Blvd. of Blood

Book 5, chapters 1–2

(Upcoming appearances: July 15, 6–7:30, author talk, Old Stone Church, 251 Main St., East Haven CT) | July 19, 10–3, Book Walk, Main St., Old Wethersfield CT)

Continued from here. Table of contents for ease of navigation here.

(The story so far: It’s the morning of April 11. Colin wakes up in Bernie’s house.)

Book V: One Short Morning

1.

Some time around dawn, wrapped in Colin’s comforter on his 600-count Egyptian cotton sheets, Carol drifted into a slumber at first fretful and filled with nervous dreams, and later dead deep and dreamless.

2.

The buzzer on the stove went off after he was already up and making instant coffee. There’d been little chance he’d oversleep, but it was good to have a failsafe. He shut it off.

In many ways this morning was no different from any other morning. He ran the plan over in his head, focusing on exact steps he would have to take in the exact order. Here he was in a strange kitchen, drinking from a mug that advertised a radio station he’d never listened to, but it felt like he had been here a hundred times before—not exactly here, because the concrete details were new, but essentially here. He’d assumed Bernie would have coffee, and that he’d get a chance to drink some, even if he hadn’t known what the mug would look like.

He looked around at the concrete details. Bernie probably should have cleaned up his kitchen.

It had been so long since Colin had removed his gloves; he could feel his fingers starting to wrinkle, like a bather’s. He went to the bathroom, turned on both taps, took off the gloves, and washed his hands with soap. When he was done he turned off the taps with the side of a wrist. Returning to the kitchen, he washed the coffee mug carefully, then soaped it up and left it sitting in dishwater. He walked around barehanded, holding his hands up like a woman drying her nails.

For the scorekeepers: Colin ate the second cheese sandwich. Fingerprints on the sandwich, but of course the evidence was in his belly. Then he put his gloves back on. Just for good measure he gave everything, including the cylinder of sterile wipes, a good sterile wipe down. He wiped the gloves down, too, because he had not brought the pliers. He flushed the wipes and set the cylinder under the sink, as though it belonged there.

After a while, the man himself, Bernie, came staggering into the kitchen with his hair wild. “What time is it?” he cried in a panic.

Colin tried to determine if Bernie was still asleep, suffering from a night terror of some sort. “We have plenty of time,” he said. “It’s a little after seven thirty.”

Bernie sank into a chair. The plastic cushion made a little burping sigh as he put his weight on it.

“It might help,” Colin added, “if you just do your morning routine. Do you usually brush your teeth in the morning?”

Bernie looked up suddenly, like a man just caught sleeping on the job, or perusing pornography. “Yes. Yes, always. Usually. Just not today.”

“Okay,” said Colin. “Have some coffee.” He reached into the cupboard and took down a mug at random. It had a crayon drawing and the words Thank You for Being a Dad. Colin put it back and chose another one, one with two Transformers robots humping each other. “Okay, I’m going to pack up,” he said. “We have a couple more things to do here, but we have to be ready to hit the road at five after nine.”

“Wait, what? No!” The no was a toddler’s no, bright with fury. It was the first no of a tantrum, before anyone was purple; but purple was coming. It was not a no Colin wanted to hear.

“Bernie,” he said, stern but kindly, “the whole mission has been planned out. There’s a timetable.”

“No way. We’ll get to Blande by like nine fifteen! I’m not doing it! I’m not going!”

Colin had little experience dealing with tantrums. “Why? Why do you even care?”

“The road’s not long enough! I’m not going!”

“You’re not making any sense. Please explain. When do you want to go?”

“An hour later. Ten fifteen.”

“We can’t do it an hour la—“

“You have to do it one hour later or I’m out!”

“You can’t—”

“I’m out! I’m out! I’m out!”

“Stop! Shut up, just let me think.” Colin turned away. Clearly Bernie had some agenda of his own. Colin had taken Bernie’s Blande Boulevard idea as a simple stroke of genius. From the mouths of babes, as they say. But there was something else behind it, and even during the pointless hours of the night, Colin had never bothered to find out what it was. This was an oversight.

But there was no point grieving over the past. The question was how to salvage the situation.

Everything had been planned to get Colin to Sunset Grove at the normal time. In fact, the “normal time” had been selected to get him to the Incident during optimal traffic time. To change the time now—an hour later’s start meant he’d be an hour late for mother. He shouldn’t be an hour late because today of all days he couldn’t behave abnormally. Abnormal was suspicious.

Could he get to Sunset Grove quicker? He could avoid going home, he could drive there straight from Route 434 afterwards. He had, as he always had, that change of clothes in the trunk, under the garbage bags; he’d be overdressed but he could leave off the tie. It would mean he wouldn’t have his phone, though, which would itself be abnormal. But people did forget their phones. That was a thing that could happen. But that would save him fifteen, twenty minutes tops. He’d still be late.

What if he had a reason for being late? What if he tried to take Blande to get to I-81? There would certainly be a traffic jam in the aftermath. Just get caught in the traffic jam; since he forgot his phone he couldn’t even call ahead to explain.

Of course, driving from his car from Route 434 all the way around to Blande would eat up the fifteen minutes he’d save by not going home. But that hardly mattered, since with the excuse of a traffic jam he could be as late as he wanted. As a cover story it wasn’t flawless, but it would only fall apart if the news reports were precise about the start time of the incident and people were certain about how long it took to get to Sunset Grove from one obscure street in Cottinend. If someone had to do math to catch you out in a lie, you were probably safe. Especially if the would-be mathematicians were the patrons and staff of Sunset Grove.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, we go an hour later. But that, listen to me, that is the only change. You do what I say after this.”

“Of course, of course. Yes, thank you, thank you.”

Colin sat down. He stuck his feet out like a cartoon dad at the end of the day.

“Can I smoke? I need a smoke,” Bernie said. Colin only nodded. “You want one?”

“Nah.” Mother, and all. “Finish your cigarette,” Colin said. “Then get dressed and let’s get you into uniform. Then we talk about what’s the big deal with the time change.”

But Colin was busy running the new plan over and over in his head. He honestly had trouble remembering things he had never erased from the white board. He was wishing he’d saved the banana. Was there any other loose ends that the time change left? Colin ran through the possibilities one by one until he got to Carol.

It was always Carol.

Colin went back to his duffel bag, where phone and the battery still lay together in their plastic bag. He popped the battery in and powered up the phone.

“I’m going to call headquarters,” Colin called to Bernie as he headed for the stairs.

“But you said no phones when—”

“You’re the one who changed the time. There are consequences.” He walked up the stairs as he dialed, from memory, Carol’s number. It would never do to have her calling his mother before he arrived; his mother panicking over simple tardiness was enough to deal with; he didn’t need Carol panicking as well.

At the top of the stairs he went over the lie in his head until it sounded plausible.

“Hey, honey. This is Colin. So good to hear your voice, even in a recording. I’m actually calling from Sunset Grove, that’s why you don’t recognize the number. I got here early. My mother, they’re actually trying her in a room in the memory ward. They don’t let you use cell phones because of all the pacemakers and whatever these beeping machines are. So don’t call me here; I’ll give you a ring as soon as I can with more information.” More tenderly: “I hope to see you soon.”

As soon as he hung up, Colin realized he’d left Bernie downstairs unsupervised with the rifle. He hurried down. The phone was in his pocket. Nobody ever did talk about the time change and Alan Jancewicz.