Page 5 of Concluded
After a moment, Abe stood, but he didn’t collect his hat and coat.He crossed to the dining area, where a window looked out at the puddle-filled parking lot.It wasn’t a particularly nice view, yet Abe stared for a long time.When he turned back, his expression was solemn.“My old boss liked to give cryptic lectures.Rarely to me or Thomas because we were the ones who made him what he was—and nearly the only ones who knew what he truly was.But he lectured everyone else.I think he avoided me and Thomas when he could.And now, the new chief isn’t much of a talker at all.Which means I have only a sketchy idea of what’s going on.And to be honest, I know more than I want to.”
Dee had been uneasy since Abe appeared, but now his fingers tingled and his lungs didn’t want to work right.He was scared shitless and had no clue why, especially since he didn’t understand what the hell this guy was talking about.“What are you?—”
“You can feel it, can’t you?The world trembling on the edge.We’ve been here before.Even though I was in San Francisco in the thirties, I could sense this… this tipping.This sliding.Back near my homeland and creeping ever outward.Couldn’t do much about it, but Iknew?—”
“You’re not old enough to have been alive in the thirties.”
Abe gave a humorless grin.“And you can’t make real magic charms.Thepoint, boychik, is that we’re tipping again.Most of the time, we hold a delicate, precarious balance.We’re losing that balance now.And I’m here because we need all the help we can get to stop the tipping, and the chief thinks you can contribute.”He held his hands palms up, as if he’d explained everything.
He’d explained nothing.Except… Dee knew exactly what Abe was talking about.And it was the reason why he assiduously avoided listening to or reading the news.Why he felt so bleak even though he’d been broker than this in the past.Why on some days, getting out of bed didn’t seem worth the effort.Why he startled awake in the middle of the night, heart pounding and sweat dampening his sheets, quickly repressing memories of dreams about falling.
“A good luck charm isn’t going to bring about world peace,” Dee said.
“No.But this isn’t a game of big plays.Remember what I said:delicatebalance.One or two small things can tip it either way.”
“I’m not the kind of guy who can save anything.”
“Then are you the kind of guy who can cause us to lose it all?”
Of course Dee should deny that.He should insist that although he cared more about himself than he did anyone else in the world—and he didn’t care much about himself—he was nothing worse than a selfish asshole.He wasn’t a real threat.But looking into his own dark heart, he wasn’t sure that was true.Sometimes indifference had worse consequences than hate.
“I don’t know how I make the charms work.Sometimes they just do.”That, at least, was the truth.
After staring for a long moment, Abe sighed.“Maybe this is something you need time to think about.So okay, I can give you some of that.But not much, sheifale.Once we tip too far, there’s no going back.And we’re almost there.”Then he brightened a little.“But we’ve got some strong people on our side, and we still have hope.Hope turns tides.And I hope you’ll come around.”
He slowly put on his coat and buttoned it up, then settled the hat on his head at an angle he must have known made him look dashing.He pulled a card from his coat pocket and set it on the little table that generally collected keys, mail, and sales circulars.“Call that number if you do come around.”
Dee didn’t answer.
Abe paused with one hand on the doorknob, then turned to look at Dee.“Your name.Is that your legal name?A nickname?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Just curious.”
“It’s an initial.My birth certificate says Damnation Martell.”
Abe snorted a laugh.“There’s a story there, I bet.And I’m going to give you some homework.Read the poem ‘The Second Coming’ by Yeats.See how that hits you.”
Without another word, Abe left, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Dee remained slumped on the couch, stomach still roiling.Outside, the rain intensified, pounding a beat against the windows.He did not pick up his phone to look up that poem.
But he knew he would, eventually.
CHAPTER3
Four days after returning home, Achilles was still convalescing.He’d managed to clean out the fridge, but doing almost anything else was slow.He spent the bulk of the day dozing on the couch and staring blearily at the TV.Most of his meals had to be ordered in.His body still ached, although at least he could make it up the stairs to his bedroom, and he’d even managed a shower or two.Wow.
Nobody visited or called or even texted.His parents had died years ago, he’d lost touch with his sister, and his job with the Bureau precluded most friendships and romantic relationships.A lot of the agents socialized with one another, some even ending up with another agent as a spouse or partner.But although Achilles got along with his colleagues just fine, he’d never really clicked with anyone.A lot of the time he didn’t mind.Some of the time he did.
He was supposed to be figuring out what to do with the rest of his life.At forty-one, he could have several decades still ahead of him.Slumped on the couch and watchingTitanic, that notion was more daunting than getting sliced and diced by a bear shifter.
“Wallow,” he said out loud.He’d been talking to himself quite a lot lately.“That’s what I’ll do—I’ll be a professional wallower.I’ll make self-pity an art form.”
The Bureau paid well, and Achilles had made some good investments.He could live off his savings for a year or two, probably.Maybe by then he’d have his head together.Hell, the way things were going, maybe by then the world would implode and he wouldn’t have to worry about his future.
“That’s gold-medal wallowing right there,” he muttered.
