Strange Highways

time.
     He finished his drink. It went down quickly, smoothly.
     He poured more whiskey, returned to bed, slid beneath the covers, and stared at the blank eye of the television.
     In a few days everything would be back to normal. As normal as this world could ever be. He could settle into old routines, living comfortably on his disability pension and the moderate inheritance from his parents' estate.
     He had no need to get a job or to talk to anyone or to make decisions. His only task was to consume enough whiskey to be able to sleep despite the nightmares.
     He wasn't lonely: He communed with Jack Daniel's.
     He watched the blank television.
     Sometimes he felt that the TV was watching him too.
     Time passed. It always did.
     He slept.

    3

CHASE ROSE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, FRIGHTENED AWAKE BY DEAD men talking to him through mouths full of graveyard soil. After that the day deteriorated.
     His mistake was in trying to go on with his day as if the events of the previous night had never happened. He rose, bathed, shaved, dressed, and went downstairs to see if there was any mail on the hall table. There was none, but Mrs. Fielding heard him and hurried out of the perpetually gloomy living room to show him the first edition of the Press-Dispatch. His picture was on the front page: He was turning toward Louise Allenby as she got out of a squad car. The girl appeared to be crying, gripping his arm with one hand, looking far more grief stricken than she had actually been.
     "I'm so proud of you," Mrs. Fielding said.
     She sounded as though she were his mother. Indeed, she was old enough for the post - though whatever mothering instinct she showed always seemed strained and false. Her hair was tightly curled and bleached blond. The excessive rouge and bright lipstick made her seem older than she actually was.
     "It wasn't anything like they said, not as exciting as that," Chase told her.
     "How do you know? You haven't read it."
     "They always exaggerate. Reporters."
     "Oh, you're just too modest," Mrs. Fielding said.
     She was wearing a blue and yellow housedress with the two top buttons undone. Chase could see the pallid bulge of her breasts and the edge of a lacy yellow brassiere.
     Though he was much stronger and much younger than Mrs. Fielding, she frightened him. Perhaps because he could not figure out what she wanted from him.
     She seemed to want something more than the rent. More than some companionship. There was a desperation in her - maybe because she herself didn't know what she wanted.
     She said, "I bet this brings twice the job offers that the last article brought!"
     Mrs. Fielding was much more interested in Chase's eventual employment than was Chase himself. At first he'd thought that she was afraid he would fall in arrears on the rent, but he'd eventually decided that her concern went deeper than that.
     She said, "As I've often told you, you're young and strong, and you have a lifetime ahead of you. The thing for a fellow like you is work, hard work, a chance to make something of yourself. Not that you haven't done all right so far. Don't misunderstand me. But this lounging around, not working - it hasn't been good for you. You must have lost fifteen pounds since you first moved in."
     Chase did not respond.
     Mrs. Fielding moved closer to him and took the morning paper out of his hands. She stared at the picture in the center of the front page and sighed.
     "I have to be going," Chase said.
     She looked up from the paper. "I saw your car."
     "Yes."
     "Do you like it?"
     "It's a car."
     "It tells about the car in the paper."
     "I suppose it does."
     "Wasn't that nice of them?"
     "Yes. Very nice."
     "They hardly ever do anything for the boys who serve and don't make a big protest of it. You read all about the bad ones, but no one ever lifts a hand for good boys like you. It's about time, and I hope you enjoy the car."
     "Thank you," he said, opening the front door and stepping outside, trying not to look as though he were fleeing.
     He drove to Woolworth's for breakfast.
     The novelty of the car had worn off. He would have preferred to walk. There were too many decisions to make while driving a car. Walking was