Mysterium

Voices announcing street corners, voices acknowledging the announcements. Clifford was instantly fascinated. It had to be the militia, he thought. Patrol cars making their rounds, calling out checkpoints. Oak and Beacon, all silent. Camden and Pine, all quiet here. Clifford punched the monitor button and settled down to listen.

The talk went on. Mostly, the militiamen sounded bored. Periodically, they complained about the cold.

Check-point, Third and Duke. We’re almost frozen out here.

Noted. Beware ice, James. The streets are slick in Babylon tonight.

Babylon was what the soldiers called Two Rivers. Luke had told him that.

No signs of life along the highway. Nico, is it true they’re serving pot roast in the commissary tomorrow night?

That’s the rumor. Supply truck hasn’t been in today, though.

Samael’s pants. I was looking forward to a hot meal.

You’ll be looking forward to an obscenity demerit if you’re not careful. Philip? Your callout is late.

But now his mother’s voice came down the hallway and through the door of his room: “Cliffy? Have you got the TV on?”

“Shit,” Clifford said, startling himself a little. He reached for the volume control on the scanner. In his panic, he jerked it the wrong way.

The speaker screamed, “FOURTH AND MAIN! FOURTH AND MAIN! ALL QUIET AT FOURTH AND MAIN!”

Clifford hit the off switch and yanked the power cord out of the wall socket. The scanner was important. He understood that without thinking about it. The scanner was important and he had to hide it, or it would be taken away from him.

He heard his mother’s bedroom door swing open.

“Cliffy!”

He looked at the high shelf of his closet. Too far away. He lifted the scanner and bent to slip the heavy case into the dusty darkness under his bed. It fit, but only just. The cord trailed behind. He kicked it under the hem of the bedspread.

The door to his room sprang open. His mother stood in the doorway clutching a pink nightgown at her neck and frowning hugely.

“Cliffy, what the hell is all that noise?”

“Playing with the Game Boy,” he said—lamely, but his mother wouldn’t understand the limitations of a hand-held game machine. She had a name for every electronic device Clifford owned: they were all “Fucking Noisy Boxes.”

“Yeah?” She glanced at the bed, suspiciously. The Game Boy was lying there. The battery cover was off and the battery well was empty, but his mother wouldn’t notice, Clifford thought. Probably. “Well… keep it down, okay? You could have woke up the whole neighborhood!”

He said, “I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

“It’s after ten. Spare a thought for somebody else for once in your life.”

“Okay. All right.” She turned away.

Luke was’ behind her. He wore his uniform. The shirt was unbuttoned to the waist. His chest was a mass of dark, curly hair; his eyes were bright and curious.

He took a step inside Clifford’s room and said, “Who is the Game Boy?”

“It’s not a who. It’s an it. A machine. A game machine.”

“Like Nintendo?”

“Yeah, like Nintendo.” Please, Clifford thought, don’t ask to see it. “Cliffy,” Luke said. “You must show it to me sometime.”

“Sure.”

“It sounds like a radio, you know.” Clifford shrugged.

The soldier looked hard at him. “You’re not playing tricks on me, are you?”

“No.”

“Est-que vous etes un petit criminel? Un terroriste? Eh, Cliffy?”

“I don’t understand,” Clifford said, quite truthfully. “See that you don’t.”

“Luke!” His mother, from down the hall. “Come on!” The soldier winked at Clifford and left the room.

∞

Since September, classes at John F. Kennedy had been reduced to two days a week. Dex supposed the futility of it had become obvious: nobody at JFK High would be going to Harvard or MIT, not this year or next year or ever. The only thing he was giving these kids was an illusion of normalcy, and maybe that wasn’t a good or useful commodity anymore… maybe it was even dangerous.

His afternoons were free. He had spent the last two afternoons reading Linneth’s history book and today he decided to discuss the contents with Howard Poole. The pressure on Howard had relented over the last few weeks; the Proctors seemed suddenly less anxious to pursue the mystery of the research lab. A daylight visit was possible. Still, Dex took precautions on his way to the Cantwell house. He walked past Oak Street to Powell Creek Park, then doubled back and approached the house from the south.