Closet Spaceship Part 19

I was looking for Reggie when Tim Caswell spotted me in the corridor of Penumbra.

“Hey,” he said.

I winced, hoping he’d forgotten our last talk. “Hi.”

He laughed. “Caught you.”

“I was actually looking for Reg …”

“Is it important?” he asked.

“What?” I said. “Uh, well, no, I guess not. Not really.”

Sometimes I have to stop to admire how articulate I can be. This was not one of those times.

“Good,” Tim said. “Then it can wait.”

He beckoned and led me into the radio station, where we sat down in some chairs a few meters away from the microphone.

I fidgeted a little, wishing I could hear the song that was playing throughout the ship so I could lose myself in the words or the instruments, but he’d turned down the volume so it was inaudible. I looked at the blinking lights on the control panel, the crumpled candy wrapper on the floor next to the wastebasket, a scuff mark on the floor that looked like a bent cactus.

In short, I did almost everything but ask him what I wanted to ask.

Tim might not spend a lot of time around people, but he’s not dumb.

“You want me to find Reg for you?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I can’t ask him any more than I can ask you.”

“Ask us what?”

“What’s going to happen?” I slouched down in my chair. “Don’t answer that.”

“Happen where?” Tim asked.

“In my novel. In my life. In the U.S. Everywhere.”

When I saw the puzzled look on his face, I added, “Sorry. Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” Tim said, “but maybe I could walk out of here and leave the database unlocked.”

I shook my head. “I’m trying not to get you fired.”

“Okay, so what set this off?”

“A lot of stuff. Amazingly enough, having the Cubs win the World Series didn’t solve the world’s problems. Or mine, although it made them a little less obvious for a while there.”

Tim started to say something, but then he shut up.

“No,” I said. “You can’t say whether they did it again. Why am I even having this conversation?”

“So you won’t have to tell me about the cubicle?”

I laughed, which felt good.

“If I did walk out of here,” Tim asked, “would you look?”

“No,” I said without hesitation. I’ve always had a fear of knowing the future, because if it’s not good, I can’t do a thing about it. If I don’t know, I can still hope for the best. “Would you?”

He thought about it for a while. “No, I guess not. But I do know this: you’re not going to tell me about working in a cubicle.”

“Not if I can help it,” I said. “You’re better off not knowing.”

“It’s funny,” Tim said. “I’m not a big fan of secrets, but we can both keep ours: don’t ever tell me and we’ll be even.”

“It’s a deal,” I said.

I can hope for the best, but will I?

I’ll try.

Closet Spaceship Part 14

[NOTE: This installment contains a spoiler. If you haven’t read In the Shadows yet, I suggest you read it before this blog.]

It’s easy to find Tim Caswell: if he isn’t fixing the electronics somewhere, he’ll be in the radio studio. I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner.

I was on the radio sometimes, in college, but the studio didn’t look anything like the one where I found Tim. For one thing, I was using turntables. That’s right: LPs and 45s. I know I’m showing my age, but there it is. I think there was some finesse involved, knowing exactly how far to rotate that disk so the song would start just as I finished introducing it. No countdown timers or anything like that, just a working knowledge of the song.

But Tim knows a lot about music, so I can’t criticize him. It’s kind of strange to think that what’s new to me is old to him, especially since he’s younger than I am. That makes my brain shiver a little bit.

When he saw me, he seemed more curious than anything.

“Are you looking for somebody?” he asked.

“No, why?” I said.

He shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d ever get a visit.”

I sat down. “So I’m kind of like a ghost, then? You never know when—or if—I’ll appear.”

“Kind of like that, yeah.”

“It’s funny,” I said. “That’s how I think of all of you sometimes. There are times when I don’t think you’re ever going to show up again.”

He scowled. “But we’re right here all the time.”

“I know, but I can’t always see or hear you,” I said. “Writer’s block.”

“Oh,” he said. “I understand that. Sometimes I sit here and I can’t think of anything to say.”

“It’s rough, isn’t it?” I said.

He nodded.

I smiled. It’s always nice when I discover something I have in common with one of my characters, at least when it’s something good.

“That was pretty amazing what you did with Devereaux,” I said.

I really know how to kill the moment. Tim immediately frowned and crossed his arms.

“You mean, when I made friends with him and thought he was legit?” he asked.

“No, that is not what I—”

“I know,” he said, “but that’s what I did. I even vouched for him.”

“You know what?” I said. “I did that once, too.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You vouched for a mass murderer?”

“No, I didn’t, but look, I don’t have the type of job where I run into those. I just run into weasels, crooks and the occasional back-stabber, that’s all. I work in a cubicle.”

“Wow,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Me, too, sometimes.”

Before Tim could ask me for details, I said, “I mean, when you tricked him into talking.”

“Yeah.” Tim inspected his headphones. “Nick was gonna shoot him.”

“Oh, that would have been helpful,” I said. “It’s a good thing Nick wasn’t serious.”

“He wasn’t? But he had the gun and everything.”

I glanced around to be sure we were alone. “He thought he wanted to do it, but Nick isn’t a cold-blooded killer any more than anybody on this crew. Why do you think he made sure the captain saw him? He could easily have shot Devereaux before the captain knew he was there.”

Tim considered that. “I guess you’re right.”

“Nick did it for Reg,” I said, “and you did it for Captain Lamont.”

Tim nodded. “I heard him talking to Martinez. He’s had to do a lot of things, but that would have been too much, beating the truth out of Devereaux. I couldn’t let him do it.”

“You saved a lot of people, Tim,” I said. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“That’s what the captain said.”

“He knows he’s one of them.” I stood up. “I was here to see you, Tim. Maybe I’ll see you again.”

“Okay,” Tim said. “But next time we’re talking about your cubicle.”

Cue the ominous music.

      A good DJ doesn’t talk over the music, so I made a hasty retreat.