“Oh, Dexter,” she said. “You’re a wonderful father. They absolutely love you.”
“But,” I said, struggling for both authenticity and the next line,
“but they’re little now. When they get older. When they want to know about their real father—”
“They know all they’ll ever need to know about that sonofa-bitch,” Rita snapped. It surprised me: I had never heard her use rough language before. Possibly she never had, either, because she began to blush. “You are their real father,” she said. “You are the man they look up to, listen to, and love. You are exactly the father they need.”
I suppose that was at least partly true, since I was the only one who could teach them the Harry Way and other things they needed to know, though I suspected this was not exactly what Rita had in mind. But it didn’t seem politic to bring that up, so I simply said, “I really want to be good at this. I can’t fail, even for a minute.”
“Oh, Dex,” she said, “people fail all the time.” That was very true. I had noticed many times before that failure seemed to be one of the identifying characteristics of the species. “But we keep trying, and it comes out all right in the end. Really. You’re going to be great at this, you’ll see.”
“Do you really think so?” I said, only mildly ashamed of the disgraceful way I was hamming it up.
“I know so,” she said, with her patented Rita smile. She reached across the table and clutched at my hand. “I won’t let you fail,” she said. “You’re mine now.”
268
JEFF LINDSAY
It was a bold claim, flinging the Emancipation Proclamation aside like that and saying she owned me. Still, it seemed to close off an awkward moment comfortably, so I let it slide. “All right,” I said.
“Let’s have breakfast.”
She cocked her head to one side and looked at me for a moment, and I was aware that I must have hit a false note, but she just blinked a few times before she said, “All right,” and got up and began to cook breakfast.
The other had come to the door in the night, and then slammed it in fear—there was no mistaking that part. He had felt fear. He heard the call and came, and he was afraid. And so the Watcher had no doubt about it.
It was time.
Now.
T H I R T Y - S I X
Iwas bone weary, confused, and, worst of all, still frightened. Every lighthearted blast of the horn had me leaping against the seat belt and searching for a weapon to defend myself, and every time an innocent car pulled up to within inches of my bumper I found myself glaring into the mirror, waiting for an unusually hostile movement or a burst of the hateful dream music flung at my head.
Something was after me. I still didn’t know why or what, beyond a vague connection to an ancient god, but I knew it was after me, and even if it could not catch me right away, it was wearing me down to the point where surrender would seem like a relief.
What a frail thing a human being is—and without the Passenger, that is all I was, a poor imitation of a human being. Weak, soft, slow and stupid, unseeing, unhearing and unaware, helpless, hopeless, and harried. Yes, I was almost ready to lie down and let it run over me, whatever it was. Give in, let the music wash over me and take me away into the joyful fire and the blank bliss of death. There would be no struggle, no negotiation, nothing but an end to all that is Dexter. And after a few more nights like the one just past, that would be fine with me.
270
JEFF LINDSAY
Even at work there was no relief. Deborah was lurking in wait, and pounced after I had barely stepped out of the elevator.
“Starzak is missing,” she said. “Couple of days of mail in the box, newspapers in the drive— He’s gone.”
“But that’s good news, Debs,” I said. “If he ran, doesn’t that prove he’s guilty?”
“It doesn’t prove shit,” she said. “The same thing happened to Kurt Wagner, and he showed up dead. How do I know that won’t happen to Starzak?”
“We can put out a BOLO,” I said. “We might get to him first.”
Deborah kicked the wall. “Goddamn it, we haven’t gotten to anything first, or even on time. Help me out here, Dex,” she said.
“This thing is driving me nuts.”
I could have said that it was doing far more than that to me, but it didn’t seem charitable. “I’ll try,” I said instead, and Deborah slouched away down the hall.