Expiration Date

I flipped, found the Bulletin article. Billy Derace hadn’t just disappeared from the scene of the crime. He had never really been there. It was his astral projection that had shown up, and it was strong enough and real enough to be seen and shown to a table and order a steak and a beer to bide his time. He’d ordered the steak because he wanted the knife. He couldn’t bring one with him, because his physical body was locked up in the Adams Institute.

I don’t know what I sounded like as I explained it to Meghan. It came out as a tumble of ideas and words. Somehow, though, it made sense to her. I think she was finally believing me—believing that those pills could do what I said they could.

“But what’s the connection between Derace and your father? They were both experimented on, but eight years apart. What made Derace pick up a knife and stab him to death in a bar?”

“I don’t know.”

“I heard him talking to you last night. I heard him say, ‘I killed him because I thought he was you.’”

“I have no idea.”

After a while, Meghan hit my crappy laptop for some Google searches and we filled in some pieces that the notes from the desk couldn’t. First, she found a death notice for DeMeo.

“Says here in the Inquirer that Dr. Mitchell DeMeo died in 2002. When did your grandpop move here?”

“A year later.”

“Oh shit. He didn’t just die. He was stabbed to death on Frankford Avenue at…Sellers Street? Is that nearby?”

“Just a few blocks away. Did you say stabbed?”

“He was walking to his car. Had the keys in his hand. Police say robbery wasn’t a motive, as his car keys and his wallet were still on the body when he was found.”

“Billy.”

“Yeah, I’d say that was certainly a possibility.”

Meghan kept typing; I kept digging. As a reporter I used to love printed sources. They were puzzle pieces. But now, there were too many pieces. Nothing seemed to match up or make sense.

“Um…”

“What?”

“I had somebody in my dad’s office do a little checking for me—and he just e-mailed back. This building is still owned by the U.S. government. I think your grandpop was squatting. Which means that technically, you’re squatting.”

Somehow this news wasn’t the crushing blow it should have been. I was already thinking that there was no way I’d be spending another night in this apartment. Not with Billy Derace knowing where to find me.

And Meghan.

A half hour later, dawn crept up over the Frankford skyline. We’d been digging and reading and throwing questions at each other all through the night. But now, with daylight here, I told Meghan she should probably go home.

“Are you kidding? Just when this is coming together?”

“It’s not safe here.”

“Don’t tell me—Frankford’s a bad neighborhood.”

“You know that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about Derace. Hell, I’m thinking about swallowing my pride, packing up my crap and asking my mom if I can crash in a spare bedroom for a few days. Just until I sort this stuff out.”

“No way am I leaving you now.”

“Seriously, Meghan, I’d feel a lot better if you kept your distance. I promise, I won’t leave you out of this.”

And I wouldn’t. There was nothing I wanted more than Meghan to stay with me right now. To stay with me forever, actually. But I couldn’t risk her life, not because of my selfishness. Billy Derace wouldn’t know who she was, where she lived. To him, she was just another woman. The only connection he had to her was through me.

“I don’t believe this. All of this time, and you push me away now? Seriously, Mickey—what the hell?”

She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t be anywhere near me. Not now.

“I’ll call you.”

When she left this time, she didn’t kiss me. She made sure I saw her face for a moment, her angry eyes, and then she left.

The door snicked shut and I sat on the houndstooth couch, intending to close my eyes for just a minute. One minute I was staring at the cracks in the ceiling and the next utter exhaustion took over. I was out. Gone.

It was good to finally let go.

Sometime later—it must have been early afternoon—my cell phone rang. Through a curtain of gray haze I saw the caller was Frankford Hospital. My mom was probably in my grandpop’s room and wanted to bug me about visiting him. I let the call go to voice mail and rolled back over. Maybe the drool would run down the other cheek, even things out. A while later the phone rang again. Please stop, Mom. Let me enjoy my coma here in peace. Then again. And a fourth time. So I finally picked up the phone and called into voice mail to see what the big panic was about…

But it wasn’t my mother. It was Grandpop Henry, calling from the hospital. I redialed the number. He answered.

“Mickey?”

“Grandpop? You’re awake?”

“Yeah, I’m awake. Been awake for a while. I need you to come here right away.”

XI

The Night Watchman