GLASS SOUP by Jonathan Carroll (funny books to read .txt) 📕

“You did not fly here in a plane.”

“Yes I did, and you’re going to fly back with me”—he shot his cuff and looked at his wristwatch—“in two hours.”

“Two hours, really? I’m going to get on a plane and fly away with you—there?”

“You must, Isabelle.”

“Leave everything and just fly off?”

“You must.”

“Why?”

“Because of Anjo. You have to go with me to save your son Anjo.”

Vienna airport is a half-hour ride from the city. Isabelle drove down the autobahn at slightly under the speed limit, her hands unmoving at three and nine o’clock on the steering wheel. Staring straight ahead, she had not said a word the whole trip. Flora sat next to her in the passenger’s seat, scared stiff of what to do or say. The only thing she wanted was to get out her phone, call Vincent Ettrich and tell him to come get Isabelle before it was too late. What would happen if she couldn’t reach him in time?

Isabelle had been so matter-of-fact about everything. They walked to her car after the funeral, no problem. But the moment she opened the door, she suddenly started talking to someone who wasn’t there. Initially Flora thought it was some kind of badly timed joke, a weird diversion intended to take their minds off what they’d just endured and the crushing weight of Leni’s loss. However when it became clear that it was not a joke and Isabelle was really talking to ghosts, it was frightening. Flora had never heard the name “Broximon” which Isabelle kept using, but knew very well the equally peculiar “Anjo.” It was the name Isabelle and Vincent had chosen for their child.

An even worse moment came when Isabelle asked her to move away from the car so that she could speak to this Broximon phantom alone. Flora walked a few meters and then turned to look back at the cemetery, wondering the whole time how best to contact Vincent without being seen.

Soon Isabelle waved her back over and announced that she must go to the airport right now because she had to catch a plane. Would Flora mind riding out there with her and then driving her car back to town because Isabelle didn’t know when she would return?

One of Flora’s two best friends was dead and the other was going insane before her eyes.

They were now passing the Schwechat oil refinery, six or seven minutes away from the airport, and then what? Have a nice trip, Isabelle; see you when you get back from madness? What was going to happen next kept whizzing around in Flora’s head like a spun ball about to drop in a roulette wheel.

All right, yes, Isabelle had been acting a little strangely in the last weeks; long before the unexpected horror of Leni’s death. But so what? Flora had known Isabelle Neukor for twenty-five years and she was an eccentric woman. Of their trio, Leni had always been the rock the other two leaned on, Flora was the diva, and Isabelle the creative but unsteady one. She was not especially fragile and always chose to present herself to the world as a tough guy. But Isabelle was tough only when it was easy and there was no danger. When faced with real difficulties she couldn’t take any kind of punch without falling down or running away. Her two friends had felt responsible, always on the lookout for people and situations that might cause her trouble. It was another reason why Flora didn’t like the fact that Isabelle and Vincent Ettrich were together now. From her experience Vincent was not a steadfast soul, although in fairness to him she had to admit that since returning to Vienna he had been a model partner. But all of that aside, right now she needed his help no matter how she felt about the man.

Isabelle said just loudly enough to be heard, “I can’t get over that they actually have a flight from here to there.”

Instead of blurting out What the fuck are you talking about? Flora looked at the chipped fingernail polish on her thumb and mentally counted to ten before responding to Isabelle’s weird non sequitur. Before she had a chance to say anything though, the phone rang in her purse.

She stuck a hand into the bag and rummaged around until she found it and lifted it out. “Hello? Oh my God, Vincent! Hi!”

“It’s Vincent? Let me talk to him.” Isabelle took a hand off the wheel and wiggled her fingers for the phone. “Come on, let me talk.” She thrust her arm out impatiently and tried to take it without looking. Because she still had her eyes on the road, she only managed to knock the phone out of Flora’s hand onto the floor. It hit and bounced under the passenger’s seat.

“Shit! Great. Will you please just drive, Isabelle? Try not to kill us. I’ll give it to you in a minute if it isn’t broken now.” Flora slid forward and reaching under the seat, tried to fish the phone out without looking.

Behind them on the backseat, Broximon had been sitting silently the whole trip keeping an eye on Isabelle. When he heard who was calling he started to move forward. But he had no time to act before the phone flew out of Flora’s hand and ended up under her seat.

Brox was the size of a small dog now. He landed on his feet but the jump down from the seat was farther than he had judged. On landing he winced, feeling the shock all the way up his legs. But he had to get to that phone before Flora did. Dropping to his hands and knees, he scuttled under the seat toward her silver Nokia. He watched as Flora’s hand danced around on the floor, her long fingers searching for it here and there. Because he was so close, Broximon heard Ettrich’s voice coming out of the small speaker. What was he saying? Could Flora or