The Walls Of The Universe Part 18

"He was here first. ..."

"He never even talked to me! He never knew me."

"But-"

"All your ideas-You stole them." She laughed.

Prime frowned, then laughed too. "Yeah, I'm just a thief."

She hopped into the hole on the far side of the grave and sunk her spade into the dirt.

"I'm glad you're you," she said.

"Casey-"

"Dig."

They managed to dig a grave one meter deep and one and a half meters long. Casey stripped Carson of his clothes, tossing his wallet on the ground. Prime rolled the body into the grave, feeling a moment's nausea at the cold skin. Then Casey poured a bucket of lye over the body. Prime's father had some in the barn, which he used to correct soil pH.

"Fill it in," she said.

Prime pushed dirt over the top of the corpse with the shovel head. The sound of clods on flesh was nauseating, but he didn't stop. When they were done, the grave was a ridge of dirt in the clearing.

"We'll throw some gra.s.s seed on it this weekend," Prime said.

"Your father never comes over here, does he?" Casey asked.

"I don't think so."

They stood for a moment; then Prime dragged the tools back to the barn. It was nearly 5:00 A.M. A.M. They were dirty, sweaty, and shivering now that the physical effort was over. Prime felt giddy. They were dirty, sweaty, and shivering now that the physical effort was over. Prime felt giddy.

"I did it. I got away with it." He barked a laugh, realized it made him sound maniacal, and stuffed it back down his throat.

Casey took his hand. "Let's go."

They started walking into town, keeping to the edge of the road.

"We did it," she said softly. "We killed a man."

"We got away with-"

"Shut up, John!" Casey cried. Prime realized she was crying.

"Casey-"

"Shut up! We killed a man. Whether right or wrong. We-both of us-killed a man tonight. We're murderers, and G.o.d will judge us in heaven."

"There's a million of him that are still alive," Prime said.

"What?"

"Across all the universes, Ted Carsons are still alive out there."

"But this one, right here," she said, "is dead. You and I took a life."

"It was just me," Prime said. "I'd say that in court."

"It was us us! We're in this together."

Prime bristled. "Did you help me so that you could tie me down?"

Casey snarled at him, "Go, if you want! No one is holding you down. Go use your stolen ideas to make a fortune, and keep it all for yourself. I really don't care."

They walked in silence.

"I didn't mean that," he said after a while.

"It's been a stressful night," she said.

"The police will come looking," he said. "He might have let people know where he was going."

"It was just talk," Casey said. "He never showed up at our apartment."

"What about our dirty clothes and the mud on our shoes?" Prime asked.

"Your father owns a farm, doesn't he?"

John nodded.

"You scare me," he said.

"Me too," she said. "Let's go home. You have work in a few hours."

CHAPTER 21

John picked Casey up at eight on Sat.u.r.day night. In fact, he was there at seven thirty, but he stopped at the Burger Chef not far from her house and sat in his car in the parking lot. He considered being fashionably late, but the stress on his nerves with just showing up on time was bad enough. At five till, he drove over.

Her little brother, Ryan, opened the door.

"Yeah?"

"I'm here to pick up Casey," John said. Saying it to a little boy was a lot easier than saying it to her parents.

"You're not Jack."

"I'm John."

The boy eyed him, then swung the door open. "I guess you can come in." He yelled up the stairs, "Casey, your stem is here!"

From upstairs came an answering shout: "Shut up, you little puke." Then, "Hi, Johnny." She poked her head around the bannister on the steps leading upstairs.

"Hi, Casey," he managed to say.

"Be right down."

Ryan disappeared into the kitchen and John heard: "Casey's date is here. Are you going to grill him?"

"Hush, dear," Mrs. Nicholson said.

Mr. Nicholson appeared from the kitchen and approached John with his arm extended. "h.e.l.lo, John. I'm Casey's father."

"Uh, good evening, Mr. Nicholson." It wasn't easy remembering that this wasn't the Mr. Nicholson that John had met once or twice at church and nodded to in pa.s.sing. He had never met this man.

"Casey has been a bit reticent about you, so you'll have to give me your detailed curriculum vitae and the last six years of tax returns." He paused, then laughed. "Just kidding. But do tell me about yourself."

"I go to the University of Toledo. I'm a freshman, from Findlay. My major is physics."

He guided John to the living room, nodded. "Uh-huh. Physics. Very respectable. I'm an insurance salesman myself. Tried suffering through calculus and couldn't."

John nodded.

"John, h.e.l.lo. I'm Casey's mother. Can I get you a pop?" Mrs. Nicholson was chubbier than he remembered. She offered him dry hands to shake.

"No thanks, ma'am."

"Do you have proper insurance on your car, John?" Mr. Nicholson asked.

"I think so."

"Alex!" Mrs. Nicholson said.

"Just checking to make sure he's covered," he said quickly.

"Dad, enough of the grilling," Casey said from the entryway. She was dressed in a short black dress. A jeans jacket hugged her shoulders. "Let's go, John."

"Honey, have a good time."

Casey grabbed his hand and dragged John out the door.

"My parents are so embarra.s.sing."

"They're not so bad."

Casey gave him a look.

"Your brother told me I wasn't Jack."

"Well, you're not." As John opened the door, she slid into the car. "Let's go eat."

Hilliard Avenue, the main drag, was teeming with life. Teenagers were dressed in all sorts of clothes to attract the opposite s.e.x. Cars cruised the street. He felt a homesickness so sharp he almost felt ill.

A body bounded from the curb sidewalk, and John slammed on the brakes, though he was only going fifteen kilometers per hour on the packed street. His heart thudded in his chest. The seat belt slowly unloosened.

A sweatshirt-hooded teen slammed his palm on John's car, then flashed him the bird with both hands.

"Hey, Casey!" the teen yelled. He grabbed his crotch.

John realized with a shock that it was Ted Carson.

John gripped the steering wheel with viselike hands. Ted Carson.

"Hey, Casey! Come on out and play!"

"He's drunk," Casey said.

Rage seethed inside John. He leaned on his horn, blasting the street with the Trans Am's alarm.

Carson lifted his foot and slammed the fender of the car. John took his foot off the brake and the car jumped forward a few centimeters.

Carson jumped back but not out of the way. John steered around him and past.

"What an a.s.shole," Casey said.

"Carson is that."

"You know him?"

"I've run into him a couple times," John said, remembering the fight the two of them had had, how his mother had manipulated John's mother into taking Carson's side, and how he'd been cornered into writing an apology letter for beating the c.r.a.p out of Ted.

But that wasn't this Ted Carson.

"He was a year behind me," Casey said. "He's dropped out, I think, still in town. I think he works with his father at the appliance plant."

John watched in the rearview mirror as Carson shot him a double bird again. His friends were laughing from the sidewalk.

"Some things never change," John said.

"You said it."