house and parked next to the self-service pumps, but kept the car running for a couple of minutes and remained in the seat, eyes closed. The last few seconds of an ancient grunge metal song ground its way out of the custom-installed speakers. When the song ended, Nathan shut off the car and got out.
The night had turned foggy and cool, almost cold; the Georgia fall was coming in early this year. Nathan unscrewed the gas cap, but dropped it, and went down to one knee to grab the cap where it had rolled under the car.
As he straightened back up—at the moment his eyes rose above Frankie’s rear window frame—something inside the store caught his attention. He froze in place and stared through the glass.
Nathan had good eyes. Years before, as a Boy Scout, he’d gone for a physical before a trip to summer camp. The technician administering the vision test actually got excited by Nathan’s results and made him repeat the procedure.
“You’ve got good eyes, man,” the tech finally said, respectfully. “Take care of them.”
Now those eyes picked out a movement inside the store, something that shouldn’t be there, and Nathan’s heart began whirring in his chest.
A tall, gaunt man in a camouflage hunting jacket and a red toboggan cap stood at the counter opposite the clerk, a twenty-year-old girl named Cindy. Nathan was almost positive he had seen a knife in the man’s hand.
When he realized he was doing nothing but crouching and staring, Nathan tried to look busy. He bent down behind the car and pretended to do something with the rear tire, but he kept his head craned back and watched the store through the car windows.
Nathan knew the clerk’s name was Cindy only because he’d read her name tag one of the other times he’d stopped there for gas. She was a slender, pretty blonde girl, a bit too heavy on the make-up, maybe, but still sort of attractive. Not that she’d shown any interest in him at all. He watched intensely, and didn’t blink even when his eyes began to burn. He saw Cindy’s shoulders move as she handed something to the man at the counter. Cigarettes? A magazine? A box of condoms? Nathan kept watching, and saw her give him something else. Again. And then again.
The man glanced out the window, at the Grand Am. It occurred to Nathan that his car was the only one there, so the man must have been looking at him. As he watched, the man gestured, and light flashed off the blade of a knife. Clear as day.
This is it! Much sooner than he’d expected, but here it was. He focused on slowing his breathing as he opened the driver’s-side door and pulled out his book bag. He slung it over one shoulder and walked in what he hoped was a convincingly casual manner around the side of the store, to the restrooms. He didn’t turn his head to look in the window on his way past, but he could see the man there out of the corner of his eye.
When he got around to the side of the building, Nathan pressed his back to the white-painted cinderblock wall and unzipped his bookbag with shaky hands.
Nathan went over the moves in his head as he pulled the mask out. The man inside was most likely not a trained knife fighter, and would come at him slashing. He envisioned the man, arm raised high, bringing the knife down toward his face.
Nathan rolled the nylon hood up, tugged the mask down as far as his eyebrows, remembered his rings and stopped to take them out.
He knew the moves. He’d rehearsed them time and again at the dojo, with a partner and a practice knife. The mask was smooth and cool on his skin as he made some final adjustments, and it didn’t impair his vision at all. Looking down, he took in his combat boots, black jeans, black T-shirt and blue-and-red plaid overshirt, and decided he looked like a high school student with a funny mask on. Pulling off the overshirt helped; he was all in black now. Not gray—not like the Widow. But it would do. Goosebumps rose on Nathan’s arms in a sudden chill, and he heard the door of the store open, and his heartbeat kicked all the cold out of him.
Nathan came around the corner and dropped into stance, his eyes fixed on the tall man, who still stood half in and half out of the store, holding a large brown paper bag. A glance confirmed Nathan’s suspicions; a couple of twenties stuck out of the bag, one from the top and one through a two-inch tear in its si
de.
The man met Nathan’s eyes—
—and Nathan couldn’t decide what to do.
For an awful moment he expected the man to laugh at him, immediately recognize him as a skinny teenager in a weird mask. The tall man’s mouth did open, but Nathan didn’t want to hear anything he might have to say, and he screamed, “That’s it, dirtbag, I’m taking you down!” and charged.
In the next two seconds, as he ran, a moment of stunning clarity came over him. He wasn’t a masked crime fighter. He was just a high school student, nothing more. He had no business wearing a stupid Halloween mask, shouting bad comic book dialogue. He had no business pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
The realization came too late. The tall man pulled a revolver out of his jacket and shot Nathan three times in the chest.
* * *
Tim held open the door of the club for Janey. She flashed him an appreciative smile as she dug in her purse for her wallet. Their second date. She hadn’t scared him away with that ridiculous display outside his apartment after all.
They both showed their IDs at the door, paid the cover charge and walked in. The darkened interior had already half-filled with smoke. It consisted of one large, square room, with a raised stage against the wall opposite the door, and full bars on both the left and right walls. Tables were scattered across the floor, leaving a space open in front of the stage for dancing, and plush chairs and couches tucked themselves into the corners. There were only a half-dozen other people there. The show wouldn’t start for another twenty minutes, and even then the crowd would most likely be small for the opening act. Canned music blared over the PA system, and Janey had to raise her voice.
“Do you want to sit down? Or get something to drink?”
Tim motioned with his head toward the bar, and Janey followed him.
The bartender was a whip-thin blonde in her mid-twenties whose eyes slid past Janey to examine Tim boldly. Tim didn’t wait to be asked what he wanted.
“Jim Beam and Coke.” The bartender nodded and looked back to Janey, expectantly.