The God's Eye View

CHAPTER 21

Manus spent his Sunday afternoon at the woman’s apartment. She had called and asked if he could build a loft for Dash. Like a bunk bed, but with a dresser underneath, so her son’s small room would be less cluttered. She couldn’t be there except on the weekend, she’d told him, and though Manus didn’t doubt it was true, he was aware also that she might want to be there when he was. And was disturbed at how pleasing he found that thought.

He was happy to build a loft for the boy — a simple job, and a good way to get close to the woman, as the director wanted. But he sensed his own motivations were less straightforward than they should have been. He’d been thinking about the woman a lot. About her smile. Her face. Her shape. About that hint of cleavage he could see, just above the V-neck of her sweater.

He’d never been in a relationship. Deafness was repellant to a lot of hearing people. And the wall he felt between himself and the civilian world because of the things he’d done, the things that had been done to him, was thicker and higher still. He knew he made people uncomfortable, and he’d long since stopped trying not to. So when he needed sex, he would email a service, and a woman would come to the hotel he designated, take his money, remove her clothes, and allow Manus to use her body as he needed to. If these women were turned off by his deafness, they were usually too professional to let on, and afterward, Manus would feel relieved, if sometimes a little sad. He’d never aspired to anything else, or been at risk of it. But now this woman, so comfortable around the deaf, and apparently so comfortable around him, was inviting him into her home on what he knew might be a pretext. It was intriguing, and exciting, and disturbing, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

In the end, he had placated his conflicted feelings by telling the director she had contacted him. The director had been characteristically blunt. “Is she interested in you?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“You think she really just wants you to build a bed for her son?”

“I think it’s like you said. They don’t meet many deaf people.”

He didn’t know whether the director bought that, or whether he had noticed Manus hadn’t really answered the question.

“Well,” the director said after a moment spent stroking his chin, “on balance, I think it’s good she seems comfortable with you and… receptive to you. If you have the opportunity, engage her about her work. I doubt she’d open up very much to a stranger — certainly she shouldn’t — but I’d like to know if she seems troubled or conflicted. Whether she’s happy. Whether she’s considering a change of career. Anything like that. She’s doing some quite sensitive work right now, and she’s at a delicate stage in terms of her feelings about her role here. Anything you can provide might be important.”

Manus nodded, relieved that to the director it all seemed so uncomplicated.

“But please,” the director continued, “no more stunts like that thing with the baseball, all right? I’ve had six teams out scrubbing the footage from YouTube and the phones and computers of the people who uploaded it. And we had to call in a few favors from the media, too. You’re lucky you don’t have all the networks chasing you, wanting to interview the Samaritan who gave the winning ball to the deaf boy. My God, Marvin, you might have made yourself a celebrity.”

Manus knew the director was only half serious. But the comment embarrassed him regardless. He still wasn’t sure exactly why he’d given the ball to the boy. It had just happened. Though he supposed some good had come out of it. At least the director had seemed pleased.

He bought the lumber he needed at a local Home Depot, and showed up at the woman’s apartment at one in the afternoon, as she’d requested. She was wearing jeans and an oversized button-down shirt, and Manus was intensely aware of the warmth of her palm as she shook his hand in greeting, and of the shape of her body beneath her clothes. He made sure he didn’t look at that spot above the top button of the shirt, though preventing himself wasn’t easy.

The woman and the boy were barefoot, and the woman asked Manus if he wouldn’t mind taking off his boots, as well. Manus liked that they didn’t wear shoes inside, though he wasn’t sure why. It made the small apartment feel separate from the world, somehow, more a personal space for the woman and the boy, more a home.

The boy told Manus he wanted to help with everything, and they started by carrying in the lumber from the pickup. The boy seemed so eager about the whole project that Manus wondered if maybe the woman’s call had been aboveboard after all. The baseball, Manus was weirdly touched to see, occupied pride of place in the center of the dresser in the boy’s room, surrounded like a shrine by other, lesser baseball totems.

Manus explained the basic design — how the legs would each be stabilized on the short ends by a strut attached to the frame, which would leave the front end open for easy access; why a two-by-four was stronger turned on its side than it was lying flat; why they were depending more on bolts than on nails. He showed Dash how to use the basic tools of carpentry: tape measure, combination square, bubble level; marking pen and utility knife; hammer, screwdriver, crosscut saw, power drill. The boy wanted to choke up on the hammer and tap nails down in increments, but Manus showed him that no, if he held the handle low and flexed his wrist on the downswing, he could blast a nail into place with a single blow. And the handsaw — no, not a short, vibrating motion, but rather a long, end-to-end stroke, pushing down at the beginning, drawing up at the finish. The boy wanted to know where Manus had learned all this. Manus told him he’d been taught by his father, which was not entirely a lie, though for the most part the skills had come from years in the juvenile facility’s woodshop.

The job would have gone more quickly without a novice doing so much of it, but Manus didn’t mind. It was strangely satisfying to teach the boy, who was a fast and enthusiastic learner. Periodically, the woman would poke her head in to ask if they needed anything, or to bring them a snack or soda, and Manus was struck repeatedly by that way she looked at her son, the pleasure in her expression, the pride, the protectiveness.

At a little past seven, the woman asked Manus if he’d like to stay for dinner — just pizza, nothing fancy. The loft was nearly done, and Manus reflexively signed that he didn’t want to be a bother. To which Dash immediately insisted that he had to stay, it was La Pizza Banca, his favorite, and did Marvin like Italian sausage? Because La Pizza Banca had the best. Manus hesitated, thinking he hadn’t had a chance to talk to the woman alone, the way the director wanted, and that maybe it would be good to stay after all. The thought made him feel both pleased and concerned, though he wasn’t sure where to assign either emotion, and while he grappled with his conflicted feelings, the woman smiled and signed that it was no bother at all, the least they could do was provide him with a little nourishment after he’d spent most of the day teaching Dash carpentry. So Manus relented, glad and guilty at the same time.

The pizza was as good as the boy had promised, the sausage especially, the sweet and spicy taste of which stirred memories from a long time before. Or maybe it was just the environment, the feeling of being in someone’s home, welcome in someone’s home, with people who seemed comfortable with him and unafraid of him. The woman opened a bottle of wine, and though Manus didn’t drink much wine, he enjoyed it. The boy seemed especially energized by the work they’d done and carried a lot of the conversation, but it was fine talking with the woman, too, who asked a lot of questions about where Manus grew up and who had taught him carpentry and how he enjoyed living in the area. The answers were all second nature to him; he’d been living the legend so long it felt like the truth. Which was good, because the protectiveness he sensed in the woman made Manus suspect she’d already done her research on the Internet, and probably via some unauthorized searches of NSA databases, as well.

After dinner, they finished bolting together the loft and built a ladder. Manus put the boy’s mattress, which had been on the floor with no bed frame, on top of the structure, and helped them rearrange the rest of the furniture in the room. They both thanked him profusely, the boy’s delight focused primarily on having his bed so high up, the woman’s on how much space they had created in the small room. The boy attached a clip-on lamp to one of the railings so he could read in bed; Manus collected wood scraps and his tools; and the woman vacuumed up the sawdust they’d created. The boy wanted to hang towels and turn the loft into a fort, but the woman insisted no, it was a school night and already past bedtime, the boy needed to go to sleep. The fort could wait until tomorrow. The simultaneous firmness and gentleness in her manner gave Manus that strange feeling again, a recollection, a longing, another life.

They stepped outside and closed the door so the boy could get ready for bed. A moment later, he emerged wearing pajamas and headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth. The woman ruffled his hair as he passed, then signed to Manus, What do I owe you for the work?

The thought of having her pay him when he was supposed to be spying on her made him feel uneasy, though of course that was ridiculous. He had a cover and he had to live it.

I don’t know, he signed. How about two hundred dollars?

Two hundred dollars? You’ve been here all afternoon! And what about all that lumber?

Don’t forget, you fed me.

She laughed. I fed you pizza. Plus you spent so much time teaching Dash. Two hundred isn’t enough.

Okay. Two fifty.

She smiled and shook her head as though exasperated, and Manus wondered with both unease and excitement if she was pleased at the low price as much for what it might indicate about his intentions as she was about receiving such a good deal.

All right, you drive a hard bargain. I accept — on condition that you help me finish the wine. No sense wasting it, right?

His ambivalence worsened, and he hesitated. Then he reminded himself this was what the director wanted.

That would be nice. Thank you.

The boy returned. He signed, Thank you for building me a loft, Mr. Manus. And for letting me help.

You’re a good helper, Manus signed. Remember, don’t choke up when you’re using a hammer.

I know, the boy signed back, and pantomimed a solid hammer swing.

And keep your free hand out of the way.

The boy smiled and nodded, then signed, We have tickets to the Os’ last regular season home games. Want to come?

Manus hesitated, not knowing how to respond. The woman saved him by laughing and signing, Mr. Manus has a busy schedule, hon. And so do you — bedtime!

Can I read?

It’s really late, so just ten minutes, okay? Then lights out. Need the bathroom?

The boy shook his head, then stepped close and gave Manus a hug. It made Manus feel strange, as it had at the baseball game, but he patted the boy on the shoulder again and that seemed okay. The boy stepped back and hugged the woman, who kissed him on top of the head.

Ten minutes for real, Dash. No flashlight.

The boy gave her a small busted smile, went into his room, and climbed up into his loft. The woman closed the door, and they went back to the kitchen. A moment later, the boy walked in. Bathroom? The woman signed. The boy nodded a little sheepishly and went off. The woman smiled and shook her head. That’s my son. Either he doesn’t need the bathroom at all, or he needs it right away. Nothing in between.

I was like that, too. Too many interesting things going on. It’s easy to forget the everyday ones.

Manus sat while the woman filled two glasses. She leaned forward a bit as she poured, and before he could stop it, Manus’s gaze went to that area, that maddening area with its swells and shadows and contrasts. He looked away, trying to concentrate. The director wanted to know if she was happy at work, or stressed, or thinking of leaving. He didn’t know how to ask about any of that without being obvious. All he had really noticed was that she seemed happy. Though maybe there was something a little sad behind the happiness. But who wasn’t that true for?

The woman sat and took a sip of wine. It was really nice of you to come out here on a Sunday, she signed. And for such a small job.

Manus shook his head. It was nothing. He’s a good kid.

The woman beamed. The best.

How old was he when he lost his hearing?

Three.

That’s why he signs so well.

Yes.

You learned for him?

Of course. And you? Were your parents deaf?

No.

Did they learn sign?

My mother did.

Not your father?

The legend was that Manus’s father had died when Manus was an infant. Manus’s hands came up to tell her that, and instead wound up shaping the unfamiliar words, My father wasn’t a good guy.

What do you mean?

Manus didn’t know why he had said what he’d said. Instead, he took a sip of wine, then signed, It’s a long story.

I’m not in a hurry.

It was strange, the way he wanted to tell her things. He almost felt she would understand. But he reminded himself he needed her to talk to him.

So what do you do at the NSA? he signed, careful to use the outsider’s the. Can you talk about it, or is it all secret?

It is pretty secret, actually. But also nothing all that interesting.

You like it?

She sipped her wine. It’s technically challenging. I have a computer science background, and there aren’t that many fields where I could apply it the way I do in my job. So there’s that. But it’s not such a practical skill set, is it? I mean, I wish I could build a loft for Dash.

He recognized she might have been steering the conversation away from herself. Still, he signed, You’re happy, then?

She looked at him closely, so closely Manus had to look away. Then she got up and walked off. Manus wondered if he’d said something wrong, and tried to figure out what it could be. But she returned a moment later and signed, He’s out cold. You must have worn him out.

Manus was relieved — she had only been going to check on the boy. He signed, I didn’t mean to.

No, it’s good. I’m glad you were teaching him. His father was never very good with tools.

Was?

Divorced. We don’t see him that often.

They were quiet for a moment. Manus drank more wine. It tasted good. He realized he was a little buzzed.

He could feel her watching him. When he looked up, she signed, You’re not married, are you?

Her cheeks were slightly flushed and he realized she must have been as buzzed from the wine as he was. The realization produced a little adrenaline hit, and he could feel his heart rate and respiration increase in response.

You mean you work at the NSA and you couldn’t find that out?

She laughed. Maybe I just want confirmation.

Why?

I’m not sure. Are you?

No.

Divorced?

No. Never married.

Why not?

He finished his wine and looked into the empty glass. I don’t know. Never met anyone.

She laughed. Me, neither. But I got married anyway.

Manus hesitated, then signed, I like the way you are with your boy. I can tell you’re a good mother.

How?

The way you look at him.

They were quiet again. Manus didn’t feel like he was doing a good job for the director. Worse, he didn’t care.

When he finally glanced up, the woman had finished her wine and was looking at him with a frankness that gave him another adrenaline hit.

Do I make you nervous? she signed.

What? he signed, his heart beating faster. No.

Because I feel like you keep looking away from me.

Flustered, he looked away. Then caught himself and looked back.

Do you want to look at me? she signed.

Manus could feel himself stiffening. He sensed he was losing a game he hadn’t even realized he was playing. He swallowed and tried to think.

Do you? she signed again.

Breathing hard, Manus nodded.

Where?

Manus glanced at the skin above her top button, then back to her eyes.

She touched the spot and raised her eyebrows. Here?

His heart pounding, his head spinning, again Manus nodded.

Still watching him, she closed her fingers around the top button, undid it, and then, with her fingertips, spread the material to each side, exposing the edges of a lacy white bra, the curve of her breasts insanely smooth and full inside it.

Manus couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was unreal, like something happening to someone else.

She reached across the table and took him gently by the hand, the feeling of her fingers against his intense, almost electric. Manus couldn’t find words. He couldn’t think. All he knew was that he wanted, he needed, to touch her.

She stood, and he allowed her to lead him to a utility room adjacent to the entrance. It was a small space devoted mostly to a washing machine and dryer. The light was on a rheostat. She dimmed it, closed the door, put her hands on Manus’s chest, and eased him back against the door. Manus’s heart was beating combat fast.

He stood there, his hands curled into fists at his sides, wanting, craving her, but at the same time terrified, unsure of what to do. She glanced down, and he could tell from a slight pressure from her hands that she’d seen how hard he was, and the realization was both exciting and horrifying.

She looked up at him again, then took his hands and placed them on her breasts. Manus felt himself moan. He squeezed, careful to be gentle, afraid of how out of control he felt, how confused. Her mouth parted and he could tell she was breathing fast, as fast as he was, and she put her hands over his and she squeezed, too, harder than he had, telling him it was all right, she wanted him to, it was good.

His hands shaking, Manus began to unbutton her shirt. He sensed her watching him but he couldn’t look back. He felt too out of his mind, and he needed to see what he was doing anyway, because suddenly a few shirt buttons seemed to require all his fragmenting concentration. He worked his trembling way down, and when he finally bested the last one, his hands pulled back and floated aimlessly for a moment, trying to say something, ask her something, though he had no idea what.

For a long moment, she just looked at him. Then she reached slowly back with both hands and undid her bra. Manus watched her, his mouth agape, the blood pounding in his head, and then the bra was open and she took his hands and put them under it, and the feel of her breasts, so full and ripe and smooth, was so overwhelming that he could feel tears wanting to well up. She reached for the back of his neck, her palm hot against his skin, and brought his head down. Manus pushed the bra out of the way, closed his mouth over a hard, pink nipple, and sucked. He felt her gasp and he dropped to his knees, his hands and mouth still on her. The shirt fell to the floor beside him, followed a moment later by the bra. He moved to her other breast and she knotted her fingers in his hair and pulled his head closer. He sucked harder, cupping her breasts, squeezing her ass, running his hands along her waist and up her sides, feeling her, wanting her, needing her.

She got on her knees, too, and suddenly he was kissing her, his mouth open, her tongue inside it, and he felt her unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it down over his arms. And then her hands were on his shoulders, his torso, his chest, moving, pressing, and he realized she was exploring his body the way he was hers, and the thought caused a cascade of renewed excitement inside him. She broke the kiss, pushed him back by a shoulder, leaned forward, and closed a mouth over one of his nipples, something no one had ever done to Manus, something he had never even considered, and he was shocked to feel an explosion of pleasure from it. He couldn’t think anymore and didn’t want to, he just needed to be naked, against her, all the way inside her. He pulled her to her feet and fumbled with the button on her pants, but she was faster and got his open first, and pulled them down, his pants and boxers both. Manus stepped out of them and even as he realized what a relief, what a joy it was to be naked, she curled a hand around his cock and squeezed, and the feeling of that obliterated everything else and made his head swim anew. She pulled something from her back pocket and he saw it was a condom, and she opened it and with some difficulty rolled it onto him, and then she pulled off her own pants and her panties and Manus drank in the sight of her body, even smoother, softer than he had imagined, and realizing how much she wanted him was the headiest thing he’d ever known.

He put his hands under her arms and lifted her, carrying her back until her ass bumped against the edge of the washing machine, her feet a few inches off the floor. He held her perched that way for a moment, panting, so engorged it hurt. She curled a hand around his cock again and nodded, and she licked her lips, and she moved him close, and she guided him in.

For a moment, the pleasure was so stunning that Manus didn’t move. He closed his eyes and just felt it, his chest brushing against her breasts, her hands on his back, his cock inside her body. Then she kissed him again and he kissed her back, and then he was moving without even meaning to, he was fucking her and God it was good, and she leaned back and put her elbows on the surface of the machine and slid her hips forward, and Manus lifted her ass and pulled her closer and drove into her, his eyes on her belly, her breasts, her face. She gripped the edge of the machine and pushed back into him in time with his thrusts, her mouth open as though in shock or wonder, and Manus fucked her more deeply, as deeply as he could go, and her mouth opened wider and her eyes squeezed shut and her body shook and Manus could feel her muscles clenching and rippling as he moved back and forth inside her and he realized she was coming, coming because of him, and the thought was obliterated by an explosion of pleasure and he was coming, too, coming inside her and feeling her and watching her and taking her, all of her, her, her, her.

And then the world came back, and she opened her eyes and looked at him, and he could see from the rise and fall of her chest that she was still panting, and he realized so was he. He set her ass gently back on the machine and sagged against her. She crossed her legs around his lower back and held him like that, one hand around his shoulders, the other caressing the back of his head, the fingers running through his hair, her breasts pushing against his chest in time with her decelerating breathing.

When he’d caught his own breath, he pulled back a few inches. She kissed him again, long and tenderly, holding his face in her hands. Then she unwound her legs and gripped the end of the condom as Manus eased back, and when he was out she slid it off and dropped it on the washing machine. Manus put his hands around her waist and lifted her back to the floor.

He stood before her, looking at her body, then her face, shaking his head slowly in amazement. She smiled and glanced at his subsiding cock, then signed, I thought you were going to kill me.

He didn’t understand and felt horrified at the thought. What?

She pointed, then signed, You’re big. Very big.

He felt himself redden. Oh.

She laughed. Don’t worry. I liked it.

He hesitated, then signed, I’m glad.

Has it been… a long time for you?

He wasn’t sure how to respond. A long time for what?

Since you’ve made love.

He sensed a simple yes would have been the safe answer. Instead, he found himself telling her the truth again.

Never. Not like that.

She raised her eyebrows. You mean on a washing machine?

He shook his head. Just… like that.

That’s nice.

It’s true.

So it was good?

Yes. For you?

She laughed again. Could you not tell?

He tried to find words, but nothing came, and his hands drifted aimlessly for a moment. Finally, he managed, Really?

She stroked his cheek and nodded. Yes. It’s been a long time for me.

Why?

I don’t know. I don’t meet that many people. And it’s hard with Dash. There are a lot of creeps out there. But… he really likes you. And he has good instincts for people. I think that made me trust you.

Manus looked down, ashamed. She touched his chin gently, and when he looked up, she signed, Am I embarrassing you?

He shook his head.

She smiled. You’re shy, aren’t you?

I’m not sure.

That was just… good. So good. I’m sorry if I took advantage of you. I’ve been thinking about it since we met you at the baseball game.

You have?

Why are you surprised? You’re a good-looking guy. And that was so nice, what you did for Dash. At the game. And letting him help you today, too.

He shook his head, her gratitude again making him ashamed.

She touched his cheek. I know I should be a little more coy, but… I don’t have time for games. I’d like to see you again. And if that scares you away, or if you’ve already gotten what you wanted, that’s okay, I’d rather know now.

He reached out and touched her face the way she had touched his. And then his hands trailed down her neck, and along her shoulders, and across her breasts. When his fingertips brushed against her nipples, she shivered, and he was instantly hard again.

She glanced down and smiled. I could go get another condom. Or… we could do other things.

They wound up doing the other things. For Manus, it was an ongoing revelation.

Anders closed down his monitor, having seen and heard enough. He had of course previously sent a team to black-bag Gallagher’s apartment, a precaution he only wished he had thought to take with Perkins, and naturally had said nothing about it to Manus, who had no need to know. Not that Anders had expected anything like what he had just witnessed. The truth was, he hadn’t realized Manus was even capable of anything like that. Contrary to Remar’s impression, the man was no simple brute, true, but this? Well, maybe he had been watching too many James Bond movies, and had concluded the best way to assess a subject was to take her to bed. Or to a washing machine, as the case may be. Regardless, Anders supposed it was probably all to the good. Gallagher had seemed quite… tender with Manus, as well as passionate. If she had developed feelings for the man, and Manus could exploit them, they might well learn more about her state of mind than would otherwise have been possible. He decided it really was a good piece of luck that she had a deaf son. As he had hoped, it was probably part of what had made her open up to Manus in the first place.

For just one moment, he considered the possibility that Manus might actually have developed feelings for Gallagher, but then dismissed the thought. The man was human, yes, and presumably had human physical needs. In fact, Anders knew from spot checks of Manus’s cell phone metadata and geolocation records that from time to time the man availed himself of the services of prostitutes. But actual feelings? Anders tried to imagine it, and couldn’t. The truth was, he had never known anyone who seemed to have less feeling than Manus. It was part of what made Remar so uneasy around him. And of course, it was also part of what made Manus so useful. There was nothing the man couldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t do, out of loyalty to Anders, the man who had rescued him, raised him, practically created him. What had Remar said? That Manus was like an abused dog, that was it. Devoted to serving his master in whatever his master required.

And that would never change. Anders would never allow it. Because any dog that turned on its master simply needed to be put down.