Before The Cure (Book 1): Before The Cure

by Gould, Deirdre

  Contents

  Before the Cure

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  PART ONE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  Thank you!

  Other Books

  Before the Cure

  Deirdre Gould

  Before the Cure

  Copyright 2020 Deirdre Gould

  All rights are reserved to the author. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For my cousin Brian, who always makes me think harder about the world of After the Cure and keeps me excited to write in it and for my friend Laura, who always kicked me under the table for my own good.

  Special thanks to Neil Newton, Randi J., Cody S., Shay V., Harlain T. For letting me use and abuse their names and to Jon F. For lending me “bunnypop” and Sonja C. For lending me Dante

  And to Vicki M., Wendy T., Laura H., Cody S., Michael G., Marie F., Bronwen S., Sonja C., Brian B., Rosalina S., Mark R., Jessica B., Stacy R., Gina P., Adrienne L., Donna L., Angela W., Aletia M. and always my sister, Siobhan. You fixed my timeline, prevented my characters from sounding petty, told me when I was giving too much away too early, caught my typos and kept me sane. You’re all wonderful and I could not do this without you!

  PART ONE

  1

  Furbish Park was massive and Neil hadn’t been willing to pay the outrageous parking fee to get them closer to the parade muster point. So he and Randi hurried across the lightly wooded west end, the sun barely pinking the horizon. Plumes of breath puffed from them both and the grass crunched under his boots. Neil hadn’t been paying attention, too focused on getting them across the park to take note of their surroundings. So it startled him when the man on the bench rose from the beneath the tattered olive sleeping bag he’d been huddled under. He flashed Randi a lopsided, snaggletooth smile. Neil instinctively jerked his daughter’s hand, pulling the little girl closer.

  “Won’t hurt cha,” the man mumbled, still smiling. His eyes were glassy and he swayed in place. Neil wondered if he were drunk or just still waking up. He glanced at Neil. “Good-mornin’” he offered cautiously.

  Neil gave him a tight nod and flushed, embarrassed by his own uneasiness and a sense of guilt that the man had been forced to sleep on a frigid bench.

  “Awful col’ day for a parade,” said the man, staring at Neil’s gloves. “Good you got her all bundled there.” He pointed toward Randi and Neil thought he meant to close the small distance and touch his daughter’s head. He stepped swiftly sideways, blocking the man’s line of sight with Randi. The homeless man’s smile dropped at the action. He took a step back toward the bench and pulled up the slumped pile of sleeping bag, folding it haphazardly.

  “Sure is,” said Neil. “You have somewhere to go, sir?”

  It took the man a few extra seconds to answer and he blinked blearily before saying, “Oh, ayuh. Shelter’ll reopen at three.” He shoved the sleeping bag into a backpack and picked it up.

  Neil glanced over his shoulder at his daughter. She looked nervously up at him. “It’s so cold. Why’s he got no mittens?” she whispered.

  He heaved an internal sigh and turned back to the man, tugging his gloves from his fingers. “Here,” he said, holding them out. “Too cold to wander around all day without.”

  “What ’bout you?” asked the man. Neil shrugged.

  “I’ve got pockets.”

  The man took the gloves and pulled one slowly over his right hand. He tipped a little too far sideways and lost his balance. Neil caught him by the shoulder.

  “Whoa there,” he said quietly. He pulled his wallet from his pocket, though he knew it was stupid, risky— the whole thing could have been a con to grab the wallet. But the man only stood there, blinking at him, as if stunned. Neil pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Go get yourself some breakfast. I think the Homestead’s open. Warm there. They won’t kick you out if you order something. Kill the time before the shelter opens.” Sober you up and stop you touching any of the other little kids going to the parade, Neil thought sourly, but then felt an immediate wave of shame.

  “Well I— thank you,” said the man. He took the bill with a slight bob of his head. “Happy holidaysss,” he added.

  Neil knew he meant it kindly, but it felt like a slap, comparing what this man’s holidays would likely be to what Neil’s own. “Have a good day,” he said instead.

  The man turned back to the path and stumbled sideways again. Neil reached out for him again and the man tumbled right into his chest. “Take it easy,” Neil said quietly, righting him.

  “Sssomethin’s wrong,” frowned the man.

  “You get something bad last night?” asked Neil. “You need me to call an ambulance?”

  The man shook his head. “No. No ambulance. No police. Be right in a bit. Get sssome coffee…” he began wandering off, still muttering. Neil straightened his coat and watched him for a few seconds before turning to check on his daughter.

  “What’s wrong Dad?” Randi asked him, still folded against his legs.

  “Not a thing, sweetheart. Just helping someone out.”

  Neil’s hand felt itchy where he’d touched the man’s shoulder. He wiped it self-consciously on the side of his coat, knowing it was just a trick of his mind but feeling it anyway. “But you’re scared,” said Randi looking up at him.

  Neil patted her shoulder. “It’s just not a good idea to talk to strangers. Some of them turn out— ok. Like that man. Some of them want to hurt you, though. And you can’t always tell. But it all worked out for the best. Come on now, we don’t want to be late or Mom will find us before you even see the floats. And Brinybrickle will take off without me.” He caught Randi’s hand again. He wanted to move them along, get farther away from the homeless man who was still shambling toward the far road and distract his daughter from more questions about the episode. Randi let him lead her toward the parade route, gawking at the large balloons under their thick nets as they passed. The bands were warming up farther on, stamping their feet and blasting the brass horns just to move some warm air around while they waited. Joan found them near the float, her sad smile already setting him on edge.

  “You wait long?” he asked, trying to brush off the irrational spike of annoyance. This was supposed to be a good day. For Randi. Two years ago we would have been doing this together. Laughing. Joan would be in her favorite jeans and those ridiculously bright rainbow gloves of hers. Not this drab, plastic version with the disappointed smile. He snapped off the thought. It wasn’t his business what she wore. Or how she smiled. Not anymore. This would be easier if
she seemed happy, he realized.

  “No, just walked up from the toy store. Harry’s saving us a spot.”

  He nodded, his own smile tight. “Good choice. I should be back here by one, that’s what the captains told us. It’s a long time to wait. I can meet you at the restaurant, if you’d rather, pick Randi up there.”

  Joan frowned down at her watch. “Here’s probably better. Traffic and all. Our flight to Bermuda is at four and the airport’s going to be awful.”

  “Right. Here’s fine then.” Bermuda. Ten years, she never said a word about Bermuda. Guess summer weekends in Popham’s just not the same, he thought but shoved it quickly aside. Be nice. Randi’s day, remember. He bent to hug his daughter. “Have fun! And don’t forget, you’re supposed to cheer Brinybrickle this year.”

  She laughed. “No Dad, Brinybrickle’s the bad guy. I’m going to boo.” She yanked on his collar to pull his head farther down. “But I’m not booing you. Just a secret cheer,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” he agreed. “Secretly cheer then.”

  Joan smiled and for once, it was a real one. It made his heart ache more than the sad, polite smile did. Wish she’d smile like that more. Wish Harry’d figure out the trick because I’ve forgotten how. He let go of Randi’s hand and waved to Joan as they headed off. His daughter had been too distracted to ask anything more about the homeless man, but now they’d have to stand near the toy store for a while staring at the empty street until the parade started. He didn’t envy Joan having to explain when Randi’s questions inevitably started again. He headed back to the park.

  The Brinybrickle balloon snarled out at him from its net, the black reels of its tethers already lying neatly in a large circle around it. The enormous elf looked more silly than menacing at the moment, its tall pointed ears pressed almost horizontal by the heavy net. A large, too cheerful man in a black and green vest popped up beside Neil as he stared at the balloon.

  “I hope you brought gloves,” he said.

  Neil glanced down at his hands again, wiped the one that had touched the homeless man’s shoulder against his thigh. “Sorry, Evan. I had them but this guy in the park was freezing…”

  Evan shrugged and reached into his pocket. “Shomeone— someone always forgets. I have spares.” He handed Neil a pair of thin black gloves. “Where’s your balloon buddy?”

  “Haven’t seen Dante yet this morning,” said Neil, pulling the gloves on. “But I’m sure he’ll be here.”

  “Get into position, anyway. He can catch up. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before the netsh come off and we have to stabilize Brinybrickle.” Evan shook his head slightly as if he were trying to clear it, then checked off Neil’s name on his little clipboard and moved away to the next arrival. Did everyone get sloshed this morning except me? Neil wondered. It wasn’t something he’d expect from Evan though; the guy was too straight-laced. Probably only had a beer at the company picnic or something like that. But he was weaving a little as he walked away and the slurring was slight but definitely there. It’s the holidays, he told himself. Cut him a little slack. Probably make the whole morning more relaxed anyway.

  Neil wandered over to the net, lifting it slightly to duck beneath and find the cord he’d been assigned to.

  He stamped his feet to knock some warmth into his legs and scanned the distant crowd though he knew Joan and Randi were much too far for him to see.

  “Fucking traffic,” huffed Dante, yanking up the edge of the net with one hand and sloshing coffee from a cup in the other. “Got here as quick as I could.”

  “Uh, Mr. Owens,” called Evan from somewhere nearby “here on the Brinybrickle sssupport team, we need to refrain from colorful language—”

  “Sorry, boss,” said Dante, mock saluting. “I thought with him being, you know, an evil elf bent on destroying Santa that a little f-bomb would be in character.”

  Neil laughed. Evan jogged over and lowered his voice.

  “This is a family parade, Mr. Owens. It’sh an honor to pilot a balloon in the Children’s Parade and one that many others—”

  “Ok, ok,” sighed Dante. “Relax Evan. I get it. I’ll watch my mouth.”

  Evan looked at him skeptically until he noticed one of the other handlers got a cord tangled with someone else’s and he dashed away. Dante just picked up the cord near Neil’s foot. “Would’ve thought he’d be looser when he was tipsy,” he muttered.

  “You noticed too?” asked Neil.

  “Sure. I mean you add a few more s-words in there and— Jesus, you don’t think he’s having a stroke, do you?”

  Neil watched Evan help another handler rewind her reel. “I— don’t think so. I mean you get a headache, right? He’d notice, wouldn’t he?”

  “Not sure. I didn’t smell any alcohol on him, did you?”

  “No. Nothing at all.” It occurred to Neil that he hadn’t smelled any on the homeless man either, and the man’s face had gotten quite close when he’d taken the gloves. “Maybe we should call someone.”

  Dante shook his head. “His face looks ok. Not saggy or anything. That’s supposed to be a sign, right? And he’s making sense. Probably just a little hungover. Chomped a couple breath mints and hoped no one would notice. And he’s cranky this morning.”

  “He’s always cranky.”

  “Maybe that’s why.”

  Neil doubted it. But he watched Evan a few more minutes and he didn’t seem to be acting out of the ordinary. No visible signs of distress. Probably just tired. It’s early and he likely got here hours ago. Man’s entitled to be a little groggy without everyone thinking he’s on the verge of collapse.

  “Is Randi here?” asked Dante.

  “Yeah. Joan and Harry have her near the toy store. She’s a little upset about cheering for Brinybrickle, though.”

  Dante turned halfway around and made a face at the surly expression of the balloon. “Can’t blame her. Look at him. Wouldn’t want to cheer that sourpuss either. Tommy’s down by the far end, near the arcade. We told him to stay put but you know how it is. He and his friends probably won’t even watch until we get there.”

  Evan returned, patting other handlers’ shoulders along the way. “All right Dante, finish up that coffee. The marshal’s about to kick things off and we’ve got to stabilize our star.” He winked at Neil who managed an embarrassed smile. “Oh and— cups in the recycling bin please! No one likesss a litterbug, not even Brinybrickle.” Evan stumbled for a second as he moved away, Neil caught him and righted him. Evan frowned at the pavement, expecting a crack or divot but shrugged and kept heading toward the front when he saw only smooth tar. At the time, Neil didn’t connect it to the homeless man’s stumbling. There’d been nothing on the news yet about the December Plague. And there wouldn’t be for several days more. It would take even longer for the word to spread to the general public about the subtler symptoms. Longer than Neil had, anyway.

  “Littering’s kind of his thing, he throws old broken toys in Santa’s way to slow him down,” muttered Dante under his breath, but he held out the reel to Neil. Dante jogged away, looking for the bins. He loved the parade, Neil knew, despite the complaining. The band started up again somewhere ahead, this time falling into a jazzy, well-rehearsed version of Jingle Bells. Dante sprinted back, fumbling with the net.

  “Relax,” laughed Neil, “We’ve got a dozen balloons in front of us. It’ll be half an hour before we even start moving.”

  2

  A slow rattling noise dragged by them as the net was pulled from the balloon. Evan tripped over the edge of the net and went down near the balloon’s right shoulder. He started shouting as the handlers closest helped him up. Dante frowned.

  “Must have really hurt himself,” he said. “Evan doesn’t yell. Complain and nitpick, sure, but not yell.”

  “Maybe we should have called the medics.”

  But the balloon captain subsided and began giving instructions as Brinybrickle shifted one way and then another until the large crew had
it hovering and level just above the large pines in Furbish Park. The world beneath the balloon was a sickly lime green where the sunlight leaked through, wavering and shifting like water. The band’s music receded, fading little by little until it seemed more memory than sound. The sound of feet ahead replaced it, and the squeak of one of the ground float’s brakes as it rolled slowly forward. By the time it was their turn, Neil’s toes were frozen and Dante was bouncing foot to foot to keep some blood moving. It was an odd sort of irritated relief to move forward. Part excitement, part frustration, as if Neil were not in a parade, but a traffic jam, craning to see what the hold up was.

  That was just until they hit the crowd. The cold and the frustration vanished as they passed hundreds of awed kids. The cheers and applause were a little overwhelming for Neil, each section of kids and parents waving and calling as they passed, as if it were a massive swell that grew and receded, taking Brinybrickle and his handlers with it, never quite dying away. Until they came to a quiet section. Frightened kids cringing against their parents.

  “Jeez, I know Brinybrickle’s kind of a jerk,” said Dante, “but I don’t think I’ve ever seen kids scared of him.”

  “It’s not the balloon,” said Neil, raising one hand from the reel to point into the crowd where several people in blue uniforms surrounded something, their backs entirely to the parade. “Fight maybe?”

  “F—” Dante caught himself. “Silly drunks,” he amended. “Think that’s the Whaler back there. Didn’t think they were open this early.”

  “I didn’t think so either. Looks dark, but it’s a bar so… Who knows? Maybe it’s a fender bender that got out of hand in the parking lot. Or a domestic. Or just some parents arguing over a prime position.”

  Dante stared at the policemen as they passed the knot of people. Neil could hear a massive burst of applause from behind and knew that Santa’s sleigh must have finally entered the road, and with it, the conclusion to the parade. His fingers ached with the cold. The gloves Evan had lent him were too thin. They barely shielded his hands either from the chill or the biting plastic of the reel as the breeze tugged the massive balloon. Still, better than nothing. He could just see the large, vibrant green of the storefront where Joan and Randi should be. And Harry. He shut off that dangerous line of thought.