Chapter Forty-Six

Brent dug through the manila envelope, repopulating his pockets with keys, wallet, papers and some loose change. He pulled out his belt and threaded it through two loops before realizing he would need both hands for this task. He left the belt hanging for now and dug in the envelope again, retrieving his wedding band from the corner. He examined it, then dropped it in his pocket with his change. He opened the mouth of the envelope and peered inside. Finding it empty, he crumpled it and tossed it into a nearby trashcan.

As he pushed his belt through the remaining loops he walked to where Joe sat threading his shoelaces through his work boots. "The battery in my phone is dead, but I've got some change. You want me to call a tow truck?"

"Sure," Joe said. "I'll wait here for you."

Brent opened his wallet, took out his AAA card and walked over to the pay phone. He was on the phone for several minutes. Then he dropped a few more coins in the phone and placed another call before returning to where Joe was putting his personal belongings back in his pockets. "I also called a cab. It should be here in a few minutes. The tow truck will be out where we left the truck in about an hour."

"Is that the best they could do?"

"So they say. Sometimes they show up in twenty minutes and surprise you."

"They better not surprise us." Joe looked at his watch and frowned. "The truck is at least half an hour from here and I don't want to miss the guy."

"We could just take the cab to Ursula Docet's and skip the truck for now."

Joe nodded. "Let's do that. Call and cancel the tow. It should probably go straight to the shop, anyway. I'll go outside and look for the cab."

Brent hurried back to the phone while Joe pushed through the heavy doors. Outside it was still light but the sun was setting, casting long shadows through the ragged scraps of clouds from recent storms. Joe passed a few dejected-looking men sitting on the steps and a disheveled woman leaning against the handrail, pouting like a naughty child. On the sidewalk Joe scanned the street for cabs. Brent joined him after a few minutes. "Nothing, huh?"

Joe shook his head. "At least it'll be easy to spot it when it arrives. Hardly any traffic for some reason."

"That's because it's Sunday," Brent pointed out.

Joe wheeled around. "You've got to be kidding." He counted the days on his fingers. "I was supposed to go to a showing today. A friend of mine. Works in metal, like I used to."

"Yeah, and I was supposed to go back to my job two days ago. Life has been going on without us." Brent leaned against a wall and tried to smooth his hair with his fingers. He watched as a red Mustang pulled up to the curb and one of the men waiting on the stairs jumped in. After scanning the road from this vantage point for several more minutes, he thought he spotted something in the distance. Joe spotted it too, and the shape soon resolved itself into a yellow cab, which after stopping for a light, pulled up in front of them.

The driver rolled down his window. "Cab for Brent Conner."

Brent hurried over. "That's me." He opened the back door, and he and Joe jumped in.

"Where to?"

Brent pulled Ursula Docet's address out of his pocket and gave directions. Then he settled back against the thick vinyl cushions, closing his eyes at the comfort of being in a cab after the miserable cell floor and steel benches. Joe did the same, even as he tried at first to stay alert in order to admire the beauty of downtown at dusk, the red glow of the setting sun setting the glass buildings on fire as shadows lengthened and darkened into purple. Finally Joe gave in to his exhaustion, and by the time the cab entered the freeway, both men were asleep.

* * *

The slowing of motion and the sound of tires on gravel awakened them. Brent sat up and looked around, then pulled out Ursula's address and anxiously scanned the road. Joe glanced at the passing countryside with only marginal interest. Noticing Brent's eager expression, he said. "I don't mean to douse your enthusiasm, but don't get too excited. She won't be there."

"Even if she isn't, we can find out where she went next. She's got to stop running sometime."

"Yeah, but when?" Joe rubbed the spot on his finger where his wedding band had been. "We had a lot of time to think back there, and I'm beginning to wonder if Elise's friends have a point. We've got no business pursuing her like this. I've always promised her that whatever it was she needed, I would love her enough to give it to her. Maybe I need to give her this, too."

"Have you lost your mind? She'll regret this if we let her get away with it."

"Probably," Joe agreed. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't let her do it. If she's making a mistake, she'll just have to find a way to live with it."

"I can't believe you're saying this, after all we've been through." Brent sputtered. "This is just--"

"Is this the house?" the driver interrupted.

Brent compared the number on the mailbox to the one on the piece of paper in his hand. "Yes, how much do I owe you?" He reached for his wallet, but Joe's hand on his arm restrained him.

"I've got this."

"I called this cab and I want to pay," Brent protested.

"She's still my wife and I don't want to hear any more about it." Joe handed a credit card to the driver.

Brent fidgeted while Joe signed the receipt and put his card away. When they got out and walked up the path to the front door, though, he started to slow down, and just as Joe was about to knock, Brent touched his coat sleeve. "Wait. Schroedinger's cat."

"What are you talking about?"

"Schroedinger was a scientist, and he wanted to put a cat in a box with a bottle that might or might not contain poison gas, and then break the bottle. He figured there were two realities-- one where the cat lived and one where it died. Until he opened the box and looked, both possibilities were true."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Brent sighed. "Because as long as we don't knock on that door, Elise might be in there. Once somebody comes to the door, though, we'll know for sure."

"So?"

"So we might not like the answer."

Joe shrugged. "I already know she won't be there." He rapped several times on the door. "And that was a pretty mean thing to do to the cat."

Soon there was a scrabbling with locks and the door flew open. A tiny woman stood framed in the entryway, thin and erect with a dancer's carriage, pale blue eyes as piercing as a bird of prey's looking from one face to another. Her voice, however, was sweetly accommodating and gave lie to the boldness of her gaze. "Can I help you?"