The Speed of Sound (Speed of Sound Thrillers #1)(81)

“Yes.”

Eddie asked, “How many people are playing tag with us?”

“More than I care to think about.” She glanced briefly at Rupert, who continued to surprise her. “Why aren’t you asking any questions?”

“If you were comfortable telling me what’s going on, you would have already done so.” She got out of the car, and he handed her the train tickets, along with two New York Mets caps and oversized T-shirts. “They’re looking for a doctor and her patient, not two baseball fans. The Mets are playing the Phillies tomorrow in Philadelphia. Now you two will fit right in.” He motioned to other fans making their way into the station. “Next train leaves at 10:22.”

She studied him, realizing her faith in New Yorkers had just been restored. “Did you really tell Eddie that you like birds more than people?”

He answered sincerely, “Not everyone is lucky enough to know someone like you.”

Skylar shook her head. “I’m not as nice as you think.”

Rupert smiled warmly. “All I need to know is the effect you have on him.” He gestured to Eddie as he got out to join them. “You know how special he is. What you don’t know is how special you are.”



From the moment Skylar and Eddie entered the crowded station, it was apparent that Kreitenberg was correct about the number of law-enforcement personnel looking for them. There seemed to be officers and agents around every corner, glancing at phones, which Skylar was certain displayed their images.

Skylar held her breath and kept her eyes on the ground as Eddie paused to cup his hands to his ears and rotate his head, familiarizing himself with the sounds of the gleaming station. The main concourse was over forty feet high and featured a thirty-foot-tall steel-and-glass cattail sculpture as its centerpiece. The sculpture was supposed to remind New Jersey Transit passengers that they were in the Meadowlands, where cattails were prevalent. At least, they had been before the open spaces were bulldozed and turned into a train station featuring statues of them.

The sculpture was ringed with neon, which emitted a slight but audible BUZZ. Eddie focused on it, along with every other noise echoing around the cavernous space. Footsteps, conversations, ringing devices, squeaking wheels, and never-ending arrival/departure announcements all bounced around the space’s surfaces of granite, limestone, steel, and glass. The collective white noise formed a continuous RUMBLE, which Skylar knew was going to be a challenge for Eddie.

This explained the tissue paper sticking out of his ears. Not much, thankfully, but it was there, for anyone who looked closely enough. Perhaps Skylar should have been less concerned with appearances, because Eddie’s hands started shaking. “I don’t like it here.”

“The faster we keep moving, the less time we have to spend here.”

“It’s too loud.”

“Breathe, Eddie.”

“I am breathing. Otherwise, I would be dead.”

“Focus on your breathing. Try to slow it down.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you to.” She had learned to stop trying to explain things, much like parents do by their second or third child.

It only took Eddie a moment to act on the request. He began breathing slower. As the new rhythm became more automatic for him, Skylar watched as he turned his attention to the many passersby. He focused on one person at a time. Many of these people wore Mets garb, just like Skylar and Eddie. Kreitenberg was right. They were blending in, and that was good. They appeared to be nothing more than two small parts of the Mets collective moving toward a common destination. She gave people slight nods, or looks that compatriots give each other. They were united in common purpose. They were one.

It was working right until Eddie started to moo like a cow. He was focused on a heavyset woman walking by in well-worn cowboy boots. “Moo.”

Skylar considered them fortunate that the woman didn’t hear him. “Why are you mooing?”

“This space makes people sound like cattle.” He stared at a particularly large, unshaven man, who was drinking from a large bottle wrapped inside a paper bag. He was at least 6’4” and over three hundred pounds. “Moo.”

The man stopped abruptly and stared down at Eddie. “What the hell you say?”

“Moo.”

Skylar quickly jumped in. “Please excuse my friend. He has Tourette’s, and can’t control certain impulses.”

Eddie made his BUZZER sound. “I do not have Tourette’s. I have Asperger’s syndrome.”

Skylar got right in Eddie’s face and looked him directly in the eyes. “I’m your doctor. If I say you have Tourette’s, you have Tourette’s. Now let’s go.”

She would have dragged him away by the arm if she could, but knew that would only make things worse. So she did the only thing she could, and that was to walk away, desperately hoping that he would follow.

Thankfully, Eddie did follow her, repeating what the large man was saying behind him as he did. “Shoulda beat that punk-ass bitch to the ground. Don’t care if he’s no retard. Sumbitch needs to learn some respect.” Eddie’s tone and intonation were dead-on.

After turning a corner, confident that they were a safe distance away from the man-beast, Skylar paused, breathing a deep sigh of relief. She waited for Eddie to catch up to her. “You do not have Tourette’s.”