Rachel had scrubbed any trace of herself from the apartment, right down to the shelf and a half of healthy food she’d kept in my fridge. The good news was that left more room for beer. I’d bought a four-pack of Half Acre tallboys and found a spot for them beside two different kinds of mustard. Then I popped one and walked back into the living room. I thought about calling, but knew I’d get her machine. As bad as I was with people these days, I was even worse with their machines. So I sat on the couch instead and looked at the spaces where her things used to be. Things I’d hardly noticed until they were gone. Spaces I’d need to get used to. It was past midnight when I turned out the lights, climbed into bed, and closed my eyes.
It was a soft day in Chicago. The sky was blue, the smell of fresh grass and dirt thick in my nostrils. I stretched my eyes across a long, patterned canvas of outfield. There were people dotted here and there, crouching forward, bare hands clamped on knees. Others idled along the foul lines in groups of two or three, chatting pleasantly and drinking beer.
I felt more than heard the crack of the bat. The ball, high and dark in the sky. Hit almost directly over my head. I ran, but couldn’t feel my legs underneath. The ball reached its apex and began to drop, seams spinning as it fell. I reached, careful to keep my hands wide, fingers straight, and caught it softly over my shoulder. Sixteen-inch softball. Simplest thing in the world. As long as you didn’t think about it. Or were dreaming.
I pulled up in three steps and turned to throw the ball back toward the infield. My mother was there, on the other side of an outfield fence I hadn’t noticed before. She clapped noiselessly but didn’t smile. I thought it was because she was ashamed of her teeth. Or maybe she was just ashamed. I tossed the ball in and followed.
By the time I got to the dirt skin of the infield, the players were gone. The air, slack. My brother stood near home plate, face and shoulders limned in shadow. I moved closer. Philip turned, lips creased in a yellow curl. I tried to scream, but my voice, like my mom’s, was gone. A cold hand held my heart until it shivered and stopped.
I sat straight up in my bed. The pup was balled up in the corner, tail wagging slowly, head flicking from me to the hallway. My alarm clock rolled over to 2:00 a.m. Someone was knocking at the front door.
I got up, found a bathrobe, and squeezed a look through the peephole. I thought about what I saw, then swung the door open.
“You change your mind about coffee?”
Ellen Brazile hugged herself and glanced at the apartment across the hall.
“Don’t worry,” I said and stepped aside. “He’s either out at a bar or dead drunk asleep.”
Ellen walked in. I sat her in the living room and switched on a lamp. Her long cheekbones looked like sculpted ivory. Her profile, a scuffed portrait in the thick of a Chicago night.
“I’m sorry for coming over like this.” She took a quick glance around the apartment.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“It was just hard to talk before. And … ”
“And you want to talk about something that can’t wait?”
“Yes.”
“Go ahead.”
She tightened her mouth and wrinkled her forehead.
“You came all the way up, Ellen. Why stop now?”
“Did you tell me the truth about Cook County?”
“You want to see the X-ray?”
“No. Just tell me the truth.”
“Hold on.” I padded out to the kitchen and got another Half Acre out of the fridge. Then I reconsidered and found the whiskey. I moved back into the living room, sat down, and showed her my drink. She shook her head.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I took a small sip of scotch. “I was working a case and banged up my ribs. Not too bad, but enough. End of story.” I took another sip and placed the tumbler on a side table. “Now, you want to tell me what’s really bothering you?”
A pause. “I lied about why I was at the hospital.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“I know you lied, yes. Why? I have no idea.”
“Maybe I’ll take that coffee.”
I wound up making her a cup of Barry’s Tea. She puffed her lips and blew on it. Then she took a sip. “Good tea.”
“It’s Irish.”
“Of course.” Another sip and she was ready. “You want to know what black biology is all about?”
“I thought I got an earful today.”
“Hardly. People talk about weaponized anthrax and the like. Child’s play compared with what I have on my laptop.”
“Maybe I don’t want to hear this.”
“Who does? Ever think about cancer as a transmissible disease? You catch it like the flu. I got that beauty mapped out right now. All I have to do is build it. Got a stealth version as well.”
“Stealth?”
“The pathogen lies dormant in the body until it’s triggered by some external event. Like the herpes virus is triggered by stress.”
“Except the external event in this case … ”
“Would be designed and controlled by whoever created the pathogen. You infect the community and wait. Trigger the event at your time and choosing and activate the virus.”
“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
“Who’s asking for that?”
“Sounds like you might be. If you can’t handle the pressure, get out.”
“I don’t want to get out. Not now. Not when we’re so close.”
“To what?”
She shrugged. “What do you think? Creating life from nothing.”
I looked at my glass of whiskey and wished I’d brought in the bottle. “Why are you telling me all this, Ellen?”
“I’ve left three messages today for Matt Danielson. He hasn’t returned any of them.”
“The subway thing was a false alarm. He’s probably moved on to bigger and better disasters. He’ll get back to you.”
She hunted around for someplace to put her cup and wound up placing it on the floor. “Is that okay?”
I waved a hand. “Why were you at Cook tonight, Ellen?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are you afraid there’s been a release?”
“I’m always afraid of that. Been that way for five years.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“The stuff we found in the subway is harmless.”
“What about the kid you saw in the ER? Looked like one hell of a case of food poisoning.”
“I’m heading back right now to take a look at his blood.”
“You ever sleep?”
“I’ll get the tests running and grab a few hours.”
I walked over to my desk and scratched out a name on a piece of paper. “There’s a Chicago cop named Donnie Quin. He died today. You can find his body either at Cook County Hospital or the morgue.”
“And?”
“Do me a favor and check out his blood. You’re looking at the kid anyway.”
Ellen hooded her eyes. “Actually, there are six cases I’m looking at.”
“Six?”
“Yes. Three more sick, two dead in the past seven hours.”
“All like the kid?”
“Somewhat.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’ve got six cases of something. They all live in a fifteen-to-twenty-block radius, so I’m thinking maybe they’re related.”
“And maybe it’s not something they ate.”
“I’ll know more when I see the blood.”
“How ready would we be if something did happen?”
“Something more than food poisoning?”
“Yes.”
“You saw what went on tonight. Anyone in an ER is at grave risk.”
“The patients?”
“Patients, doctors, nurses. They have limited training, no protective equipment. No chance.”
“So what happens to them?”
“Depends on the pathogen. If it’s a bad one, they die. Then we autopsy them. Hopefully soon enough to make a difference for the rest of us.”
I nodded at the scrap of paper I’d given her. “Check out Quin. Let me know what you find.”
She didn’t agree. Just shoved the note into her bag. Maggie picked herself up from the corner and ambled in for a little attention.
“Your pal?” Ellen reached down and scratched the pup’s ears. Maggie rolled onto her back and wagged her tail for more.
“She keeps me from talking to myself.”
“She’s very cute.”
“Everybody thinks so.”
I walked Ellen out of my living room. She stopped just short of the door and turned. My shoulder brushed hers in a hallway that was suddenly all corners. I could smell the heat off her skin. For a moment, I thought she might reach out and touch my face. For a moment I didn’t know if that was the best thing that ever happened to me. Or another nightmare. Instead, she pulled at a lock of hair that was floating free and tucked it behind her ear.
“What is it?” My voice sounded thick and clumsy.
“There’s something else I want to ask.”
“Go ahead.”
“It’s personal.”
“You already turned me down for coffee, and I’m standing here in my bathrobe. So jump right in.”
“Why were you screaming?”
I poked myself in the chest. “Me?”
“Yes. I heard it from the hallway. When I was outside.”
“I was asleep.”
“Then why were you screaming in your sleep?”
“I don’t know. Next time I’ll wake myself and see if I can find out.”
“You think that’s funny?”
“Not really.”
“If you want to talk, let me know.”
“Why?”
“Because I know where the demons live, Michael. And maybe I can help.”
“Good night, Ellen.”
“Good night.”