Page 71 of Whistle

“Dolores!”

It was Daniel, running across the road, limping with each stride, as though moving his legs that quickly was causing him no small amount of pain. “Dolores!” he shouted a second time. “For God’s sake!”

He slipped his arms around her waist from behind when he reached her. She still had her arm extended, pointing at Charlie.

“Come on, honey,” he said, rivulets of water streaming down his face. “We’re going home.”

She turned and looked vacantly into his eyes, as though taking a moment to place him. “What were they thinking?” she asked him.

He got an arm around her shoulder, looked at a drenched Annie, and said, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“She’s having one of her... spells. I’m so terribly sorry.”

“What can I do?” Annie asked.

Daniel shook his head. “Nothing. I just have to get her home.”

And with that, he escorted his wife back to their place. Annie, in no rush now to seek cover from the rain, stood and watched them go. Once they were safely across the road, she turned and mounted the steps to the porch, a troubled Charlie waiting for her.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“Her... mind. Dementia. She doesn’t always know where she is or who she’s talking to.”

Charlie did not ask for a further explanation.

Annie glanced down, assessed herself.

“Charlie, can you run upstairs and get my bathrobe? It’s hanging on the bottom of the bed.”

He was gone like a shot. Annie slipped off her shoes, peeled off her soaking socks. She would wait until she could wrap a robe around her before getting out of her pants and top. When Charlie returned, robe in hand, he told her the lights were all out.

“Yeah,” Annie said. “The storm. Don’t open the fridge. I don’t know how long it might be off.”

She unbuttoned her blouse, quickly took it off, then slipped her arms into the robe. Now covered, she got out of her jeans. She entered the house with her clothes rolled up into a ball and took them to the small laundry room off the kitchen. She dumped the clothesinto the washer for the time being. With the power off, she couldn’t wash or dry them.

Charlie, in the kitchen, asked if he could make a peanut butter sandwich, since all the necessary ingredients were in the cupboard, not the refrigerator.

“Go ahead. I’m gonna put on some dry clothes.”

As she climbed the steps, she could hear the train continuing to make its circular journey. The power, she figured, must have just come back on. But when she looked back over her shoulder, she could see the front hall light remained off.

She went into the studio.

Chuffchuffchuffchuffchuffchuffchuff

Annie flicked the switch for the pot lights recessed into the ceiling. They did not come on. Next, she tried the lamp that hung over her desk. No joy there, either.

She walked over to the train layout, her bare toes inches from the edge of the track. She wondered whether the train was battery-powered, but there was the transformer, connected to the wall outlet by a black cord. Itneededelectricity to operate.

Chuffchuffchuffchuffchuffchuffchuff

It made no sense.

Annie knelt down, turned the throttle back to its starting position, but the train continued to run. She shuffled over to the outlet and pulled out the plug.

The train continued on its circular journey.

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