The Pseudo-Chronicles of Mark Huntley

The Truth is Never Out There - 10/21/04

Thursday, October 21, 2004

This is where things really get messed up.

But first, some trivial notes. If you’re worried about Rence's job situation, Reader, don’t. He's going to be all right, at least for a little while. He called into work this morning and arranged to receive insurance case materials he can work on using my computer. It’ll be difficult, with his left arm still stiff, and he’ll have to get on the phone a lot, but… someone’s got to keep earning money in this relationship. The important part is that he won’t have to join the bread line anytime soon. 

The fact that Rence did, finally, get something to work on was what made me insist that he didn't need to come along to lunch with Gwendolyn today. Though he certainly wanted to—I’m almost sure he’s sweet on her. An objective viewpoint thus goes out the window.

Besides, I thought that a break from my weird drama and a return to his own stuff for a while would be healthy for Rence. And, I admit, I kind of needed a break from Rence, myself. 

You know Benjamin Franklin’s old saw about houseguests starting to stink after three days? Try a week and a half. He's my best friend in at least this world, but we’re getting on each other's nerves in small ways. The constant leg-bobbing that I'm prone to when sitting down. The farting that Rence has no compunction about letting out at any given moment. My apartment is too cramped... it'd only really fit two people if they were sharing a bed and a life, and though I love my old friend, that is not going to happen any day soon. 

So, after rising at an indecently late hour— one of the few benefits of unemployment— I left Rence to his work and set off alone for the McPherson Square metro station. 

Today was rainy and generally unpleasant, edging into real cold for the first time, as I'm sure you noticed if you live anywhere near here. And nothing puts a damper on fall like damp leaves, sticking to your shoes. It was a fine day for purples to be out... I assume, being evil, they cherish days like this. Yet I didn't see any on my walk. 

Now that news had spread about the death of Brower, now that the Police had gone silent for good, would they hide from me? Scared of the big bad Mark? Ahhh, I wished I could have the confidence to believe in that. 

That made me start thinking about Naomi as I walked through the rain, remembered her look mingling caution and forced courtesy from the night before. Didn't she know that I worried about her all the time now? She was scared of me? 

I'd done horrible things in front of her, up on that tower in Silver Spring, but they were actions to protect her. And she'd seen the way the purple's gun dissolved... she had to know that there were gears turning under the surface here. Oh, especially after I had explained the whole fucking thing in the hospital. 

Still, she held back. Still, she stayed away. And she was hiding things from me. We wouldn't be safe from the purples as long as we were apart— or, at least, she wouldn't.

By the time I'd gone down the station stairs and headed over to the platform, I was in a foul mood. The fact that my umbrella had splashed me when I tried to fold it up didn't help, either. We start with legitimate worries and fears, but it's the petty things, the goddamn petty things, that flip the last switches to darkness in our heads.

I boarded an orange line train in the direction of Vienna/Fairfax and sat on the outside seat of a double, glowering and silently daring anyone to ask me to move to the inside seat so they could sit too. My head filled up with thoughts that blotted out the outside world. 

That was why I didn't take notice of the trio of giggling teenage girls in the seats across the aisle and a couple of rows back. If I'd been at my normal level of awareness, their inane laughing would have definitely registered on my Irritate-o-meter (already at a dangerously high reading, Cappie, somebody cool the fuel!).