Nicky was able to, a little. George looked puzzled at first, then joined in, but after a moment he backed out again. “I can’t,” he whispered. “It’s dark.”
Never mind the dark! That was Sha. I think we can help!
George came back. He was reluctant, and he wasn’t much help, but at least he was with them.
It’s only a sponge, Avery told them. He could no longer see his bowl of stew. It had been replaced by the heartbeat swirl of the Stasi Lights. It can’t hurt you. Push it! All together!
They tried, and something happened. Helen looked down from the ceiling. She looked at Avery instead.
“Look who’s here,” she said in a rusty voice. “My headache’s a little better. Thank God.” She began to eat on her own.
“Holy shit,” George said. “That was us.”
Nick was grinning and holding up a hand. “Five, Avery.”
Avery slapped him five, but any good feeling left with the dots. Helen’s headache would come back, and it would worsen each time she watched the movies. Helen’s would, Sha’s would, Nicky’s would. His would, too. Eventually all of them would join the hum emanating from Gorky Park.
But maybe . . . if they were all together, in their own group-think . . . and if there was a way to make a shield . . .
Sha.
She looked at him. She listened. Nicky and George also listened, at least as well as they could. It was like they were partially deaf. But Sha heard. She ate a bite of stew, then put her spoon down and shook her head.
We can’t escape, Avery. If that’s what you’re thinking, forget it.
I know we can’t. But we have to do something. We have to help Luke, and we have to help ourselves. I see the pieces, but I don’t know how to put them together. I don’t . . .
“You don’t know how to build the castle,” Nicky said in a low, musing voice. Helen had stopped eating again, and had resumed her inspection of the ceiling. The headache-sponge was growing again already, swelling as it gorged on her mind. Nicky helped her to another bite.
“Cigarettes!” one of the caretakers was shouting. He held up a box. Smokes were free back here, it seemed. Encouraged, even. “Who wants a cigarette before the show?”
We can’t escape, Avery sent, so help me build a castle. A wall. A shield. Our castle. Our wall. Our shield.
He looked from Sha to Nicky to George and back to Sha again, pleading for her to understand. Her eyes brightened.
She gets it, Avery thought. Thank God, she gets it.
She started to speak, but closed her mouth again as the caretaker—his name was Clint—passed them by, bawling, “Cigarettes! Who wants one before the show?”
When he was gone, she said, “If we can’t escape, we have to take the place over.”
10
Deputy Wendy Gullickson’s original frosty attitude toward Tim had warmed considerably since their first date at the Mexican restaurant in Hardeeville. They were now an acknowledged couple, and when she came into Mr. Jackson’s back room apartment with a large paper bag, she kissed him first on the cheek and then quickly on the mouth.
“This is Deputy Gullickson,” Tim said, “but you can call her Wendy, if that’s okay with her.”
“It is,” Wendy said. “What’s your name?”
Luke looked to Tim, who gave him a slight nod.
“Luke Ellis.”
“Pleased to meet you, Luke. That’s quite a bruise you’ve got there.”
“Yes, ma’am. Ran into something.”
“Yes, Wendy. And the bandage over your ear? Did you cut yourself, as well?”
That made him smile a little, because it was the stone truth. “Something like that.”
“Tim said you might be hungry, so I grabbed some take-out from the restaurant on Main Street. I’ve got Co’-Cola, chicken, burgers, and fries. What do you want?”
“All of it,” Luke said, which made Wendy and Tim laugh.
They watched him eat two drumsticks, then a hamburger and most of the fries, finally a good-sized go-cup of rice pudding. Tim, who had missed his lunch, ate the rest of the chicken and drank a Coke.
“All right now?” Tim asked when the food was gone.
Instead of speaking, Luke burst into tears.
Wendy hugged him and stroked his hair, working some of the tangles out with her fingers. When Luke’s sobs finally eased, Tim squatted beside him.
“Sorry,” Luke said. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
“That’s okay. You’re allowed.”
“It’s because I feel alive again. I don’t know why that would make me cry, but it did.”