Page 82 of Witness 8

She smiled at him. A big, beaming smile. Inside, her plans were crumbling. Her teeth squeaked as she ground her molars against one another.

What the hell? This can’t be happening.

This. Can’t. Be. Happeningggggggggg . . .

‘Ruby!’

‘Shut the fuck up, Tomas!’

The child stumbled backwards, his somnolent eyes suddenly and shockingly wide open. His mouth agape. Body frozen. Tearswelled in those big eyes and as Ruby caught hold of herself, and reached for him, fear took hold and he backed away.

‘Tomas, I’msosorry. Please, I just got distracted. I’m sorry.’

He ran out of the kitchen and his little feet pounded up the stairs.

Ruby swore. She couldn’t go after him now. He would need to calm down first.

Then she heard him calling from the landing. Anger and sincerity in his little boy’s voice.

‘I’m going to tell my mom what you did. You used a bad word and you yelled at me!’

Oh no, no, you’re not, thought Ruby. She was so close now. Just another few days. Just another few jobs. Tomas could not wreck things now.

No matter what, he couldnottell his mother.

Tomas would see that soon. Either he would calm down and forget what had just happened, or Tomas would not be here when his mother returned.

12.01 p.m.

Refresh.

All the air left Ruby’s body.

Balance $500,001.

‘Tomas, little buddy, I’m sorry . . .’ said Ruby.

35

Mr. Christmas

The little revival movie theatre was empty, apart from one man.

He sat in the eighth row. In the dead center. Row H. Seat fifteen of thirty. The one seat that gave him the closest view of the entire screen which his field of vision could comfortably accommodate.

The house lights were down, but the up-lighting was on, illuminating the red velvet curtains lining both sides of the screening room. The thirty-five millimeter projector wasn’t even switched on. A sixty-foot-wide screen sat dead and gray in front of him. The smell of popcorn rose from the floor, along with other more unpleasant odors.

Mr. Christmas rarely ate as he watched movies. Occasionally, when he craved the darkness and solitude of the movie theatre, he sometimes bought a soda and a hot dog. He had no taste for popcorn. Yet, he did enjoy that smell. It was wrapped up in his childhood, and his teens, and, for that matter, it was an odor that had accompanied him for his whole life. Rarely did a week go by without a visit to a cinema, no matter where he found himself.

He had enjoyed drive-in theatres in hot, filthy parking lots in Arizona, mouse-infested 1920s movie palaces in Detroit, modern multiplex theatres in LA and single-screen revival houses that attracted hipsters and cinephiles alike.

He tipped his head back and let his gaze rest on the ceiling. He used to do this as a kid, letting the vast blackness of thepaneled ceiling wash over him. And the same sensation came, just as he had experienced as a child – the overwhelming belief and fear that the ceiling was going to collapse and fall on top of him. The sensation was so strong that an electric tickle travelled from the back of his legs down through his calves and into his ankles.

He shivered with the pleasure of fear.

Mr. Christmas raised a hand to the projectionist. While he sometimes enjoyed the company of a few strangers in the movies, he much preferred having the screen all to himself. Which, just as on this occasion, necessitated Mr. Christmas purchasing every seat in the house. It was not a small amount of money, but while his finances were not infinite they were very large indeed. He enjoyed some of the finer things in life, but his lifestyle was not in any way extravagant. He owned several properties, drove a Lincoln,, but didn’t have a boat, nor a plane, nor any other item that proved an effective way to burn through a fortune.

He spent his money on fine clothes. Good coffee.