Giorgio Faletti - I'm God

As she drove along the streets as fast as the traffic allowed, Vivien turned to Russell, who was gripping the strap above the window with his right hand. Driving, at that moment, was a simple animal fact, a question of habitual gestures, of nerves and reflexes. Curiosity was one of the few human traits remaining to her.

‘So what did you find?’

‘Don’t you think you should concentrate on your driving right now?’

‘I can drive and listen at the same time.’

Russell tried to summarize the story as best he could. ‘I can’t really explain exactly how I did it, but I managed to discover the name Matt Corey. He was the Little Boss in the photograph we saw at Hornell. He fought alongside Wendell Johnson in Vietnam. For years, Matt Corey was believed dead, whereas in fact he’d assumed his friend’s identity.’

Vivien asked the question that interested her the most. ‘What about the son?’

‘He’s not in Chillicothe any more. His name is Manuel Swanson. I don’t know where he is now. But he used to have artistic ambitions.’ He lifted the rolled-up poster he was holding in his left hand. ‘And I managed to get hold of one of his posters.’

‘Show me.’

All the while he had been speaking, Russell hadn’t taken his eyes off the road. The Volvo was weaving in and out of the other cars, some of which had slowed down and pulled over to let them pass.

‘Are you crazy? We’re going at almost a hundred miles an hour. We’ll crash and there’ll be a pile up.’

Vivien raised her voice. ‘Show me, I said.’

Maybe she’d raised her voice too much. She had done that once before and regretted it.

Reluctantly, Russell unrolled the poster. Vivien threw it a glance, her eyes drawn instinctively to the words in red block capitals below the photograph:

THE FANTASTIC MISTER ME

She went back to concentrating on her driving. It wasn’t until they hit a stretch without other vehicles that she looked again, this time at the photograph. And her heart gave such a strong thump, she was sure that a second one would break it.

She couldn’t stop now – she had to keep driving. She found herself murmuring an invocation. ‘Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.’

Russell rolled up the poster and threw it on the back seat. In spite of the noise, he heard it falling to the floor behind his seat.

‘What’s the matter, Vivien? What’s going on? Do you want to tell me where we’re going?’

Vivien’s only reply was to increase speed, pushing the accelerator as hard as she could. They had just left the bridge over the Hutchinson River behind them, and the car was now proceeding along Route 95 with all the speed its engine allowed.

To relieve the anxiety that was tearing her chest apart, Vivien had decided to satisfy Russell’s curiosity. She still hoped and prayed she was wrong, even though she knew she wasn’t.

‘Joy is a community for drug addicts. My niece is there, my sister’s daughter. My sister who died last night. And there are bombs there.’

Now that she had finally given vent to her anguish, Vivien felt the tears coming. There was a knot in her throat and her voice cracked. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘Damn.’

Russell did not ask for any further explanation. To clear her head, Vivien took refuge in her bitterness about life. Afterwards, when it was all over, she knew this anger would turn to poison, if she couldn’t get rid of it. But right now she needed it, because it had become her strength.

When they got to Burr Avenue, Vivien slowed down and removed the flashing lamp. She didn’t want to arrive in a blaze of lights and sirens. She threw a glance at Russell. He was sitting in silence, unafraid, but not wanting to trespass on what for now was a space reserved for her. She appreciated that. He was a man who could speak well but knew when it was right to keep quiet.

They turned onto the unpaved road that led to Joy. She did not drive the Volvo right into the parking lot as she usually did. Instead, she pulled up on the right, in a lay-by hidden from sight by a group of cypresses.

Vivien got out of the car, and Russell did the same.

‘Wait here.’

‘No way.’

When she saw that he was determined and that nothing in the world would persuade him to stay by the car, Vivian resigned herself. She took out her gun and made sure there was a round in the chamber. It was a habitual gesture for her, one that meant security, but it made a shadow fall over Russell’s face. She put it back in the holster.

‘Stay behind me.’

Vivien approached the house by a different route. Making their way through the bushes and hugging the edge of the garden, they reached the front of the building, and seeing that familiar facade Vivien felt a pang of anguish. She had brought her niece here full of confidence. And now this house where so many kids were finding a new hope in life could be transformed at any moment into a place of death. She walked faster, while remaining as cautious as ever. Near the house were two kids sitting on a bench. Vivien saw that they were Jubilee Manson and her niece.

Keeping in the shadow of the bushes, she leaned out and waved an arm to attract their attention. As soon as she had it, she put her index finger in front of her mouth to silence them.

The two kids got up and came to her. Her imperious gesture and her attitude made Sundance instinctively lower her voice. ‘What is it? What’s happening?’

‘Shut up and listen. Behave normally and do as I tell you.’

Sundance realized immediately that this was no joke.

‘Do what I tell you, both of you. Get everyone together and get as far away from the building as possible. Do you understand? As far away as possible.’

‘OK.’

‘Where’s Father McKean?’

Sundance pointed to the attic. ‘In his room, with John.’

‘Oh, no!’

As if to reinforce that instinctive cry, there suddenly came from the house the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Vivien leaped to her feet.

‘Go. Run as fast as you can.’

Vivien ran quickly to the house. Russell followed her. She could hear their steps crunching on the gravel, and at that moment it was an unbearable noise. She went in through the glass-fronted door and found a group of kids looking up at the top of the stairs, where the shot had come from.

Stunned faces. Curious faces. Faces scared at seeing her come in with a gun. Even though they knew her, Vivien thought it best to identify herself in a way that would inspire confidence in them.

‘Police. I’m dealing with this. All of you, out and away from the house. Now!’

The kids didn’t need to be asked twice. They ran out, with terrified faces. Vivien hoped that Sundance, who was still outside, would have the strength and charisma to calm them down and lead them to safety.

She headed up the stairs, keeping the gun pointed in front of her.

Russell was behind her. Russell was with her.

Step by step they got to the second floor, where the kids’ rooms were. There was no one on the landing. They must all have been outside, otherwise she would have found some of them drawn by the sound of the gunshot. She looked out the window and saw a group of kids running along the road and disappearing from view.

The relief did not make her drop her guard.

She listened. No voice, no moaning. Only the echo of that shot seemed to linger like a living presence in the stairwell. Vivien carried on up the final flight of stairs to the attic. At the top, they could see an open door.

As silent as cats, they reached the top landing. Vivien stood for a moment with her back against the wall. She took a deep breath and slipped inside the room with her gun aimed.

What she saw filled her with horror and made her react in an instant. Father McKean was lying on the floor with a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead. His open eyes stared up at the ceiling as if dazed. Under his head a pool of blood was spreading over the floor. John was sitting on a stool, looking at him with empty eyes, clutching a pistol in his hand.