get close to them, Em. They’re kind of creepy. But I think I would know, right? I mean, wouldn’t there be a smell?”
“Depends on how long they’ve been dead. But yeah, there would be a smell.”
Troy rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. It bothered her that she felt so content. It was almost like she was accepting what was happening. She felt she should be doing more, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what else she could do.
Emma hadn’t spoken in so long that Troy assumed that she had gone back to her book until her voice came out low and contemplative. “So they aren’t sleeping, are they?”
It took Troy a moment to realize that Emma was asking a question, not stating the obvious. “What makes you say that?”
“If they’re just asleep,” her words were measured, as if she wasn’t sure herself what she was trying to say, “they would still need food.”
“Maybe.” Emma was going down the same road she herself had gone down days before. She set her mug on the floor and reached across and touched Emma’s hand to get her attention. Emma jumped, but Troy didn’t think it was from fear, so she didn’t remove her hand. “I know what you’re thinking. But I don’t know the answer. I know those people out there are breathing; they have pulses, they’re warm.”
“But how could they survive like that?”
Troy sat up on her elbows and looked at Emma. “I don’t know. I just know they aren’t dead.”
“Then are we?”
“Now why in the hell would you say something like that?”
“Because nothing else makes sense.”
“You’re right. Nothing makes sense. And it hasn’t since I woke up in that damn hospital. But why would you all of a sudden come to the conclusion that we’re the dead ones? What, you think this is some kind of Armageddon, and God rewards the good folks by giving them the heaven of everlasting sleep out on the dirty-assed sidewalks?”
Troy stood up. The words dropped from her mouth like stones. “Or maybe you believe you and I are the ones in hell. One problem with that theory.” Troy pointed to the bars on the windows. “I don’t think this is your idea of hell. You’ve been in purgatory for, what is it? Two years now? That’s it, isn’t it? You want to stay here. Nothing has changed for you. You used to hide in your plush little condo, and you still do. There’s no one to bother you here. No one to scare you, right? That’s not living, Emma. That’s just sitting around waiting to die.”
Emma sat up, her face a tight pale mask. “Why are you saying all this? You know it’s not true.”
“Because I don’t understand why you and I are here and she…”
The hurt and shock on Emma’s face was like a dash of cold water.
“What were you going to say?”
Troy shook her head; she would not discuss Patricia with Emma. It wasn’t any of Emma’s business. She had to think. She’d blown up at Emma for no reason. She needed to get away before she said something so hurtful that she couldn’t take it back. “I’m going for a ride.”
“There’s a storm coming in.”
“This is Portland, remember? I ride in rain all the time.” Troy felt most of her anger seep away, but Emma still reacted as if she had been slapped. She said something about going to bed, and left the room. Troy picked up Dite and realized as she pulled the door closed behind her that she was not looking forward to her ride.
Chapter Eight
Cold wind crept down the collar of Abe’s jacket like the icy fingers of death. His knees were wet from kneeling in the dewy grass. He had returned to hide behind this same oak tree for the last two days. He had been so sure that she would show. If this Harvey woman had been Troy’s lover, and instinct told him she was, Troy would spend time at her gravesite, especially if she perceived her world as falling down around her ears. But as he sat there pondering those things, it occurred to him that if Troy had not accepted her
“Depends on how long they’ve been dead. But yeah, there would be a smell.”
Troy rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. It bothered her that she felt so content. It was almost like she was accepting what was happening. She felt she should be doing more, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what else she could do.
Emma hadn’t spoken in so long that Troy assumed that she had gone back to her book until her voice came out low and contemplative. “So they aren’t sleeping, are they?”
It took Troy a moment to realize that Emma was asking a question, not stating the obvious. “What makes you say that?”
“If they’re just asleep,” her words were measured, as if she wasn’t sure herself what she was trying to say, “they would still need food.”
“Maybe.” Emma was going down the same road she herself had gone down days before. She set her mug on the floor and reached across and touched Emma’s hand to get her attention. Emma jumped, but Troy didn’t think it was from fear, so she didn’t remove her hand. “I know what you’re thinking. But I don’t know the answer. I know those people out there are breathing; they have pulses, they’re warm.”
“But how could they survive like that?”
Troy sat up on her elbows and looked at Emma. “I don’t know. I just know they aren’t dead.”
“Then are we?”
“Now why in the hell would you say something like that?”
“Because nothing else makes sense.”
“You’re right. Nothing makes sense. And it hasn’t since I woke up in that damn hospital. But why would you all of a sudden come to the conclusion that we’re the dead ones? What, you think this is some kind of Armageddon, and God rewards the good folks by giving them the heaven of everlasting sleep out on the dirty-assed sidewalks?”
Troy stood up. The words dropped from her mouth like stones. “Or maybe you believe you and I are the ones in hell. One problem with that theory.” Troy pointed to the bars on the windows. “I don’t think this is your idea of hell. You’ve been in purgatory for, what is it? Two years now? That’s it, isn’t it? You want to stay here. Nothing has changed for you. You used to hide in your plush little condo, and you still do. There’s no one to bother you here. No one to scare you, right? That’s not living, Emma. That’s just sitting around waiting to die.”
Emma sat up, her face a tight pale mask. “Why are you saying all this? You know it’s not true.”
“Because I don’t understand why you and I are here and she…”
The hurt and shock on Emma’s face was like a dash of cold water.
“What were you going to say?”
Troy shook her head; she would not discuss Patricia with Emma. It wasn’t any of Emma’s business. She had to think. She’d blown up at Emma for no reason. She needed to get away before she said something so hurtful that she couldn’t take it back. “I’m going for a ride.”
“There’s a storm coming in.”
“This is Portland, remember? I ride in rain all the time.” Troy felt most of her anger seep away, but Emma still reacted as if she had been slapped. She said something about going to bed, and left the room. Troy picked up Dite and realized as she pulled the door closed behind her that she was not looking forward to her ride.
Chapter Eight
Cold wind crept down the collar of Abe’s jacket like the icy fingers of death. His knees were wet from kneeling in the dewy grass. He had returned to hide behind this same oak tree for the last two days. He had been so sure that she would show. If this Harvey woman had been Troy’s lover, and instinct told him she was, Troy would spend time at her gravesite, especially if she perceived her world as falling down around her ears. But as he sat there pondering those things, it occurred to him that if Troy had not accepted her
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