Fixer (26 page)

“What do you want me to help you with?” he asked Mr. Nilsson, trying to sound like he wasn’t about to wet himself.

“I need you to help me spot it. Only you and I can see him. I explained this to you.”

“Y-yeah, okay. Is this why you shot all those people?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t shoot anybody. It was
him
. He can manipulate things, don’t you see? Make it look like somebody else. Do you think I alone could have done all of this? An old man and a handgun?”

He actually had a point. Carl, Ned, Mr. Conway, and all the others in the hallways . . . only some of them had been shot. “Where do you want me to look?”

At least it’s something to do,
he thought. And so far Mr. Nilsson hadn’t tried to shoot
him
, which was pretty good news. Maybe it was okay.

“No! Corry, come here right now!” Violet demanded.

“It’s okay. I’m just gonna help Mr. Nilsson look for . . . what am I looking for?”

“You will know when you see.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Check under the tables.”

And so Corry became Vision Boy, peering under tables and behind chairs, looking for a monster that only Mr. Nilsson could see. He could hear his mother crying in terror from behind the chairs. He sort of understood why she was so afraid and all, but still, it was embarrassing to have her making such a scene.

“I’m not having any luck,” Corry said, after a few minutes. His search had taken him pretty close to Mr. Nilsson, but he wasn’t nearly strong enough to take the gun away, so he didn’t try. “Are you sure he’s here?”

“Positive. I shot at him.”

“Oh,” Corry said. “Recently?”

“I don’t know. The timeline is . . . I’m having trouble focusing, Corry. You understand how that can be sometimes.”

“Yeah.” He was having just that problem, because Mr. Nilsson kept moving in unanticipated ways. It made the whole Secret Future collapse when he looked in his direction, although sometimes it just blurred. It was an uneasy sensation, like trying to get your legs back under you right after getting off a roller coaster, except it wouldn’t go away.

“Where was he then?” Corry asked. “When you last saw him. Where in the room?”

Mr. Nilsson lowered his gaze for just a second, long enough for Corry to note that this was an upsetting question for some reason. 

“Near the chairs,” he said.

Corry looked over at the chairs that were protecting everybody. One of the seat backs had a bullet hole in it. Behind the chair, on the ground, he saw blood. At least now he understood why Violet was so worried. There was a big difference between a guy waving a gun around and a guy waving a gun around and also shooting it at invisible monsters. He was starting to appreciate how unstable this situation really was.
Can’t go back now
.

Staring at the bullet hole, he said matter-of-factly, “You missed him and hit somebody else instead.”

“He moved!” Mr. Nilsson insisted.

“Who did? The invisible monster?”

“It’s not . . . I
know
this sounds insane, Corry, but when you see—”

“Who did you shoot?” Corry said, his voice raised to a low yell.

“Now you’re here, and you can help me fix it!”

“Who did you shoot, Mr. Nilsson? Who was behind the chair?”

“It’s Osgood Pierce, Corry,” his mother said quietly. Corry’s heart, which had been drifting up his throat for the past few minutes, dropped right out the bottom of his stomach.

“Is he dead?” Corry shouted.

“No,” said the doctor guy, Ames. “But he needs medical attention soon or he will be.”

“How could you do that?” Corry asked Mr. Nilsson. “He didn’t ever do anything to you. He’s my friend!”

“We can fix this!”

“How? Are you going to go back in time and un-shoot him?” Corry didn’t even recognize the sound of his own voice at this point. The entire afternoon of horrors had boiled down to a simple equation. Mr. Pierce was dying, Mr. Nilsson was going to let him, and Corry was going to have to stop him.

Mr. Nilsson looked taken aback by the burst of anger. “Help me, and then we’ll get him to a hospital. They won’t see until I’ve killed—”

“Fuck you, you crazy old man! There’s nothing here!” It was the first time he’d ever uttered a curse word around an adult, and he didn’t even think about it.

“That’s because he’s
hiding
!” Mr. Nilsson insisted.

“Was he hiding behind Ned when you took his gun and shot him in the back?”

“I didn’t
do
that! I told you—”

“Or how about Carl? Or Mr. Conway?”

“You have to—”

“You’re a liar, Mr. Nilsson!”

“Don’t move.”

“You’re crazy, and now my friend is dying, and—”

“I said
don’t move
, Corry!” Mr. Nilsson barked. 

Only then did Corry realize, first, that he was about ten feet away from the barrel of the gun, and second, that Mr. Nilsson was pointing it right at his head.

“Okay . . .” Corry said quietly.
Headless Teen. Brain-Dead Boy. The Faceless Wonder.

Mr. Nilsson took two calming breaths and steadied the gun. Corry looked right down the barrel and into the darkest place he’d ever seen. “Corry,” Mr. Nilsson whispered. “Listen to me. He’s right behind you.”

“Corry!” Violet called out.

“Harvey, don’t . . .!” Dr. Ames said. There was a gaggle of half-choked off voices coming out from behind the chairs, all trying at once to talk Mr. Nilsson into not shooting, which Corry very much appreciated.

“Who’s . . .” His voice caught on the rest of the words. He tried again. “Who’s right behind me, Mr. Nilsson?”

“He’s standing five feet behind you. He has the end of a mop in his hand. He’s been sneaking up on people all afternoon, hitting them. It’s . . . you were right. He’s a monster.”

“Guys . . . is there anybody standing behind me?”

“No, honey, there’s nobody there!” Violet cried.

“See, Mr. Nilsson? Nobody there.”

“
They can’t see him.
”

“Well, okay . . .” He had his hands out in front of him, palms up, shaking.
Calm down
. “How about this? How about I turn around, and if I don’t see anybody either, you stop with the shooting and . . . and give me the gun or . . . give it to someone else if you want to.”

“Trust me,” Mr. Nilsson said. “I know what to do.”

In the Secret Future, Corry saw Mr. Nilsson firing the gun. He saw himself move to get out of the way of the bullet, but then the future blurred when Mr. Nilsson adjusted to him moving and blinked out for a millisecond. Concentrating very hard, he saw himself trying out other possible futures, and wherever he dodged, Mr. Nilsson corrected. He was running out of time.

At the last possible moment, Corry did the one thing the future did not show him doing; he stood completely and utterly still. It was like Mr. Nilsson had described it when doing his secret talking—decide to do something and then, at the last moment, don’t. 

The gun fired, which was a ridiculously loud sound, but one for which—thanks to Charlie Bluff—Corry was somewhat prepared. Still, he winced at the sound and slammed his eyes shut without meaning to. When he opened them again, he discovered that he was still alive and didn’t have any holes in him.

Mr. Nilsson was smiling at him. “I got ‘im. Finally. I got him.” He fell to his knees on the table. “I’m so proud of you, young Corrigan.”

In the Secret Future, Mr. Nilsson put the gun up to his temple and fired. But the gun was empty. Seeing this, and knowing Corry could see it as well, he just smiled, let the gun slide from his hands, and collapsed onto the table.

Corry walked over and picked up the gun.

“Corry, honey, no!” Violet shouted, still sounding desperately afraid, perhaps of what her son would do with a loaded gun in his hands. Hearing commotion behind him, Corry turned around and saw everyone swarming out from behind the chairs, more or less all at once.

“What are you doing?” Corry shouted at them. “Get an ambulance for Mr. Pierce!”

“We will,” one of the lab coat guys said. “Just hand over the gun, son.”

“Oh, right. It’s not loaded. See?” He pointed it at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. The clicking noise confirmed for all of them that the gun was out of bullets. 

For some reason—Corry couldn’t imagine why—this caused his mom to faint.

*  *  *

An hour later, after all the adults in the room finished freaking out and somebody had contacted both an ambulance and every cop in the entire city of Belmont, Corry was sitting on a table in the public room next to Violet, who had been unable to find a way to stop holding onto him.

“I’m all right, Violet, Jesus,” he said, blushing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just thought—”

“I know what you thought. I’m sorry if I scared you, but . . .”
I was trying to rescue you
, he wanted to say. And he
did
, which was why he really wished she’d quit babying him.

“You should have gone for help as
soon
as you saw something was wrong,” she said, and now suddenly she was angry with him, which he completely did not get.

“I didn’t think they’d believe me.”

“You should have tried!”

“I thought I could help!” he snapped.

“You’re just a child! What did you think—”

“Mom!” The unexpected use of her title in lieu of her given name stopped her in mid-lecture. He looked her in the eyes. “You know I’m not an ordinary twelve-year-old, don’t you? I’m not like other kids.”

“Of course. You’re very special.”

“Not special. Different,” he said. “Like in Maine. You remember what happened in Maine.”

“I . . .” She went back to being afraid again. He was beginning to wonder if maybe she should find some meds for herself.

“I didn’t make the gun go off, Mom.”

“I know, it’s just—”

“No, you don’t know. You won’t let me talk about it, so you never get to hear what really happened. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh, Corry—”

“Charlie shot his own leg off. I heard it fire before you did, is all. I’m not some kinda devil child. I wanted to tell you . . .”

Violet had begun weeping just as soon as he started talking about Maine, and Corry had to stop talking because he was crying, too. She pulled him to her breast, hugging him tighter than he could ever remember being hugged.

“I never thought you were a devil child, baby,” she whispered. “And I will always be proud of you.”

This made him cry even more. So they sat there for a few minutes, getting one another wet.

“Well, there’s the little hero,” said someone from behind them. Violet loosened her grip, and Corry turned around to see that it was Dr. Ames. 

Ames was a short guy, only a little taller than Corry, with long white hair that stood almost straight up and thick glasses that made him look like the Mole Man from the Fantastic Four comic books. As amusing as that comparison was, he had Osgood Pierce’s blood on him, which was sobering.

“How’s Mr. Pierce?” Corry asked.

“The paramedics think he’ll pull through.”

“Good. How about Mr. Nilsson?”

“Oh, don’t worry about him. He won’t be hurting anyone anymore.”

Corry wasn’t sure what that meant but was pretty positive it didn’t mean they were going to kill him or anything like that only because he didn’t think that sort of thing was done. “Good,” Corry said. “I guess.”

Ames said, “Violet, is it? Is it all right if I talk to your son alone for a moment?”

She looked at him. “Corry?”

“It’s okay,” Corry said.

Violet glanced at Dr. Ames, then back at her son, as if gauging whether it was a prudent thing to leave her son in the company of anybody other than her any time soon. 

“All right,” she said finally. “But we have to get someone to look at this hand. The paramedics—”

“I’ll be all right,” he said, holding up the hand. His makeshift bandaging job was holding up well, and he was not looking forward to having it removed, as that would involve looking at the cut again. It could wait.

“I’ll be right outside, then,” she said.

“They’re clearing the building, Violet,” Dr. Ames said. “I’ll bring him out back in a minute, and then we can get his hand tended to.”

“Okay?” she asked, looking at Corry again.

“I know the way out, too,” he said helpfully.

She smiled, staring at him for a few more seconds and then walked out, escorted by one of the cops who were still pacing around the room, waiting for one of the chairs to do something illegal or whatever.

Dr. Ames stood in front of Corry and waited for Violet to be out of earshot.

“So how are you feeling, Corry?” Ames asked. He had his hands behind his back and kept rocking on the balls of his feet, which was the same thing Corry’s fifth grade English teacher used to always do. It annoyed him.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“The hand?”

“Cut it on some glass,” he said, fiddling absentmindedly with the bandage.

“Starting to throb now, isn’t it?”

As soon as Ames said that, Corry realized yes, that was exactly what his hand was doing. It was a dull pain, but every time he flexed his hand it became a sharp one, so he stopped doing that. “Yeah.” He winced.

“That’s the adrenaline,” Ames said. “The adrenal gland’s secretions tend to override the pain, and now that you’ve calmed down, it’s going to start to hurt more, I’m afraid.”

Corry didn’t understand about half of what Ames had just said, so he only nodded. 

Discussions of gland secretions were apparently what Ames considered small talk, and having gotten it out of the way, he moved on to the meat of the conversation. “The reason I wanted to talk to you . . . Corry, you saw a lot of pretty terrible things today, didn’t you?”

“I guess.”

Ames sat next to him on the table. “Sometimes, when we see terrible things, we put them away for a while. In here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Do you understand? It’s not that we pretend they never happened. We just put them someplace in our heads where we don’t have to think about them for a while.”