Free Wichita (9781609458904) by Thad Ziolkowsky

the technique in a modified fashion, he can’t remember how. In the light of the TV, he shuffles through the piles, his hand moving aside an image of an espresso machine in the kitchen, underneath which is an image of an airliner with “Lewis” written in Abby’s hand across the fuselage.
    A figure sweeps by the doorway to the living room. Lewis sees it out of the corner of his eye and sits frozen, listening hard. His first thought is that it’s Butch, who performed some ancient hobo trick on the lock to the back door (assuming Abby even bothers locking up) and has come back to take revenge on Lewis for “disrespecting” him. Seth is to blame, Seth the head wound through which evil enters.
    Lewis stands listening in the doorway of the den then pads across the living room and stops on the threshold of the dining room and listens. The wind flings a handful of grit against the side of the house. There’s a faint concussion; he feels it in the floor. Now it sounds like chairs are being rearranged in the kitchen, followed by a series of soft blows.
    He picks up a heavy candlestick on the hutch and goes on to the doorway to the kitchen with the candlestick held tight in his hand. He peers around the corner of the doorjamb into the kitchen and sees Donald, wearing a voluminous T-shirt and boxers, his face lit by the light of the microwave.
    Lewis switches on the overhead lights. “Donald!” he says with relief.
    Donald blinks and bites his thick moustache but otherwise makes no reaction, staring into the microwave with mild consternation, as at an aquarium where a guppy floats belly-up. The smell of cineplex popcorn fills the air. Is he sleep-walking?
    Then Lewis notices the silhouette in the breakfast nook and hops straight into the air with fright. It’s Seth. Lewis puts his hand to his heart. “Fuck!”
    Seth says, “Who says white men can’t jump?”
    Lewis turns on the breakfast nook light. Seth sits in a chair, shirtless, tat bandage, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
    Seth lifts his chin at Donald. “Making sure this fool doesn’t burn the house down.”
    â€œYou scared the shit out of me,” Lewis scolds, heart pounding hard. “You should have said something.”
    â€œYou were gonna be scared either way.”
    Lewis decides this is probably true but it doesn’t lessen his irritation.
    â€œHey,
Donald
,” he says and prods Donald in the soft flesh of his upper arm, to no effect. He seems to be reading a copy of the
Wichita Eagle
lying on the counter. Lewis can see part of the headline:
Autopsy Shows Kansas
.
    â€œWhat’re you doing up?” Lewis asks, turning back to Seth. Seth shrugs. Not sleeping can be a symptom of an oncoming episode. “Seriously, why aren’t you sleeping?”
    â€œWhy aren’t you?”
    Donald is opening drawers in search of something.
    Now the microwave beeps and shuts off and Donald opens the door and slides out a pan of Low-Cal Orville Redenbacher. With a fork he found, he plucks an opening in the swollen foil and begins to eat small handfuls of the popcorn while staring straight ahead.
    Seth gets up and goes to the counter. “Hey, Donald, think I should get an
iPhone
?”
    Donald goes on eating. Seth scoots the pan out of his reach. Frowning, Donald gropes for it with both hands as if playing chords on a keyboard.
    â€œSeth,” Lewis says feebly. “Come on.”
    â€œDonald!” Seth says. “iPhone or
not
, you know?” He wrinkles his nose. “I just can’t seem to
decide
. What’s your take? On the
iPhone
. Donald! Someone help me fucking
decide
! Donald! iPhone or no iPhone?”
    Lewis is getting up to intervene, despite the fact that he’s finding it pretty funny and obscurely well-deserved, when Donald turns and looks Seth in the eye.
    â€œNo,” Donald says firmly.