about stuff. Objects. Often it’s shiny stuff. Like, say, electronic parts.”
Cruzon looked at him. “Electronic parts. A chemical that makes you obsess about electronic parts?”
The raised eyebrows said,
Sounds like bullshit to me.
Stanner thought,
Why couldn’t I have drawn a stupider cop? Lord
knows there are enough around. But not this time.
Cruzon leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling as if he had crib notes up there. “Well, actually. There was a little vandalism at the high school. A vocational class, the electronics shop. Last night.”
“Huh,” Stanner said. “Electronics shop. When I was a kid it was woodshop or metal shop and that was it. Anything stolen?”
“I’m not sure.”
Stanner nodded, shrugging unconcernedly. “Well. Maybe I’ll look into it. But there’s probably no connection at all. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
He smiled again, hoping they couldn’t see him shudder.
6
December 3, morning
Adair went to get some clean clothes for school from the dryer, and found her mother wandering around in the garage. Her mom was walking back and forth, in repeating patterns—like a mouse stuck in the patterns of a maze long after the maze has been removed.
“Hi, Mom,” Adair said, bending to open the dryer door. She’d put the clothes in the night before; they were still barely warm. Her bare feet, under her nightgown, were cold on the concrete.
Mom didn’t answer. Adair straightened up and glanced at her, yawning—but the yawn was a fake, to cover the disoriented feeling she got, watching her mom walk around, and around. Mom walked over to Dad’s tool bench. She touched the tool bench twice, shook her head, then turned around and walked across the garage, skirting a stack of boxes containing half-broken diving equipment. She stopped at the wall; reached out and touched the dusty plaster-board. She said, “Perimeter. Someone please. Perimeter. Volume. Someone.”
“Mom?”
Mom ignored her. She went back to the tool bench. She touched it twice, shook her head, then turned around and walked to the farther wall. She touched the wall.
“Mom!”
Still no response. Mom walked to the bench. Touched it twice. “Perimeter. Please.”
Adair got a squeezing feeling, like she’d felt when Dad had his breakdown. Was Mom having a nervous breakdown of her own? Was the whole family fundamentally defective? Maybe someday they were going to find her, too, wandering around in the garage, touching walls and babbling.
Then the door opened suddenly behind her, and she jumped. “Go to school, Adair,” Dad said, hurrying past her. He walked over to Mom, put his arms around her, and whispered something in her ear. Mom struggled—her arms thrashed—and then she went limp. Dad caught her, and she straightened up. She saw Adair watching, and she put her arms around Dad.
They hugged.
Then Mom said, “You shouldn’t catch us playing these little games.”
Dad and Mom looked at her. Then both of them
leered
at her.
Adair backed away and turned to rush through the kitchen door. She heard her parents laughing.
She stopped in the kitchen, trembling, to listen.
“Reinstall?” Dad’s voice came dimly from the garage.
“Reinstall,” Mom said, her voice calm and cheerful.
Adair went to her bedroom and started getting dressed. She started crying partway through putting on her socks, with one sock still halfway onto her left foot. She sat there leaning over, with her hands on the sock, and just sagged like that, her head against her knees, crying.
Cal was walking by. He stopped at her door and stared in at her. “What the fuck are you crying about?”
It sounded harsh, but she knew it was as close as he could get to letting her know he was worried about her.
She made herself stop crying. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it. There’s something wrong with Mom and Dad.”
“What? They’re fine. They started spending a lot of time together again. They go off
Cruzon looked at him. “Electronic parts. A chemical that makes you obsess about electronic parts?”
The raised eyebrows said,
Sounds like bullshit to me.
Stanner thought,
Why couldn’t I have drawn a stupider cop? Lord
knows there are enough around. But not this time.
Cruzon leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling as if he had crib notes up there. “Well, actually. There was a little vandalism at the high school. A vocational class, the electronics shop. Last night.”
“Huh,” Stanner said. “Electronics shop. When I was a kid it was woodshop or metal shop and that was it. Anything stolen?”
“I’m not sure.”
Stanner nodded, shrugging unconcernedly. “Well. Maybe I’ll look into it. But there’s probably no connection at all. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
He smiled again, hoping they couldn’t see him shudder.
6
December 3, morning
Adair went to get some clean clothes for school from the dryer, and found her mother wandering around in the garage. Her mom was walking back and forth, in repeating patterns—like a mouse stuck in the patterns of a maze long after the maze has been removed.
“Hi, Mom,” Adair said, bending to open the dryer door. She’d put the clothes in the night before; they were still barely warm. Her bare feet, under her nightgown, were cold on the concrete.
Mom didn’t answer. Adair straightened up and glanced at her, yawning—but the yawn was a fake, to cover the disoriented feeling she got, watching her mom walk around, and around. Mom walked over to Dad’s tool bench. She touched the tool bench twice, shook her head, then turned around and walked across the garage, skirting a stack of boxes containing half-broken diving equipment. She stopped at the wall; reached out and touched the dusty plaster-board. She said, “Perimeter. Someone please. Perimeter. Volume. Someone.”
“Mom?”
Mom ignored her. She went back to the tool bench. She touched it twice, shook her head, then turned around and walked to the farther wall. She touched the wall.
“Mom!”
Still no response. Mom walked to the bench. Touched it twice. “Perimeter. Please.”
Adair got a squeezing feeling, like she’d felt when Dad had his breakdown. Was Mom having a nervous breakdown of her own? Was the whole family fundamentally defective? Maybe someday they were going to find her, too, wandering around in the garage, touching walls and babbling.
Then the door opened suddenly behind her, and she jumped. “Go to school, Adair,” Dad said, hurrying past her. He walked over to Mom, put his arms around her, and whispered something in her ear. Mom struggled—her arms thrashed—and then she went limp. Dad caught her, and she straightened up. She saw Adair watching, and she put her arms around Dad.
They hugged.
Then Mom said, “You shouldn’t catch us playing these little games.”
Dad and Mom looked at her. Then both of them
leered
at her.
Adair backed away and turned to rush through the kitchen door. She heard her parents laughing.
She stopped in the kitchen, trembling, to listen.
“Reinstall?” Dad’s voice came dimly from the garage.
“Reinstall,” Mom said, her voice calm and cheerful.
Adair went to her bedroom and started getting dressed. She started crying partway through putting on her socks, with one sock still halfway onto her left foot. She sat there leaning over, with her hands on the sock, and just sagged like that, her head against her knees, crying.
Cal was walking by. He stopped at her door and stared in at her. “What the fuck are you crying about?”
It sounded harsh, but she knew it was as close as he could get to letting her know he was worried about her.
She made herself stop crying. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it. There’s something wrong with Mom and Dad.”
“What? They’re fine. They started spending a lot of time together again. They go off
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