Read Man in the Dark for Free Online Page B

York started it.
    Oh?
    Yes, oh. Secession. Maybe you’ve heard of it. When a state declares independence from the rest of the country. There are sixteen of us now, and God knows when it will end. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but enough is enough. It wears you out, and pretty soon you’re just sick of the whole business.
    There was a lot of gunfire last night, Brick says, finally daring to ask a direct question. Who won?
    The Federals attacked, but our troops fought them off. I doubt they’ll try that again anytime soon.
    Which means that things are going to be fairly quiet in Wellington.
    At least for now, yeah. Or so they say. But who knows?
    A voice from the kitchen announces: Four scrambled, and a moment later a white plate appears on the shelf behind Molly. She pivots, takes hold of Brick’s meal, and sets it down in front of him. Then she begins preparing the tea.
    The eggs prove to be dry and overcooked, and not even some healthy doses of salt and pepper can draw much flavor from them. Half-starved after his twelve-mile walk, Brick shovels one forkful of food into his mouth after another, chewing diligently on the rubbery eggs and washing them down with frequent sips of tea—which isn’t hot as advertised, but tepid. No matter, he says to himself. With so many unanswered questions to be dealt with, the quality of the food is the least of his worries. Pausing for a moment about midway through his combat with the eggs, Brick looks over at Molly, who is still standing behind the counter, watching him eat with her arms folded across her chest, shifting the weight of her body now onto her left leg, now onto her right, her green eyes flickering with what appears to be a kind of suppressed mirth.
    What’s so funny? he asks.
    Nothing, she says, shrugging her shoulders. It’s just that you’re eating so fast, you remind me of a dog we used to have when I was a kid.
    Sorry, Brick says. I’m hungry.
    So I gathered.
    You also might have gathered that I’m new around here, he says. I don’t know a soul in Wellington, and I need a place to stay. I was wondering if you had any ideas.
    For how long?
    I don’t know. Maybe a night, maybe a week, maybe forever. It’s too soon to tell.
    You’re pretty vague about it, aren’t you?
    It can’t be helped. I’m in a situation, you see, an odd situation, and I’m kind of stumbling around in the dark. The fact is, I don’t even know what day it is.
    Thursday, April nineteenth.
    April nineteenth. Good. That’s just what I would have said. But what year?
    Are you kidding?
    No, unfortunately not. What year is it?
    Two thousand and seven.
    Strange.
    Why strange?
    Because it’s the right year, but everything else is wrong. Listen to me, Molly . . .
    I’m listening, friend. I’m all ears.
    Good. Now, if I said the words September eleventh to you, would they have any special meaning?
    Not particularly.
    And the World Trade Center ?
    The twin towers? Those tall buildings in New York?
    Exactly.
    What about them?
    They’re still standing?
    Of course they are. What’s wrong with you?
    Nothing, Brick says, muttering to himself in a barely audible voice. Then, looking down at his half-eaten eggs, he whispers: One nightmare replaces another.
    What? I didn’t hear you.
    Lifting his head and looking Molly straight in the eyes, Brick asks her a final question: And there’s no war in Iraq, is there?
    If you already know the answer, why ask me?
    I just had to be sure. Forgive me.
    Look, mister—
    Owen. Owen Brick.
    All right, Owen. I don’t know what your problem is, and I don’t know what happened to you in that hospital, but if I were you, I’d finish those eggs before they get cold. I’m going back into the kitchen to make a call. One of my cousins is the night manager of a little hotel around the corner. There could be a vacancy.
    Why are you being so nice? You don’t even know me.
    I’m not being nice. My cousin and I have a deal. Whenever I bring him a new customer,