The House in the Cerulean Sea(48)

He did. He said, “I think so.”

“Bopper was sick and took someone else’s seat.”

Waylon Jennings, though Linus kept that to himself.

“And Ritchie won his seat in a coin toss. Buddy didn’t want to be stuck in a bus because it was cold, and they had to go to Montana.” Lucy reached up and touched “Chantilly Lace.” He looked almost reverent. “The pilot wasn’t given the correct weather information, and the plane didn’t have the proper instruments needed to fly. Weird, right?” He smiled at Linus. “I like music that makes me happy. And I like death. It’s strange how people can mix the two. They all died by chance, and then people sang about them after. I like those songs, but not as much as the ones sung by dead people.”

Linus coughed roughly. “I—I like music too. I have some of these records at my house.”

Lucy perked up at that. “Dead people music?”

He shrugged. “I … guess? The older the music, the more likely the singer is dead.”

“Yeah,” Lucy breathed. His eyes begin to tinge with red. “That’s true. Death is wonderful to music. It makes the singers sound like ghosts.”

Linus thought it was probably a good time to change the subject to something less morbid. “I like your room.”

Lucy looked around, the light fading from his eyes. “It’s the best. I like having my own room. Arthur says that it’s important to have independence.” He glanced at Linus before looking away, and Linus could have sworn he looked almost nervous. “Just as long as he doesn’t go too far away.” His eyes widened. “But I’m not a baby! I can be fine by myself! In fact, I’m by myself all the time!”

Linus arched an eyebrow. “All the time? Oh, no. No, no, no. That won’t do. I’ll need to have a word with Mr. Parnassus, if that’s the case. A child of your age should never be by himself all the time—”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Lucy cried. “What I meant was is that I’m never by myself! Ever! Everywhere I go, he’s there! He’s like a shadow. It’s so annoying.”

“Well, if you say so.”

Lucy nodded furiously. “I do. That’s exactly what I said. So, no need to talk to Arthur about it or put it in reports and say bad things about me.” His smile was positively angelic. “I swear I’m a good person.” The smile faded. “And you don’t need to worry about looking under my bed. And if you do, the bird skeleton under it isn’t mine, and I don’t know who put it there, but they should be punished because that’s wrong.” He smiled again.

Linus stared at him.

“Okay!” he said, stepping forward and grabbing Linus by the hand. “That’s it! That’s my room! No need to see anything else!” He pulled Linus toward the door and flung it open. “Arthur! He saw my room and said everything looks good and there’s nothing bad in it at all and that I’m a good person. And he likes the same music as me! Dead people music.”

Mr. Parnassus looked up from the book in his lap. “Is that right? Dead people music?”

Lucy lifted his head up to look at Linus, still holding his hand tightly. “We like dead things, don’t we, Mr. Baker?”

Linus sputtered.

Lucy let him go and collapsed on the floor at Mr. Parnassus’s feet where he’d been when Linus had arrived. He folded his hands on his stomach and stared up at the ceiling. “My brain is filled with spiders burrowing their eggs in the gray matter. Soon they’ll hatch and consume me.”

Linus had no idea what to do with that.

Thankfully, it appeared Mr. Parnassus did. He closed the book in his lap and set it on the small table next to the chairs. He tapped one of his wing tip shoes against Lucy’s shoulder. “How descriptive. We’ll discuss that more in detail in just a moment. First, Mr. Baker would like to observe. Would that be all right with you?”

Lucy glanced at Linus before looking back toward the ceiling. “That’s fine. He likes dead things almost as much as I do.”

That wasn’t even remotely true.

“Indeed,” Mr. Parnassus said, motioning for Linus to sit in the vacant chair. “How fortuitous. Where did we leave off before Mr. Baker arrived?”

Linus sat. He pulled his notepad out, along with his pencil. He didn’t know why his fingers were shaking.

“Categorical Imperative,” Lucy said. “Kant.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Mr. Parnassus said. “Thank you for reminding me.” Linus got the idea that he didn’t need to be reminded at all. “And what did Kant say about the Categorical Imperative?”

Lucy sighed. “That it’s the supreme principle of morality. It’s an objective. A rationally necessary and unconditional principle that we must always follow despite any natural desires or inclinations to the contrary.”

“And was Kant right?”

“That to be immoral is to be irrational?”

“Yes.”

Lucy scrunched up his face. “No?”

“And why not?”

“Because people aren’t black and white. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stay on one path without diversions. And that doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

Mr. Parnassus nodded. “Even if you have spiders in your brain?”