From the moment Skylar and Eddie entered the crowded station, it was apparent that Kreitenberg was correct about the number of law-enforcement personnel looking for them. There seemed to be officers and agents around every corner, glancing at phones, which Skylar was certain displayed their images.
Skylar held her breath and kept her eyes on the ground as Eddie paused to cup his hands to his ears and rotate his head, familiarizing himself with the sounds of the gleaming station. The main concourse was over forty feet high and featured a thirty-foot-tall steel-and-glass cattail sculpture as its centerpiece. The sculpture was supposed to remind New Jersey Transit passengers that they were in the Meadowlands, where cattails were prevalent. At least, they had been before the open spaces were bulldozed and turned into a train station featuring statues of them.
The sculpture was ringed with neon, which emitted a slight but audible BUZZ. Eddie focused on it, along with every other noise echoing around the cavernous space. Footsteps, conversations, ringing devices, squeaking wheels, and never-ending arrival/departure announcements all bounced around the space’s surfaces of granite, limestone, steel, and glass. The collective white noise formed a continuous RUMBLE, which Skylar knew was going to be a challenge for Eddie.
This explained the tissue paper sticking out of his ears. Not much, thankfully, but it was there, for anyone who looked closely enough. Perhaps Skylar should have been less concerned with appearances, because Eddie’s hands started shaking. “I don’t like it here.”
“The faster we keep moving, the less time we have to spend here.”
“It’s too loud.”
“Breathe, Eddie.”
“I am breathing. Otherwise, I would be dead.”
“Focus on your breathing. Try to slow it down.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking you to.” She had learned to stop trying to explain things, much like parents do by their second or third child.
It only took Eddie a moment to act on the request. He began breathing slower. As the new rhythm became more automatic for him, Skylar watched as he turned his attention to the many passersby. He focused on one person at a time. Many of these people wore Mets garb, just like Skylar and Eddie. Kreitenberg was right. They were blending in, and that was good. They appeared to be nothing more than two small parts of the Mets collective moving toward a common destination. She gave people slight nods, or looks that compatriots give each other. They were united in common purpose. They were one.
It was working right until Eddie started to moo like a cow. He was focused on a heavyset woman walking by in well-worn cowboy boots. “Moo.”
Skylar considered them fortunate that the woman didn’t hear him. “Why are you mooing?”
“This space makes people sound like cattle.” He stared at a particularly large, unshaven man, who was drinking from a large bottle wrapped inside a paper bag. He was at least 6’4” and over three hundred pounds. “Moo.”
The man stopped abruptly and stared down at Eddie. “What the hell you say?”
“Moo.”
Skylar quickly jumped in. “Please excuse my friend. He has Tourette’s, and can’t control certain impulses.”
Eddie made his BUZZER sound. “I do not have Tourette’s. I have Asperger’s syndrome.”
Skylar got right in Eddie’s face and looked him directly in the eyes. “I’m your doctor. If I say you have Tourette’s, you have Tourette’s. Now let’s go.”
She would have dragged him away by the arm if she could, but knew that would only make things worse. So she did the only thing she could, and that was to walk away, desperately hoping that he would follow.
Thankfully, Eddie did follow her, repeating what the large man was saying behind him as he did. “Shoulda beat that punk-ass bitch to the ground. Don’t care if he’s no retard. Sumbitch needs to learn some respect.” Eddie’s tone and intonation were dead-on.
After turning a corner, confident that they were a safe distance away from the man-beast, Skylar paused, breathing a deep sigh of relief. She waited for Eddie to catch up to her. “You do not have Tourette’s.”
Eddie looked upset. “Then why did you say I do?”
“Because I felt like I had to.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want him to hurt you.”
This got his attention. “You really think he was going to hurt me?”
She nodded. “I’m quite sure of it.”
Eddie glanced at various parts of his body, imagining a serious injury. “So it’s okay to lie if you don’t want someone to get hurt?”
She didn’t know what to say. “It’s okay if you don’t have any other alternatives.”
“How do you know if you don’t have any other alternatives?”
“You do your best to consider all other possibilities.”
Eddie nodded as if he understood, which he didn’t. It was all quite confusing, and left him feeling uncomfortable. “I want to go back to Harmony House.”
Skylar nodded. She knew this was hard for him, but she wasn’t about to give up yet. “I thought you wanted to hear your mother’s voice.”
“I do.”
“If I take you back to Harmony House, you may never get to.” She would also lose any chance of ever getting retribution for Jacob’s death.
“Because Dr. Fenton might take my echo box away?”
She nodded. “Yes. And I made you a promise to stop anyone from taking it away from you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“But I need your help to keep that promise.”
He thought for a moment and reached his decision. “I will help you keep that promise.” He counted his footsteps under his breath as he and Skylar made their way down two flights of stairs to the lower departure level. They were joined by an increasing number of Mets fans heading for the same train, who all shared the same thought: there was nothing more fun than staying up all night making fun of Phillies fans on their home turf the night before a good shellacking.
Eddie continued quietly counting to himself. “Two hundred and thirty-two. Two hundred and thirty-three.” He stopped abruptly to scratch his neck where the newly purchased Mets T-shirt collar was rubbing against it. “I don’t like this shirt. It itches my neck.” He started to take it off.
“You only have to wear it until we get on the train.”
“It makes me uncomfortable.” He pulled the shirt over his head.
Skylar glanced at an officer in the distance, and spoke conspiratorially. “If a police officer tags you, it will be even more uncomfortable.”
Eddie looked around. He also saw the officer down the platform. “I do not want to be tagged. I want to hear my mother sing.”
“Then keep walking and do your best not to draw attention to yourself.”
He put the Mets jersey back over his head as he resumed walking toward the train. “Two hundred and thirty-four. Two hundred and thirty-five.”
CHAPTER 82
Harmony House, Woodbury, New Jersey, May 27, 10:11 p.m.
The distraught call from his boss was not Michael Barnes’s main concern. It was understandable that Fenton resented being in the back of a squad car. Of course he was livid about being taken in for questioning. Detective Butler McHenry was a nuisance, but not a legitimate threat, not to either of them. McHenry had no jurisdiction nor evidence he could use against Fenton. The detective was fishing, hoping the old man would slip. In Barnes’s professional estimation, that was highly unlikely. Possible, because anything was possible, but the odds were low. Fenton would lose a few hours being questioned, but that would be the extent of it. McHenry was nothing more than a frustrated detective who knew justice would never be carried out. His only move was to pester and annoy.
Barnes’s bigger concern, the one causing the knot in his stomach to grow increasingly tight and resistant to the over-the-counter remedies he’d been gobbling down, was that the team he’d sent after the nurse had not been heard from. Strunk and Dobson should have checked in over an hour ago, but both of their phones had stopped transmitting GPS signals at Gloria Pruitt’s residence. Which meant something had happened.