The Night Parade(16)

David heard noises in the adjoining room. It was the TV, showing the rerun of some eighties sitcom.

“Sit down,” David said, beckoning Deke over to an upholstered armchair.

Deke sat without protest. In fact, he was smiling at David. Practically beaming.

That smile is worse than the blank look in his eyes, David thought. What the hell is wrong with him?

“I’ll be right back,” David said, and hurried down the hall. In the bathroom, he found a towel on a hook behind the door. He brought it to Deke, draping it over the big man’s broad shoulders.

“Thanks, David.”

“You want to tell me what the heck you were doing out there?”

Deke laughed. It was a nervous, tittering sound that should have come from a smaller person. “Damnedest thing. I guess I was sleepwalking.”

“Sleepwalking.”

“Used to do it a lot when I was a boy,” Deke said. “And again in my early twenties. It’s brought on by stress, you know. Doctors told me so.”

Ellie had suffered the occasional bout of somnambulism when she was four or five. It was eerie—David had once caught her ambling past him in the hallway in the middle of the night, which had scared the shit out of him but hadn’t woken the girl—but as eerie as it was, it seemed a quirk befitting of a young child. Deke was in his fifties. The thought of him roving around his house—Christ, the goddamn street—in his sleep was more than just unnerving.

“Is this a common occurrence?” David asked.

“The sleepwalking?”

“You wander around outside in your underwear regularly, or is this a special occasion?”

“For me?”

“Of course for you. Who else would I be talking about?”

“I don’t know.” Deke’s eyebrows arched and his mouth curled into what could only be described as a playful frown. “There could be other things here, too.”

David frowned. “What do you mean?” He looked around, noting that the walls were all bare and there were picture frames on the floor. A rug had been rolled up into a tube and set against the jamb of the front door in the foyer. The gauzy curtains hanging over the windows were all tied together in knots.

“What have you been up to in here, Deke?”

“I don’t know if it’s something new,” Deke said, and it took David a moment or two to realize he was answering David’s previous question. “If I’ve been doing it for a while, I’ve been asleep and wouldn’t know.” And then he laughed—a great bassoon blast that caused David’s toes to curl in his shoes.

“Are you on any medication?”

“Cholesterol meds,” Deke said. “Nexium for my ’flux.”

“Anything heavier?”

This time, Deke’s scowl was genuine. “I look like a drug addict to you, David?”

“I’m just trying to help. I almost ran you over out there. I can’t say I like the idea of you wandering around the neighborhood in a daze every night. And your house . . .”

“What about it?” Deke said, glancing around. If he recognized the unusualness of the place, his face did not register it.

“You got any liquor in the house?”

“You want a drink, buddy?”

“No,” David said. There was a credenza against one wall, a few bottles of vodka and bourbon on it. None were open, and he couldn’t see any used glasses. “I mean, have you been drinking?”

Deke waved a hand at him. Don’t be silly, his expression said. Some of the old Deke was filtering back into his features now. His eyes looked less dead than they had just moments ago.

“Why don’t you get to bed and I’ll lock up on my way out,” David suggested. For some reason, he was growing increasingly uncomfortable about being in Deke’s house. Coupled with that discomfort was the feeling that he was overlooking something very obvious—and very important—and that feeling was setting him on edge.

“Okay, boss. Whatever you say.” Deke got up from the armchair in a huff—it seemed to take great effort—and handed David the towel. His rounded gut glistened with rainwater. “I got some long johns around here someplace,” he said, pausing to peer behind the TV.

“You keep your long johns behind the television?” David said.

Deke stood upright, as if suddenly considering the absurdity of it all. When he turned to look at David, his eyes were unfocused again.

“Maybe I should call for an ambulance,” David suggested.

“Do it and I’ll brain you. I’m no invalid.” Deke’s voice had gone deadly serious.

“Something’s off with you.”

“Who the hell asked you to come in here, anyway?” There was real malice behind Deke’s words, enough to make David consider bolting from the house right then and there. It was as if some switch had been flipped, instantly altering Deke’s personality.

Drugs, David thought . . . although he had never known Deke Carmody to abuse narcotics. Alcohol, maybe, but not drugs. What else could it be?

Deke slammed a palm against the TV and the screen went dead. Then he turned and grinned idiotically at David. The large man opened his mouth, presumably to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he liberated a fart that sounded like a trumpet blare, sustaining it for a good five seconds.