Via Dolorosa(71)

Minutes later, he was climbing into his clothes in Isabella’s bathroom. Her silhouette hung in the bathroom doorway. The lights were still off.

“We can make love,” she offered.

“I think we already did.”

“Oh?”

“I think you lied to me. I can smell you on me.”

“Yes?” There was something in her voice he did not like.

“I don’t remember falling down any hill. My clothes aren’t even dirty.”

“We’re all dirty.”

“Whatever,” he said. “I can’t keep listening to your inane little anecdotes on life, Isabella.”

“Maybe because they frighten you.”

“You think a whole lot of yourself,” he said.

“If you stay,” she said, “then I will show you my gun. We can talk about those three men from tonight, and all the things we could do to them if we use a gun. Tonight was nothing. We should have used the gun.”

“Not interested,” he said.

“But you are healed,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I healed you.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Spoiled sport.”

At the bank of elevators at the end of the hall, it occurred to him that he had no idea what floor he was on. Likewise, for a moment he couldn’t remember what floor his own room was on, either. His brain apparently had surrendered itself some time ago.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he thought he could see Isabella watching him from one end of the poorly-lit corridor. But he couldn’t be certain.

To hell with it, he thought, and selected both the UP and DOWN buttons. He would get on whichever arrived first.





—Chapter XX—





The first of the periodical cicadas appeared, clear-winged and shellacked, against a sheet of window looking into the dark and cool restaurant den of the Paradis d’H?tel. That morning, upon arriving alone at the restaurant, Nick paused and watched what must have been two young siblings, one boy and one girl, standing with their noses nearly touching the glass as they stared, mesmerized, at the underside of the large, black insect. It stuck to the glass and did not move. The children watched it for quite some time. However, as is bound to happen with children, the initial paralyzing sense of curiosity and wonder that defines the first few nanoseconds of all things new and unusual very quickly dissolved into disinterested fatigue. In a last ditch effort to recapture the fleeing wonder of the giant creature suctioned to the outside of the glass, the boy, at first, began tapping an index finger against the window, prompting the insect to move. When this provided no result (save for the tat-tat-tat-tat which echoed throughout the mostly empty restaurant), the boy, growing ever agitated, amplified the force of the tapping which, inevitably and in a matter of mere seconds, evolved into vicious hand-slaps against the window, causing the entire pane of glass to vibrate in its frame. Like the finale in an act of prestidigitation, a slim-waisted young mother appeared from nowhere and pinched the boy’s wrist between two fingers while also nabbing the little girl by the hand. She said something to the boy, which could not be heard from across the restaurant, and the look on the woman’s face was not a pleasant one. Then, with motherly efficiency, she led the two children away from the window and out of the restaurant. The cicada remained, undisturbed.

Nick took a table by the wall of windows. The day had brightened and the sun, he could see, was reflecting in the pools. Across the restaurant, Roger looked at him from behind the bar. The bartender had been wiping down the counter but paused when he met Nick’s eyes. Nick nodded in his direction. The bartender just looked on as if he did not recognize him before returning to his work.

James Sanders, the young waiter with the ponytail whose father had been in the Navy, came to the table. He was buttoning one of the cuffs of his sleeve.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”

“Hello, James. What happened to your chin?”

Automatically, James brought two fingers to his chin and touched the heavy scab there. He said, “Fell off my roof.”

“Ouch. What were you doing on your roof?”

“The storm clogged the gutters up with leaves. My mom said they needed to be cleaned out before they got too heavy and pulled away from the house.” Almost apologetic, he added, “It’s happened once before.”

“Good thing it was just your chin, then.”

“Good thing,” James agreed.

“Let me ask you,” Nick said. “Is something wrong with Roger? He’s been acting a little weird around me the past couple of days.”

James glanced at the bar from over his shoulder. “I don’t know,” James said with adolescent simplicity. “He might just be tired. I saw him out late on the beach last night, and again early this morning. He’d probably been out all night.”

“Out where?”

“On the water,” James said. “He takes his boat out every night.”

“Yes,” Nick said. “I saw him out there one night. He stays out till morning? Typically, I mean?”

“I don’t know about typically,” James said. “All I know is he’s been out there every night since I’ve been working here. Even in the storm.”