cause genes that normally wouldn’t be expressed to suddenly turn on.”
I stood by the door, hands shoved in my pockets. Confused. “So, you do believe me, Doc?”
He put down the pen and laced his fingers across his lap. “Those brain scans—” His eyes strayed to the brown envelope on his desk. “I need to find out more about you.”
I bobbed my head, probably a little too enthusiastically to look spontaneous. “Right. You go do that, Doc. I’ll see you back in six weeks. Tell your wife to have some sake for me too, next time.”
This time I did turn the doorknob and left.
CHAPTER 3
___________
Tuesday, October 7
The night casts a black shroud over the mountains. Soft sounds bud out like blossoms: the rustling of the trees, a rodent running away in a bush, a woodrat scuttling along a boulder and diving into a crack beneath a rock.
A handful of gravel tumbling down the incline.
She taps her nails against the steering wheel and squints through the windshield. Eyes glow in the distance. They bob and grow larger: the headlights she’s been waiting for. She flicks her own lights then turns the engine off. On the other side of the road, the vehicle pulls to the curb and waits.
The air is brisk, she notices, getting out of the car. Her high heels make a few pebbles skitter off the rough edge of the asphalt. The vehicle waiting by the curb is not the one she had expected. The headlights flicker impatiently. She sighs, opens the passenger’s door, and slides inside.
“What happened to your car?”
Rhesus leans forward and brushes the back of his hand along her neck, his hand cold on her skin. “Contingencies,” he says.
The car lurches, muffled cries come from the back. That kind of contingencies , she thinks. Her eyes harden. “Why do you always make things so difficult?” She opens her purse and produces a gun, black metal against the stark white of her hands. “For you, my love,” she purrs, her gaze soft again.
Rhesus stares at the pistol. He wavers, for no more than a second, then snags the weapon and storms out of the car. She drops her head against the headrest, closes her eyes, and smiles. As the trunk pops, a long groan spills out. Then silence. Get on with it . The bang. And then another, and another, while she idly examines her nails. Enough . As though he heard her, Rhesus slams the trunk shut and returns inside the car. He is sweating heavily, dizzy from the rush. Intoxicated. His face is sprayed with blood and gunpowder, so are his clothes. The reek of a new initiation, the aspersion of a blasphemous baptism. She is pleased. Is she proud of him? Or is it the realization of the power she has on him that’s making her smile?
“The gun,” she says, extending an open palm.
The grip is slippery with sweat. She drops the weapon back into her purse, then lays a hand on his chest. His breathing is still uneven. Her voice is mellow, comforting, as she whispers in his ear, “You did good,” and then nibbles his earlobe. He beams, his pulse once again quickening. Adrenaline careens through his body, making his heart pump faster, fiercer.
“Are we doing it here?” he asks, as her hand slides into his waistband.
“Yes,” she replies, warm breath lingering on wet lips. “I want privacy tonight.”
CHAPTER 4
___________
Thursday, October 9
“So. The shoe polish.”
“What about it?”
“You never figured that one out, did you, Track?”
“You knew it was your day to go to hell, so you figured you’d better go with clean shoes.”
Satish laughed, I chortled. It was good to have him back at the Glass House.
Thinner, and a little whiter at the temples, he didn’t look too healthy, but he didn’t look too sick either—just happily hanging in between. Not bad for somebody whose right lung had been pierced through and through by a full metal jacket only six weeks earlier.
Detective Satish Cooper and I had
I stood by the door, hands shoved in my pockets. Confused. “So, you do believe me, Doc?”
He put down the pen and laced his fingers across his lap. “Those brain scans—” His eyes strayed to the brown envelope on his desk. “I need to find out more about you.”
I bobbed my head, probably a little too enthusiastically to look spontaneous. “Right. You go do that, Doc. I’ll see you back in six weeks. Tell your wife to have some sake for me too, next time.”
This time I did turn the doorknob and left.
CHAPTER 3
___________
Tuesday, October 7
The night casts a black shroud over the mountains. Soft sounds bud out like blossoms: the rustling of the trees, a rodent running away in a bush, a woodrat scuttling along a boulder and diving into a crack beneath a rock.
A handful of gravel tumbling down the incline.
She taps her nails against the steering wheel and squints through the windshield. Eyes glow in the distance. They bob and grow larger: the headlights she’s been waiting for. She flicks her own lights then turns the engine off. On the other side of the road, the vehicle pulls to the curb and waits.
The air is brisk, she notices, getting out of the car. Her high heels make a few pebbles skitter off the rough edge of the asphalt. The vehicle waiting by the curb is not the one she had expected. The headlights flicker impatiently. She sighs, opens the passenger’s door, and slides inside.
“What happened to your car?”
Rhesus leans forward and brushes the back of his hand along her neck, his hand cold on her skin. “Contingencies,” he says.
The car lurches, muffled cries come from the back. That kind of contingencies , she thinks. Her eyes harden. “Why do you always make things so difficult?” She opens her purse and produces a gun, black metal against the stark white of her hands. “For you, my love,” she purrs, her gaze soft again.
Rhesus stares at the pistol. He wavers, for no more than a second, then snags the weapon and storms out of the car. She drops her head against the headrest, closes her eyes, and smiles. As the trunk pops, a long groan spills out. Then silence. Get on with it . The bang. And then another, and another, while she idly examines her nails. Enough . As though he heard her, Rhesus slams the trunk shut and returns inside the car. He is sweating heavily, dizzy from the rush. Intoxicated. His face is sprayed with blood and gunpowder, so are his clothes. The reek of a new initiation, the aspersion of a blasphemous baptism. She is pleased. Is she proud of him? Or is it the realization of the power she has on him that’s making her smile?
“The gun,” she says, extending an open palm.
The grip is slippery with sweat. She drops the weapon back into her purse, then lays a hand on his chest. His breathing is still uneven. Her voice is mellow, comforting, as she whispers in his ear, “You did good,” and then nibbles his earlobe. He beams, his pulse once again quickening. Adrenaline careens through his body, making his heart pump faster, fiercer.
“Are we doing it here?” he asks, as her hand slides into his waistband.
“Yes,” she replies, warm breath lingering on wet lips. “I want privacy tonight.”
CHAPTER 4
___________
Thursday, October 9
“So. The shoe polish.”
“What about it?”
“You never figured that one out, did you, Track?”
“You knew it was your day to go to hell, so you figured you’d better go with clean shoes.”
Satish laughed, I chortled. It was good to have him back at the Glass House.
Thinner, and a little whiter at the temples, he didn’t look too healthy, but he didn’t look too sick either—just happily hanging in between. Not bad for somebody whose right lung had been pierced through and through by a full metal jacket only six weeks earlier.
Detective Satish Cooper and I had
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