Level Zero by Dan McDowell (books that read to you TXT) 📕

chattering away as the ON AIR light flashed above their heads. Chris fell into the producer’s chair just outside the studio for the first time in weeks following time away to mourn Helena and support Katrina. Both men in the studio waved.

Yeah. Yeah. Nice to see you, too. What’s on the agenda this afternoon?

He studied the paperwork on his desk as the wall’s countdown clock hinted at the approaching commercial segment.

Ron came out of the studio and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you. We’ve missed you. If you need anything — anything at all, let me know.”

“I appreciate that,” Chris said, more muted and subdued than usual. He rifled through the stack of paperwork accumulated on his desk.

“You want to go out for a smoke?” Ron asked. “Wayne’s going to run with the next segment. We’re due a good catch up.”

“I haven’t even been here five minutes, but, why not?”

They walked past a poster for the Dynamic Duds show as oversized caricatures of Ron and Wayne yelled into illustrated microphones, one across from the other.

Ron stopped in front of it. “I always thought they made me look like a doppelganger to Nixon…Wayne’s fat chin’s too chiseled.”

“Ha. I love that poster,” Chris said. “I think it’s a fair likeness. It’s great to be back.”

.     .     .     .     .

Arriving home later that day, Chris recounted the escapades of his return to WGBO with Katrina while they shared a slice of pizza at the oblong Reinhold family table. Katrina had yet to acknowledge him after several minutes of after-work chatter.

“Were you paying attention to anything I just said?” he asked.

“Whatever. I don’t care about what you do at WGBO. You just go on and on about it whether I want you to or not, so why should I bother acknowledging your wacky-pack stories.”

He squeezed Katrina on the hand, and she pulled away. “I think it’s about time we get out of the house a while. A little time in the sun could do you good. I’d like to see that nice figure of yours gallivanting in that number we got you last summer.”

“Are you flirting or flattering?”

“What’s it to you? I haven’t applied for a job in the greeting card business yet. Can’t a man hit on his wife a little now and then? You deserve the truth.”

“Whatever. I’ll pack up.” Katrina exited the room. A minute later, she called from around the corner, “Wait a minute. You’re going to take off work as soon as you get back? That doesn’t look good on you. Why don’t we wait a couple of weeks?”

“Not necessary. I arranged more time off. We can stay at the rental cabin if you want to hang around a few days.”

“Good enough for me,” she said.

CHAPTER TWO

TODD ADAMS and his girlfriend, Lorrie Hatcher, smoked a cigarette together outside the Bridgewater Restaurant on Oak Hollow Lane. As their date night neared its end, they stared at an aged hotel building that towered over the block, puffing smoke into the sky one after the other.

“What a waste… they should demolish that place,” Todd said.

Lorrie looked at her leather watch. “Yeah. Right in the armpit of Riverton, and you still bring me here to eat.”

What’s on your mind? Spit it out already, Todd thought.

“Come on — the food’s spectacular,” he said, “I saw you hesitate. What was that about?”

“We used to sneak in there at night when we were kids…”

“We? Who else would go with you? What was it like?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A safe-haven for lowlifes and thugs to screw around. Some kind of sanctuary the cops in Precinct Three turn a blind eye to. Who knows what councilman they paid off for the arrangement?”

“You ever hook up with one of the… the residents?”

Lorrie’s eyes widened as she slapped him. “You know I’m not that kind of girl. I can still picture the needles in the walls and scattered all over the floors. You had to kick the freaking things out of the way to walk the hallways. All those bums living in there were better off dead. It was weird. I felt unwelcome when I went in and cursed by the time I left. They say buildings can’t talk. This one did, Todd.”

“What are you saying? When was this?”

“It was about twelve years ago. Just the kind of crap teenagers do. Can we talk about something else, please?”

“Okay, let’s…” he said. “What about my learning to fly? I’ve had my license for months, and you still won’t go up with me.”

“I don’t want to. You need more time.”

“It’s not that big a deal. I’ve been flying these little planes with Stu in the cockpit for over a year now. You haven’t encouraged me a single time, have you?”

She shook her head at him. “I won’t let you throw your life away in the sky. I’ve always had a bad feeling about you flying.”

“Me flying? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lorrie scrunched her nose as she took another drag and blew it in Todd’s face.

You’ve got to be kidding. What a jerk move.

“I don’t want one of us to end up dead,” she said.

“We’ve discussed this before. Statistics don’t lie. We’re two-thousand times more likely to die on the highway than we are in the sky.”

She flung her cigarette on the ground, smashing and extinguishing it under the heel of her sandal. “Don’t you remember the Halloween party last year? You checked out on me, and I thought I lost you.”

He donned an unnatural set of pearly whites. “What? At Creensteen’s? Are you kidding me? That guy’s duller than a used eraser.”

“You’re changing the subject. Dale’s your manager. You ought to show more respect.”

“Maybe I will one day. Once he does the same for me.”

She grabbed him by the arm. “That’s not what I’m getting at. I didn’t know who you were. How many other times is that happening when I’m not around?”

“It was just an episode. A momentary lapse of judgment. Let