Wrapped in Rain(62)

"If you tell him to watch his back, he'll stand between two mirrors and do just that. To delay or lessen these occurrences, you must make sure he stays on this." Gibby held out two small pill containers and said, "One of each, twice daily. When you run out, call me and I'll get you some more." In his other hand, he held out another plastic box, this one holding six syringes. "Try not to let him get to the place where he was last night. Inject him, call me, and I'll get in a car. If he doesn't find a home with you, he has one with us." I nodded and put the two pill containers and plastic box into my pocket. "One more thing. You might consider getting his hands busy. His hands will lead his mind; get him working on something. But let him figure out what that might be; just suggest and let him pick. Anything mechanical."

Mutt walked out his door with wet, uncombed hair, but he was fully dressed, zipper half-up, his eyes glassy with sleep, shoes tied, and wearing his fanny pack, stuffed taut. Gibby looked at him and then directly at Katie and me. "But under no circumstances should you leave him alone with anyone. Especially that boy. Don't let him near any little kids. Not for any reason. On the one hand, I don't think Mutt would hurt a fly, but on the other, I've been a quack doctor for more than forty years." He patted my shoulder and said, "I don't give you one chance in a hundred that he'll ever get better, but I admire you for what you're trying to do. Don't get your hopes up. In my experience, regardless of your intentions, the explosion is imminent. The question is not when; it's where, how bad, and who will it affect. A year ago, he hit a male nurse. Broke a couple of teeth and cut up his hand across his knuckle. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." Gibby looked at Mutt and whispered almost to himself, "Physically, he's as healthy as an ox, mentally, who knows. After forty years, the most I can say is that we're all fallen people in a fallen world. Mutt's just fallen where others haven't. When I get before God, which should be before the rest of you, I've got a few questions."



"Me too," I said, watching Mutt. "Thanks, Gibby."

Mutt handed Gibby a plastic bag filled with what looked like fifty different flies. "There's a new one at the bottom."

Gibby's eyes lit tip. "A Clauser?"

Mutt nodded.

"Thank you, Matthew." Mutt reached over the counter of the security desk, pushed a large red button underneath the countertop, and stood straight as the two sliding doors slid open. Once fully open, he walked slowly out the front doors, eyeing each, and into the sunshine, where his feet crunched on the acorns spread randomly across the sidewalk and parking lot.

When we got to the truck, I opened the front door for Mutt, who turned and looked at Katie and Jase. He looked back at me and without a word walked to the bed of the truck, climbed in, and lay down. Gibby watched from the doors, nodded with affirmation, and waved, and we loaded up. Thirty minutes later, traveling east on 1-10, Jase knelt on the backseat and looked out the back window at Mutt, who was sleeping peacefully beneath the clouds, the breeze, the cracks in the concrete, and the Thorazine.





Chapter 25


WE PULLED INTO WAVERLY IN THE LATE AFTERNOON. The sun skimmed the fuzzy green tops of the hay that danced beneath a cooling waltz of a breeze. The waves started in one corner, spread like spilling sand, and shifted the colors from sunset yellow to spring green to fire-engine red and high-noon orange.

Mutt hopped out of the back of the truck and studied Waverly from a distance. Weeds filled the front yard; the once-white fence, now green with mold, needed painting; and more than a few boards needed replacing. Vines grew up and down the brick and the crevices of the windows, moss painted the tiled roof and the copper drain spouts, and leaves and twigs spilled from the gutters. It looked more haunted than occupied.

Mutt walked around back, past Miss Ella's house, and stopped just long enough to sniff the air. He walked into the old barn, studied Glue, and walked to the corner where the batting machine leaned against the wall, covered in dust and cobwebs. He cleared off the webs and ran his fingers along the smooth metal feed tube. He looked around the barn, at the unrepaired holes in the back wall and the fresh hay that Mose had spread for Glue that morning. He stepped outside, stood beneath the water tower, and looked up at the underside of the tank, studying the wooden and metal structure that led to the top. Pulling on the bottom rung of the ladder, he lifted himself and slung his right leg over the first support beam. Standing on the beam, he stepped onto the ladder and climbed the twenty rungs to the top. At the top, he wedged himself between the ladder and tank and turned to see the view back over the pasture, over St. Joseph's, and down toward the quarry. He opened his fanny pack, took out a plastic bag, removed a bar of soap, and started to dip his hands into the tank but stopped short once he saw the water. Not having been drained in several years, the murky water swam with algae and bacteria. He returned the soap to his fanny pack, climbed back down the ladder, and hopped onto the ground. Walking over to a valve bolted to one of the six support posts of the tank, he gripped it with two hands and pressed his weight into it. He grunted and it squeaked. After one full turn, it broke loose, and he spun it open. Water rushed out the twoinch pipe and began spilling onto the ground around his shoes. It was black with sediment and algae. The water soon puddled and began trickling, then draining, away from the barn down toward the groves.