Danny jumped up, looking eager to help. “Downstairs,” he said, running out to pilfer some from someone on the forensics crew.
He returned and handed a pair of latex gloves to Mike, but they were made for extra-small hands, and kept pulling at the hairs on the back of his hand. Finally, Mike snapped the glove off and handed both over to Danny. “Easier if you do the honours.”
Gloves on, Danny peeled back the rubber band and lifted the lid, leaning over so he could see inside. “Me too,” said Mike, pushing his shoulder. Danny grinned and tilted the box so they could both see.
Cotton balls. “Pull them out, gently,” said Mike.
Danny did so, and about halfway down he felt something hard and cylindrical. He pulled it out and held it up to the light: a finger-length glass vial with a black stopper on top, dark green liquid inside.
“Holy shit,” said Mike. It was barely a whisper. “Anything else?”
Danny pulled back some more cotton, and then very carefully removed a small syringe. “Drop it back in,” said Mike. He pulled out a larger evidence bag, and Danny slid the whole box inside.
“Is this the real thing?” asked Danny. His eyes were wide.
“Looks like Slow,” said Mike, standing up. “If it is, maybe we have a motive for the murders. I have to get back to the other side of the Line now. I’ve been over here too long, and there’s going to be plenty of work to do if this is what we think it is.”
Danny stood with him, lit another smoke. “You know,” said Mike, pointing at the cigarette, “That stuff’ll stunt your growth.”
“Har har,” replied Danny, sticking out his tongue. “Mr. Funny himself has returned.”
Mike took a bow, turned towards the stairs.
“We miss you, y’know.”
He stopped, didn’t turn around.
“I remember when I first noticed that you weren’t going to stay a kid forever, when you started to age. I felt real cheated that day.”
Mike turned back to face him. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Danny, trying unsuccessfully to blow a smoke ring. He’d always thought smoking made him look cool, and Mike had never had the heart to tell him how wrong he was. “You chased that one bad guy pretty close to the Line that one time I remember. I still wonder if that had anything to do with it wearing off.”
Mike shrugged, looked down at the floor. “It just happens sometimes. I’m not the first kid to all of a sudden grow up.”
“No, but it’s the first time it happened to a friend of mine. It’s hard to see you grown up like this, knowing that you’re living in another world and you’re never going to be able to play or run, to be like a kid ever again.” Danny wiped a tear from his eye. “And now you come in here for this stupid murder, you’re going to get even older! All this time, being stolen away from you . . .” His voice trailed off.
He didn’t need to be reminded of any of this. After a long moment, Mike finally lifted his head. “I can’t stay any longer, Danny. Are you giving me a ride back to the Line, or am I going to walk?”
“Jesus.” Danny stubbed out his smoke on the heel of his shoe and then brushed past Mike, heading down the stairs before he could say anything else.
After arranging for the body to be sent back across the Line and collecting everything he thought he needed for the investigation, Mike squeezed back into the car and rode in silence. As he was climbing out, Danny reached over and put a hand on his arm. Mike didn’t look back, just sat there, looking at the fuzzy outline of figures on the other side.
“Try to remember to have fun sometimes, okay?”
Mike shook his head, trying to pretend there were no tears fighting their way up and out. “Doesn’t work that way once you grow up, Danny. You know as well as I do.” He stood up and shut the door, still looking across the Line.
Danny gunned the noisy motor, yelled, “I don’t ever wanna know that, Mike. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t see you again.” Car belching black and blue smoke and roaring like a walrus on a motorcycle, he spun around and drove off, leaving Mike to cross the Line on his own.
He still had the gum in his mouth, he realized. Old habit from when he used to live as a kid. It was as tasty as cardboard now, so with two last open-mouthed chews he spit it onto the road, and then stepped across the Line.
It hit him harder coming back, the weight of new years bearing down on him not only from above, but from around and inside of him. Any spring in his step he may have felt before was definitely lost now, and for only the second time in his life—the first being when the growth spurt had told him he would no longer be a kid—his bones were aching. He practically staggered out of the fog onto the other side of the Line.
Hands grabbed both his arms, voices called for coffee and a place to sit. Next he knew he was leaning against a seatback on the passenger’s side of a patrol car, and Simone was there, leaning down and pressing a cardboard cup of coffee into his hands. “I don’t drink that shit,” he said, trying to smile.
“It’s an acquired taste,” she responded, making as bad an effort to return a smile. “You grow into it.”
He took a sip, grimaced at how bitter it was, then marvelled at the warm feeling he got as it settled inside of him, at the fact that already he felt more awake and alive. “Jeez, this ain’t half-bad,” he said, taking another sip and grimacing again.
“Welcome to middle age, Mike,” said Simone, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.
All day Mike had avoided looking in a mirror. He’d let Simone drive back to the precinct so he could avoid using the rearview and had kept his head down when walking through glass doors.
But now that he was at home, leaning back in his overstuffed chair and drinking a strangely unsatisfying Coke, the urge to look had finally overtaken the fear. He took one more sip and then wandered into the kitchen, pouring the remainder of the soda down the drain, and then walked down the short hall to the bathroom. Once inside, he closed the door and stood facing the mirror for a good while without turning on the light, just letting the darkness accompany his worry while he thought about the case.
Derek Hayes had gone across the Line to engage in some deviant pedo action with Sandy Hancock, and, if Mike was right about the little vial of liquid he’d found, he’d been doing it regularly. Tomorrow Mike expected to visit the lab and be told that the stuff was Slow, a drug that gave a buzz like nothing else on the streets, but that usually killed the people who took it.
A side effect of the drug was its ability to counter the effects of crossing the Line, which meant that when it first hit the streets a few decades ago there had been a huge underground market for it. But the market had dried up among all but the worst of freaks with its eighty-or-more percent death rate, enough even to scare off most of the sick fucks who wanted to cross the Line into Templeton to screw little kids. But for those people who were able to use Slow and not drop dead after the first hallucination, the trips over to Templeton could be a possible bonus; an hour, maybe even two or three, safe from the aging effects of the Line. As a kid, Mike had never thought about the possibility of predators crossing the Line and doing their thing with impunity, but he found that his new self came up with that thought very quickly.
He shuddered, then turned on the light.
It was too bright, but after squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds, he was able to open them and slowly raise them to the mirror. A small cry escaped his mouth, but he clenched his fists tight, regained control, and continued to look.
There were wrinkles on his face, mostly at the top of the bridge of the nose and in the corners of his eyes, as well as two large smile lines grooved deep in his cheeks. A few light brown spots flecked his face, and he needed to shave his definitely pudgier chin. His hair was still mostly brown, thank God, although there were a few wisps of gray, and besides looking a bit thinner it also seemed that his hairline was higher up his forehead. He reached down and grabbed a small m
irror that sat on the counter, held it behind his head, angled it so he could see that, yes, he did have a small bald spot on the crown.
Looking at his hand as he put the mirror back down, he saw that his fingers were fatter and hairier, something he had not expected. He put his hand on his stomach, felt the belly, and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, letting the mass of flesh and fat spring free with a last flick of his fingers. Then he finally undid his pants, unsure even if he could pull them on again in the morning. His gut bulged, loose and defiant, daring him to find a way to shake it off.
“Christ.” He shut off the light and went to bed, shedding clothes in the hall, utterly dejected, lost in this new body.
The phone rang at 7:30, waking him from an unsettled sleep. It was Simone.
“I talked to the captain, and he gave me an idea about how much more you’re going through. So I’m coming by with some sweats, and then we’re going out to get you some coffee and breakfast and then some new clothes.”
Mike rubbed his eyes. “Thanks, but I have to get down to the lab.”
“Captain’s orders. Have a shower, and I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She paused. “Besides, the captain will meet us with all the results, probably while we’re eating.”
“Right.” He leaned over and hung up the phone, then slowly pulled himself out of bed. When he was essentially vertical he realized he had to pee like nobody’s business, so he hurried into the john to relieve himself. After what seemed a crazily long time standing there—he was amazed that his body could hold that much piss—he flushed and then turned on the shower, climbed in while it was still too hot and danced around inside while he worried at the faucet, finally setting the temperature right only after alternately scalding and freezing several parts of his body.
When he was done he brushed his teeth in front of the misted-over mirror, ran a comb through his hair, then headed to the bedroom to put on underwear and a housecoat, stooping down with some effort to pick up last night’s clothes on his way. Then he sat on the edge of his bed and just waited.
Five minutes later there was a knock at the door. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them and went to answer. Simone stood there, grocery bag in one hand, smiling. She wasn’t dressed for work.
“Captain gave me a few hours off. I get to spend it helping you acclimatize.” She shoved the bag into his hands. “Here. It ain’t high fashion, but it’ll do for the diner. Go get dressed.”
“If you have some free time, shouldn’t you be spending it with your family?”
Simone rolled her eyes and pushed her way past Mike. Sitting down at the kitchen table, she said, “I said the captain gave me free time. To be with you, not to piss away my day pretending I still have a life.”
The look on her face told him to not bother asking any more questions, so he went to his room and changed. Basic gray sweats, loose sweater, then his own socks and sneakers. “Where to?” he asked as he opened the door to the outer hallway.
“The Ritz Diner. I’m having fried eggs and hash browns and coffee, lots of it.” The two of them climbed into her car, and she started it up. “You?”
He thought for a second. “Pancakes, side of sausage, OJ, coffee.” His stomach rumbled. He was hungrier than he’d thought.
They got a booth near the front of the diner. Mike watched Simone prepare her coffee—two scoops of sugar and one creamer—and copied her, found that it was more palatable that way. After the first jolt hit his system he leaned back and closed his eyes, almost smiling, picturing himself having a day off where nothing was weighing on his mind.
“You gonna stay with the case?” asked Simone.
He cocked one eye open, stared at her. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “You’ve already done what the captain asked you to do. You crossed the Line, checked out the evidence, there’s not much more you need to do, if you don’t want. I know that the captain has other people on the job now, folks who’ll stay safe on this side of the Line.”
He shook his head. “Are you saying I’m expendable? Now that I’ve done my bit and took away fifteen or twenty years from my life, now I don’t need to stick around anymore?”
Simone leaned forward and put a hand on his arm. “Cool down, Mike. I was just asking. The captain didn’t say nothing about you being pulled from the case. He just wanted me to make sure you were okay. I’m your partner, even if it’s only been a couple of days. It’s my job to look out for you.” Mike looked out the window, watching a mother and her three young children walking by. “You have kids?”
She took her hand away. “Used to. Jason was thirteen when he was hit by a bus, two years ago.”
Mike grimaced. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”
Simone shrugged. “That’s okay. I think it’s one of the reasons I took to you so easy. He would still have been younger than you were when you were forced to leave Templeton, had to come across, but I could see a lot of the same qualities in you that I remember so well in him.”
“I was still a kid.” He smiled.
“You were,” she said, nodding. “Newly minted adult, still keen about life. Even though just a few months before you’d had to leave your childhood behind.”
“Not anymore.” He frowned, pinching at the skin on his forearm and watching it droop rather than snap back into place. “Nothing new about any of this.”
They were both silent for a moment, and then Simone continued. “Anyway, I took a leave of absence for a while, and when I came back I requested to be put in a patrol car. Just didn’t have the head for thinking seriously about cases right about then.”
That rang a small bell in the back of Mike’s brain. “That’s right. Captain promoted you back to detective. I was going to ask about that, but I guess I forgot.”
Their breakfasts arrived then, and for a few moments the two of them just ate. Finally, halfway through his third pancake, Mike could feel himself starting to fill up. He leaned back again, took one last swig of juice, then cleared his plate to the side and leaned his arms on the table. He was about to speak when the door opened and in walked the captain, heading straight for their table. Mike scooted over to make room for him.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked, signalling the waitress for coffee.
Mike shrugged. “A little better now that I’m up and about. Have to go get some clothes and get looking decent again, though.”
Captain Munro eyed him for a few seconds, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, peeled off a bunch of twenties. “You’ll be needing to shave, too,” he said. “Just yesterday your face was like a baby’s butt. When you buy your clothes get yourself a decent electric razor as well.” Mike made to protest, but Munro put up his hand. “It’s not on me, it’s on the department. We got you into this, so we may as well help equip you.” He turned his attention to his coffee then, squeezing in two creamers and a heaping spoonful of sugar.
After a sip and a grimace he rummaged in his other pocket, pulled out a couple of folded-up pieces of paper and handed them over to Mike. “It’s the preliminary results from the lab on that vial you found,” he said. “They faxed this to me at home this morning.”
Mike grabbed a napkin and wiped away the juice and coffee rings, then flattened out the report. He tried reading it over two times, but finally had to lean back and push it across the table to Simone. “I’m not sure I follow, sir,” he said. “I mean, they had us read lab and forensics reports when we were in training, but nothing had detail like this.”
Simone looked up from the papers. “Jesus,” she said. “This is for real?”
Captain Munro nodded and then turned his attention back to Mike. “That was indeed a vial of Slow that you found at the apartment, Mike. But there’s a difference in the chemical makeup, and, while they’re still trying to confirm their initial impressions, they are pretty sure that the stuff retains its ability to counteract the Line but is no longer so lethal. If it’s even lethal at all.”
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Mike took a second to let this news travel around inside his head. Then he asked, “How come we don’t already know about this stuff? Why isn’t it on the streets big time?”
Munro shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe it’s just hit, and only the special people have it. I talked to the folks on the drug squad, and they’re just as surprised as we are. They’ve got people out snooping around right now, but we’re going to have to do our own checking as well.”
“Where do we start?”
The captain fixed Mike with a stare. “I know you’re still new at this, detective, but try and remember that you were also a cop on the other side of the Line. Try and think like one.”
Mike scratched his chin, feeling the unfamiliar stubble growing there. “I guess I should go make myself look pretty and then go talk to Mrs. Hayes, for starters. At least I assume there’s a Mrs.”
“There is. I’ve already made an appointment for you to see her, at 11:30.” The captain slid another piece of paper across the table to him. “Here’s her address. It’ll give you plenty of time to fix yourself up.” He turned and looked back at Simone. “And Perez, your day off just ended. Get yourself dressed like a detective again, so you can ride along.”
Two hours later, Mike was shaved and wearing a new, although cheap, suit, and they were back in the car after stopping at Simone’s apartment so that she could get changed. “Makes me sick,” said Mike, “thinking that Hayes and Sandy were getting it on like that. There’s no place for that sort of thing, anywhere in the world.”
Simone scratched her head. “It’s a weird situation, though, Mike. Here on this side of the Line, pedophilia is illegal. But how does it work over on the other side?” She looked uncomfortable, but pressed ahead. “I mean, do the kids over there make it with each other?”
Mike shook his head, feeling more than a little weirded out by the question. “Nuh-uh. No way. If anything like that happens to you, you know you’re a candidate for crossing the Line and not coming back. And since no one wants to do that, even the teens don’t go the distance.”
Over the Darkened Landscape Page 10
