Time of Death

51

There was no point in trying to grab any more sleep. And right now, Ren did not want to sleep. Mania is fuelled by sleep deprivation. And bipolar people like mania. It’s the party part.

I get so much more done.

Bipolar self-medication covered anything from coffee to Coors to Coke to coke. Few bipolar people would admit wanting to kick mania into action. No therapist would recommend it. Unless they’d experienced what mania really is — living the best, most productive day of your life on a loop. It’s when the world is an incredible place, no matter what shit is going on in your life or in someone else’s life, no matter what part you played in any of it. Bipolar people can fiddle while Rome burns.

Until they wake up one morning and wish they had never been born. They’ve spent a thousand dollars, slept with a string of strangers, alienated everyone who has ever cared about them…until the next time. But the low is like the pain of childbirth; by the time mania comes around again, you’ve forgotten the depth of the low that will follow. You kid yourself — this time, the high won’t end; this time will be painless.

Ren drank a pot of coffee and could feel the hyper-alertness kick in.

Bring it on.

She started to think about Mia Hammond and how her world was about to be turned upside down…again. Her entire life had been defined by her parents’ actions and their consequences. Mia Hammond was like a ball in a pinball machine, an innocent party, still not free from being shunted around, almost thirty years later. And it was about to get worse.

Ren frowned. Where was Mia Hammond when Peter Everett was screwing her mother? Would Trudie Hammond have just left her asleep with no guarantee that she wouldn’t wake up? What did cheating parents do? Would they have sex in the room where their kids slept?

Peter Everett hadn’t mentioned Mia. Was he too ashamed to say that a two-year-old child walked in on them? Or was there all along? Was that what pushed Douglas Hammond over the edge?

Ren dialed Mia Hammond’s number.

‘Mia, hi, it’s Ren Bryce. I need your help. It’s about your parents. Can you answer something for me?’

‘I guess.’

‘You were there the day that your mother…died. But you didn’t wake up until the police got there.’

‘Yes…’

‘Did your mom look after you full time?’

‘I guess so.’

‘You don’t know for sure?’

‘Well, I know I had a nanny for the rest of my childhood. Because Daddy was alone. He worked.’

‘Did you have grandparents near by?’

‘No. Why?’

I have a hard time believing you slept through everything. ‘Just asking,’ said Ren. ‘I’m sorry for bothering you.’

Ren called Billy on her way to the office and arranged to meet him after work for alcohol and moral support.

When she got to her desk, the phone was ringing.

‘Ren, it’s Daryl. We looked at the orchestra. There were three other missing children corresponding to towns they were playing over the eight months they were in the country.’

‘Holy shit.’

‘I know. And here’s where you come in — I could try and get in touch with the authorities in the Czech Republic, but I think you’d be able to turn it around quicker.’

‘That’s no problem,’ said Ren. ‘I’ll get on the phone, right away. Thank you. I’ll keep you posted.’

Please let this be it.

The rest of Ren’s day passed in a haze of trying to avoid every case she was supposed to be working on. Every time Gary came into the room, her heart started to pound. She expected to be brought into his office and fired because he had just watched a copy of the DVD. Her nerves were jangled, her veins pumping coffee and all the other caffeine-filled liquids she could suck through a straw. She could not get out of work quick enough.

Billy Waites was waiting for her in a bar on Larimer Street. She told him about Ricky Parry. She told him about Peter Everett. But even Billy could not be told about Javier Luis or James Laker. She could not bear to say those giant failures out loud. She looked at him.

You will think you are another mistake I made. And you’re not. And the circumstances were different. And I was trying to rescue Gavino Val Pando at the time, but it may not look that way. I am flawed. And I know you know that. But if I say any more out loud, I will fall apart.

Billy handed her a box.

‘Hello,’ said Ren. ‘What’s this? Can I open it?’

‘No.’

Ren smiled and opened it. It was a wooden circle, the size of a dinner plate, with circular grooves carved into it that all led to a central point shaped like a flower with six petals. She frowned. ‘It’s a labyrinth.’

‘Yes,’ said Billy. He took a packet of sand out of his pocket and began filling all the grooves with it. ‘It’s from Chartres. In France. It’s a replica of a labyrinth that’s on the floor of the cathedral there.’

‘So it has no hedges, at least,’ said Ren.

‘No. What you do is you walk all the way around it and then you come up the middle-’

‘Like Trivial Pursuit…’

‘Yeah, Ren. Sure. And when you come to the central area, you go into each of those six little petal things and you pray about something that you are grateful for.’

Ren smiled. ‘That’s beautiful.’

‘Here,’ said Billy. He took her finger and guided it around the curves through the sand. ‘It’s like a Zen garden.’

‘A Zen labyrinth. I never thought I’d see the day…’

‘So there you go,’ said Billy. ‘Everything has another angle, is my point. One man’s scary maze is another man’s labyrinthine path to gratitude and peace.’

Ren kissed him on the cheek. ‘I wish I was more like you. You have such a beautiful way of looking at life. And you have used the word labyrinthine in a regular conversation.’

Billy laughed. ‘Would you expect anything less from a former crim slash meth addict?’

Ren squeezed his hand. ‘I would expect nothing less from a courageous, reformed crim slash meth addict. As if I would have lowered myself to be with you otherwise.’

Billy laughed loud. ‘I did the lowering. FBI agent? Jesus.’

Ren hugged him. ‘You always make me feel good.’

‘You scum of the earth.’

‘You drugged-up cartelperson.’

‘That’s not a word.’

‘It’s a lifestyle.’

‘Shut up.’

‘You shut up.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Billy.

‘Sounds like a plan.’

Billy drove down Taylor Street. Ren was in the front seat regretting the choice of radio station. Tom Waites was on the radio, hoping that that he wouldn’t fall in love again. Since the opening of the song, the silence in the car had almost drowned it out.

‘Isn’t it amazing how one song can render so many people…deeply uncomfortable?’ said Billy.

‘It’s like eating a banana; you never know where to look,’ said Ren. ‘I think this song actually makes people feel they are in love with whoever’s with them.’

Silence.

‘Not that I’m saying that…what am I not saying?’

‘It is a beautiful song,’ said Billy.

‘Just don’t let the next one be “Let’s Get It On”.’

‘It’s “Let’s Get It Owwwn”.’

They pulled up at traffic lights. Billy laid his hand on hers. For a moment, Ren held it. Then she turned to look at him.

‘Edith,’ she said.

‘Is gone,’ said Billy.

‘What?’ said Ren. ‘But…’

‘There was no point,’ said Billy. ‘It…wasn’t fair.’

‘Why?’

‘Don’t move your mouth,’ he said. ‘Don’t kiss me back.’ He put his hand on her leg, leaned over and pressed his mouth against hers. He held it there as he slid his hand up higher. Then he pushed his tongue inside her mouth.

Whoa.

The lights went green and Billy pulled away from her, hitting the accelerator hard. Ren reached across the seat to him.

‘Oh,’ said Billy. He took a deep breath. He turned to her. ‘I missed that.’

‘Me too,’ said Ren.

‘Do you want to come back-’

Ren smiled.

‘Remember the mirrors?’ said Billy. ‘In the hotel? Wait until you see the one at my place.’

They parked outside Billy’s house, but stayed in the car. They kissed, he pulled her towards him, unhooked her bra with one hand and opened her shirt buttons with the other.

‘You are good,’ said Ren.

‘Fluke.’ He looked into her eyes as his head went lower. Ren lay back against the passenger door.

Where did he learn this shit? ‘OK…stop, stop,’ she said, sitting up.

Billy’s face fell.

‘No, seriously,’ said Ren. ‘If you don’t stop…I…’

‘You what?’

‘Just, I don’t know…I’m…maybe we shouldn’t…’

‘Ren, shut up,’ said Billy.

‘But-’

‘What is wrong with you tonight? Shut up!’

‘I’m nervous.’

He stopped and held her cheek. ‘You have nothing to be nervous about.’

‘You’re right,’ said Ren. ‘Let’s go.’

They made it into the dark hallway of the house. Billy pushed her up against the wall and leaned hard against her. Then he pushed her higher until her legs were wrapped around his waist. He carried her into the living room and laid her down on the floor. He knelt between her legs and pulled her toward him.

‘Your floor is wet,’ said Ren.

‘What?’

‘Your floor is wet.’ She reached a hand up to her head. ‘My hair is all…weird.’ She pulled her hand away. She was breathing properly for the first time since they started kissing. Oh, no. Something is wrong.

Billy reached over and turned on the lamp. They both looked at Ren’s hand. It was covered in blood. Billy looked past her. His eyes shot wide.

‘What?’ said Ren. ‘What’s the-’

‘Don’t,’ said Billy, reaching out to turn off the light. ‘Do not…’He tried to pin her legs down with his other arm.

Ren was gripping his hand, distracting him with the blood that covered it, prising his fingers away. She moved to flip her body over. But then she stopped.

‘Oh, Jesus,’ she said.

Beyond Billy, reflected in the giant mirror he had promised her, she could see the blown-apart body of Peter Everett…and his blood, soaking into her hair and dripping down her bare shoulder.