To my surprise, I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed and full of energy. Candy was already downstairs with Katie. I heard the microwave pinging, alerting Katie that breakfast was served.
I looked at my phone. There were no messages from AO. In fact, there was no record of AO’s texts to me the previous day—or any day for that matter. The sweet smell of cinnamon oatmeal wafted up the stairs.
I’m supposed to go to Saco, I thought while I peed. AO’s urging to trust him seemed just as ludicrous after a good night’s sleep.
So why wasn’t I contemplating how to get out of my next mission? Would my cell phone self-destruct in ten seconds? No, AO needed it to reach me. Yeah, sure, it was the phone that made me do it!
“I hope you don’t mind that I kept Katie home,” Candy said, holding a mug of steaming coffee between both hands. “With everything that’s happened, I think it’s best she stays home for a while. I’ll feel better.”
I kissed the top of her head. “I totally agree. It’s not like she’s missing anything crucial in preschool anyway. If we keep her home for the week, she may fall behind in her finger painting skills, but I can live with that.”
Candy exhaled with a bright smile. “I don’t know why I was so worried you’d be upset. How do you feel?” She felt my forehead with the back of her hand.
“Fine. I’m just happy to be out of the hospital”
“They said on the news today that there were four separate assaults in town last night. It’s like the whole place has gone crazy.”
“All the more reason to stay inside with Katie today. I’m going to take a ride to Portland, see if I can catch up with Jimmy V. Maybe he has an opening, or knows someone who does.”
I knew Jimmy Valentine from when we worked at a credit and collections company, my first job out of college. Jimmy had moved to Maine several years ago and opened up his own consulting business.
Not that I had any intention of seeing him. The trip to Portland and back was roughly the same as Saco, about two hours. I needed a good excuse to be out of the house for a while.
“That’s a great idea! It’s always who you know,” Candy said. “Now, you sit while I make you some oatmeal.”
I said good morning to Katie, but she was so engrossed by SpongeBob SquarePants, she didn’t even know I was there.
* * * * *
It seemed as if the Lumina drove itself to the old elementary school’s parking lot on Depot Street. Auto pilot was becoming a common occurrence in my life. I wasn’t surprised when I saw the red Mustang, parked close to the empty building.
First, AO could talk to me without my needing to text. Now I could find the muscle car without being told where it had been parked. All the more reason to believe this was some self-induced delusion. Did I have a split personality? What did I call myself when I bought the Mustang and the scimitar? Or did I just steal them? That seemed more in line with this new side of me.
I swapped cars. The case with the scimitar lay across the entire backseat. For the first time, I noticed the odd smell in the car—a hinting scent of foreign spices. I looked for an air freshener but could find none.
AO didn’t make an appearance during the drive to Saco. The radio didn’t work, even though the car looked brand new, so I drove in silence.
It wasn’t until I passed the WELCOME TO SACO sign that AO spoke.
We had taken Katie to the water park in Saco when we first moved to Maine and I was lost in the memory of one of the best days of the summer. AO’s simulated voice almost made me careen into the divider.
“The GPS system will take you the rest of the way,” AO said.
“It better not lead me to a school,” I said.
“It won’t.”
I passed an old factory building with the Saco River to my left. The GPS took me down winding residential streets. The neighborhood went from upper middle class to don’t-keep-your-doors-unlocked in just several blocks. Here, the weather-beaten Cape houses were caged in by rusted, twisted chain-link fences. There were more “Beware of Dog” signs than I could count. A startling number of angry pitbulls eyed me as I passed.
“You have arrived,” the GPS chirped cheerily as I stopped in front of a two-story, two-family house. The front steps were missing a board and the screen door was off its hinges, leaning against one of the windows.
“Do I take the scimitar?” I asked, worried that if I didn’t, that damned agony would return.
“Of course,” AO said. “The door is open. Go inside quietly. When you get to the bedroom at the back of the house, you will have truly arrived at your destination.”
I looked to see if anyone was around. The neighborhood was empty, save for a few barking dogs. That didn’t mean people weren’t watching the flashy sports car from behind thin curtains or slatted blinds.
Carrying the case under my arm, I slowly opened the door, careful not to shout, “Is anyone home?” I sensed AO wouldn’t have appreciated that. The smell of yesterday’s dinner and dust enveloped my head. The inside of the house was surprisingly neat, though the furniture was worn and threadbare. There was a big, new, flat-screen TV in the living room. In the kitchen, dishes had been left to soak and the table for four was littered with crumbs.
And that’s how you get ants.
I almost laughed out loud.
What the hell was happening to me? I just broke into a home carrying an Arabic sword days after murdering two people, and all I could think of were funny one-liners.
Screw stealth. I was crazy. I needed to be caught. If I tried to turn myself in, the power I had given to this fantasy AO would cripple me. So, what was to stop me from being discovered and taken in by the cops? It was better than having another death on my hands.
I accidentally caught my foot on a chair, spinning it into the wall.
“Who’s there?” a voice, a boy’s, cried out.
Run, kid, run!
I tromped to the back bedroom as instructed, making enough noise to rattle some of the pictures on the wall. I kicked the door in. A teenaged boy jumped from his chair, eyes wide with shock.
The gun he held in his hand was massive. I was pretty sure it was the rock to my scimitar’s scissors.
“Who the fuck are you?” the kid spat. I noticed how the gun didn’t so much as quiver. He knew how to handle it and didn’t seem hesitant to put a hole through me.
He was sixteen, maybe seventeen, with a shaved head—a tattoo of a dragon emblazoning one side. He wore a black Misfits sweatshirt, the white skeleton glaring at me, and black jeans.
I felt a burning need to piss myself. What the hell had I stumbled into?
“I said, who the fuck are you?”
That was a damn good question. If I said, “I’m the guy my phone sent to kill you,” I was pretty sure I’d be dead before I finished the sentence. The kid had eyes so dark, they bordered on black. I didn’t detect an ounce of mercy in them.
It was then that I also noticed the array of firearms laid out on his unmade bed. There were pistols, a shotgun, grenades, boxes of ammunition, and several of what looked to be homemade pipe bombs.
In that instant, I realized what the vision of the school had meant. This jackbooted kid was planning to destroy his school. He had enough on that bed to kill a hell of a lot of kids.
A calming wave swept over me.
“You planning for a one-way trip?” I said.
The kid cocked the hammer back on his gun. “What did you say?”
“When you’re done,” I said, nodding at the bed. “You going to off yourself, shoot it out with the police, or turn yourself in? Suicide seems to be the exit of choice for you kids. Which makes sense. I mean, once you do what you’re planning to do, the fate of your afterlife is sealed. You’re already going to burn in hell for eternity. Why spend the life you have left being punished as well?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. If you shoot me now, your neighbors will hear. This place will be crawling with cops. Why don’t you put the gun down?”
The air between us was sliced with a high-pitched bang.
It felt as if my leg had been kicked by a mule. I fell to a knee, watching blood seep from the tiny hole in my thigh.
The kid smiled. “That’s why I have a silencer.”