The Boy in the Tunnel

Fall 1997, Chapter 34: Renee

Renee pulled the manila folder out of her backpack and set it on the table. Her deck, such as it was. She nudged the corner a little, lining it up at a perfect right angle, and opened the folder.

The confused, frightened face of Dr. Burton stared up at her. Lata had captured him perfectly. Crisp focus, perfect exposure. He looked like had no idea what was going on. He knew nothing, understood nothing.

"The Fool," said Renee.

She only had four cards, but that was enough for a spread. Enough to get an answer. Joanie was missing, according to Audrey. Renee couldn't recall seeing her since Friday. It was no good if Joanie was AWOL, not least of all because of the Work. It depended on her.

Renee turned the stack of photos facedown and shuffled them. She had an idea what they would tell her – that was how this worked, after all – but you never really knew until the cards were dealt.

She turned over the first photo and placed it on the table. The Fool. Not what she had expected. Her question concerned Joanie. It should have been the Empress.

"Do-over," she said.

She put Dr. Burton back in the deck and shuffled again. She dealt the top card: the Fool again, reversed this time. There was no fighting the cards. They wanted her to listen, even if she didn't want to.

"Show me what not to do." She dealt the next card, to the east of the first. The Empress. Joanie.

"Jesus Christ." The cards were insistent on being contrary tonight. Though just because Joanie's face was on the card, it didn't have to mean Joanie specifically. She dealt the third card, to the north of the first two: The Devil, reversed. The cards were pointing her toward Xander, or toward her own worst impulses. Away from the light of love, and into the shadows. Into the dark gallery.

The phone next to her bed rang. She picked it up. "My cold white rose," said a perfectly cigarette-roughened voice on the other end.

"Christ, Taylor. Do you ever just turn it off?"

"I need to talk to you. What are you up to?"

Renee dealt the final card, the final branch of the cross: the Tower. Where it all ended up.

"Nothing," she said. "Come on over."

Ten minutes later there was a knock on her door and he was there, lit by the dome light in the hallway like it was his own personal sun. "What's up, Fabulous Moolah?"

"What?"

"Alex told me an interesting story." Taylor stepped into the apartment without waiting for an invitation, like he owned the place. It was possible he did. The Hollisters owned much of Suttledge County, always ready to make the University an unfavorable deal if it needed to expand. The real estate management company she wrote her rent checks to could very well have been just one tentacle of the Hollister octopus.

Taylor eyed the half-empty bottle of Smirnoff on the recycled computer stand that served as Renee's bar, its former purpose obscured by a black silk printed with Chinese characters, a print of Moreau's tattooed Salome hanging on the wall above. "You mind?" Renee shook her head. Taylor poured himself a glass. "You have any sweet tea?"

"What do you want, Taylor?"

Taylor held up his hands. "I come in peace. Just doing a favor for a friend."

"I'm not your friend."

"That hurts." Taylor took a swallow of the vodka and grimaced. "I mean Alex."