Page 66 of The Society of Unknowable Objects
The woman slumped sideways into the awful flowers, her body a motionless, pale lump, and the cloud of insects thickened over her.
Owen turned away, not giving her a second thought, and continued on, the gun hanging down by his side, it’s weight like an anchor tethering him to this life. He just had to make it back to the car. After that, everything would be fine.
He stumbled onwards, and as the woods grew darker, the flowers and the growths on the thick vines started to glow like giant fireflies, illuminated colours painting shadows and light across the canvas of tree trunks and branches.
A Meeting in Masters
They drove towards the setting sun, the light in their eyes as they headed west into Alabama, Henry and James sitting in the front of the rental car and Magda in the middle of the back seat, peering out at the highway stretching ahead of them.
“How long until it gets dark, do you think?” she asked. The thought of meeting Owen Maddox without the moral support of sunlight troubled her.
Henrietta was at the wheel of the car. She ducked her head below the visor to peer up at the sky. “Couple of hours,” she said. “Tops.”
They had taken the late-morning flight from London to New York City, Henry buying first-class tickets for the three of them so they could at least travel in comfort. By the time they had landed at JFK, the Impossible Box had moved from New York and was now in Alabama. They had taken the next connecting flight to Atlanta and had rented a car at the airport to take them across the state line. It had been easy driving, once they had escaped the traffic of Atlanta, but the mood in the car had been tense, as if they all felt they were heading towards certain danger.
“Why would he come to Alabama?” Henrietta wondered aloud.
They had been driving for an hour and a half and were already across the state line.
Magda shrugged. She didn’t know much about Alabama. She had only been to the United States once before, on a trip to New York and Boston with a couple of friends during the summer of her second year at university. She turned her eyes to watch out the side window as woodland rushed by in a blur of brown and dark green. She found herself thinking about Frank, hoping he was okay. She wondered about calling the hospital to check on him, but then James spoke, distracting her.
“Not long now,” he said, and Magda saw he was studying the phone he was navigating with.
Magda pulled the magical map from her pocket and inspected it. The Impossible Box had been static near a small town called Masters ever since they had landed in Atlanta. She had done some quick internet research while Henry had sorted the rental car at the airport, but she had found nothing to illuminate why Owen Maddox would have gone there. “Masters,” she said to James, and he turned in his seat to look at her. “We’re still headed for Masters?”
He nodded. “Masters, Alabama,” he confirmed. Then he smiled at her. “Don’t worry.”
Magda sighed and stared ahead at the ribbon of road leading straight to the horizon. She found herself replaying the confrontation with Owen Maddox in Bell Street Books. She had never been in a fight before and the incident was clinging to her, refusing to release her from its grip. She could still feel the man’s hands around her throat, still smell his cologne and the stench of his vomit, and just thinking about it again sent birds of panic fluttering through her body.
A large SUV overtook them, dark windows and shiny chrome glinting in the sunlight, rocking their car on its suspension.
“Shit, what speed is he doing?” Henrietta muttered, pulling Magda from her introspection.
“What are we going to do when we find him?” Magda asked.
Henrietta flicked her eyes up to meet Magda’s in the rearview mirror.
“Owen Maddox,” Magda said, and her whole body shuddered involuntarily. “What are we going to do?”
Neither James nor Henrietta answered.
“Nothing?” Magda begged, the birds of panic flapping faster and faster. “No ideas?”
“I’ve dealt with men like him before,” Henry said finally.
“How have you dealt with men like that?” James wondered.
“Henry’s a burglar,” Magda informed him. “We might not have told you that.”
James looked at her, eyebrows pulled high with surprise. “A burglar?”
“Relax, dear,” Henry said. “I only steal from bad people. My hobby is destroying awful men. The sort of men who ruin people’s lives.”
“I work for a bank,” James reflected, his voice quiet. “Banks don’t tend to like burglars.”
“If it helps, I promise never to steal from your bank,” Henry said.
“Right,” Magda snapped, irritated by the chatter. “Owen Maddox. What do we do about him?”
