Page 54 of Gone Tonight
Right now, Mr. Damon is back in Vietnam, and the enemy is just outside the window.
I move to his side, keeping down low.
“We’re safe,” I promise. “The men know.”
Hurry, Tin,I think.
Mr. Damon is surprisingly strong for his age. He is preparing to fight.
His watery blue eyes narrow as he turns to look at me. “Who are you?”
I tell him the truth, keeping my words malleable enough to serve both his present and past worlds: “I’m a nurse.”
“I don’t know you. We don’t have any nurses in our unit.”
“My name is Catherine. I’m here to help you.”
Mr. Damon leans closer to me, still keeping his head ducked beneath the window. “Are you trying to trick me?”
I shake my head. “I’m on your side.”
He puts a finger to his lips. “They’re getting closer,” he whispers. “Can you see them? They found us.”
At that moment, music fills the air. Tin found the CD.
The metamorphosis is astonishing. Music exerts such a powerful pull over Mr. Damon that it blots out his terrifying hallucination.
Mr. Damon’s hands rise, as if pulled up by strings. His fingers perform a complex dance, in perfect time to Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.”
He stands up and begins to walk, still playing the graceful, gentle notes, drawn toward the source of the music.
I straighten up, too, and exhale a slow breath.
I need to talk to Tin about having the doctor do a meds check for Mr. Damon tomorrow. His hallucinations are getting worse. Someone could get hurt if the music ever loses its power.
I walk to the recreation room, following Mr. Damon’s footsteps. The scene is peaceful. Several residents are reclining in chairs or on couches, listening to the music. Mrs. Jacobson is tenderly tucking in her baby dolls for the night. Mr. Damon is completely lost in the composition, his fingers sweeping up and down piano keys.
I’m watching him, but my mind is elsewhere. I’m wondering how long it will take for the fax to arrive.
My mother turned off her location on her phone last night, and I know it was deliberate. I have no idea where she went, but I’m certain it wasn’t merely for a walk.
The words Mr. Damon whispered to me moments ago echo in my brain.
I don’t know you.
CHAPTER TWENTYRUTH
I peer out the window into the inky night, wrapping my arms around myself as I search the shadows.
I scan the parking lot four stories down as if I might actually see an old Corvette there, engine rumbling, James behind the wheel.
There’s nothing amiss I can put my finger on, yet I feel deeply restless. It’s the fourth time I’ve looked out the living room window in the past hour.
James isn’t coming for us, I tell myself. Catherine and I are safe.
I draw the blinds closed and tell myself I’ll keep them that way until morning.
I walk into the kitchen, the tiled floor cool against the soles of my bare feet, and fill the teakettle. I take my favorite chunky mug out of the cabinet—the one Catherine made for me in junior high school art class—and drop in a bag of chamomile.
