Odd Hours

and Blossom took it, and then they hugged each other.
    I said, “So, these bad guys looking for Annamaria and me—I need to poke around, learn more about them. I thought she’d be safe here with you for a couple hours, if you’re cool with that.”
    To Annamaria, Blossom said, “We could play cards or Scrabble or backgammon or something.”
    “I like backgammon,” Annamaria said. “Do you ever add a little vanilla to your coffee when you brew it?”
    “Sometimes vanilla, sometimes cinnamon.”
    “Cinnamon. That sounds good.”
    “Cousin Melvina—not the one married to Norman in the missile silo, the other one—she likes to add a half-teaspoon of cinnamon and a full teaspoon of cocoa to a twelve-cup pot.”
    “That sounds good to me. Let’s do that. Why would parents name both daughters Melvina?”
    “Oh,” said Blossom, fetching the can of cocoa powder, “they aren’t sisters. They’re cousins to each other. They were both named after our maternal grandmother, Melvina Belmont Singleton, who was famous in her time.”
    “Famous? For what?”
    “For living with gorillas.”
    “What gorillas did she live with?”
    “Oh, anywhere they had gorillas, sooner or later, she went there to live with them.”
    “What was she—a naturalist or an anthropologist?”
    “No, she wasn’t any of that. She just thought the world and all of gorillas, couldn’t get enough of watching them, and the gorillas didn’t seem to mind.”
    “I’d think they would mind,” Annamaria said.
    “Well, when scientists move in to study them, the gorillas sometimes give them a lot of grief, but they didn’t object to Grandma Melvina.”
    “She must have been a formidable person.”
    “We have strong women in our family,” said Blossom.
    “I can see that,” said Annamaria, and they smiled at each other.
    Blossom said, “Grandma Melvina taught a gorilla named Percy to write poetry.”
    Annamaria said, “Free verse, I imagine.”
    “No sane person would have paid for it,” Blossom said, and they both laughed.
    I wanted to hear more about Grandma Melvina and the gorillas, but I needed to have a serious talk with Flashlight Guy. Blossom and Annamaria were having such a good time, I didn’t interrupt to tell them that their Odysseus was about to set sail on his warship.
    Crossing the living room, I noticed that the mantel clock read one minute till midnight.
    According to my wristwatch, the time was 7:52.
    At the mantel, I put one ear to the clock, but it seemed to have spent its treasure of time, and it did not pay out a single tick.
    Throughout my life, when the supernatural had become apparent to me in the natural world, it had always been through my paranormal senses, shared by no one else: the ability to see the lingering spirits of the dead, the frustrating gift of enigmatic predictive dreams, and psychic magnetism.
    The stopped clock in Annamaria’s one-room apartment had not been a vision but a reality, seen not just by me, but visible to her as well. I had no doubt that if I were to call her and Blossom from the kitchen, they would see what I saw on the mantel.
    One clock frozen at a minute until midnight is nothing more than a broken clock. In this night of fog and spellbound coyotes and porch swings that swung themselves, however, meaning could not be denied upon the discovery of a second timepiece with its hands fixed at the very minute of the same hour.
    The supernatural had entered the natural world in ways new to my experience, and this development struck me as ominous.
    I could think of only one interpretation to be made of broken but synchronized clocks. Only a little more than four hours remained for me to prevent the many deaths and the vast destruction planned by the yellow-eyed giant and his associates.

 
    TWENTY
    A DOVE DESCENDING THROUGH CANDESCENT air, a bush bursting into fire and from the fire a voice, stars shifting from their timeless constellations to form new and meaningful patterns in the heavens…
    Those were some of the signs upon which prophets historically had based their predictions and their actions. I received, instead, two stopped clocks.
    If I am not just a freak whose extrasensory perceptions are the result of a few mutated synapses making strange connections in my brain, if my gift has a giver other than indifferent Nature and comes with a purpose, then the angel in charge of the Odd Thomas account must be operating on a shoestring budget.
    Making my way through Magic