Perhaps it would lead to love, she wasn’t sure, but if nothing else, seeing his reaction would give her more information on how men respond to shared secrets.
Twilight
I hear the shower running in the bathroom.
Charlene had asked me to fill her in, so now I look over a two-sentence summary of quantum physics: “The observer’s intentions and expectations about reality actually affect the outcome of reality. Without the observer the quantum wave function never collapses.” Admittedly, the collapsing quantum wave was a concept I needed a little more time to really grasp.
As far as I could understand it, quantum physicists claimed that since possibilities do not become reality without conscious observation, matter could not exist without consciousness. So, according to Dr. Tanbyrn, philosophers ask, “If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one to hear it, does it make any sound?” but physicists are forced to ask, “If there’s no one there to observe the tree fall, does it even exist?”
As he writes:
Our universe is both a puzzle and an answer, both a mystery and an adventure. From the earliest explorations of the human mind to probing the mysteries of existence, we as a species have always been question-askers. And now, with the advancement of quantum physics, the answers we find only produce more profound questions about what is happening on the subatomic level of the universe.
Remarkably, none of the explanations used to explain the activity of subatomic particles has been proven. Not M-theory, superstring theory, the multiverse. Basically, in understanding quantum physics, you need to remember that scientists still don’t understand the nature of life, that although they can test how energy reacts under different circumstances, they still don’t really understand what it is.
In some quarters it’s even debated whether quantum physics should be considered science or a field of metaphysics.
My mind is spinning, not only because of the mystical-sounding quantum theories I’m reading, but also, admittedly, at the thought of Charlene showering in the next room over. I try to concentrate on the intricate concepts of the book, but the sound of the running water and the knowledge of who it’s washing over is a little too distracting.
Hoping to divert my thoughts, I step outside.
Clouds have rolled in. The evening is cool. Jacket weather.
A light mist touches the air.
Almost dark.
I read for a few more minutes but can still hear the water running inside the cabin, so I take out my cell and go on a walk to check if I can get a signal and to see if the files Fionna was going to send me have arrived.
Glenn Banner did not think of himself as an assassin.
Yes, he had killed people, eleven so far, and always in the name of money, but still, when he thought of assassins, he pictured slick, highly paid professionals who hide on rooftops, snap ten-thousand-dollar rifles together, take out opposition-party political figures, and then, fake passport in hand, melt into the crowd on their way to another country to lie low for a couple weeks before their next hit.
When Glenn thought of an assassin, he didn’t think of a guy who worked most days as a mechanic, a guy who was just trying to make ends meet, a divorced dad who was doing the best he knew to put food on the table and have enough cash left over to spend some time with his daughter on weekends. Mary Beth was six and lived with her mother and her stepfather two miles from Glenn’s mobile home that lay on the outskirts of Seattle.
No, he didn’t think of himself as an assassin.
But none of that changed what he was.
Lots of people had unsavory jobs they needed done, and that’s where Glenn came in. Sometimes it meant getting compromising photos of someone, or scaring off an ex-spouse, or beating some sense into a young punk who wouldn’t leave a guy’s daughter alone. Small jobs really, but they were the sort of thing Glenn was good at, and they helped pay the bills.
But two years ago he’d moved up the food chain.
Toward more permanent solutions.
Yes, he looked more like the guy who lives down the block than he did a professional problem solver, but his low visibility was part of what made him so good at what he did. He was truly gifted at playing the role of a neighbor who enjoyed a few smokes with his friends, drank a few Buds on the weekends, and always bought his little six-year-old princess a toy from a truck stop on the way back from his assignments.
But truthfully, to him she wasn’t a little princess. The kid was just a set piece in the life he was acting out. In the bigger game he was playing. But she served his purpose of creating sympathy among the people he knew, and that was reason enough to put up with spending time with her.
He parked the car at the edge of the county road that made a circuit around the center’s sprawling campus.
He didn’t want to drive onto the property, so he’d decided earlier to access it by hiking through the surrounding old-growth forest.
Tonight — collect the information that he could use against his employers. Tomorrow — solve the problem, pick up his paycheck, then blackmail the people who’d hired him.
No, he didn’t think of himself as an assassin. He was just a guy heading off to work in a job that happened to be somewhat messy.
He made sure he had his knife — a 170 mm blade, Nieto Olivo series — with him just in case. After all, as the saying goes, “Chance favors the prepared mind.” Then Glenn began picking his way through the dying daylight that was filtering through the forest around him.
Sleepover
Though he was trying to keep his voice low, Riah heard Cyrus wrapping up his phone calclass="underline" “Yes, we have a man in the area… He’s good, he’ll take care of everything… No, of course… Alright. I’ll be there within the hour… Yes. By tomorrow afternoon it won’t be a problem… And the video is on its way. You’ll be impressed with the results.”
An intriguing end to the conversation.
He said goodbye, hung up, and turned toward Riah. His eyes landed on the cloth doll she was still holding. “We’ve come a long way since then.” He gestured toward it. “Shamanism, witchcraft, sorcery. Voodoo.”
She turned it over in her hands. Studied the punctured eyes. “Some people still believe in those things. How was London?”
“Wet. Dreary. Tedious. And yes, I know.”
“You know?”
“That some people still believe in those things. I saw a voodoo ceremony myself while I was in Haiti. A bit troubling, if you ask me. The whole goal is for the participants to get possessed.”
“By a Loa.”
He seemed surprised that she knew. “Yes.”
“They call it being ‘ridden,’ as if the spirit was the rider and the person was the horse.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
Riah considered what type of response to give him, what a normal woman might say, then asked, “Why do you keep this thing around anyway? It’s kind of creepy.”
“To remember the trip, of course, but also to remind myself that superstition is erased by science. The more we advance in medicine, the less we need to believe in the supernatural. I didn’t expect you tonight.”
She strolled toward the bookshelf. “Is it a problem that I’m here?”
“No, I… No.” But his body language told her that perhaps it was.
She placed the voodoo doll back on the shelf and considered how he thought, how she could play off that to get what she wanted. “I can leave. If that’s what you’d like.”