The Speed of Sound (Speed of Sound Thrillers #1)(72)
Most of the businessmen around him didn’t even notice, but those who did kept right on going. Except for the guy closest to Eddie. The investment banker stopped to ask if he was okay. Eddie slapped himself several more times until his entire cheek was bright red. It looked like a nasty patch of sunburn. Catching his breath, he answered that he didn’t talk to strangers. The investment banker shook his head, wondering why he had even bothered, and quickly moved on. The freak could slap himself right into the emergency room for all he cared.
Eddie stood alone on the sidewalk for quite a while, wondering which way he should go, when he felt something he hadn’t in years. A rumbling in his stomach. It was well past Harmony House dinnertime. The day’s excitement and the unusual amount of walking had made him feel particularly hungry. He thought of his brief attempt at a hunger strike many years ago, and how much he’d disliked the feeling. To no one in particular, he said, “I’m hungry.” No one answered. Or even bothered to glance at him. Eddie briefly wondered if he had become invisible, but then dismissed the notion. Invisibility wasn’t possible. Not yet, anyway. But the gnawing in his stomach persisted, so he repeated himself. “I’m hungry.”
The soft-pretzel vendor was at the other end of the block when Eddie first smelled the man’s wares. Eddie breathed in deeply through his nose as his feet led him toward the scent. “I’m hungry.” He’d repeated the sentence another six times by the time he reached the pretzel man.
“Two dollar.” The man’s accent was Egyptian.
Eddie was again confused. “Two dollar what?”
“Two dollar.” He pointed to his handwritten sign, which read: “PRETZELS—$2.”
“You mean two dollars.”
The pretzel guy sneered with disgust at the arrogant American correcting his English. “Two dollar.”
Eddie remembered the two one-dollar bills Skylar had given him after their bet in the police station, and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out the two bills and held them up for the pretzel man to see. “This is two dollars.”
The vendor quickly snatched the bills from Eddie’s hand and replaced them with a freshly baked good. “This is pretzel.”
It was the first item Eddie had ever purchased in his life. He enjoyed the warmth of the baked, twisted bread in his hand. It was comforting. Not too hot, and not too cold. He hesitantly took a very small bite, chewing with just his front teeth. Eddie had clearly never tasted one before.
“You never have pretzel?”
“Not one like this. The only kind of pretzels I have eaten are small and hard and crunchy.”
The pretzel guy grinned widely. “Then you never have pretzel.”
Eddie looked confused. “I just told you that I have only eaten pretzels that are small and hard and crunchy.”
The Egyptian man motioned to the pretzel in Eddie’s hand. “You like?”
Eddie took a moment to chew the small bite he had taken. He took his time like a connoisseur. “Three.”
“Three what?”
“I give this pretzel a score of three. It could very well be a four, or even a four plus, but I have never tasted another pretzel like this one, so I don’t have anything to compare it to. That’s why I cannot give it a higher score. But I promise that when I eventually write down the score in my notebook, I will revise the number accordingly after I have a sufficient number of comparisons, if the revision is warranted.”
The vendor nodded, not understanding a word Eddie had said after “three.” But the man was pleased when Eddie took a large second bite, and an even larger third.
Eddie shoved the rest of the soft pretzel into his mouth, causing his cheeks to bulge and nearby pedestrians to maintain their distance, as he continued on down the sidewalk. Keeping his head down, looking at the cracks in the pavement as he stepped over them, he had no idea where he was or where he was going. Eddie knew only that he should keep walking. To nowhere in particular. So he continued counting his footsteps. Seven thousand four hundred and eighty-three. Seven thousand four hundred and eighty-four. Seven thousand four hundred and eighty-five.
CHAPTER 65
Central Park South, New York City, May 27, 6:43 p.m.
Skylar ran along the southern edge of the park, repeatedly calling out Eddie’s name like a parent looking for a lost child. She grew more desperate with every passing moment. Looking. Looking. Where the hell could he be? It was her fault Eddie was off Harmony House grounds. And it was her fault he’d been allowed to slip out of the cab. She had already been living with the guilt of her brother’s death after she left for college; a second death of someone equally as special, and perhaps even more, was something she couldn’t bear. It would end her. She had to find him. “EDDIE!”
Skylar saw him in the distance. A man carrying a nylon bag clutched tightly to his chest. He was surrounded by a large group of tourists, moving away from her. She only caught a brief glimpse, but it was enough. Skylar took off running like she hadn’t since her lacrosse days. The woman could really run. Even at an all-out sprint, she remained graceful. It has to be Eddie. It just has to.
But well before she ever reached him, she saw the man’s face. He was at least fifty, and graying. The man was not Eddie. Dammit!
She continued looking all around her, turning her gaze up into the trees, hoping to find birds like the ones Eddie sang with at Harmony House. One of these beautiful creatures might very well lead her directly to him. But where were they? There were no such birds in Central Park. The only birds that Skylar could see were pigeons. Dirty, nasty, flying rats that did not chirp or whistle. The sound pigeons made was more of a coo, and that was generous. The sound was ugly, and nothing Eddie would try to make music with.