chapter twenty

The drive back to Belmont doesn't take long, this time of night. Left onto Storrow and parallel the river for awhile, the lights of Cambridge dancing warped mirror-dances on the water as he heads out of the city. Well that went pretty well, he thinks. It could have gone all bad when the topic of Rachel came up, but he told the truth, which made it a lot easier. Took away one hell of a lot of the pain, too. He may never actually see Kitsune again never mind kiss her, but she's done something good for his soul. The kissing would be good, though, he decides. Crazy left onto Mount Auburn at the hospital, pass the cemetery and he's almost home. Through Cushing Square and down Trapelo to Davis. Right onto Davis and pull into the small driveway. It's not a palace, but it's his home. Three-decker, he's got the ground floor with a professional woman on the second, crazy Chinese family on the top floor. A lot of Cantonese yelling comes from up there, and none of it sounds pretty. But after a good meal and a better date, they can be planning his ugly demise and he doesn't care.

Across the street, his neighbor Derek is walking his dog and having a cigarette. Derek's wife is expecting their first child and this is the only way he has of relieving the stress. The dog is happy to be out on a nice night, and Derek is happy to have what looks like a Sam Adams sitting on the steps, next to a box of Camels. They nod hello to each other and Ben goes in, leaving Derek and the dog to the night.

Something's wrong. As he walks into the living room, it's as though the place has had a grenade set off in it. "What the hell." Books, papers, plants... everything is strewn about. His mother's mirror has been cracked clean in two, pieces held together only by the frame. Call the cops? Not after yesterday's fun. But there's something about the mess. It's... regular? Like a pond with a rock dropped into it, ripples carrying his possessions and depositing them in rough concentric circles. That would put the center right about... Little Box Guy lies on the floor underneath the window. Yeah, no sense calling the cops.

Ben gets out his point and shoot digital, makes a record of the mess. Checks the rest of the apartment, but the effect seems to have been localized. With the disaster documented, he starts cleaning up. It takes quite a while, and he leaves Little Box Guy lying there, hopes that it somehow feels guilty, like a puppy that's done a Number One on the carpet. "Yeah, you know what you did," he says, "and you just sit there while I do all the cleaning. No, don't say anything. Nothing. I don't want to talk to you right now."

But he picks it up after everything's been cleaned up and he's got changed and a beer. Picks it up and brings it into the office, where he compares the paper strips to the original photos. Now all the strips save one are blank, and the last seems almost full with complicated kanji. It may be time to call in a professional. Hopefully she'll call tomorrow.