BLIND TRIAL by Brian Deer (good books to read for adults .txt) 📕

HE KNEW straight off where she was when she answered. Week to week, his mother’s life varied little. And how could he forget the sounds of St. Savior’s? Echo of stone. Thump of wood. Crack of knee. She was polishing in the nave after the second Sunday mass: her regular weekend ritual after the ritual.

He’d serious things to say but aimed to play it light. Even mentioning Henry Louviere was verboten.

“What’s up mom?”

“You wouldn’t believe the mess they leave.” She spoke as if her teeth were wired together.

“Guess you must be busy then. Or can I ask something quick? I’m kind of taking an opinion survey.”

“There, that’s the last of it. Good. Go on. If it’s that Kindle, the battery’s fine.”

“No. Good. Well… You know this job and everything? This job. I was wondering, just wondering… Like, how you would feel… I mean, I haven’t decided yet, or anything. What you’d think if I kind of came home?”

Now he heard footsteps and the scrape of wood on stone. He saw St. Savior’s clearer than his apartment.

“Came home? What do you mean? I’d say a vacation is premature.”

“No. Not so much anything like that. I mean, it’s nothing that serious, or anything to worry about, you know. But I’ve been kind of doing some thinking about where it’s all taking me. I was thinking maybe I could do better with something else. You know, it’s not exactly working out here how I figured.”

“What? What are you saying now? That band won’t put food on the table.”

Through an open window, he heard a splash from the pool. “You might think that, but I think we were doing great. And, if worse comes to worse, I can always work traffic court. Luke reckons it’s cool when you get into it.”

His mother’s tongue went “tu-tu-tu,” as if she’d found a prophylactic under a pew. “So that’s what you want then? You said you were interested in medicine. ‘Heal the sick and raise the dead’ was your idea.”

This was going nowhere. He needed to be direct. He’d need to utter the name: the dreaded name.

“That was a joke.”

“If you’re asking me for an opinion, you need to give it a year or two. At least. The experience—and the money, if I could mention that—is what you need. No. You grin and bear it till you’ve saved up. That’s my advice. And what about your school fees?”

“Yeah, but a year or two’s a long time when you’re shoveling shit. And if I come home now then at least I’ve got somewhere to live before Luke rents out my room.”

“That’s no reason. Now Susan’s away in Singapore, we’ve got two empty bedrooms.”

“And then there’s the band.” Another evasion. Be quicker to buy a stamp and mail a letter. “I mean, I know we could be going somewhere, and Jad’s looking to find a new voice.”

“Hold on a minute.” He heard his mother walking: heels rapping tiles. A door thumped.

“It’s not definite or anything. I’m only thinking out loud, trying to see what people think.”

“So, what’s brought this on now? Not that nonsense about the silly laptop? Just buy another one.”

Now he caught the sounds of the St. Savior’s vestry clock: a brass pendulum job, with a white dial and black Roman numbers. “No, it’s not that. It’s the whole setup, you know. I mean, it’s not good. It’s not how I figured it would be. These people are pretty creepy. Luke was right.”

“Well, they do a lot of good work. There’s treatments we’ve got at the hospital keeping people alive. You shouldn’t listen to Luke all the time. He’s a cynic. He gets it from his mother.”

He reopened his front door and checked the pool. The author of the splash had gotten out and gone, leaving a trail of wet footprints to the gate. “Yeah, well they’ve made it pretty clear they don’t need me. Been giving out iPads for a week. Seems everyone gets one but me.”

He heard the vestry clock, tick-tocking death’s approach, as it tick-tocked through his altar boy career. He could see its second hand, counting his life out in circles, and its pendulum, left–right, left–right. He used to loiter beside it with a four-foot candle, waiting for Father Jakub to lead off.

“Plain truth.” Here we go. “They don’t trust me, to be honest. It’s why I’m doing all this sucky module B stuff. They don’t trust me with anything. They’re praying for a reason to fire me.”

“Don’t be silly. Why wouldn’t they trust you? Because a computer got stolen from your car?”

He released the front door and sat on a coffee table. “If you must know, they know. Alright?”

“What do you mean, ‘They know’? They know what?”

“They know.”

She paused. “What do you mean?”

“About him.”

“They know about him? What are you talking about? Make some sense, please, if possible.”

“Centralia. They actually said it.”

His mother gasped like she’d grabbed a boiling chalice. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, Centralia? What do they know about that?”

“Hit me with it Friday. Like a way to insult me. How it plays when it reaches Centralia.”

Now a longer pause. Someone entered the vestry. Then coughing, a rasp, and a boom. “So, who said what? What did they say?”

“This guy Hoffman. I used to think he was cool, but he’s the biggest creep of them all, if you ask me.”

An even longer pause. Just the clock ticking. Tick–tock. Tick–tock. Tick–tock.

“Mom? You there?”

“Who’s he then? You’ve not mentioned that name.”

“Runs all the legal stuff. He’s the general counsel. Thinks he’s a wise guy. Smooth.”

“What’s his name?”

“Mr. Hoffman.”

“That’s not… That’s not, is it, Theodore Hoffman?” Her voice tightened to a choke. “It’s nothing like that is it? Ben?”

“Yeah, that’s him. How’d you know that? Been checking out the website, or what?”

“Oh, mother of God.”

“What?”

“No, nothing.”

“Why? What d’you know about him then?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Who told you I know him? Why have you called?”

“You just said his name.”

“Did he say? Or somebody else?”

“Mom, you’re not making sense.