Read Online From Black Rooms by Stephen Woodworth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephen Woodworth
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September afternoon's warmth. He might easily have been one of the homeless vagrants who sometimes hung around outside Ful erton's shopping centers, but something about his posture--hunched shoulders, hands shoved into pockets like concealed weapons--evoked a subconscious recognition that
verged on deja vu.
With sudden trepidation, she kept glancing over her shoulder at him as she rol ed her rattling cart over to the Volvo and began loading the bags into the station wagon's rear cargo area. Strangely, it did not console her when the man failed to turn around and glower at her. If she had seen his face, Natalie could have convinced herself that he was merely some poor mental case the state didn't have the funding to treat. But the way he steadfastly refused to face her made it seem as if he didn't need to view her directly, as if he could watch her through the back of his head. His stance suggested a suppressed violence, like that of a disgruntled employee about to open fire on a crowd of postal customers. Cal ie glanced up from the Disney Adventures magazine she'd bugged Natalie to buy for her in the checkout line. "What is it, Mom?" she asked, turning to gape at the stranger.
Natalie pivoted her daughter back toward the car. "No, honey. It's not nice to stare."
Etiquette did not keep her from peering at the transient, however, thinking Turn around turn around turn
around! Was he one of Corps Security's new stooges?
The NAACC had such high turnover nowadays that
Natalie could hardly keep track of who was assigned to spy on her at any given time, so she always watched for strangers who seemed to take more than a passing
interest in her. Paranoia became a habit when people were actual y fol owing you.
As Natalie herded Cal ie into the Volvo's backseat, the derelict final y fulfil ed her silent wish, for he spun around, flicked a half-smoked cigarette to the cement, and ground the butt beneath his boot before stalking into the supermarket and out of view. He did not appear to notice her, and the brief view she caught of his face dispel ed the impression of familiarity she'd had when his back was turned. The thick black brows over
recessed brown eyes, the long tangles of the Rasputinlike beard...they didn't match anyone she knew. Cal ie had ignored her admonition not to stare. "Do you know that man?"
Natalie shook her head, but without conviction. "No, honey. I've never seen him before."
Yet something about the vagrant continued to nag her as she and Cal ie got in the car. She didn't figure out what it was, though, until they were almost home. Homeless indigents never leave a cigarette half smoked. The vague menace of the man outside the supermarket continued to bother Natalie like a loose tooth, but she forgot al about him when she saw the black woman inclined against the condo's front door, dressed in a chic pantsuit belted at the waist. Even before Natalie could see the features of the polished-mahogany face, she recognized the devil-may-care poise with which the visitor crossed her arms and ankles, the relaxed pose belying the spring-loaded power of her wiry limbs.
"S erena!" In her excitement, Natalie braked the Volvo at the curb and rushed out to greet her old friend without col ecting either Cal ie or the groceries in the back of the car.
Serena Mfume sauntered to meet her halfway down the front walk. "Hey, girlfriend!"
Though she wore a short, kinky-haired wig to cover her shaved head, she otherwise looked the same as the day she'd introduced herself ten years ago--the day she'd saved Natalie from being dissected by the Violet Kil er. Yet a certain tiredness dimmed the twinkle of Serena's violet eyes and the white lightning of her grin lacked its usual voltage.
Natalie chose to ignore these ominous signs, instead embracing her friend as if welcoming her to
Thanksgiving dinner. "It's so good to see you! How go things at the ranch? Is our Uncle Simon in good
health?"
Serena laughed, some of the old
verged on deja vu.
With sudden trepidation, she kept glancing over her shoulder at him as she rol ed her rattling cart over to the Volvo and began loading the bags into the station wagon's rear cargo area. Strangely, it did not console her when the man failed to turn around and glower at her. If she had seen his face, Natalie could have convinced herself that he was merely some poor mental case the state didn't have the funding to treat. But the way he steadfastly refused to face her made it seem as if he didn't need to view her directly, as if he could watch her through the back of his head. His stance suggested a suppressed violence, like that of a disgruntled employee about to open fire on a crowd of postal customers. Cal ie glanced up from the Disney Adventures magazine she'd bugged Natalie to buy for her in the checkout line. "What is it, Mom?" she asked, turning to gape at the stranger.
Natalie pivoted her daughter back toward the car. "No, honey. It's not nice to stare."
Etiquette did not keep her from peering at the transient, however, thinking Turn around turn around turn
around! Was he one of Corps Security's new stooges?
The NAACC had such high turnover nowadays that
Natalie could hardly keep track of who was assigned to spy on her at any given time, so she always watched for strangers who seemed to take more than a passing
interest in her. Paranoia became a habit when people were actual y fol owing you.
As Natalie herded Cal ie into the Volvo's backseat, the derelict final y fulfil ed her silent wish, for he spun around, flicked a half-smoked cigarette to the cement, and ground the butt beneath his boot before stalking into the supermarket and out of view. He did not appear to notice her, and the brief view she caught of his face dispel ed the impression of familiarity she'd had when his back was turned. The thick black brows over
recessed brown eyes, the long tangles of the Rasputinlike beard...they didn't match anyone she knew. Cal ie had ignored her admonition not to stare. "Do you know that man?"
Natalie shook her head, but without conviction. "No, honey. I've never seen him before."
Yet something about the vagrant continued to nag her as she and Cal ie got in the car. She didn't figure out what it was, though, until they were almost home. Homeless indigents never leave a cigarette half smoked. The vague menace of the man outside the supermarket continued to bother Natalie like a loose tooth, but she forgot al about him when she saw the black woman inclined against the condo's front door, dressed in a chic pantsuit belted at the waist. Even before Natalie could see the features of the polished-mahogany face, she recognized the devil-may-care poise with which the visitor crossed her arms and ankles, the relaxed pose belying the spring-loaded power of her wiry limbs.
"S erena!" In her excitement, Natalie braked the Volvo at the curb and rushed out to greet her old friend without col ecting either Cal ie or the groceries in the back of the car.
Serena Mfume sauntered to meet her halfway down the front walk. "Hey, girlfriend!"
Though she wore a short, kinky-haired wig to cover her shaved head, she otherwise looked the same as the day she'd introduced herself ten years ago--the day she'd saved Natalie from being dissected by the Violet Kil er. Yet a certain tiredness dimmed the twinkle of Serena's violet eyes and the white lightning of her grin lacked its usual voltage.
Natalie chose to ignore these ominous signs, instead embracing her friend as if welcoming her to
Thanksgiving dinner. "It's so good to see you! How go things at the ranch? Is our Uncle Simon in good
health?"
Serena laughed, some of the old
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