thinking? Not even bothering to phone me? I mean, really; I've been worried sick."
"Sorry, Celia. It all happened so fast. I didn't think about what I was doing or where I was going. I just ran. If that dog hadn't interrupted the massacre, I would've been road kill. Pretty lucky, huh?" For some reason, Link didn't want to tell Celia about the old lady.
"Luck has nothing to do with it when a plan is properly executed."
"Plan?"
"Of course there was a plan. You didn't think we'd stand by and do nothing, did you? Besides, what'd you think Watcher was doing the whole time?"
"I don't know. I figured he was squeamish about blood. He doesn't exactly strike me as the violent type."
"Things aren't always what they appear."
Why did people keep telling him that? Not to mention, the nature of Celia's statement felt oddly out of character. "What do you mean?"
"How should I know? Ask the person who put it in there," Celia said.
"Put it in where?" Link asked.
"The fortune cookie."
"What?"
"If you want to know what it means, Link, ask the guy who baked the slip of paper into the cookie. How should I know what it means? Hey, have you ever eaten at the Purple Dragon? It's absolutely to die for. Their General Tso's chicken is out of this world delish. Now that I think about it, ever noticed how many Chinese restaurants have a dragon in their name? Strange, don't you think? It's not like they serve dragon meat. I wonder what dragon would taste like. Chewy I bet. Do you think it would be considered white meat?"
"A fortune cookie?" Link asked, incredulous. "Why didn't you tell me that's what you were talking about?"
"Didn't I? Oh, I thought I did. Sorry. Sometimes I say things in my head and then forget to say them out loud."
"You still haven't told me what Watcher had to do with the dog," Link said.
"Officially? Nothing. If anyone even suspected he was involved, he'd be thrown out of school. And, there'd be a lot of angry kids out looking for revenge."
"So then what happened, unofficially?"
"I'm not sure about that either. And I think I'd rather keep it that way. Let's just say your butt isn't the first one Watcher has pulled out of the fire. He may look like an innocent wallflower, but that kid is tough as nails. He just plays the game from behind the scenes. Trust me. Watcher is not somebody you want to mess with. Just be thankful he's on our side."
"Guess your fortune cookie makes sense after all," Link said.
"My what?"
"Your fortune cookie."
"What about it? Hold on a second, Link, someone is calling me. Okay, Mom! I'm coming," Celia shouted, not bothering to cover the earpiece. "That's my mom. I've got to go. Maybe we can talk about this whole fortune cookie theory of yours tomorrow. Anyway, glad you're okay." With that, Celia hung up, leaving behind only the hum of the busy tone and a painful ringing in Link's ear.
26
A New Development
Early the next morning, Link walked to Henderson Drug. He wanted to have the brochure of the properties ready for his dad before an interested buyer called. Not that it mattered. If his dad needed to show a house, it would make little difference whether or not he had an accompanying brochure. If Link were honest with himself, the real reason for his early morning enthusiasm was his desire to discover what mysteries remained hidden on the initial six shots of the roll.
Link hesitated outside the store, basking in the pleasant chill of the crisp, early morning air. He watched customers mindlessly file in and out. None of them paid any attention to him. Perhaps he was invisible.
Link had always wanted a real superpower. Invisibility would be pretty sweet. On impulse, he stepped in front of a middle-aged man who was holding a small, white paper bag. Immediately, the man veered right, avoiding a near collision before continuing on his way. So much for being invisible. Perhaps Link just wasn't interesting enough for anyone to notice.
He wondered if it made any difference whether something terrible was on the roll of film. One thing was certain. If he stood here and did nothing, he would continue life as a loser. If he processed the film, he may still turn out to be a loser, but at least he would have taken a chance at becoming something more. Irritated with himself, he shook his head. He was placing far too much importance on all this.
He marched into the store and snatched a processing envelope from the counter, quickly filling in the blanks on the outside cover. He had to know what was on the film. Once only an issue of curiosity, Link's decision had evolved into an issue of self-respect.
He finished the label and sealed the envelope. Next he tore off the paper claim ticket and placed the envelope into the one-hour photo slot. He glanced at his watch. Again with the waiting. Why did he always seem to be waiting for something?
After what felt like a week of wandering through the store and every other one on the block, the hour was nearly over. Link returned to the photo lab. All the employees were busy helping other customers, so Link tried to patiently wait a little longer.
Link made eye contact with the man behind the counter. "Hartkins. Roll of twenty-four."
"Hartkins, you said?"
"Yes. Is my film ready?"
"Hold on a minute." The man quietly consulted one of the other technicians. A small discussion ensued along with a few animated hand gestures. The unexpected caucus began unraveling Link's newly discovered decisiveness. They had found something on the film. Something horrible, and they thought he was responsible. He wanted to run. He probably would have if he hadn't already written his correct name and home address on the processing envelope.
The man who had helped Link initially departed through the low swinging door of the photo lab, leaving the other technician behind to sort things out. The cleanly shaven man wore a shiny white smock and had a smiley-face button pinned to the front of his shirt.
The clerk opened the envelope of developed pictures and removed them from their pouch. "There seems to be a problem with your film, Mr. Hartkins."
Link's heart began to flutter, pushing his blood through a rollercoaster network of veins and arteries and causing the tips of his fingers and toes to tingle.
"Though most of the pictures turned out fine," the man continued, "there were a few blurry ones. It is common for camera novices to struggle to properly focus their picture. They'll try to take a picture of something in the distance only to be stymied by something barely obstructing their shot: an elbow, a stick, that sort of thing. The auto focus then switches the camera's aim from the object in the distance, focusing instead on the closer object. This results in a clear foreground image while the rest of the shot is blurry and unfocused." The man hesitated, making sure Link was listening. "You with me so far?"
Link understood, but he didn't trust himself to speak. Simultaneously eager and terrified to look at the developed film, he simply nodded.
"Good. Well, for some reason, the foreground in some of your pictures appears distorted and fuzzy while everything else behind it is clear. Unfortunately, due to the foreground blurring, the rest of the picture is pretty much ruined. Aside from tiny bits of clarity in between the blurry patches and a small amount of space around the corners, you can't really see anything. I consulted the technician who processed your film. He assured me everything was done by the book and that the machinery is in working order. The two of us agreed. We've never seen pictures quite like these before. Any idea what happened?"
Lincoln shook his head. "No clue. It's not even my camera. I'm just borrowing it."
Disappointed, Link took the envelope from the man. Not even bothering to look at them, he unbuttoned the broad side-pocket of his pants and slid them in. Then he withdrew his wallet to pay for the developed prints.
The clerk seemed to notice the dejected lines on Lincoln's face. "Of course I won't charge you for any shots that came out blurry."
The man smiled and appeared to be waiting for Link to return the favor, but Link was in no mood. The letdo
wn he felt was monumental. There wasn't anything worth smiling about. Instead of mystery and adventure, the only thing the pictures proved was how dreadfully meaningless his life was doomed to be. Nothing interesting had ever happened to him. Now it was clear that nothing ever would.
27
Moving Dark
By the time Link returned home, the house was empty. It was much too late for his dad to still be in bed, but at 9' in the morning, it also seemed too early for someone to have called him away on business. Link closed the front door. His father's keys were definitely missing from their usual location in the ashtray on the small wooden table.
If the keys were gone, his dad was gone as well. With the predictability of a tide table, the first thing his father did upon entering the house was empty the contents of his pockets. This ritual produced a cornucopia of spare change, keys, various wrappers, and small slips of paper, all heaped into a lopsided ceramic ashtray Link had made back in second grade.
After a little more searching, Link discovered a small battalion of yellow sticky notes posted on the refrigerator. They read:
(Note #1) Link, a customer called me about a listing. Bit early don't you think? People seem to get needier every year. I left Ayden with Mrs. Greta. (Note #2) Please retrieve him when you can. I don't want to bother her any more than we already have.
(Note #3) Ayden seems better today. Thanks for whatever you did last night. It must have worked. Nice to see him smile again.
(Note #4) I left