pull
that
shit?”
“Hey, I didn’t ask you to rescue me.”
“You’re right. We should drop you back off.”
“Lionel!” Violet says. “I think he means well,” she says to Dylan.
The ground along the road to our left falls off steeply. I can see water flashing up at us through the trees. “Is that White Lake?” I ask.
“Are you kidding?” Dylan says.
“No. Is it funny?”
“That’s not White Lake. It’s Ford Lake. I take it you people aren’t from around here.”
“No, we’re not.”
Dylan says “The road is gonna curve to the right, but we’re taking the soft left out of it.”
“The first one?” I say.
“Yeah.”
I take it. It puts us into a cul-de-sac that follows the line of the water. The houses on the shore side are huge. The ones on the inland side are smaller and higher up so they can see the lake.
It’s obviously the expensive part of town. Most of the houses look just as derelict as they do everywhere else in Ford, but there are three in a row on the lake side that still have well-maintained lawns and trees and no broken windows. One even has an American flag on a pole over the doorway.
“It’s the green one,” Dylan says.
I park on the street in front of the house. Pointed the wrong way along the sidewalk, but ours is the only car I see. Maybe some of the garages have others, or maybe there’s just no one around.
“Dude, I can walk,” Dylan says when I try to help him out of the car.
“How do you know?”
“Watch and learn.” He winces and limps all the way to the porch at the side of the house, then up the steps.
The porch has two doors, one of which is steel-plated and has a plaque on it: “MARK McQUILLEN, MD.” I ring the bell.
I’ve heard the name somewhere before, but Violet figures it out before I do. Whispers
“The Dr. McQuillen Tape.”
Right. The thing eating the duck on Rec Bill’s DVD. Even now it gives me the creeps.
We hear footsteps, and the lock being undone on the other side of the door.
“Lionel,” Dylan says.
“What?”
“It’s Thursday.”
7
Ford, Minnesota
Still Thursday, 13 September
“Dylan Arntz,” Dr. McQuillen says in the open doorway. “What have you been doing to yourself?”
He’s a tall old man with narrow shoulders and excellent posture, and he holds his head back at an angle like he’s looking down through bifocals. Maybe he wears them sometimes. “Never mind, I can smell it. Come in and be careful. No need to get blood on the walls.”
As he watches Dylan’s gait for signs of neurological damage, he takes a lab coat off a hook and pulls it over his cardigan. Hishands are enormous. “What happened?” he says to Violet and me without turning to us.
“He got beaten up by some other kids behind a restaurant,” Violet says.
“Debbie’s,” McQuillen says.
“You know the place.”
“It’s the only restaurant in Ford that’s still open. Though I suppose the bar might serve food.” To Dylan he says “Go into the examining room, young man. There are gowns under the table.”
“He told us you have a CT machine,” I say.
McQuillen looks at us for the first time. “Who are you?”
“Lionel Azimuth. I’m a physician. This is my coworker, Violet Hurst.”
“Also a physician?”
“No,” Violet says.
“Nurse?”
“No,” she says.
“That’s too bad. We could use one around here. You’re not a drug rep, I hope?”
“No. I’m a paleontologist.”
“At least that’s more useful than a drug rep.”
Violet laughs. “I’ll be sure to tell my parents.”
“I like that,” Dr. McQuillen says. To me he says “I do have a CT machine. It’s a single-slice GE that I bought used, with a grant from the state that I have since paid back. Thank you for bringing Dylan in. Good night.”
I hold Dylan’s tooth out to him as a peace offering. “Is it all right if we stay?”
McQuillen takes it and shrugs. “
I’d
want to. Although I’mafraid your lovely ‘coworker’ is
that
shit?”
“Hey, I didn’t ask you to rescue me.”
“You’re right. We should drop you back off.”
“Lionel!” Violet says. “I think he means well,” she says to Dylan.
The ground along the road to our left falls off steeply. I can see water flashing up at us through the trees. “Is that White Lake?” I ask.
“Are you kidding?” Dylan says.
“No. Is it funny?”
“That’s not White Lake. It’s Ford Lake. I take it you people aren’t from around here.”
“No, we’re not.”
Dylan says “The road is gonna curve to the right, but we’re taking the soft left out of it.”
“The first one?” I say.
“Yeah.”
I take it. It puts us into a cul-de-sac that follows the line of the water. The houses on the shore side are huge. The ones on the inland side are smaller and higher up so they can see the lake.
It’s obviously the expensive part of town. Most of the houses look just as derelict as they do everywhere else in Ford, but there are three in a row on the lake side that still have well-maintained lawns and trees and no broken windows. One even has an American flag on a pole over the doorway.
“It’s the green one,” Dylan says.
I park on the street in front of the house. Pointed the wrong way along the sidewalk, but ours is the only car I see. Maybe some of the garages have others, or maybe there’s just no one around.
“Dude, I can walk,” Dylan says when I try to help him out of the car.
“How do you know?”
“Watch and learn.” He winces and limps all the way to the porch at the side of the house, then up the steps.
The porch has two doors, one of which is steel-plated and has a plaque on it: “MARK McQUILLEN, MD.” I ring the bell.
I’ve heard the name somewhere before, but Violet figures it out before I do. Whispers
“The Dr. McQuillen Tape.”
Right. The thing eating the duck on Rec Bill’s DVD. Even now it gives me the creeps.
We hear footsteps, and the lock being undone on the other side of the door.
“Lionel,” Dylan says.
“What?”
“It’s Thursday.”
7
Ford, Minnesota
Still Thursday, 13 September
“Dylan Arntz,” Dr. McQuillen says in the open doorway. “What have you been doing to yourself?”
He’s a tall old man with narrow shoulders and excellent posture, and he holds his head back at an angle like he’s looking down through bifocals. Maybe he wears them sometimes. “Never mind, I can smell it. Come in and be careful. No need to get blood on the walls.”
As he watches Dylan’s gait for signs of neurological damage, he takes a lab coat off a hook and pulls it over his cardigan. Hishands are enormous. “What happened?” he says to Violet and me without turning to us.
“He got beaten up by some other kids behind a restaurant,” Violet says.
“Debbie’s,” McQuillen says.
“You know the place.”
“It’s the only restaurant in Ford that’s still open. Though I suppose the bar might serve food.” To Dylan he says “Go into the examining room, young man. There are gowns under the table.”
“He told us you have a CT machine,” I say.
McQuillen looks at us for the first time. “Who are you?”
“Lionel Azimuth. I’m a physician. This is my coworker, Violet Hurst.”
“Also a physician?”
“No,” Violet says.
“Nurse?”
“No,” she says.
“That’s too bad. We could use one around here. You’re not a drug rep, I hope?”
“No. I’m a paleontologist.”
“At least that’s more useful than a drug rep.”
Violet laughs. “I’ll be sure to tell my parents.”
“I like that,” Dr. McQuillen says. To me he says “I do have a CT machine. It’s a single-slice GE that I bought used, with a grant from the state that I have since paid back. Thank you for bringing Dylan in. Good night.”
I hold Dylan’s tooth out to him as a peace offering. “Is it all right if we stay?”
McQuillen takes it and shrugs. “
I’d
want to. Although I’mafraid your lovely ‘coworker’ is
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