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ogs or kids had gone out to play and not e back。
Dottie was stumped。 They were just folks。 And they were scared。 Dottie didn't blame them one bit。 She knew a few things they didn't。
And she was getting a little scared herself。
Because it wasn't every day that you called in police from Hellam Township and Paradise County； two fire panies and HazMat； and have every single one of them disappear； now was it？
It vexed her。 One by one； she called them in。 One by one； they dropped right off the map。 She checked the lines again。 The signal path down to Hellam was a wall of white noise； nothing was ing from within ten miles of Black Bridge； on any frequency。
It's like the Bermuda Triangle popped up right in our own backyard； she mused。
And damn if it wasn't spreading。
〃Shame on you； Dottie；〃 she scolded。 She looked at the list of people to call in the event of just such an emergency。 Her bladder felt like a overfull water balloon； ripe and ready to burst。 She punched in the number； and waited。
This call was definitely a first。
She hoped to heaven it would be the last。
Thirty…Two
〃Ah…hah 。。。 Yes； I see 。。。 Yes； that is very strange。〃
Blake； still holed up in his study； paced and spoke softly into the phone。 〃Have you notified anyone else？〃
Blake's brow furrowed with concern； as every name punched another hole in an already leaky boat。 〃Hmm；〃 he said。 〃And HazMat did what？ Ah…hah。〃
His headache was back； a whanging pulse in the top of his skull。 〃Yes； I'll get right on it；〃 he said； fighting every urge to lash out。 He grasped the heavy obsidian glass paperweight that graced the corner of his desk and squeezed as hard as he could。
〃Yes；〃 he said； as crisp； angled edges cut into soft finger skin and the pain in his hand beat back the pain in his head。 〃Good job； Dottie。〃 He smiled thinly。 〃Keep me up…to…the…minute； will you？ Thanks so much。〃
Blake rang off and let go of the paperweight in a simultaneous release of stress。 A smear of blood slicked its surface。
〃Shit。〃 Blake hissed； pulling out his handkerchief。 He'd cut himself； alright； a thin laceration on the inside of the knuckle line。 His handshake hand； his deal…sealing hand。 But his headache had abated。 For now。
He wrapped the hanky around the cut and paced： thinking； thinking。
This was bad。 Correction： this was beyond bad。 This was a nightmare。 With Dottie's report of foul…smelling water； isolated dementia and blight ringing in his ears； he became increasingly convinced that some sort of hallucinogenic substance was involved in this chemical spill。
It was a horrifying thought； but he could think of no other explanation。 For his part； it would be nothing but bottled water and spirits for the duration。
Meanwhile； the odds on containment grew skimpier by the second。 While there was still time to be bought； Blake continued to plug holes； he sat down at his desk； flipped through his little oak Rolodex until he came to Huntington； Tom。 He punched in the number and waited。
Busy。
〃Shit！〃 he spat。 He hit the redial button。
Busy。
Blake cursed again and fed the number into the auto…dialer； punched send。 As the phone worked； Blake gazed pensively at his surroundings。 He could feel his window of opportunity narrowing； and his tastefully appointed digs were feeling more prisonlike by the second。
Finally； the phone caught； chiming a melodious little brrrr 。。。 brrrr 。。。 brrrr 。。。
〃Answer the phone； dammit；〃 Werner said into the mouthpiece。 Then； 〃Tom？ Werner Blake。 How are you； old man？〃 Reptile…smiling。 〃Great。 Listen； I just wanted to call and keep you apprised of a situation mat's developed。〃
Blake opened up his hand； studying the Rorschach…pattern of blood staining the white linen hanky。 〃Well； nothing too serious； we hope； but we're still scoping it out 。。。 〃
He nodded his head； the picture of corporate concern。 〃Of course。 But handled wrong； this could impact adversely on mutual friends。 We'd like to treat this with some sensitivity； not start a flap over nothing 。。。 〃 Nod； nod。
One down； he thought。 Tom Huntington was nothing if not a team player。 Blake relaxed behind the game； on auto…pilot now。 He could finish this conversation in his sleep。 〃Ah…hah；〃 he said。
For some strange reason； even as he spoke； Rio kept ing to mind。 Blake closed his eyes and could picture it： lush mountains； tropical beaches； incredibly beautiful women； a favorable exchange rate； and a government sympathetic to economic opportunity 。。。
〃Umm 。。。 Dad？〃
Blake's daydream vaporized instantly； the voice behind him made him turn。 A long tall black…and…white apparition hunkered in the doorway； the weight of the world on its shoulders。
〃Not now；〃 Blake soundlessly mouthed； impatiently waving him off。
The apparition was unmoved。 〃You plan on getting off the phone； like； ever？〃
〃Hang on just a second 。。。 thanks；〃 Blake said pleasantly into the mouthpiece。 Then he cupped it in his hand and glared venomously at his pride and joy； his progeny。
As father and son faced off： each the other's worst nightmare； made flesh。
Garth Blake slouched in the doorway； angular and obtuse。 He was six…foot…three and scarecrow…thin； and his presence filled the room： a tidal wave of spiked black leather； big black hair； and attitude。 His ash…white skin and sepulchral pucker of ebony lipstick did their best to affront and unnerve； but they could not conceal the ugly truth。
Garth was the spitting image of Blake； Sr。
It was a fact that appalled both of them； but for different reasons。 Garth possessed the same riveting gray eyes； the same innately upturning Grinch smile。 His face was as yet unsullied by time； but Garth carried a premature gravity that rendered him sullen and pained。 It was tough going through life as the privileged son of such utter corruption。 His T…shirt bore a black…and…white print of JFK； waving and grinning； while hot multicolored inkblood spewed explosively from his forehead。 It was the single most offensive T…shirt Blake had ever seen； which explained； of course； why his son had purchased two。
Garth loved his exploding Kennedy T…shirts。 They spoke to him。 Moreover； they spoke on his behalf to the world at large。 Like the black dove's foot earring dangling from his ear； the buzzwords and slogos buttoneered to his lapels： THROBBING GRISTLE； SILENCE = DEATH； THE SEX WAS BETTER IN PRISON。
Or； most specifically； the one stenciled huge across his black leather…clad back： the word future in blood…red letters； blotted out by the chalky white circle with the diagonal slash through it； the universal negative symbol like a canceled stamp across it。 It summed up Garth's attitude toward life very nicely。
NO FUTURE。
That was what Garth had to look forward to； and boy was he excited。 Only just sixteen； and already it was over； or； even worse； it might drag on like this for years。 A lifetime of hypocrisy； followed by an ugly gray descent into middle…aged decrepitude and ultimate pain…filled oblivion。
Just like dear old Dad 。。。
Garth cringed involuntarily。 〃So can I use the phone now？〃 he inquired。
〃No！