“I’m not the villain here. I’m the one who got knifed.”
“This time,” says Allegra, pulling the door behind her. I grab it before it closes.
“Take care of Candy. And don’t let either of these two near her.”
“I know how to run my own clinic.”
“Really? Does your staff settle all its arguments with a knife fight?”
Allegra doesn’t say anything. She tries to pull the door closed. I don’t let her.
“When I’ve done what I have to do, I’m coming back and I’m going to see Candy whether any of you like it or not.”
I let go of the door. She pulls it closed and locks it.
“It’s nice to see you’ve still got the magic touch with people.”
The voice is behind me. I recognize it because it’s mine. I turn around and look at me.
Saint James is dressed in tan khakis and a blue pullover with an off-brand logo over the pocket. He looks like me if I was eleven years younger and a Mormon kid on my missionary work. I’d never admit it but I feel strange and it even hurts a little seeing myself without all the scars. The guy I was before I went Downtown has been gone so long I don’t even remember him but I’m looking at him and that’s bad enough. What’s worse is that Saint James, patron saint of traitors, cowards, and general pricks, knows it.
“How’s Heaven, pal? I mean Blue Heaven. What the hell is that? Some kind of time-share hideout with D. B. Cooper and Ambrose Bierce?”
“I was about to pull you out of Vidocq’s way but as usual you solved the problem with your fist. You’re punching friends these days. It’s good to see a man broaden his interests.”
“The only reason you’d save me is because half my skin is yours.”
“True enough, but you didn’t have a shred of common sense up here, and Hell hasn’t helped you gain any perspective.”
I take out a Malediction. Sit on the hood of the Volvo and light it. I don’t offer Saint James one. No way this milquetoast smokes.
“You’re wrong. I have plenty of common sense. I’ve hardly killed anyone since I’ve been back. Okay, maybe those ten guys at Blackburn’s. But I’m the injured party here. Everyone’s gunning for me because of something you did.”
He shakes his head. Clamps his jaw angrily before speaking.
“I didn’t kill the mayor’s son and you know it. It was the ghost. I was trying to stop her just like I tried to stop her before. I was there when the boy was killed, so it was easy to pin it on me. I think someone is protecting the girl.”
“If I’m supposed to be impressed with your detective skill, you’re going to have to try harder. I know all that and I know who’s doing it.” It’s a lie but I’m not about to let this asshole in on how in the dark I am. “All I need to figure out is why. You know, even if you showed up with all the pieces of the puzzle and a carton of Carlos’s tamales, it doesn’t change the fact that you left me to clean up Mason’s shit. Now I have to clean up yours and I’m supposed to swoon over a happy reunion because you finally stepped up?”>Patty takes a pass card from her purse and lets us in. She seems perfectly sober now. The girl can hold her liquor. I’ve never seen anyone mix Hellion and civilian booze before. I hope she doesn’t explode and destroy the rest of the world.
The first floor of the dreamers’ building looks like any unfinished office space. A big open area with cable for DSL and phones. A couple of offices roughed in at the back. Walls a neutral shade of suicide beige. How could you work in one of these places and not seriously consider going apeshit postal at least once? An optional murder-suicide pact ought to be part of the hiring agreement right next to the 401(k) plan.
The stairway to the second floor is locked. Patty waves her card again and the door clicks open.
It’s dark inside and smells faintly of asphodel and belladonna. Forgetting and stimulation. Sounds like a party to me.
A cobweb brushes my face. I start to push it away but Patty says, “Don’t touch it. Don’t touch any of them.”
Through the dark I see more of the webs. They grow thicker the higher we climb. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I see that they’re not webs. They’re long, almost invisible filaments, like fishing line. Only they seem to hum and whisper.
“It sounds like they’re talking to each other.”
Patty glances back over her shoulder.
“Good ears. They’re alive. When we’re asleep, our nervous systems merge with the Big Collective and these nerves broadcast our dreams.”
The second floor is a neural obstacle course. Most of the nerves are bundled along the walls like computer cords but the densest bunch run out from a twelve-sided wood-and-brass enclosure in the middle of the room.
A room off this one is a small but comfortable-looking rest area with a fridge, a massage table, and big overstuffed chairs.