Prodigal Blues

"Okay.  Wow.  Is this a lot of money?"

"I'm guessing it's more than enough to get you home."

She rolled up the money and stuffed it into a pocket of her faded and too-small dress, then stood up and gave me a hug.  "Thank you, mister.  My mommy won't be so tired and worried now.  We ain't had anything to eat since last night.  We been here for three days."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault.  Thank you for the money."

"You're welcome."

Amazingly, the bus got into Columbus in time for me to catch the #48 Express that runs back and forth from Cedar Hill twice a day.  The ride took about sixty minutes (I drive the route twice a day in under thirty-five both ways), and the passengers were dumped at the park-and-ride locations at 6:45 and 6:57, respectively.  I got off at the second stop, which put me right in the middle of downtown, about a fifteen-minute walk from my house.

I don't remember the walk home.  I was on autopilot all the way, except for one moment when an expensive motorcycle with a windshield and side compartments and a rack across the back seat passed me; for a moment I thought it was Christopher, but unless he'd gotten rid of his helmet, changed his hair color to red, grown it to his waist, and become a woman in the last five hours, smart money said I was wrong.

I rounded the corner of my street and quickened my pace.  The world around me was a dark and threatening thing, and the sooner I was away from it, the better.

The front porch light was on and Tanya was standing outside, talking with Perry.  From the looks of things—especially Perry's wildly-animated gestures—my wife and her brother weren't exactly reminiscing about the good times when they were kids.

As I walked up the steps toward the porch they stopped their arguing and stared at me, open-mouthed.

"What the hell happened to you?" said Tanya.

"Unfortunate pay-toilet incident.  Let us never speak of it again."

Perry strode off the porch and right up into my face.  "Goddammit, Mark, do you have any idea how much you're costing me?  Do you know what that crook Cletus is charging me for—"

I drew back and hit him square in the mouth, knocking him to the ground.  "Not really in the mood for a chat right now, Perry."  He tried to get up but I placed my foot against his chest.  "And just so we can clear the air, I never much liked you, either.  Also—removing the engine warning light from a car is a criminal act, so before you start threatening to call the cops and have me arrested for assault, just keep in mind that if you do, we'll be sharing the same cell down at the city jail and I make a lousy roommate."

I pulled my foot away and walked up onto the porch, threw my arms around my wife, and wept.

Tanya did not ask any questions.  She told Perry to go away, took me inside, helped me undress, then put me in a hot bath where she washed the road and blood from my body.  She cleaned and dressed my wounds, reapplied the nose-splint and medical tape, then gave me some aspirin and put me to bed, sitting there until I fell asleep, her loved one's watch keeping all through the night.  I woke up the next morning and put on my jackass suit that I wore like it was tailor-made for the next ten days, right up until she had to drive over to Columbus and bail my sorry ass out of jail for assaulting some college prick who insisted on telling me a dirty joke to entertain his harem.  She chewed me a new one as we drove toward home, then I reached over and placed my hand on her leg, then gave it a little squeeze.  "I'm sorry, hon."

"Uh-huh...?"

"I love you."

"You'd better."  Her voice still sounded hurt but she managed a little grin.

We stopped for a red light.  Still too ashamed of myself to meet her gaze, I glanced out at a telephone pole that was covered in fliers advertising everything from dating services to Goth bands to tattoo parlors and pizza delivery specials; most of these were ragged and torn and discolored, but one flier, deliberately placed on top of all the others so it faced the street, was new, and had been stapled in about a dozen places to make sure that the wind wouldn't tear any of it away.  I thought about Denise Harker, and Arnold, and Thomas, and Rebecca, and my lost friend Christopher.

Why'd you do it, buddy?  Why'd you leave?  We would have made room.

Gayle and the kids had decided to move into Mom's and Dad's old house; they hadn't been there the night I got home, nor had I seen them yet.

I was hiding from everyone and everything.  But something I'd found out tonight in the computer lab was threatening to change all that and I didn't like it one little bit.  I liked hiding out in my jackass suit, mop in one hand, bottle of Windex in the other.

I squeezed Tanya's leg a little harder.

She turned toward me.  "What?"

"Look at that."

She leaned over and stared out the window.  "What?  What am I supposed to be looking at?"

I pointed toward the missing child flier.  "The biggest part of the mess."

She looked at the flier, then at me.  "Okay…?"

The light turned green and we drove on.

"I love you so much," I said to her.

"You're repeating yourself."

"If I tell you everything that happened, will you promise not to interrupt me until I'm finished?"

She nodded her head, her eyes tearing up.  "Just as long as you don't keep shutting me out, Mark.  I can't stand it when you shut me out.  Gayle and the kids are worried—they think you're mad at them."

"I'm not."

"Then why have you been acting like this?  I've been living with a stranger for the last ten days."

"I know."  I touched her cheek; she leaned into my touch.

"You see their pictures everywhere these days," I said.

And told my wife everything.

16. And Peace Attend Thee

When I had finished telling Tanya, down to the last detail, what had happened, she said nothing for several moments.  She just wiped her eyes and got us a couple of fresh cold beers from the refrigerator while the Marshall Tucker boys sang about why couldn't I see what that woman been doing to them.  I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment.  It was after three in the morning and I was exhausted.

"This will be your last one for a while," said Tanya, handing the beer to me.

"Fair enough."  I decided to drink this one slowly.

Tanya sat across from me on the couch, ran a hand through her hair, then sighed, tried to smile, and said, "What's on the computer and CDs?"

I looked at her and shook my head.  "Didn't you listen to that last part?  Honey, I killed a man.  I stood right in front of him and shot him in the head and then kept shooting.  He was chained up, he had no weapon, he posed no threat.  I murdered a man in cold blood."

"No you didn't.  You killed a bug, that's all you did.  You stepped on a worm."  She squeezed my hand.  "You don't have it in you to harm another person, not like that.  You're no murderer, my love."

"Do you suppose that might explain why I don't feel worse about it?"  I scratched my chin.  "Hell, I don't even feel bad about it."

"Then why are we wasting our breath discussing it?  I believe my original question was something about what's on the computer."

"Video files of Grendel with all the children.  In groups, by themselves, at the parties.  Being… disposed of.  E-mails from his various customers, orders for antiques, for furniture."