None of the other Arkham employees coughing at the dust trail noticed the Weimaraner with a penguin in his mouth running through the open gate and bolting behind the station wagon. And they didn’t even start running themselves until several patients from Nate’s ward had poured out too, chasing the dog, with Kimrean in the lead, crying, “I saw the whole thing! A dog and a penguin helped him escape!”
At the head of the chase, the Vega slowed down, with Kerri and Andy both leaning out and waving.
“Tim, hurry up! Run!”
The dog sprinted down the gravel path, ears flapping in the wind, penguin squeaking between his teeth to the frantic beat of his footsteps, catching up to the car where Kerri was forgoing all of the driver’s duties to wave him over. They were reaching the end of the park by the time Tim jumped into Kerri’s arms, Andy holding the wheel and steering them all onto the main road, out of the path of a honking eighteen-wheeler. The driver’s side door banged shut right behind the dog.
In the rearview mirror, the pointy roofs of Arkham Asylum dipped back behind the maple trees.
“Go, get in the back! I’ll drive!” ordered Andy, maneuvering to swap seats with Kerri at 70 mph.
“You dumb fuck!” Nate shouted at the dog, tied up, rolling upside down on the backseat. “Next time you go around the furniture, not under it!”
“Don’t scold him! He did great!” Kerri protested, wrestling Tim and rubbing noses with him. “Didn’t you? You did a great job! Good boy! Very good boy!”
I know, Tim panted, overjoyed. I rescued the penguin!
In his hand he held a pink safety razor, the last item in his welcome gift pack. His old bandaged fingers ached under fresh contusions. Bruises sprawled throughout his slender chest and arms like industrial developments in nineteenth-century Britain.
He caressed his chin. A semitransparent fluff under his lower lip was pretty much the total of his facial hair two weeks after he had last been allowed a Gillette in Arkham.
One of the toilets behind him flushed. Nate quickly put on a T-shirt, one of the two he had taken the precaution to wear that morning. It had been the easy workaround to the impossibility of carry-on luggage, and the extra padding had also been welcome.
A stall door flung open and Peter came to the sink, tucking his striped polo shirt.
“All right! Seems like the club’s back in action.”
Nate remained silent, watching the new guy in the mirror.
Peter Manner, theoretically 26, fixes his wavy hair with Nate’s comb, then pockets it in his jeans, a glistening smile of approval toward his reflection.
“Just like the old times,” he sighed. Right then he noticed the razor in Nate’s hand. “Why did they give you that? Is Kerri still expecting you to hit puberty or something? You never had body hair.”
“I know.” Nate chuckled.
“Look at me, though.” Peter checked his clean-shaven square jaw. “Some days I grow a full five o’clock shadow by a quarter past nine. I even grow hair after death.”
“That’s actually a myth,” Nate said. “The rest of your body shrivels and shrinks, which makes your hair look longer.”
“Oh,” said Peter, giving himself a closer inspection to make sure he showed no aging or decaying signs. “Well, I look fresh enough. And hey,” he added, nudging Nate, “the girls don’t look bad either, huh?”
“I guess.”
“Oh, come on! Kerri was already hot in high school; no surprise there. But have you seen Andy?” He did something that cowboys probably do when communicating with other cowboys across long distances. “For someone who used to hate being recognized as a girl, she’s turned into the kind of woman you can see from a mile away!”
“You wanna go out there and tell her that?” Nate challenged him, addressing the ghost beside him, not the reflection.
Peter scoffed. “Nah, you know me. I always went for Kerri. You don’t have a problem with that, right? You two are family, so it’s the logical pairing.”
A biker walked into the restrooms. Peter said hi, cheerfully. Without stopping, the newcomer registered the open bag by the sink with toothbrush, razor, and shower gel spread out, and continued into the stall, respectful of a traveler’s toilette. Or maybe he’d caught a glimpse of the yellow uniform sleeve sticking out of the trash can, Nate thought.
Peter fixed his letter jacket.
—
Kerri and Andy sat at a window booth overlooking the truck parking, a vast road map spread on the table.
KERRI: Look, I can just phone my mom and have her transfer the money; we can be in Portland tonight. She’ll love to have us.
ANDY: I know, I’d love to see her too, but I’d rather go by road.
KERRI: But why? With the amount of fuel that piece of junk must need it won’t make a difference. And it’s only six hours by plane.
ANDY: I know, I…(Tired, she leans closer, as in confidence.) Look. I can’t ride a plane.
KERRI: (Concerned.) What do you mean you can’t ride a plane?
ANDY: I mean, I can ride a plane, I just can’t go to an airport.
KERRI: Why?
ANDY: Because…(She checks the bikers by the bar and the couple with children at a faraway table.) Okay, remember the topic of what I’ve been doing for the last five years? Well, I didn’t mention everything. For a month recently I was also…doing time.
(Pause.)
KERRI: Time for what?
ANDY: (Pauses, disarmed. Sighs patiently.) Jail time, Kerri.
KERRI: You’ve been in jail?! What for?
ANDY: Nothing serious. A street fight. Collateral damage. We were…arguing at the door of a Spago, and I accidentally damaged what turned out to be a congressman’s car. (Beat.) With the congressman inside. (Beat.) By throwing the congressman’s son through the windshield.
KERRI: (Digesting that, laboriously.) Okay, so…you’re not allowed to fly for that? You served your time.
ANDY: Uh…well, let’s say after the first weeks I decided I’d learned my lesson already, so I cut my time short.
KERRI: You broke out of jail?!
ANDY: Shh! (Checks their audience again.) Look, it’s no biggie; it happened in Texas, so I’m safe here. But airport security use federal databases and my name would light up, so I can’t go to Texas and I can’t go to airports.
KERRI: So instead we have to drive through twelve fucking states?!
ANDY: Uh…thirteen. I’d better stay clear of Ohio too.
(Nate, wearing clean clothes, joins them.)
NATE: The pants fit, Kay. Thanks for those. (He sits down next to Kerri and across from Andy, and waits for dialogue to resume. It doesn’t.) What’s up?
KERRI: Andy was in jail!
NATE: (To Andy.) Wow. (To Kerri.) Well, you have that in common.
ANDY: What?!
KERRI: It’s completely different.
ANDY: You were in jail?
KERRI: I spent a couple nights in the pokey. Friends bailed me out.
ANDY: What did you do?
KERRI: Nothing. Drunk driving.
NATE: A concrete mixer truck.
KERRI: Around an abandoned mall.
NATE: Through the mall.
KERRI: It was nothing, okay? A couple nights grounded.
ANDY: Then what’s the big deal? I just did forty-three more nights!
KERRI: Only because you fucking broke out!
ANDY: Yeah, a little louder, please.