Authors: Gabrielle Goldsby
Goodbye, Hoyt.
*
“I saw something when I was on my way back here after that guy chased me. There’s this little store that has these monitors in the window. Not monitors, really, they’re more like flat-panel TVs.”
“Really? Is it a new store?” Emma asked in an effort to push down the anxiety by focusing her attention on something else.
“It’s been there for a few years. They have these big ass flat-panels in the window with cameras on them. They film people as they walk by and play it back on the screens. Sometimes they play a tape; sometimes it’s real time. Anyway, I noticed someone had busted out a window.”
That caught Emma’s attention. “You think he broke in?”
“He must have. If it had happened—before this thing, then they would have had to hire a guard or something. A store like that would have been robbed blind with a window busted out and no security.”
“What kind of store is it?”
“It’s a poser messenger store. One of the guys at Quick Fast threatened to sue them, because they recorded him riding by on his route and played it on those screens. He claimed it made it look like he endorsed the store.”
“They stop doing it?”
“Nah, they just changed it so that they recorded everyone, not just messengers. Anyway, none of us could afford to shop in that store, not that they needed us to. They got plenty of money from rich kids who wanted to look the part without the risk and the crappy pay.”
Emma looked at Troy. “One of the first things I noticed about you was how you dressed. You have a great look.”
Troy seemed embarrassed by Emma’s compliment.
“Thanks, but with the exception of that one hundred-fifty-dollar shirt that I, um, borrowed, I get most of my stuff at Goodwill.”
“You do?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am, sort of. Your clothes…fit like they were made for you.” Emma couldn’t help the glance she took at Troy’s pants. Cargos that followed the curve of her backside as if they were made for her.
“You learn to be good with a needle when you grow up poor. I didn’t make much money as a messenger either.”
“Money’s nothing more than paper and metal now. Your skills with the needle might be the new form of barter. I’d much rather have a ‘Troy-Goodwill special’ than something out of a trendy store.”
Troy laughed. “Kids eat that shit up like popcorn, which is too bad, because it’s expensive, and most of it is just cheap fabric thrown together in some sweathouse. But that’s not what’s got me thinking. The TV screens were all snow, as if the tape or DVD or whatever they use, had run out.”
“Those things only last a few hours, right?”
“I would guess they would have to last at least eight hours, since they leave them running all night after the store closes. But there was this guy lying out front. His clothes were kind of spendy looking, but his watch was cracked and stuck on eleven. A guy like that wouldn’t be walking around wearing a busted watch. So I’m thinking he busted it when he fell. I figure this thing—whatever it is—must have happened at eleven.”
“Okay.” Beyond that one word, Emma was silently mulling over Troy’s story. “Oh, so you’re thinking that if the cameras were recording at eleven, whatever happened, it would have been recorded.”
“All we’d have to do is find the tape. The store’s not that far from here.” Troy looked at Emma. “You think you can walk another half-mile or so?”
Emma seemed confused by the question. “No problem.”
“Did you forget your cane?”
“I left it.”
“Do you want to go back and get it?”
“I left the keys inside and locked the door. I don’t want to go back there.” Emma became conscious of her body and of Troy’s concern. Although she would always limp, she felt no better or worse for not having the cane. “I don’t think I’ve needed that cane for a long time.”
“Are you sure? I can go back and get it.”
“Not without me. Besides, that cane was nothing special. I could always ‘borrow’ a new one if I needed to.”
Troy grinned. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” They walked for a few minutes in silence.
“Wow,” Emma said. “I don’t use a cane anymore.”
“Wow,” Troy echoed, and if not for the adoration that flowed from her, Emma might have thought Troy was making fun of her.
Emma took a deep breath. “I might get tired a bit easier, though.”
“You just let me know when you’re tired, and we’ll stop, okay?”
“I promise I will.”
Troy smiled and pointed with her chin. “The store is just up the way here.”
*
The man in the overcoat and pinstriped pants lay in the exact same position on the sidewalk in front of the store. The glass on his jacket was no longer as noticeable, but the snowy monitors and the hole in the window were just as she remembered. The hole in the window was small, but big enough for her and Emma to squeeze through.
The store hadn’t been looted, but someone had left a black backpack on the floor near the cash register counter. A shoe had been left in the middle of the floor, and several pairs of jeans and shirts had been left draped over clothing racks.
Troy picked up the shoe, flipped it upside down, and looked at the soles. “I wouldn’t steal these shoes either. These soles wouldn’t stick to glue.” Troy left the shoe on the counter while she searched behind it for a recorder of some sort.
Emma picked up the shoe, and then a pair of jeans and a shirt.
“Troy, what did that man look like?” Emma held the jeans out in front of her. “The one who chased you?”
“I don’t know. Just some white guy—dark hair, dark eyes, thin.”
“How thin? How tall? Did he look like he would wear these kinds of clothes?”
Troy shrugged. “I don’t remember what he was wearing, but he was five-eleven or six foot, maybe.” Troy shrugged. “Average, why do you ask?”
Emma held up the shoe looking pale and confused. “This shoe is small, I couldn’t fit it, and I bet you couldn’t either.”
“Maybe that’s why he didn’t take them, because they were the wrong size.” But even before Emma answered Troy knew that that didn’t make sense.
“They would all have to be the wrong size. Those pants are a twenty-eight. Twenty-eight, which makes them too small for the man you described.”
“There’s someone else awake.” Troy said in amazement.
“I’m guessing it’s a kid,” Emma said.
“Shit.” Troy snatched the scarf off her head and started twisting it. “We can’t leave until we know for sure. Especially if it’s a kid.”
“Even if it isn’t, we have to at least let them know that a psycho is out there.”
“Let’s find the recorder. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a look at who we’re dealing with.”
It took them ten minutes to find several recorders in a cabinet in the manager’s office. It took them several more minutes to find the remote and a way to feed it to the monitor. And then it took almost an hour to get the tape to the time stamp right before eleven o’clock.
“All right, here we go,” Troy said. They both stared into the small viewing screen. People walked by, looked into the screen, smiled and continued on their way for the next five minutes.
“Ten fifty-nine p.m.” Emma sounded as if she were waiting for the ball to drop on New Year’s Eve.
“Hey, look.” Troy pointed at the monitor. “There’s Mr. Overcoat.” The upright and walking version of the sleeping man out front looked at the camera, smiled at himself, and then the screen went to snow. “What the hell?” Troy said as she looked at the time stamp, it was eleven o’clock, on the dot…
“Troy, look,” Emma said in a hushed voice. The monitors had picture again, and the man in the wool coat was lying on the sidewalk in front of the store the time stamp read 11:01 pm.
“Why would the tape stop right before it happened?”
“I don’t know,” Troy said as she picked up the remote and fast forwarded the tape. They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. If not for the small wrinkle that wiggled across the screen, it was as if they were watching in real time. Troy jumped and stopped the fast forward when a figure appeared in the frame. They both watched a boy of about twelve, maybe a little older but not by much, stood with his hands pressed against the window. The time stamped at the bottom of the screen read 4:45 a.m.
“Look at him. He doesn’t even look scared. He looks like he’s window shopping,” Emma said.
“It’s shock. I was like that after I woke up in that hospital.”
“What’s he doing out so early in the morning?”
“Why not? Who’s going to tell him to go to bed?” Troy felt a kinship toward him as they watched him walk away and return a while later with what looked like a heavy lead pipe. It took him several attempts to break through the window before he was successful. They could no longer see what he was doing once he disappeared into the store. The tape ran out before they saw him come back out, but they could see how the boy had amused himself by trying on clothing that he had probably either been unable to afford or not allowed to wear.
“How are we going to find him?” Emma asked.
“It’ll be near impossible unless he comes back downtown to do some more shopping. Hey, did you notice the bag he was carrying?”
“I think so. What about it?”
“It was a black Jansport. I think I saw one out front.” Troy was already walking out of the small office. “Come on.”
“You think he left his bag?” Emma asked.
“Why not? If he traded up for a new one, what would be the point of taking the old one home?”
The black Jansport was propped up against the cash register counter as if the boy had set it down and forgotten about it. Troy had the zipper open and was riffling through the bag. She pulled out a small wallet with a Multnomah County library card and a student ID inside.
“His name’s Jake Ostroph,” she told Emma. “Ostroph can’t be a common name. There’s bound to be a phone book around here.”
“You think his parents are listed?” Emma sounded doubtful. “I didn’t know that people did that anymore.”
“Don’t know, but it’s a place to start.”
Dite would have made the trip to the Ostroph house from downtown in about fifteen minutes. Alone, she could have made it in about forty-five, but with Emma and her knee, it would take them over an hour. Troy was surprised to realize that she was fine with the slower pace.
“How you doing?”
“It feels good to walk,” Emma said. Her voice had gone shy and Troy wondered how much of her thoughts were transparent to Emma.
Troy smiled at her and went back to scanning the streets and darkened windows of buildings two blocks ahead of them. She would have liked to have left Emma somewhere where she would be safe, but she had promised not to leave her, and she’d be damned if she was going to break that promise.
There’s something happening between us, and I think I like it.
She glanced at Emma. Troy realized she had been waiting for signs that Emma was getting tired so she could suggest that they rest. But Emma’s breathing seemed no more elevated than if she had been walking from her kitchen to her window seat.
Troy felt her face flush as she thought about the window seat and the last time she had been on it with Emma. She pretended interest in an old colonial home that had been converted into several small apartments. Two signs in its windows reported that the colonial had both “Rooms Available” and that you could “Rent by the Week.”
I wonder if they have rooms with window seats.
Emma laced her fingers with hers. “What are you thinking?” Emma’s voice was soft, seductive.
“I’m thinking you should stop talking to me in that sexy voice or we might have to take them up on their offer.” Troy pointed at the “Rooms Available” sign. It didn’t take Emma long to catch on and she laughed.
Mid-year’s resolution: get her to do that more often
. Troy looked behind them to make sure they weren’t being followed before she turned to look at Emma.
“You’re very quiet. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I was just thinking that you could have been there and back by now on your bike.”
“Sure, but I’d be worrying about you the whole time.”
Emma didn’t say anything and Troy glanced over at her. She loved the way her hair had started to curl over her ear in the light mist.
“I hate that I’m already starting to slow you down.”
Troy tried to catch her eye, but Emma was staring straight ahead.
“You’re not slowing me down. I mean, yes, I could have gotten there faster on a bike, but faster isn’t always better.”
“Sometimes it’s all right, though,” Emma said, and Troy could hear the smile in her voice. It made Troy think of sex. It aroused her and then embarrassed her because she knew Emma sensed what she was thinking. Emma laughed again and Troy thought it was almost worth being the brunt of Emma’s teasing.
“I’m sorry,” Emma said.
“Liar.”
Emma nodded. “I’m totally lying.”
Damn it. The world’s gone to hell, my bike is gone, some guy is out there killing people, and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel incredible
. “Almost there,” Troy said to distract herself.