by Paul Melko
“Not too close. Sorry. You sure I can’t take your bag?”
“Yeah. Lead on.”
After a moment, Casey said, “So you’re Grace’s Johnny?”
“What? I’m not her… I mean we’re not…”
“She’s got a thing for you, Johnny.”
“She does not! It’s professional between us.”
“Uh-huh. You should hear her talk, and can she talk. You’d think you were Jesus Johnny Christ, but not a celibate one.” She smiled at him.
“She’s just my lab partner,” John said, exasperated. “Besides, I thought she and Henry were a thing.”
“You mean that guy who never talks?”
“That’s the one.”
Casey shrugged.
They reached John’s car. “Over here,” he said. He unlocked the trunk and took Casey’s bag.
“A Trans Am?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t picture you in a muscle car for some reason.”
“It was cheap. I rebuilt it this summer,” he said, suddenly defensive. “You don’t like my car?”
“It’s better than my car,” she said with a smile. “You gonna let me drive?”
John shut the trunk and looked at her. Then he tossed her his keys. “Sure.”
She smiled and ran around the car to the driver’s side.
“You’re a brave man.”
For a smile like that, he would have let her do anything.
“So you’re in physics? You must be smart,” she said as she accelerated onto I-75.
He shrugged, though she probably couldn’t see it from the driver’s seat. The engine growled as she edged the car in front of a semi. The truck had a flat front, like all the trucks in this universe, and reminded him yet again of the 1950s of his universe. Everything had a retro feel to it here.
“I’m in psychology, but it sucks. Boring. It sounded a lot better in the guidance counselor’s office,” she said, and he laughed.
She’d taken the car through a series of back roads, not going straight for the interstate. At one point she had the car up to 115 kilometers per hour on a small road in the middle of nowhere.
“Psychology could be fun,” John ventured, knowing he sounded like a fool as he said it.
“Yeah, whatever,” she said, sliding the car around a slower Olds. “I’m thinking of switching to premed. My biology class rocks. Speaking of which…” She turned on the radio and zipped through his presets. “Country, country, country, blues.” She glanced over at him. “Don’t you listen to rock and roll?”
John shrugged again. The truth was that the rock and roll of this world sounded like the golden oldies of his own. And the new hard reverb was impossible to appreciate. The only music that sounded decent to him was country. There was none of the heavy metal rock that he listened to when he was back home.
She rotated the dial to find the Toledo rock station.
“Bill and Janet seem like nice folks,” she said. “I’ve met them at church stuff.”
“Yeah, they’re real nice,” John said quickly, glad the conversation had turned away from his lack of taste in music. “I spent the last twelve months working the farm with them.” He’d gone to church with them too but had never seen Casey there. He hadn’t thought to look, maybe because he could never shake the feeling that this universe wasn’t real.
“Farm boy, huh. You got that look to you.”
“Do I? Don’t I look like a physicist?”
“No. Not at all. You look like you should be driving a tractor or a pickup truck.”
“Huh.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way,” she said with a laugh. “I knew lots of farm boys in high school.”
“Where you were a cheerleader and a flirt?” John asked, wanting to defend himself.
“Well, yeah. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. You know, I barely remember high school, and it’s been like six months. All my friends were saying, ‘Stay in touch,’ ‘Write every day.’ Bullshit like that. None of them write. None of them call.”
“They’re busy.”
“Having kids, getting married, working minimum-wage jobs. At least they can afford to buy cars. I have to bum a ride off a farm boy.” She looked at him slyly, and John realized she was making fun of him.
“And I have to give rides to flirty cheerleaders for gas money.”
“Touché.” She paused, then said, “So what’s this pinball device Grace keeps talking about? You guys are building it? I can’t understand what she’s talking about half the time.”
“We’re not-,” John started; then he shrugged. “It’s just a game I saw once. Played on a ramp with a metal ball. It’s a game of skill and luck.”
“Yeah?”
John spent fifteen minutes trying to explain how pinball worked. When he was done, Casey nodded and said, “Sounds cool. When you guys get it done, show it to me.”
“We’re not-,” he said. “Okay, I will.”
She fell silent after that, and John spent the next half hour super-aware of how close he was to her. Casey smelled good. She looked good. His body wanted to test all his other senses on her as well.
Three times he almost spoke up, wanting to ask her out, start the conversation again. The trip to Findlay was too damn short to waste it in silence.
Finally, forcing himself to say anything, he said, “Your roommate thought I was Jack.” He instantly regretted saying it because he sounded too damn needy.
She laughed, though. “Jack? That is funny. He’s some slobbery frat boy I gave the time of day to at a party. He’s from Findlay too.”
“Oh, then he’s not a boyfriend.”
She looked at John with her pale blue eyes, and he knew what she was thinking. He knew she dealt with such puppy dog affection like his on a regular basis.
“No, not a boyfriend. I’m unattached at the moment. I had a boyfriend back in Findlay, but he was a junior and long-distance relationships don’t work.”
“ Findlay and Toledo aren’t that far apart.”
“It wasn’t the physical distance, John.”
She took the Findlay exit, taking Bigelow into the north side of town. Her family lived in an older house, built in the 1800s. It had three stories and a widow’s watch. Two huge oak trees towered over the lawn.
She pulled up in front of the house and hopped out. John grabbed her bag and handed it to her.
“What time should I pick you up?”
“Tomorrow?” she asked with a smile.
“I thought we’re heading back on Sunday.”
“We are. But I thought you could come by on Saturday. Around eight?” She smiled and put the bag over her shoulder. On the porch, her mother had opened the door and was waving. Casey’s dog, a golden retriever, raced at her.
“Okay,” he said to her back.
He got back into his car, his heart pounding as fast as the engine. Saturday night. He had a date with Casey Nicholson Saturday night.
CHAPTER 19
“Here,” Casey said, handing the baby to him. John Prime dropped his pencil to grab Abby.
“What?” he said. He realized Casey was dressed in slacks and was carrying a purse.
“I have lunch with Mom, remember?”
“I’m in the middle of something,” Prime said. “I have to talk with the lawyers tomorrow.” All his capital was still locked up in the Cube. If he could just work out a licensing arrangement with Rubik’s people… Prime had rolled over on the name, but now the sticking point was the license fees. They were staggering, and Prime doubted he’d make a cent at what the heirs wanted from the deal. He had taken the day off to run the numbers.
“I told you last week about this,” Casey said.
“I can’t work and watch Abby at the same time!”
“Working?” Casey said. “That implies you get paid for this.” She pointed at the thick binder of papers that represented the months-long arbitration.
A spike of anger surged
through Prime. If he hadn’t been trying to hold on to the squirming baby, he would have stood up and shouted at Casey. Instead, he hissed, “Screw that! I expect you to support me. This represents our fortune!”
Casey laughed shortly. “Define ‘fortune.’ ”
“Millions!” Prime said. “You know what this could mean to us.”
“John, you stole the idea, got caught, and now you’re fighting for a scrap,” she said. “It’s not even worth your time.”
“This is my deal! This is my fortune!” Prime shouted. The baby’s lip jutted out and she let out a wail in unison with Prime.
Casey shook her head. “There’s bottles in the fridge and diapers under the bassinet.” She turned and headed for the door.
“How long are you going to be gone?”
Casey shrugged. “I dunno.”
“I need to know.”
“Lunch, then shopping,” she said. “I could be a couple hours. Before dinner.”
“You better be,” Prime said.
“And if not?” Casey let the door slam behind her.
Prime fumbled with the knob, trying to keep Abby on his shoulder at the same time. By the time he had the door open again, she was down the stairs and out the apartment building door.
From the front window, he watched her get into the Trans Am and back out of the driveway they shared with the other three tenants. His anger grew as he tried to shush the screaming baby. Why didn’t Casey understand? Why didn’t she help him? This was important. This was what made all the suffering worth it.
If he had the device…
The Trans Am sped down their street. Prime turned away, then turned back. He had caught an outline in a parked car on the street. The sole occupant looked at him, caught his eye, then pulled out of his spot and sped away in the same direction Casey had gone.
For a moment, Prime could have sworn it was Ted Carson in that car. He shook his head. His subconscious was playing tricks.
At six, Abby resting on his chest, he dialed his mother-in-law.
“Oh, Casey left two hours ago,” her mother said.
“Do you know where she went?” Prime asked. “I was expecting her.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Is that Abby I hear?”
“She’s asleep.”
“I was so sorry she didn’t bring her to lunch. A girls’ day out!”
Prime found himself gritting his teeth. “Yeah, too bad.”
“I’ll be over tomorrow. I bought a new outfit for Abby, and I want to see how it looks on her. She looks good in purple, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Prime said. “If you see Casey, have her call me, please.”
“I will. Bye-bye!”
Prime cradled the phone and craned his neck to look out the front window. The street was long in shadow, but there was no sign of Casey.
She had promised she would be back after lunch, and now it was dinnertime and he had gotten nothing done. It had been a mistake to settle with this Casey. There were better ones out there. Better universes. He should have taken his time and picked a better one. But the chance of finding a fucked-up universe or another one with castaways in it was too much. This universe had seemed close enough. And now he was shackled down with a baby and a dead-end job and lawsuits, while Johnny Farm Boy had the multiverse to explore. It wasn’t fair.
Prime thought he heard something at the door and jumped. Abby squeaked, then rooted around, mewing. He patted her back, not wanting her to wake back up, because he knew it would be a twenty-minute ordeal to get her asleep again.
He listened for the scratch of a key in the door. Nothing. Perhaps it was just the neighbors walking down the hallway.
The floorboards outside creaked. Probably just Mr. Williams walking past. Not Casey.
Damn it! Where was she?
Prime craned his neck around again, slowly so that Abby wouldn’t stir, and scanned the street. He heard an engine rev, but it was two streets over.
Something rattled outside the window. He jumped. Abby snorted, then sobbed, in her sleep.
Prime’s heart raced, and he could do nothing. He was helpless with the baby in his arms.
He rose, and gently lowered her onto the couch, wedging her into the corner of the ratty pillows. She could almost roll, but the couch was the best place for her; the crib was in their room. She stirred but didn’t wake.
He slipped into the open kitchenette area and pulled a knife from the drawer. Then he edged next to the window, peering out at the twilight.
He exhaled. There on the fire escape was a tabby cat, licking its crotch. He banged the window with his palm.
“Scat!”
It jumped, and ran.
Abby yowled, and Prime cursed himself.
He raced to the couch and lifted her into his arms. She squalled into his ear. Prime caught the heavy smell of feces. She’d pooped her drawers in her sleep. He turned around and inspected her butt. Brown stains around the edges of the diapers meant the poop had leaked out.
“Shit,” he muttered, looking around for the wipes. Diapers, wipes, and formula took the largest chunk of his paycheck right now. He hated using them.
Abby shrieked the entire time, from the moment he unsnapped her outfit to the moment he snapped it back on. Then she let out a huge sigh, as if being clean were all that mattered, and her cries disappeared.
“Great,” Prime muttered.
Keys rattled in the door. Casey, carrying bags in each hand, kicked it open. Most were from the food store, but one was from the bookstore: more mysteries. They didn’t have money for that!
“I’m back!” she called.
“Back late!” Prime shot back, before he could cut himself off. He didn’t want to sound so angry.
“So? I said I was going shopping.” Casey frowned a moment, then pushed the smile back on her face. “She was good for you, wasn’t she?”
Prime looked down at the baby who had been shrieking for ten minutes straight. Abby was batting at the string of his hooded sweatshirt.
“No, she wasn’t.”
Casey took Abby from him, cooing at her. “Daddy’s little girl was mean to Daddy? Was she? Was she?”
Prime groaned, looking through the bags for the receipt. He found it under a slab of pork. “We can’t afford this!” He held up a book. “How many more books did you buy?”
“They’re essentials,” Casey said, using the same voice she was using with Abby. “Meat and mysteries are essential.”
“Don’t talk to me that way!”
“You’ll startle the baby, John.”
Prime glared, then began pulling food from the bags, slamming items into the shelves.
“Jesus, John! Why are you so angry?”
“Because-Because you left me here with a screaming child all day!”
“She’s your daughter, John.”
“Sometimes, I just-”
“Want to leave? Chuck it all and run? Yeah, I know what you want to do. I know you think I tricked you or something. Well, it wasn’t my plan to be a pregnant teenager. I wanted to go to college. Well, we can’t just run from her. We’re here, and this is what we’re stuck with.”
“I know it! I know it! I chose this.”
“There was another option, besides marrying me and having this kid?” Now Casey was screaming too, and Abby was angrier than ever.
“No! That’s not what I meant!”
“What did you mean?”
“I-”
There was a thump, and Prime spun to look out onto the fire escape again.
“Someone’s at the door,” Casey said.
“Right,” Prime said. He peered out the window, but the escape was empty.
Casey flipped the lock with her one free hand.
The door squeaked open, and she stood there staring into the hall.
“What is-”
Then she looked down and shrieked.
Prime leaped across the chair between him and the door. He pushed her aside, ready to take on w
hatever was there.
There was no one.
But a wet-furred animal lay on the doorstep: the tabby cat.
Its fur was matted with blood, and its neck was twisted the wrong way. It was dead.
Prime nudged the cat with his foot. It flopped over. A piece of wire had been wrapped around its throat.
“John, John, John,” Casey was saying.
He turned and looked her straight in the eye.
“It’s a prank, a filthy prank,” he said. “Meant to scare us. It’s all right. Take the baby to the bedroom. Lock the windows. Lock the door.”
She nodded and ran to the back room.
Prime peered out the hallway, up and down the stairs. No one.
His heart was pounding. Casey had walked in five minutes prior and the cat hadn’t been there. Now it was. Whoever had done this was nearby, waiting for a reaction. Waiting for him to show himself, to go running into the night in anger or fear.
Whoever.
Prime knew who was out there. Ted Carson, the only animal torturer he knew.
“Damn it,” he whispered.
He glanced down the stairs. Had the door slammed shut between when they had heard the noise and Casey had opened the door? He couldn’t remember. Had Carson stayed in the building? Perhaps he was lurking in the dead-end stairwell that led to the attic. Or had he run out the front?
Prime wedged the door open with the coat tree. Then keeping his face toward the door, he backed into the kitchen and reached blindly for the knife block. His fingers closed on the largest blade. The block had been a gift from his parents, good sturdy steel.
Prime pushed the coat tree out of the way, and exited the apartment. He stood in the hall, over the corpse of the cat, listening. He let the door shut and used his keys to lock the door. If Carson had gone down and out, Prime didn’t care. If Carson had gone up, if he was lurking above, then Prime would finish this all now.
He took the steps two at a time in his stocking feet. He flattened himself against the wall, then inched forward until he could see just up the stairs.
Nothing.
Carson had gone the other way.
In the distance he heard the wail of a siren.
