7 #2
This is my room. If you ever need anything, you don’t have to knock. Just come right in, Jem. This is your house too.
The ensuite bathroom next. Pill vials on the counter: blood pressure, blood pressure again, one so he could get a boner.
He was moving too fast and knocked over one of the vials, and the cap must not have been on right because it popped off, and pills went everywhere—across the vanity, onto the floor, a few of them even spilling down the sink.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
He gathered up as many of them as he could find, funneled them with his hand back into the vial and screwed the cap on. He checked the drawers. The usual—toothpaste, floss, lotion, extra toilet paper. Nothing interesting in the shower-tub combo either.
Jem stopped. Pressed his hands against his chest.
What the fuck am I doing?
What was he doing? What was this all about? Coming here like this, taking a risk like this—for what? He hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t planned it. And if someone saw him and called the cops. If Wendell came home and caught him.
But another part of Jem thought of Wendell in bed, Wendell holding that packet in one hand. Thought of the worn corner of the page that had curled slightly.
Let him come home. Let him catch me.
He walked through the bedroom that had been turned into Wendell’s home office. He saw the computer and the corner desk and the filing cabinets. And, at the same time, he didn’t really see anything.
The next bedroom was still a bedroom. It might even have been the same bed, although now the bedding was a blue that matched the bedding in Wendell’s room; years ago, the bedding had been printed with race cars.
Do you like race cars, Jem?
No, dumbass. Because I’m not five years old.
The walls were grayish-brown instead of the balloon wallpaper.
Red and blue balloons. And in Jem’s head, those gauges in his head ticking up toward the red, and another part of him imagining he was a balloon, and he was high overhead, looking down at himself, and he was going somewhere else, wherever the wind took him.
I bought you some new clothes. Let’s see if they fit.
New, yes. Dorky as hell, also yes. Prissy little shorts. A prissy little shirt to match.
A lot of kids would be grateful for new clothes.
A lot of kids would get the shit beaten out of them if they showed up to school like that.
Let’s at least see if they fit.
Tick, tick, tick.
I’ll help you.
No more ticking. The needle lurched up.
His hand on the front of Jem’s pants. And he could say he was reaching for the waistband, but he wasn’t, and Jem was old enough already to know he wasn’t. His fingers closing. Curling. Squeezing.
And his arm, right there, level with Jem’s mouth.
Jem got into the hall bathroom and shut the door, and he sagged against the vanity, and he kicked the door shut. The shot ran through the house. Just like last time. Only last time, Wendell had been screaming.
Deep breaths.
He ran his hand across the back of his neck. The hair there was wet with sweat.
What in the fuck am I doing?
The bathroom was different too. The balloon wallpaper had continued here, but now the walls were the same grayish paint as everywhere else in the house. The vanity was different. Jem rubbed his eyes, blinked, made those weird faces you made when you had something in your eyes. He stood up straight.
Something flickered at the window.
For a single moment, it was Wendell. He’d gone outside. He’d hammered on the window. He’d still been screaming—in the end, that was what brought the neighbors.
And then it was a blackbird. And it was gone again.
His phone buzzed.
Jem put his hands over his face.
The phone buzzed again.
He took it out of his pocket. Tean’s name showed on the screen.
After clearing his throat, Jem answered. “Hey.”
“Hey.” And then Tean said, “Everything okay?”
“Scipio and I were having a no talking contest.” For a moment, he was drowning. And then somehow he said, “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“That good, huh?”
“Well, they’re all determined to act like my grandfather was a wonderful, sensitive, caring man instead of a machista asshole.”
“First of all, swear jar.” Jem checked himself in the mirror. His eyes were a little red, and he was flushed, but that was only because it was so hot in this house. “And second, isn’t that what people do when someone dies?”
“I suppose.” And then Tean added, “It’s very annoying.”
Somehow, Jem actually laughed about that.
“Are you in the bathroom?” Tean asked. “I hear echoes.”
For half a second, Jem hesitated. And then he said, “Working on my hair.”
“So, I was reading through River’s notes. They’re a mess, and I’m not sure how useful they’re going to be. But I was thinking if she was logging her investigation chronologically, it might make sense to start with the information at the end of the document.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“She was going to talk to a teacher in Vernal. I don’t know if she actually met with her or if she was next on the list, but I thought we could start there.”
“I can’t. I’m way too busy today. Did you know they have all the old ThighMaster commercials on YouTube?”
“Why would you watch old ThighMaster commercials?”
“And Scipio and I are hungry.”
“We can grab something on the way. Pick you up in half an hour?”
“I thought you had therapy tonight.”
“There’s so much going on. I’ll reschedule.”
“You rescheduled last week.”
“Work got busy.”
Jem almost said, Seems like work gets busy every time you’re supposed to see Hudson. But he reeled himself in, made his voice light, and went for “Drive safe, babe.”
Then he disconnected. He stared at himself in the mirror for another second and thought, You are one dumb fuck.