Bathing the Lion by Jonathan Carroll

breakfast. He usually is around this time of morning, which means he’ll be at the diner. Let’s go there first.” Without another word Dean walked away. Vanessa hurried after, not given time to think if his abrupt departure was an insult or just that he was preoccupied.
    A few minutes later they left the diner after having learned Kaspar had been there earlier and was probably at Bill Edmonds’s house now. They walked back toward Dean’s car.
    “Do you know this Edmonds? I think I know him from the bar.” Vanessa was two steps behind her husband as they moved down the sidewalk. Keeping up with his quick pace was always difficult.
    “I’ve heard the name before, but I’ve never met him, no. This is about to change.”
    They passed Dean’s store on the way to the car. He stopped and stared in the window. It looked the same as it had minutes before. Ayres was out of sight but inside it was still dark, full of dusty jumble and junk and magazines dated 1979.
    “You see what’s in there don’t you, Vanessa?” Dean pointed at the store window. “You saw what it was like in there before, right? I’m not nuts? What I saw was real and I’m not just hallucinating?”
    Vanessa nearly didn’t recognize her husband’s voice. It was needy and perplexed at the same time. It asked but also demanded to know—you saw the same things I saw, right ? His tone of voice clearly indicated Dean was afraid she might say no, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the only crazy person around here, husband.
    “Yes, Dean, I saw it too. Your store is gone. Ayres was young. I don’t understand any of it either.”
    He nodded, clearly relieved. “I passed here this morning on my way to sledding. I drove by and looked at the place as I always do—my little visual hello. Everything was all right then. Everything was as usual.”
    “Let’s go find Kaspar, Dean. Maybe he does know something that’ll help. Come on.” She spoke gently while tugging on his sleeve.
    “Yeah, okay.”
    This time Vanessa led the way. She kept hold of Dean’s jacket as he followed behind, sometimes looking back over his shoulder to make sure his store was still there.

 
     
    Jane Claudius loved this part of her run. The long glide down Stadionkade Road, ’round a wide soft corner at the bottom, then hit the straightaway, usually not worrying about traffic because few cars came out here at this time of morning.
    The frigid invigorating air was full of an array of winter’s best smells—woodsmoke, wet earth and stone, a moment’s heavenly whiff of something baking nearby. She pictured the baker hot and sweaty from her work, throwing open a window to let in a rush of icy air to cool the kitchen. Jane inhaled it all in grateful gulps and gasps.
    She had found her right rhythm now. Her breathing and footfalls were in synch, her arms sawing easily back and forth as she jogged home from the mall with the new skating helmet in her backpack. Of course she would have preferred to be on Rollerblades, but the roads were still covered with snow and wicked patches of ice hid everywhere, so she jogged in her winter boots, which always made Felice smile and call her G.I. Jane.
    As was often the case when she exercised, Jane felt bulletproof. Even if a car were to come out of nowhere now and hit her square on, she had the feeling she would fly unhurt through the air like a trapeze artist, land gracefully on her feet again, and keep running: yet another reason why she loved to exercise. It was really the only time of day when she stopped thinking altogether and just felt . If she was feeling right, if her body was loose and frisky, she was wholly content. Felice joked it was the only satori a middle-class woman in a pair of sneakers could ever achieve. As soon as Jane stopped moving (skating, jogging, speed walking) her brain began chattering again and immediately took over full operations.
    So it took some time for her to register and then distinguish