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Sighing, I got out. I could feel the heat coming off the metal and popped the hood and let it be for a while. I had some antifreeze inside. Waiting until I changed my pants and grabbed a beer wouldn’t hurt anything.Jack Night waved as I walked up to my door. He could go fuck himself. The son of a bitch had complained to the apartment management company about the size of my flag until they finally made me replace it. Meanwhile, he blasted The Monkees well past what should have been quiet hours while outside with his telescope trying to catch a glimpse at the moon and I never said a freakin’ word.Plastering a smile on my face, I waved back and kept going. If I hear “Last Train to Clarksville” or another of his anecdotes about busty librarians again I was going to lose my damned mind.Ignoring the garland and wreath that usually picked me up, I walked through the door, kicked off my boots and walked into the kitchen. Stopping in my tracks, I paused, backed up a few feet and looked into. His head was down, his pace steady, and as he grew near she could just make out parts of his face, then only the faintest sliver of the old man’s eyes. There was no mistaking his direction, either: he was walking right toward her – no deviation, no hesitation. Fireflies settled on her now, and on the boys, only they weren’t flies. They were – light. Only light. She looked down at Lev and saw orbs floating in front of his eyes, saw the reflected light of millions of orbs dancing on the glassy surface of his eyes, and she saw the smile on his face, in his soul, and she relaxed. The sound the chains made grew subdued, like they were sounds from a dream far away in time, and Anna Podgolskiv looked up, looked up into the old man’s eyes, now only inches from her own, but she saw he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking first into Lev’s eyes, then Misha’s, looking as if there was a decision at hand, a decision to be made, but she saw weariness in the old man’s eyes and knew the decision had.
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