7 Steps to Midnight Read Free Page A

old man interrupted.
    Chris waited. Nothing happened. That’s
it
? he thought. Just
ah
? Not the greatest windup of a philosophical debate he’d ever run across. But what the hell.
    “Tell you what,” said Veering.
    Chris barely managed to control a groan.
    “I wager you,” the old man said.
    Chris looked at him, then back at the highway. “You do,” he said.
    “I do,” said Veering. “I present you with a wager.”
    To wit? Chris’s mind inquired. He felt a gush of pleasure as he saw the distant lights of Oasis Village.
    “I wager the security of your existence against your assumption that you know what’s real and what’s unreal in your life.”
    Come again?
Chris thought.
You what?
    “Are you game?” asked Veering. “Do you accept the wager?”
    Chris almost asked, What
wager? I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, you old fool
, then decided to let it go. He’d be home in fifteen minutes. “Sure,” he said.
    “Don’t say it casually,” the old man cautioned. “Think about it.”
    Oh
, God,
why did I pick him up?
Chris thought. “Okay,” he said.
Never pick up hitchhikers;
he formed a permanent rule for himself.
    “You believe, then, that you know what’s real in your life and what’s unreal. Correct?”
    Chris yawned. “Yeah, right.”
    “And I maintain that you do not,” said Veering. He’s beginning to sound like a mid-Victorian attorney, Chris thought. “And I repeat—are you willing to gamble the security of your existence on this wager?”
    “
Sure
,” Chris muttered. Up ahead, he saw the gateway to Oasis Village. Thank the good Lord, he thought.
    “You’re
positive
,” the old man said. “You’re not—”
    “I’m going to have to let you off here,” Chris broke in. “I live here.”
    “
Do you so wager?
” Veering insisted.
    “
Okay. Okay.
” Chris started steering toward the shoulder.
    “Done and done,” the old man said. “You can let me off right here.”
    Bet your ass I will
, Chris thought. He steered onto the highway shoulder, braking.
    “Thank you for the ride and interesting discussion,” Veering said, picking up his canvas bag.
    “You’re welcome,” Chris replied offhandedly.
Go
, he thought.
    Veering opened the door, stepped out onto the shoulder, then leaned back in. In the dimness of the overhead light, Chris saw him smiling.
    “
À bientôt
,” the old man said.
    He closed the door and started walking, the canvas bag thrown over his shoulder. Chris pulled back onto the highway and drove past him.
À bientôt?
he thought. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He’d never see the old coot again.
    As he was driving through the gateway to Oasis Village, it came to him—the definition of
veering
.
    To change direction.
    He would remember that more than once in the days to come.

3
    When he turned the corner onto Oasis Drive East, he saw his blue Mustang.
    It was parked in front of his garage. Exactly as he always parked it when he was home.
    His mind jumped automatically toward explanation. He’d been so distracted by his work, he’d left it at home. The illogic of that was immediately apparent. How had he gotten to work then? No one else had picked him up. There was no shuttle service between Oasis Village and Palladian.
    Which left what? The practical joke again. And who at the plant knew him well enough to perpetrate a joke on him? In a word, nobody.
    He pulled the Pontiac into the driveway, parking it beside his car. Was it his car? His mind still sought an answer. These houses were similar in appearance. He must have driven onto the wrong street and approached a house that looked like his but wasn’t. With a car parked in front of it that looked like his but wasn’t. Farfetched but possible.
    The notion was short-lived. Lasting long enough for him to leave the Pontiac, walk around it and look at the Mustang. He always left it unlocked at night. Neighbors told him he shouldn’t, there were occasional car thefts in the