Chapter Two

The ride home was ten quick minutes. Wade spent the first of them dazed, unsure of what to think of what had just happened. Denial was numbing. He couldn’t look in the passenger seat at the mouth, afraid of the smile it might return to him if he looked. The thing hadn’t felt really heavy in his hand, unless Wade didn’t know his own strength. Maybe it was made of plastic. Maybe Dr. Emmett was just fine, actually. Wade was tempted to look at the gums, the bicuspids, the molars, the wisdom teeth. Perhaps there was blood staining the teeth now. Maybe his weapon had gingivitis. His fears wouldn’t recede. Perhaps Wade should just distract himself.

The only CD in the car was full of lullabies for the baby, which usually he avoided listening to unless Lydie was in the car with him. He glanced in the rearview at her car seat, out of habit. It had been a hard habit to learn, yet now he couldn’t help but do it. Thinking of Lydie or about Lydie led him to check the rearview. Of course, the car seat was empty when he looked. Lydie was at home, probably with her mom or even with his mom. Maybe Lydie was holding the bottle with her hands. His Lydie was such a cute little girl. And she was getting so big. Two months already? Things go so fast.

Why hadn’t he been thinking of Lydie when he clobbered Dr. Emmett? What had he done?

How much more could he screw up his goddamn life?

Good God, I have a kid, Wade reminded himself. Then, he grabbed the burned CD from the console, desperate for a distraction. “Songs for My Grandbaby” was sprawled across it in red Sharpie, written in his mother’s handwriting.

“Lullaby and good-night, go to sleep now, my baby...,” some syrupy sweet chirpy singer crooned softly within moments. “All is love, yes, all is love...”

Wade winced. Where had his mom gotten this shit? Usually, the woman had better taste than this. Was she trying to give Lydie terrible taste? This was the sort of music used in hostage negotiation. Was this some sort of passive-aggressive way of punishing him for all the times he’d misbehaved? Is Kidz Bop just some kind of grandparent voodoo magic?

It droned on, though it did not lull him or distract him, for Wade’s mind was always wont to wander. His thoughts meandered from the baby to the song to how tired he felt all the time to love to sex to, damn it, are the brakes squeaking? to could I fall asleep right now? What the hell is happening? The music was not helping.

He hit the stereo screen, putting the CD to a stop. Maybe he could listen to his audiobook or a playlist or something. Wade couldn’t think about the baby now. The young man couldn’t think of how violent he had been or where that violence had come from and that no one would understand. Two minutes ’til home, maybe he’d be able to finish another chapter of that Norman Vincent Peale thing he’d been slowly working through.

Wait.

Wade took his right hand off the steering wheel. He checked his pocket. No. Other pocket. No.

He looked at the passenger seat. That fucking grin, it gleamed white. No blood that Wade could see. No cavities. Shiny and ceramic, the mouth mocked him. It hinged open like one of those wind-up novelties. The mouth laughed at him.

The mouth was the only thing in the passenger seat. Wade could see no cell phone, no charger cord.

Panicked, Wade pulled to the side of the road abruptly. Indeed, the brakes did have a squeak.

But he had no phone. And his memory of where it was played out before he could stop it. The New York skyline. The couch with the built-in charging stations. The furniture that Dr. Emmett was so in love with. Furniture that he cared about more than Wade, furniture that he doted on and waited for. Furniture that was expensive and valuable, things that meant something to the good dentist. Wade was cheap to Dr. Emmett. Wade was worthless. Dr. Emmett would yell at Daphne, but then he just turned away from Wade. Dr. Emmett couldn’t even muster enough anger to scream at him. Dr. Emmett just turned away, like Wade was nothing.

Wade’s cell phone was on the couch in Dr. Emmett’s office. He had to turn the car around. There was no other option. He looked out the window, checked his rearview. There was no Lydie in her car seat. There was no oncoming traffic. He eased the blue Prius into a U-turn and drove the eight minutes back to the place he’d rather never see or think about again.

Δ

Once that familiar parking lot came into view, Wade slowed the car to a crawl. Though he’d been there less than 20 minutes before, even though he’d been there loitering several nights a week for two months, it felt like a different place, no longer safe or comfortable. He crept toward it, easing into the left turn. Because of his trepidation, cars passed him on the right. Wade kept expecting one of them to be a cop car. That’d just be his luck.

Someone honked at him. It broke him out of the stupor, and he pulled into the parking lot.

Wade realized, as he made his way toward his usual spot between the dentist’s office and the frame store, that the building wasn’t the trouble. He was the trouble. He’d been careless. He’d been dangerous. Now, he needed to be more careful. And far more dangerous. Wade needed to be a man now—the way men were in old movies and cop shows. He needed to be that way—a man and a dad—for Lydie. Not being that way only leads to secrets. And secrets only lead to trouble.

He parked and stared at the building again. There were no other cars there, except for Dr. Emmett’s. He wasn’t just waiting. He wasn’t just scared. Wade needed a plan. Not having a plan makes everything go to shit, so he needed to come up with a plan, just in case. Wade also needed to psych himself up before he returned to the scene of his crime.

“You have to get that phone, Wade,” he muttered to himself, thinking like a good coach and then behaving like one in a locker room at halftime by raising the volume on his command. “YOU HAVE TO GET THAT PHONE, WADE! GET HYPE, WADE! GET THAT FUCKING PHONE!!”

He paused, looked in the rearview at himself, and then admitted, “Oh my God, I’m nuts.” Wade didn’t feel like a killer. Wade felt like a kid.

He had to go into that office and grab his damn phone. His life would be over if anyone found it. There was too much stuff on it, too many secrets. Texts and photos between him and Dr. Emmett. Wade had sent Dr. Emmett all sorts of photos, at the man’s request.

Suddenly, he remembered that phones worked both ways, and his plan became more complicated. Could he get both phones?

In truth, Wade never wanted to look at the good dentist ever again. But he also wanted to see his daughter grow up, not just during monthly visitation to the penitentiary. Maybe he could get both phones.

Wade realized he’d been there three whole minutes before he urged himself out of the seat. He still couldn’t look in the passenger seat and face the teeth.

He opened the driver’s side door and swung his legs out quickly. The Prius dinged at him, reminding him to turn off the headlights he’d forgotten about. As he pulled himself out of the car, he turned the knob ’til the sidewalk in front of him was only illuminated by the dusk. He looked at his watch. It was 6:30 p.m. Someone had probably been texting him by then.

Δ

Wade opened the door to the waiting room, looked again at the New York City skyline along its walls. Two quick steps inside, and he had his phone and charger cord in his hand. He yanked the cord out of that fucking electric couch, taking his anger out on the dentist’s damn furniture.

Four missed calls. Ten texts. All from home.

Wade was torn over whether to try and get Dr. Emmett’s cell phone. He tried to think over his mom’s favorite crime dramas, whether the phone records could be retrieved even if he destroyed the dentist’s cell. His mind wandered from “SVU” to “CSI” to “NCIS: LA” before it landed on, of all people, Edward Snowden. Then he thought of Trump and Russia. Damn it, Wade realized, modern technology fucking sucks. It’s useless to try and hide anything, unless you’re the President of the United States and can just break whatever law you damn want and step on anyone who gets in your way.

It would do no good to destroy Dr. Emmett’s phone. The cops would have the information anyway. Wade was screwed. The government already had his dick on file in some NSA warehouse. Best to just get away from this place before he left more evidence. His fingerprints were all over this place. Had he touched Dr. Emmett’s body this visit? He hadn’t.

And then another memory hit him. It overwhelmed him. Wade hadn’t flushed the toilet.

He couldn’t just stand here, even though part of him just wanted to freeze. Wade bolted very quickly from the New York lobby to the Chicago hallway, not bothering to look behind the nurses’ workstation where Dr. Emmett lay. Wade didn’t need to see that again.

Just pretend this isn’t happening. Just flush the toilet. Just go.

Wade went in the bathroom, flushed the commode and bolted back past the Chicago skyline as quick as he could go. He glanced over toward Dr. Emmett for a moment, daring himself to see what he’d done, but all he could glance were the man’s loafers before, with a deep breath, Wade was once again safely in the New York lobby.

He walked to the front door, started to push it open and realized, in horror, that someone else was pulling it open from the other side. Suddenly, Wade stood eye to eye with another guy, who looked just as confused to see him in the office.