"Then what's left? Can you tell me what's left for me to believe in?"
I reached up and gripped his wrist. "This," I said. "You feel that, my hand on you? This is my hand and my word. I am your friend. You have that. You have my friendship. But that ends the moment you activate that timer."
"Is that a threat?"
"No. It's just the way it'll be. I'm sorry."
"Me too."
We stared at each other for a few more moments.
He let go of my collar. "Pretty smart for a janitor."
"I have moments."
He looked at me, at the bomb, then walked over and yanked out all the wires. "Fine. There. Happy now?"
"Yes. Thank you."
He stared at the mass of wires in his hand. "You want to know something terrible?"
"What's one more? Sure."
"The other collars, the ones he had us wearing? They're mixed in with the foam and C4. They're still active. Even if he'd managed to get out and make this far, once he was seventy-five feet away, this thing would have gone off, anyway. He never would have made it."
"You're right. That's terrible."
"Yeah." He threw down the wires, then peeled back the C4 and removed the collars, tossing them into the rain and mud. "We need to load up the bike."
"You're not going to believe this."
"What?"
I patted down my pockets. "I think I dropped my wallet back there."
He shook his head, almost smiling. "Then you should go and get it."
"Be right back."
He started strapping everything onto the motorcycle and packing up the bags in the side compartments. I looked back every chance I got to make sure he wasn't watching. I got to the trailer, waited until Christopher's back was turned, then stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
"My hero," said Grendel. "Did my sweet boy have a change of heart and send you to rescue me?"
"Yes and no."
I pulled the gun from the back of my pants and shot him in the center of his forehead, then kept firing until the clip was empty and the silencer was a smoking, charred glop of melted plastic.
Tell me, Dad, what would you have done?
I'd've shot him a lot sooner.
How's the fishing?
Fine. I enjoy it here. Don't you worry about me anymore, you hear?
Am I still a good man, Dad?
I'm a little biased on that point, Mark.
I stepped closer to Grendel's body, tilted my head to admire how the blood had blossomed out against the back wall; it looked like a giant grisly rose.
"I am a good and decent man," I said to the rose.
It was a prayer.
Christopher was just finishing with loading the motorcycle when I came back.
"Find your wallet?"
I patted my pocket. "Got it."
He handed me a helmet, then looked back at the trailer. "Suppose we should call the police?"
"No."
He cocked his head to the side. "You answered that awfully fast. There's at least three ways I can think of that he can get away."
"Christopher?"
"Yes…?"
"He's not going to get away."
His eyes widened. "What did you do?"
I shook my head. "You didn't ask me that."
He stared at me for a moment longer, gave a quick nod of his head, then reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "Thank you."
"Can we go home now, please?"
Christopher put on his helmet, swung onto the bike, and I climbed on behind him. He gunned the engine—it had a lot of power—and we started our long and slow ride through the mud toward the highway.
We rode for the better part of two-and-a-half hours before getting off the mountain. Three times we had to stop and walk the motorcycle through deep patches of mud that would have swallowed us whole had we been riding the thing. By the time the rain let up we were just over the bridge into Cincinnati. Christopher took a couple of side streets right into the heart of downtown and more traffic than I'd seen anywhere in a week. Eventually he pointed to a large 50s-style diner and I patted his shoulder.
We parked, removed our helmets, and went inside. The place was crowded and a little too warm. The waitress seated us toward the back, near the restrooms, and left to get our drink orders.
"So what do you feel like?" I said. "I'm buying."
"And a big spender. Is there no end to the surprises in store for me?"
I decided on what I wanted, then closed the menu and looked across the table at him. "What's the first thing you want to do when we get home tonight?"
"Not my home," he said, not taking his gaze from the menu.
"Work with me here, Christopher. Tanya's going to understand."
"So says you." He peered over the top of the menu. "Would you take it personally if I said I'd rather hear it from her?"
"No." Though he'd never met Tanya, he'd pegged her correctly: she did not appreciate unannounced guests. My wife is a wonderful hostess, and prefers time to prepare for company.
The waitress came with our drinks, took our orders, and left. Not once did she look directly at either of us.
We sipped at our sodas, not speaking, not looking at each other; both of us were almost completely drained.
"So," Christopher said after a couple of minutes. "I gather that Tanya and you have some sort of psychic connection."
"Beg pardon?"
He tapped his right temple with his index finger. "I take it that you can send her a psychic message about company. I'm forced to think this because you are not using one of the pay phones over by the restrooms."
"Didn't you recharge the cell?"
"Uh, no. Someone threw it in the back of the bus when it didn't work and broke it."
"Oh. Sorry. I don't remember doing that."
He shrugged. "Things were a little confusing. Besides, I didn't pay for the damn thing. You gonna call your wife now, or what?"
"Can't we eat first?"
"I'd feel a whole lot better if you'd call her now. All in favor."
We both raised our hands.
He threw a bunch of change onto the table. "I think that should cover it."
"I'll call collect."
"You sure she'll accept the charges?"
"Very funny."
"I have moments."
I went to the bank of payphones; two of them were in use, one was broken, but the last one was free and working. I made the call, but got the voicemail; the operator told me I'd have to deposit two dollars before I could leave a one-minute message. It took me a few moments to feed all the quarters into the phone, but once that was done the phone rang again and I left a message: "Honey, it's me. I'll be home in about four hours. Listen, I'm bringing someone with me, okay? His name is Christopher and he's… he's going to be staying with us for a while. I'll explain everything when I get there. Oh, one more thing—if you get any calls from anyone asking about me, just say I'm not back from my trip yet, okay? I love you so much. God, I've really missed you."
The beep sounded and the phone went dead. I stood there a few seconds longer, feeling dizzy. Jesus did I need to eat.
I got back to our table just as the waitress was delivering our food.
Christopher was gone.
"Your friend had to run an errand, I guess," said the waitress. "He said to tell you he left a note for you."