bag of pot, some
cigarette papers, a roach clip, and a lighter. His hands were shaking so badly
he could hardly roll a joint. He didn’t know if this was safe to do on top of those
pills or not, but he had to bring himself down, and he had to do it fast.
He turned the lights out and melted back into an old
wooden desk chair in the dark, sucking down the sweet smoke and holding it in.
Even the pot seemed intensified. What the hell had those pills been?
Gradually, his pounding heart began to slow and he
began to cool off. The rivers of sweat dried up, and his mind no longer felt
disjointed.
He realized he was exhausted, completely and utterly
drained. He went back to the house and crawled between the sheets next to
Marla. He was asleep in seconds.
When he awoke, the bedroom was full of light. The
clock said it was almost noon, and he could hear Marla stirring around, doing
her Saturday cleaning. He sat up on the edge of the bed, his head thick and
groggy, his stomach half-nauseated.
In the kitchen, he grabbed a beer from the
refrigerator and headed for the front porch. He brushed past Marla, who was
wiping down the counters, but didn’t say a word. Neither did she; he figured she
knew better.
He sat down on the cold concrete of the edge of the
porch, his feet dangling, which is where he was when Joel pulled up. He
wondered again about his crazy night. Where all did he go and what did he do
during those hours between screwing around with Shelley and Abby and waking up
naked behind the wheel? It was frightening, and it made him angry.
Beside him, his beer had grown warm and yeasty in
the midday sun; he drank it anyway.
* * *
1:20 PM
Joel weaved his cart through the aisles of Walmart,
trying to stay in the edges of the store as far away from activity as
possible. He hated public places like this. Occasionally when pressed with
other people in a crowd, he accidentally brushed against them, and their
thoughts would float through his head like a drifting radio station. Other
times another person’s smell might simply be enough to trigger a vision or
strong feeling, but that was unpredictable.
A couple of years ago he’d gone with Wade, Marla,
and Derek to a Civil War battlefield that was now a state park. They’d planned
on having a picnic and maybe renting a boat down on the river. But at one
point, while poking around the battlefield, they had ended up in the park’s
museum, a building that had served as a hospital during the skirmish that had
occurred there. Everything was fine for a little while; they moved through the
exhibits of dusty rifles and minié balls wordlessly and unimpressed. But when
they’d reached the room featuring a display of medical equipment, Joel had been
unable to go in. The whole feeling of the air had changed. Its sudden
heaviness pressed on him and he couldn’t breathe. He bolted, running out of
the building to the sunlit park. It wasn’t as if he’d seen a ghost or
anything; it had simply been an overpowering and oppressive sense of fear.
Later he learned the room had served as the operating ward, where doctors had
amputated the arms and legs of screaming soldiers, most times without an
anesthetic. The panic and terror of those few wounded men was so strong that
Joel had been able to sense it a hundred and fifty years later.
Most objects or places he encountered never had much
emotion attached to them. That was particularly lucky considering how much
time in other people’s homes his job required. There came a point when you
didn’t want to know certain things about people, especially when you were
crawling around under their houses or hunkered down on their bedroom floor.
He maneuvered the cart around the end of the aisle,
not really looking at anything, just walking and thinking. He stopped.
Someone was following him. He could feel eyes boring into him like drill
bits. He froze. He had entered the crafts
cigarette papers, a roach clip, and a lighter. His hands were shaking so badly
he could hardly roll a joint. He didn’t know if this was safe to do on top of those
pills or not, but he had to bring himself down, and he had to do it fast.
He turned the lights out and melted back into an old
wooden desk chair in the dark, sucking down the sweet smoke and holding it in.
Even the pot seemed intensified. What the hell had those pills been?
Gradually, his pounding heart began to slow and he
began to cool off. The rivers of sweat dried up, and his mind no longer felt
disjointed.
He realized he was exhausted, completely and utterly
drained. He went back to the house and crawled between the sheets next to
Marla. He was asleep in seconds.
When he awoke, the bedroom was full of light. The
clock said it was almost noon, and he could hear Marla stirring around, doing
her Saturday cleaning. He sat up on the edge of the bed, his head thick and
groggy, his stomach half-nauseated.
In the kitchen, he grabbed a beer from the
refrigerator and headed for the front porch. He brushed past Marla, who was
wiping down the counters, but didn’t say a word. Neither did she; he figured she
knew better.
He sat down on the cold concrete of the edge of the
porch, his feet dangling, which is where he was when Joel pulled up. He
wondered again about his crazy night. Where all did he go and what did he do
during those hours between screwing around with Shelley and Abby and waking up
naked behind the wheel? It was frightening, and it made him angry.
Beside him, his beer had grown warm and yeasty in
the midday sun; he drank it anyway.
* * *
1:20 PM
Joel weaved his cart through the aisles of Walmart,
trying to stay in the edges of the store as far away from activity as
possible. He hated public places like this. Occasionally when pressed with
other people in a crowd, he accidentally brushed against them, and their
thoughts would float through his head like a drifting radio station. Other
times another person’s smell might simply be enough to trigger a vision or
strong feeling, but that was unpredictable.
A couple of years ago he’d gone with Wade, Marla,
and Derek to a Civil War battlefield that was now a state park. They’d planned
on having a picnic and maybe renting a boat down on the river. But at one
point, while poking around the battlefield, they had ended up in the park’s
museum, a building that had served as a hospital during the skirmish that had
occurred there. Everything was fine for a little while; they moved through the
exhibits of dusty rifles and minié balls wordlessly and unimpressed. But when
they’d reached the room featuring a display of medical equipment, Joel had been
unable to go in. The whole feeling of the air had changed. Its sudden
heaviness pressed on him and he couldn’t breathe. He bolted, running out of
the building to the sunlit park. It wasn’t as if he’d seen a ghost or
anything; it had simply been an overpowering and oppressive sense of fear.
Later he learned the room had served as the operating ward, where doctors had
amputated the arms and legs of screaming soldiers, most times without an
anesthetic. The panic and terror of those few wounded men was so strong that
Joel had been able to sense it a hundred and fifty years later.
Most objects or places he encountered never had much
emotion attached to them. That was particularly lucky considering how much
time in other people’s homes his job required. There came a point when you
didn’t want to know certain things about people, especially when you were
crawling around under their houses or hunkered down on their bedroom floor.
He maneuvered the cart around the end of the aisle,
not really looking at anything, just walking and thinking. He stopped.
Someone was following him. He could feel eyes boring into him like drill
bits. He froze. He had entered the crafts
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