was what his father was: a visible but untouchable reflection. He was a two-weeks-a-year presence, or a voice on the phone, or an IM partner. A burst of heat ran down Ezra’s back, equal parts anger and fear. He wondered where his father was. He wished he was dead; he prayed he was safe. He hated him for his selfishness. It had put Ezra in this closet, and now monsters prowled the streets, searching for his scent.
Ezra rose. Careful not to jostle Geiger, he went to the desk and sat in Geiger’s chair in front of the computer. The AIM icon at the bottom of the monitor beckoned him. He clicked it, signed in as Guest, and set up a message to BigBossMan, the name on the account his father used for their sessions.
Ezra glanced over at Geiger’s dark, tucked figure, and then typed:
GUEST: Its EZBoy. Where are you?
He clicked “send” and sat back, staring at the boarded-up windows before him. No light made its way through, and only ghosts of the street’s shrillest sounds crept in past the soundproofing.
The ping of an incoming message straightened Ezra’s spine. He took a breath and leaned toward the screen. The upper right-hand quadrant displayed the message in a small, sans-serif font.
STICKLER: hey. its me.
Stickler? Ezra sank back into the soft leather. Who was Stickler? The greeting seemed personal, even intimate. Ezra’s hands reached out to the keyboard but only hovered there, his concentration failing him. For a moment he felt almost nauseous with fear-for himself, for his father, for the man in the closet. If Geiger didn’t wake up, what then? Ezra had no idea where he was, but he did know that he was locked in from the inside.
Ezra took a long breath and let his fingers fall to the keys.
Harry stared at the message.
GGGG: who are you?
This was absurdity of a new sort, the kind of cosmic joke only a petty God with too much time on his hands would stoop to pull. Harry was so astonished, he spoke aloud without realizing it.
“What the fuck?”
Heads all around the cafe rose, eyes swiveling to locate the boor. Even Lily looked up from her scone project, licking her fingers like a cat cleaning its paws. Harry ignored the gawkers and started typing.
STICKLER: who am i? who are you?
GGGG: this isnt geiger. im ezra.
STICKLER: the kid that got snatched?
GGGG: yes. who are you?
STICKLER: harry. geigers friend. where is he? go get him, right now.
GGGG: hes sleeping.
STICKLER: wake him up.
GGGG: im scared to. something happened to him. something bad.
STICKLER: whats that mean?
GGGG: he was really freaky. he had a kind of fit.
STICKLER: fit?
GGGG: screaming and stuff, on his knees. in terrible pain. sort of blinded. then he crawled into a closet and went to sleep on the floor.
Harry stopped. Had Geiger had a stroke? A heart attack? An epileptic seizure? But even as he wondered what had happened, Harry realized that he wasn’t shocked at the thought that Geiger might have had a meltdown. The episode at the session room and the decision to take the kid with him had only been a preview. For years he’d thought of Geiger as a man whose enormous strength was matched only by the massive weight of his burdens. Had they finally brought him to his knees? At the first rub of the question, Harry knew he’d been waiting for this moment for a long time.
Harry started typing again.
STICKLER: ill come there then. where are you?
GGGG: what do you mean? im at geigers.
STICKLER: i know. where is that?
GGGG: i dont know. I was blindfolded when he brought me in and all the windows are boarded up. i cant see outside. how come you don’t know? i thought you were his friend.
Harry rummaged around in the place where he kept his meager stock of patience, but the cupboard was almost bare. He was stretched thin, fed up with his own trespasses more than anyone else’s. And dealing with kids always gave him the heebie-jeebies. Their transparency made him feel clumsy, artless. He was going to have to walk a tightrope to the boy.
STICKLER: listen, kid. i know youre scared. i dont blame you. but i am his friend. ive just never been to his place. remember there was another guy there when he put you in the car? that was me.
GGGG: okay. but how are you going to find me? i dont know where i am and im locked in here.
STICKLER: ill think of something.
GGGG: hurry.
Frustrated, Harry slammed his palm down on the counter, sending a loud whomp rolling through the place. Lily twitched and heads bobbed back up.
“Jesus Christ!” he growled.
The Asian counter guy arrived, hovering at his side, espresso-stained fingers tugging at the beard surrounding his frown.
“You’re making too much noise, mister,” he said. “Much too much.”
Harry said nothing, his eyes locked on the screen.
“Hey, mister? Hear me?”
Harry looked up, molars fused. One word escaped through his teeth. “Yeah?”
“You’re making too much noise.”
“Was I? Sorry.”
“So no more yelling,” said the counter guy. “People don’t want to hear that. Okay?”
Harry placed his palms on the counter and took a shaky breath.
“I heard you,” he said. “No more yelling. I got it.”
“Okay,” said the counter guy, and then he leaned toward Lily, who sported a coating of crumbs from her lips to her lap. “And please, lady. Can you try and be a little neater?” His finger directed her nonexistent attention to a sign on the wall that read, PLEASE KEEP FOOD OFF THE COMPUTERS. He nodded at her. “Okay, lady? Thanks very much.”
Harry rose from his chair and came nose to nose with the counter guy. He was suddenly so angry that he felt as light as a feather, almost giddy with malice.
“Listen, man,” he said. “I’ll finish soon as I can, without another sound, and then we’ll leave. But do not talk to her.”
The counter guy framed his response with a faint, inquisitive smile. “Are you threatening me?” he asked. “Because, mister, you don’t look like you should be threatening anybody.”
Harry’s hand went up to his face-he’d forgotten about its battered state. His rush died away instantly, replaced by a wave of confusion and shame.
The laptop called to him with another merry ding.
GGGG: you still there? huh?
Hearing the computer’s chime, Lily started singing. “Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock…”
As she sang, only her wide, pale lips moved, and her frozen stare and immobile body were bizarrely at odds with the lyric.
The counter guy looked at Lily and then turned back to Harry. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I said never mind her, okay?”
But some synapse in Lily was misfiring, and she began singing louder. As her volume rose so did she, standing up with a touch of a wobble.
“She high on something?” asked the counter guy.
“Yeah, high on life,” said Harry. “Now I’m just going to finish up the IM and then get out of here, okay?”
Lily, still singing, came to the end of the song and raised both arms high. “That’s the jingle bell rock!”
