efficient bites and chewed quickly. His hands were stiffly wrapped in rags, leaving only the fingers protruding. Then I noticed the traces of smells coming from his hands. Burned flesh, oozing sores, old and new blood. I opened my mouth slightly and breathed in.
“He’s hurt,” I said to Richard quietly.
Richard lifted his hand slightly, glancing over with a look that asked me to let this meeting play out. All right, I thought. I sat back and waited to see why we were talking to the Rag Man.
“So Stan, hey Stan, long time,” the Rag Man said to Richard. He picked at the bits of lettuce and cheese left on his burrito wrapper. He slid a glance at me, and stopped. He stared, frowning hard. “Uh…” He moved his head closer, then raised a hand over one eye. “Uh, ma’am. No offense. Do you have two heads?”
Well, that was one way to put it. “Yes.”
“Yeah. All right.”
He kept staring at me, shifting from side to side. I damped down my passion. I closed off my senses. I drew in my spirit, the way we learned to when they bussed us over the hill to middle school, where people didn’t know what we were. “Better?”
He stopped moving, and just stared, just above my head. “I saw them, right?”
“You saw them,” I agreed.
“Okay. Okay. So, Stan, you found her, then. I told you—” He leaned forward. “I told you danger would walk by your side.” He nodded, sat back, and his eyes slid to me again. “No offense, ma’am.”
I nodded. I do like respect.
Richard looked startled. That was fun. “You told me—”
“You were running to danger, and would walk by its side. There you go.” He picked up the wrapper from one of his tacos and began to shred it into narrow strips.
“Then she’s the right one?” Richard sounded relieved.
“Just don’t let her take you home to her folks.” The Rag Man was still, staring at his fingers. They twitched. I was possessed of a brief vision of me walking in the door with Richard in tow, and all the heads turning to look at him, and scent him. Yes, that would be a problem. I almost laughed. The Rag Man shook himself, glanced at me. “Just don’t do it.”
“Okay.” I looked quizzically at Richard. He didn’t get it either.
The Rag Man pointed at Richard with both hands. “The last time I saw you…”
“It was on Wilshire. I looked for you later, but you had gone.”
“Oh, yeah, I am so out of there. That place is history, man, I told you. I saw you there. I saw…” The Rag Man’s eyes changed, and for a moment he seemed to stare into another world. “Darkness,” he breathed. He looked up at Richard again. “You… I saw…”
Richard, his hand over his jacket pocket, smiled at the Rag Man, and seemed to be trying to look as harmless, as normal, as human, as he possibly could. “I’m fine now,” he told the guy gently. “I was sick.”
“I know what I saw,” the Rag Man said.
“Look at me,” Richard insisted. “I’m better now. I’m just the same.”
The Rag Man didn’t look at him. He gathered up the strips he’d made and began meticulously to shred them into tiny squares. “What do you want, Stan?”
Richard said quietly, “You left after the earthquake. I just wanted to know why.”
The Rag Man looked up, surprised. “You know why! The Worm, she’s coming. Man, I had to get out of there, that’s like, prime target uno, that’s where she’s heading for.”
“Will it be soon?”
“I don’t know. Time…” He tried to make a shape with his hands, as though to illustrate his point. “Time isn’t real. It moves. You can’t nail that down.” He stirred the little squares he’d made. “But where she’s coming, I seen that.”
Richard said to me, “He can scry anything. He scryed a handful of glass once, on the sidewalk.”
“No, no, not like that. I’ll show you. I can show you. You can see it. Anyone can see it.” He got up, brushing a handful of his little paper squares into a pocket of his coat.
“He’s hurt,” I said to Richard quietly.
Richard lifted his hand slightly, glancing over with a look that asked me to let this meeting play out. All right, I thought. I sat back and waited to see why we were talking to the Rag Man.
“So Stan, hey Stan, long time,” the Rag Man said to Richard. He picked at the bits of lettuce and cheese left on his burrito wrapper. He slid a glance at me, and stopped. He stared, frowning hard. “Uh…” He moved his head closer, then raised a hand over one eye. “Uh, ma’am. No offense. Do you have two heads?”
Well, that was one way to put it. “Yes.”
“Yeah. All right.”
He kept staring at me, shifting from side to side. I damped down my passion. I closed off my senses. I drew in my spirit, the way we learned to when they bussed us over the hill to middle school, where people didn’t know what we were. “Better?”
He stopped moving, and just stared, just above my head. “I saw them, right?”
“You saw them,” I agreed.
“Okay. Okay. So, Stan, you found her, then. I told you—” He leaned forward. “I told you danger would walk by your side.” He nodded, sat back, and his eyes slid to me again. “No offense, ma’am.”
I nodded. I do like respect.
Richard looked startled. That was fun. “You told me—”
“You were running to danger, and would walk by its side. There you go.” He picked up the wrapper from one of his tacos and began to shred it into narrow strips.
“Then she’s the right one?” Richard sounded relieved.
“Just don’t let her take you home to her folks.” The Rag Man was still, staring at his fingers. They twitched. I was possessed of a brief vision of me walking in the door with Richard in tow, and all the heads turning to look at him, and scent him. Yes, that would be a problem. I almost laughed. The Rag Man shook himself, glanced at me. “Just don’t do it.”
“Okay.” I looked quizzically at Richard. He didn’t get it either.
The Rag Man pointed at Richard with both hands. “The last time I saw you…”
“It was on Wilshire. I looked for you later, but you had gone.”
“Oh, yeah, I am so out of there. That place is history, man, I told you. I saw you there. I saw…” The Rag Man’s eyes changed, and for a moment he seemed to stare into another world. “Darkness,” he breathed. He looked up at Richard again. “You… I saw…”
Richard, his hand over his jacket pocket, smiled at the Rag Man, and seemed to be trying to look as harmless, as normal, as human, as he possibly could. “I’m fine now,” he told the guy gently. “I was sick.”
“I know what I saw,” the Rag Man said.
“Look at me,” Richard insisted. “I’m better now. I’m just the same.”
The Rag Man didn’t look at him. He gathered up the strips he’d made and began meticulously to shred them into tiny squares. “What do you want, Stan?”
Richard said quietly, “You left after the earthquake. I just wanted to know why.”
The Rag Man looked up, surprised. “You know why! The Worm, she’s coming. Man, I had to get out of there, that’s like, prime target uno, that’s where she’s heading for.”
“Will it be soon?”
“I don’t know. Time…” He tried to make a shape with his hands, as though to illustrate his point. “Time isn’t real. It moves. You can’t nail that down.” He stirred the little squares he’d made. “But where she’s coming, I seen that.”
Richard said to me, “He can scry anything. He scryed a handful of glass once, on the sidewalk.”
“No, no, not like that. I’ll show you. I can show you. You can see it. Anyone can see it.” He got up, brushing a handful of his little paper squares into a pocket of his coat.
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