Devil's Plaything - Matt Richtel [39]
On the passenger seat I see a fifth of Jack Daniel’s, half drained. The bottle is open, tilting to the side, dribbling out its contents.
“Who do you work for?” I ask.
“What?”
“Are you following us?”
Then something dawns on him.
“You better be a cop,” he says. “Or I’m going to drive my forehead through your forehead. You ever see the Ultimate Fighting Championship?”
Something dawns on me too. This is not the hybrid I saw in the park. And there is little likelihood its driver has been plotting my demise, at least not until this very moment.
“Undercover pre-Halloween law-enforcement brigade,” I say.
I sprint back to my car, start it, and pull hard into the right lane. I then yank a sharp right onto a side street to get out of the traffic jam.
I don’t fully exhale until I realize that the hybrid driver has, apparently, decided not to follow us.
“You’re frightening me,” Grandma says.
“I’m sorry. My imagination’s in overdrive.”
“Ha!” Grandma says declaratively. “You seem like you’re enjoying yourself.”
This time, it is I who uses Grandma’s regular refrain.
“I’m not sure I understand,” I say.
“The Idles like to run after things.”
“The neurologist is right.”
“What?”
“You’re away from Magnolia Manor and you’re getting more lucid.”
“If you say so.”
As we drive, I call Magnolia Manor and ask for Betty Lou, Grandma’s close friend.
“Where’s Lane?” Betty Lou asks immediately.
“We’re going to hang out for a few days. Her doctor says she needs some concentrated time with her grandson. But I need a few changes of clothes for Lane.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well then why not just come back here and get some clothes yourself?”
“Betty Lou, you’re a clever old lass.”
“Bring her back here, Nathaniel.”
“Please, Betty Lou,” I say. I want to add: I know what I’m doing. But I’m not sure that I do. Instead, I say: “I’m taking great care of her, and she’s doing fine.”
“Then why are they looking for her, and you?”
“Who is?”
“Vince and the rest of those a-holes.”
I tell her I don’t have time to explain. I ask her to meet me on the street in an hour.
“Harry is worried sick,” she says.
“Don’t tell anyone we’ve talked.”
“What’s going on, Nathaniel?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Young people are so patronizing.”
Click.
Half an hour later, I pull into the dental office. It’s just after 5:30, getting dark, and the lot has largely cleared out.
“Sit tight for just a second, Lane.”
“I’m bored. Can I use the computer?”
I hand her the video-game phone.
“No, the computer!” she says.
“It is a computer.”
“What?”
She’s staring at the screen.
“I’ll be back in just a second.”
I walk up the stairs and I notice the office door is ajar. I push it open. Inside, the office is quiet, dark, and appears to be empty.
I feel along the wall to my right, and flip on the light.
There is a small waiting area at the entrance, ringed by white chairs with white seat cushions. On a coffee table between the chairs sit copies of Newsweek, Sports Illustrated, and other magazines. I’m struck again that there is little else to define the place—nothing on the walls, no signs with appointment directions or instructions on dental care.
Also missing is the woman behind the counter, the one I’d argued with earlier. Her desk has been emptied out. There are no papers, computer, office supplies—just a single black ballpoint pen lying on a stark white counter.
Next to the counter is a doorway leading to the back.
“Hello,” I say loudly and directed to the back. “I’m here for my appointment.”
No answer.
I walk to the door that leads to the back and open it. Behind it, two doorways, presumably to examination rooms.
I open the door to my right. Behind it, a small white room, completely empty. Not even an examination chair.
I step back into the hallway and walk to the second door.
I put my hand to the knob, and hesitate. Will I find Adrianna, unable to breathe?
Is Grandma okay outside? I shouldn’t be leaving her in the dark.
I push open the door. I feel along the wall for a switch and turn on the light.