Читать книгу Mourn The Living - Henry Perez - Страница 13

The man goes about the task of surveying the wreckage where a house had been just a day earlier. He’s there on official business. He’s not an engineer, cop, or safety inspector, more of an interested party. Why wouldn’t he be?

No one stopped him when he casually walked around the police barricade. In fact, he was greeted with respectful nods, and friendly handshakes. The way important men should be treated.

The damage from the explosion is worse than he’d expected, but its result was exactly what was intended. Still, he gets no joy from seeing the scattered remains of a perfectly fine house or those of its owner. And the man wishes that Jim Chakowski had been able to understand—no, more than understand—appreciate, his work.

He scans the area, looking for familiar faces, and sees more than a dozen people who know him by his current name, and that makes him feel good. That makes the man feel like a vital member of the community. He’s building something here in this town. And he’s also being more careful about his work. Only one other person knows what actually happened here in this peaceful section of Oakton, and he’s not going to be talking to anybody.

There’s a new person on the scene, now. Someone whom the man recognizes as Alex Chapa, a reporter from the same newspaper as the deceased. Is he here to pay his respects, or just after the story? The man doesn’t know much about Chapa, they’ve never met.

But the man does know about Chapa’s reputation for breaking big stories. And he’s heard that Chapa is popular with readers, but less so downtown, or with members of the police department.

Chapa is talking to that cop Jackson. They don’t appear to agree on much, which means the reporter is here for the story, not for his colleague. The man watches as a child wanders into the area. This is no place for a little girl. She appears to belong to Chapa, but why doesn’t he stop what he’s doing and get her out of here right now?

The man doesn’t like what he sees. He pretends to go about his business, but keeps an eye on Chapa and the child, watches the little girl wander off, sees her frail body tighten as she approaches the bloodstained piece of wall. The man fights the urge to run over and pull her away. There are certain things no child should ever be exposed to. Every parent should know that. Chapa should know that. There’s something very wrong with Alex Chapa and the way he cares for his child.

Maybe this was just a lapse in judgment for Chapa. Or maybe it’s something worse. The man closes his eyes, so tightly that his entire face aches, and drives away his thoughts about Alex Chapa and his daughter.

There’s no room for that now. He must stay focused on the task at hand. Looking back at the house, the man smiles, knowing that another obstacle is gone, and he can go on with his work. He’s so close now. Just five more days. A few more tracks to cover.

He sees Chapa and the little girl walking away, heading back to safety. But then Chapa walks over to that woman across the street and starts talking to her. Still on the job. The man decides that Chapa is not just clueless, he’s irresponsible, and probably unfit.

The man knows how to deal with the unfit. They’re just stick figures pretending to have a mind, a heart, a soul—nothing more. They are less than human. He’ll deal with Chapa, in time, but first he has a more immediate, a more personal goal to achieve. One that he has been chasing for most of his life.