Circuit Of Heaven by Dennis Danvers Page A

pounds. “Peter said you might be someone I should meet.”
    “And then what?”
    “You are something of a mystery, Nemo. You are of sound mind, with no apparent religious affiliation to prevent you from going into the Bin, and yet you stay out. Why is that Nemo?”
    “Well, it’s not so I can stand here in the middle of the night talking to you. I’m going to bed now. Why don’t you take a hike?”
    Just then the front door opened and Lawrence ducked through it holding a lantern. He held it up high, and Nemo saw Gabriel in the glare, his long silver hair was swept back, hanging down past his shoulders, his beard reaching his belt. His eyes were large and deep-set, unblinking in the light. He smiled humorlessly, a thin line in the mass of hair. “Good evening,” he said to Lawrence, who didn’t say a thing. Gabriel vaulted the porch rail, his hair streaming behind him, and dropped to the ground. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Nemo,” he called from the darkness. “We’ll be in touch.”
    Lawrence was still peering after him. Lawrence had incredible night vision. His borrowed genes had come from a nocturnal lizard.
    “Where’s he headed?” Nemo asked.
    “He’s going in the side door of Jonathan’s house. Peter’s room, we believe. He did say it was Peter who recommended he make your acquaintance.”
    “You were listening at the door?”
    “We heard your keys fall. We were merely performing our duties.”
    “I can pick up my own keys, Lawrence.”
    Lawrence wagged his head at Nemo’s ingratitude. “That is not the task to which we were referring. We’ve been observing our visitor for perhaps ten minutes when you arrived.”
    “How did he know I was coming home? Who the hell was that guy?”
    “We would hazard a guess that he is a member of the underground.”
    Nemo knew such a thing existed, of course. Everybody did. But he’d never actually met anyone on the inside. A bunch of crazies hellbent on destroying the Bin—might as well try to destroy Everest. “What could he want from me?”
    “Your anger, of course. Revolutions always require a great deal of anger.”
    “I’m not
that
angry.”
    “We would say our visitor quite disagrees and has plans for you.” Lawrence gestured with the lantern toward the open door. “At present, however, it’s time for a proper meal, and then on to beddies. We’ve had quite the birthday, haven’t we, Nemo?”
    “Screw you, Lawrence.”
    “There, there. Now you see? That’s the very anger of which we were speaking.”

5

    JUSTINE WAS DREAMING AGAIN .
    She was an old woman, moving through her house with a feather duster, doing some last minute tidying up. She’d sent the nurse to the market, wanting the house to herself. She was expecting a caller, a young man from the college, who’d looked and sounded so nice over the phone, though she couldn’t quite remember his name. She never had visitors anymore. Her daughter used to come see her, but now there was only this hateful woman showing up in her place.
    She took a list out of her pocket. She checked off the items one by one: She had made cookies. She had made coffee. The tea things were ready. She had even, with much effort (all that stooping and lifting) cleaned the cat box, though now she caught the inevitable scent of fresh cat shit in the air. They queued up when she changed the litter, all three of them, to christen it.
    Who are you
? Justine asked.
    But the old woman paid her no mind, shuffling down the hall to the utility room, now reeking of catshit. The cats lay sprawled on the dryer, no doubt exhausted from their efforts. She opened the cabinet above their heads, but they didn’t stir. She took out a new box of plastic bags. She’d used the last one in the old box changing the litter. Shoving Ishmael, a big black tom, to one side with her elbow, she set the box down on top of the dryer. With her thumb, she pushed as hard as she could on the perforated line, but the E-Z Open Flap wouldn’t