Fractured Eden by Steven Gossington Page B

police.”
    A fugitive from justice?
    “They follow me everywhere. They try to zap me with beams.”
    “What beams?”
    “Beams of radiation. They’re trying to boil my blood with their beams. Here, feel my arm. Feel the heat from my hot blood.” He looked at Aaron with wide eyes.
    Aaron touched the man’s forearm. “They followed you here?”
    “Yep. They were outside my house a few days ago. They didn’t know I was home.”
    “Where are they now?”
    “Gone. As long as I’m behind my beam blockers, I’m okay.”
    “Beam blockers?”
    “Sure. Drive by my house and I’ll show them to you.”
    “I might do that. Thanks.”
    A few minutes later, Aaron handed him a prescription. “Be sure and take your medicine.”
    “That’s what everyone tells me.” He jammed the prescription into his pocket.
    “By the way, is Cam short for something?”
    Cam strummed one last chord. “No.”
     
    After work, Aaron drove to Rocky Donnigan’s auto shop on the outskirts of town. He checked his rearview mirror more than usual but saw nothing suspicious.
    Aaron parked near the door to the small lobby of the shop and walked inside. Rocky stood by the counter. “Hi, Doc.”
    “Can I get maintenance on my car?”
    “No problem. I’ll take care of it,” Rocky said.
    “My Volvo is a good car, but I’ll bet you miss the old days. It must have been easier to work on cars back in the day.”
    Rocky looked out the window. “I do miss the old classics. They were fun to fiddle with.”
    “What’s your favorite classic car?”
    Rocky scratched his chin. “Can’t go wrong with a ‘57 Chevy. That was a beauty. But if I could have only one, I’d make it a red ‘64 Pontiac GTO two-door convertible with a four-speed transmission. Those were fun cars to work on and drive.”
    “You have fond memories of that car?”
    “One of my good buddies back then had one, and we used to drive around town showing off.” Rocky sighed. “Well, back to work. I’ll get to your car soon.”
    “No problem. Take your time.”
    Rocky finished work on a Toyota Camry, and then he drove Aaron’s car into the garage and power-lifted it off the ground.
    He motioned Aaron to walk to the edge of the car bay. “Volvo is a real sturdy car,” Rocky said. “They’re like tanks.” He walked around and underneath the car, checking various parts. “You’re going to need new tires soon.”
    Aaron nodded. “I’m not surprised.”
    “Folks go through lots of tires around here.”
    Aaron watched as Rocky maneuvered around the car and through the engine, every step and hand action choreographed with no wasted motion.
    After a short while, Rocky straightened and stood tall, wiping his hands on a towel. “I’ll clean it up, and you’re good to go.”
     
    On his way home, Aaron slowed his car in front of a house set back from the road.
    What in the world is that?
    Several shiny silver rectangular partitions stood upright in the front yard. Aaron stopped at the side of the road, and a gangly man walked between the partitions and waved, a guitar hanging from his neck.
    It’s Cam Fillmore, my schizophrenic patient.
    Aaron pulled into the driveway, and Cam leaned down to Aaron’s window.
    “Hi, Doc. How do you like my beam blockers?”
    “Do they work?”
    “They sure do. I covered some wooden planks with aluminum foil, and they do the job real good. My skin doesn’t heat up when I’m behind them.”
    Aaron studied the foil-covered partitions. “They look sturdy, put together well.”
    “It was a snap. I’m a carpenter.”
    “Are you taking your medicine?”
    “Sometimes I forget.”
    “You should remember. The medicine helps you think clearly.”
    “That’s what they tell me.”
    “Did you recognize my car just now?”
    “Yep. I know your car, and I watch the cars on this road, for my own protection.”
    “But you can’t possibly spot every car that passes by.”
    “I don’t have to. When bad guys get close, my beam blockers signal