Devil's Plaything - Matt Richtel [48]
“I don’t understand your obsession with this topic,” she says. She seems defensive.
“Grandma, it’s very important, very important to me, that we talk about this just a little more. Can you tell me where you saw the man in blue?”
She doesn’t respond.
“Lane?” Sam says.
“More hot hands,” she responds. “Please.”
“Hygiene mask,” Bullseye says.
I turn and look at him. He’s staring at the TV screen.
“Meaning?”
“Doctors, nurses, dentists—they wear blue masks, surgical gowns. Scrubs are blue.”
“Bullseye,” I say, then look at Lane. “Grandma, was the man in blue at the dentist’s office? Did he wear a mask, like the kind doctors wear during surgery?”
Her eyes are closed, but she responds.
“The blue man put my head in the machine. He’s absolutely right that it doesn’t hurt one bit. I think people get worried things will hurt when they won’t, and sometimes the fear of getting hurt makes the pain worse. It’s like childbirth. It’s painful, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise—my God is it painful—but it’s much worse if you’re afraid of it. I had two sons, but you know all about that. Well, you know about most of it, anyways.”
I look at Sam, who has her hands on Grandma’s neck. My look says: What torrent of madness and candor has your energy treatment unleashed? The Witch shrugs.
“Grandma? Did the blue man hurt you?”
“My head belongs to me. I don’t like people tinkering around inside of it, even if . . .”
She doesn’t finish her thought. We fall silent.
“Grandma Lane, what kind of machine did the blue man put your head inside?” I finally ask.
No response.
I turn to Bullseye. “Any other insights?”
“The Rockies need better relief pitching,” he says.
“Besides baseball.”
“Give me your thumb drive. Meantime, you should go to the police.”
At the same time, Sam and I say: “Really?”
It’s not like Bullseye to trust anyone but himself. He doesn’t dignify our question with a response; he’s said his piece.
I pull the thumb drive from my backpack and, despite feeling a hitch of reticence in parting with this mysterious treasure, hand it over.
“It’s time to go,” Grandma declares.
It’s not clear if that’s what she wants or if, childlike, she senses we’ve reached some apex in the conversation and are heading downward.
I’m still reeling from revelation. Grandma says the man in blue put her head in a machine. Is she imagining this? Is she speaking metaphorically? If not, what kind of machine?
Was the man in blue—or the blue man, as she’s also called him—at the dental offices?
Sam interrupts my train of thought.
“Grandma needs rest, peaceful rest,” she says.
“You’re right, Grandma,” I say to Lane. “It’s time to go.”
I explain to Sam and Bullseye that I’m headed over to my boss’s house for a drink. Pauline’s a good thinker who can help me parse some ideas. And her loft is a good place to rest.
I thank Sam profusely for her magic hands and Bullseye for his savant-like insights and technical support. I ask him to call me if he turns something up.
“Be careful with Lane,” Sam says. Then she puts the palm of her hand on my cheek. She almost withdraws it, then holds it close again, her eyes opening wide.
“Be careful with Lane,” she repeats.
“You said that already?”
“Strange energy. Yellow, something brown,” she says, hand still on my cheek. The Witch, dressed as a lioness, looks concerned.
“Maybe I just need a shower,” I say.
“Doubt that’ll help.” She smiles thinly. “Yellow, brown—I think it means that you know something bad is going to happen.”
Chapter 26
Not much later, we stand in Pauline’s spectacular digs. Her loft has three floors, each eclectically decorated by art, trinkets, collectibles, weavings, rugs, mirrors, and other fashionable items, including a harp and a stuffed bear. They cover every square inch of wall and floor, creating a veritable three-dimensional mural.
Pauline picks her art with a remarkable combination of whimsy and purpose. Same with her clothes.
She stands at the doorway wearing a black skirt short enough to show lovely