بخش 02 - فصل 17

17 Brady stops on his way home to get them supper (subs from Little Chef tonight), but his mother is gorked out on the couch. The TV is showing another of those reality things, a program that pimps a bunch of good-looking young women to a hunky bachelor who looks like he might have the IQ of a

floor lamp. Brady sees Ma has already eaten–sort of. On the coffee table is a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff’s and two cans of NutraSlim. High tea in hell, he thinks, but at least she’s dressed: jeans and a City College sweatshirt. On the off-chance, he unwraps her sandwich and wafts it back and forth beneath her nose, but she only snorts

and turns her head away. He decides to eat that one himself and put the other one in his private fridge. When he comes back from the garage, the hunky bachelor is asking one of his potential fuck-toys (a blonde, of course) if she likes to cook breakfast. The blonde’s simpering reply: “Do you like something hot in the morning?”

Holding the plate with his sandwich on it, he regards his mother. He knows it’s possible he’ll come home some evening and find her dead. He could even help her along, just pick up one of the throw pillows and settle it over her face. It wouldn’t be the first time murder was committed in this house. If he did that, would his life be better or worse?

His fear–unarticulated by his conscious mind but swimming around beneath–is that nothing would change. He goes downstairs, voicecommanding the lights and computers. He sits in front of Number Three and goes on Debbie’s Blue Umbrella, sure that by now the fat ex-cop will have taken the bait. There’s nothing.

He smacks his fist into his palm, feeling a dull throb at his temples that is the sure harbinger of a headache, a migraine that’s apt to keep him awake half the night. Aspirin doesn’t touch those headaches when they come. He calls them the Little Witches, only sometimes the Little Witches are big. He knows there are pills that are

supposed to relieve headaches like that–he’s researched them on the Net–but you can’t get them without a prescription, and Brady is terrified of doctors. What if one of them discovered he was suffering from a brain tumor? A glioblastoma, which Wikipedia says is the worst? What if that’s why he killed the people at the job fair?

Don’t be stupid, a glio

would have killed you months

ago.

Okay, but suppose the

doctor said his migraines were

a sign of mental illness?

Paranoid

schizophrenia,

something like that? Brady

accepts that he is mentally ill,

of course he is, normal people

don’t drive into crowds of

people or consider taking out

the President of the United States in a suicide attack. Normal people don’t kill their little brothers. Normal men don’t pause outside their mothers’ doors, wondering if they’re naked. But abnormal men don’t like other people to know they’re abnormal. He shuts off his computer and wanders aimlessly around

his control room. He picks up Thing Two, then puts it down again. Even this isn’t original, he’s discovered; car thieves have been using gadgets like this for years. He hasn’t dared to use it since the last time he used it on Mrs. Trelawney’s Mercedes, but maybe it’s time to bring good old Thing Two out of retirement–it’s amazing what people leave in

their cars. Using Thing Two is a little dangerous, but not very. Not if he’s careful, and Brady can be very careful. Fucking ex-cop, why hasn’t he taken the bait? Brady rubs his temples.