Nightwatcher (Nightwatcher #1)(30)

Some people left the car, but Jerry stayed there until a policeman came and told him to get off.

“But I have to go to work.”

“You’ll have to walk from here,” the policeman said. “This is the last stop today.”

You always have to do what the police tell you to do. That’s the law. Mama taught Jerry that years ago.

So Jerry got out, and he walked.

At Fourteenth Street, there were more policemen, and soldiers, too, with guns. They wouldn’t let him go past at first.

“We need your ID,” they kept saying, but Jerry didn’t know what that was. They kept asking questions he didn’t know how to answer, and he got confused and scared.

Finally, he started crying. “I’m going to be late for work, and I’m going to be in trouble.”

“Just let him go through. Can’t you see he’s a retard?” one of the soldiers said. “He’s not going to hurt anything.”

Retard—Jerry’s heard that word before. The kids used to call him that in school, and they hurt him almost as badly as Mama did. With their words, though, not their hands.

“I’m not a retard,” Jerry muttered as he walked all those blocks down to Greenwich Street. “I’m not a retard.”

He’s smart. He knows how to get around the city and how to find his way to work and back. He learned a long time ago to always look for the twin towers to get his bearings when he comes out of the subway. Wherever they are, that’s downtown. South.

When the subway is up and running again, how is he ever going to figure out which way to go when he comes out onto the street?

Now he’ll never know which way to turn. He’s going to get lost.

But he shouldn’t think about that now. He shouldn’t think about anything that makes him feel sad or bad.

Maybe he should turn off the music. He’s wearing his Walkman, playing the CD that has his favorite song, the one that reminds him of Kristina.

Now that she’s gone, it makes him a little sad. He still likes hearing it, though, especially now that he knows she loved him back. She said so.

That’s why it’s such a shame that Kristina had to die.

But she was so mean to him—she’d made him cry, and Jamie said she had to be punished for that.

Jamie was right.

Mama always said the same thing. She would say that if you do something wrong—especially something that causes someone else to suffer—then you have to pay the price.

Jerry sighs. It’s always been that way. It was like that long before Jamie came—which was the same day Mama left.

One morning, he woke up and she was gone, and Jamie was there. He hasn’t seen Mama since.

Jamie reminded Jerry that Mama had decided to move away.

“Remember, Jerry? She told you she wanted to go live far, far away from here. Across the ocean. Remember?”

Jerry didn’t remember, at first. But Jamie kept reminding him of it, until finally he remembered. Mama had moved away, and she had arranged for Jamie to come take care of him. Yes. That’s right. That’s how it happened. He just forgot.

As he looks down to grab the new light bulb he carefully balanced on the nearest rung, he’s startled to see someone standing at the foot of the ladder.

Grabbing the light bulb just before it falls, he manages to steady himself and the ladder. He rips off his headphones and looks down again.

The person is a woman, and she says, “I’m so sorry!”

In the shadowy hall, she looks like Kristina.

Well, maybe not her face. But she does have curly hair, kind of like Kristina, though hers is a reddish color. She’s a bit heavier-set, and she has large breasts. He can see the curve of them from here—can see right down inside her V-necked T-shirt.

“Are you the maintenance man?” she asks, then mutters, “Of course you’re the maintenance man. Why else would you be standing on a ladder fixing a light?”

Is she talking to Jerry? “I don’t know,” he says, just in case.

“You don’t know if you’re the maintenance man?”

“No, I am. But you asked why else I would be—”

“Oh, right.” She nods her head really fast, and Jerry, with interest, watches her breasts jiggle. “Never mind. What’s your name?”

“Jerry.”

“Jerry. I’m Marianne. I just moved into the back apartment on the second floor. When you’re done with that, can you please come down? I have a couple of things I need help with.”

“What things?”

“One of the windows is stuck, and I need to get it open because they just redid the floors and the fumes are pretty bad. And there’s something wrong with my stove. I think the pilot light is out, and I’m afraid I’m going to blow up the whole building—”

She catches herself. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she blocks Jerry’s view inside her shirt.

“I keep forgetting,” she says, after a few seconds, uncovering her mouth, opening up the view again. “About . . . you know. What happened yesterday.”

“It’s terrible. It’s a mess. It’s sad.”

“Did you . . . know anyone?”

“Anyone . . . ?”

She hesitates, rephrases the question. “Is everyone you know okay?”