The Glass House Read Online Free

Decker that it would be a life’s work looking after this poor girl—it was going to be Eddie’s path.
    Eddie was speaking again. Decker only caught the last part of what he said: “. . . time for you to vacate the premises—maybe even the continent.”
    Decker looked at his friend, but it was not his friend—it was the large white man who called himself Linwood. And he wasn’t outside the San Francisco Wellness Dream Clinic—he was in Solitaire, Namibia.
    â€œSliding!” he shouted as he slammed his hand against the side of the Jeep.
    Linwood stood back and watched intently. When Decker finally seemed to have himself under some semblance of control, Linwood asked, “Are you finally ready to learn?”
    Decker heard himself say, “Yes, yes I am. Please.” But it sounded like someone else had answered Linwood. With a shock he recognized whose voice had come from his lips—that of his son, Seth.
    Linwood pointed to the small door again.
    â€œApple pies?” Decker ventured.
    Linwood nodded slowly, then looked at Decker from beneath his heavy eyelids. “Inshakha should not have told you.”
    Decker didn’t respond, but he thought, So Inshakha’s part of all this. Whatever this is.
    â€œAre you ready?” Linwood asked.
    Decker eyed the big man, then said, “I guess.”
    â€œGood. Give me the keys to your car.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œCommitment is the first step on the path that you are about to follow.”
    Decker hesitated, then tossed the keys to Linwood. Before they disappeared into the bear paw the man called his palm, they glinted in the fading sun. The unlikeliness of this place—this peculiar oasis in the midst of the vast nothingness of rock and brush and sand, of far horizons, of a thin moon high in the sky all day long—settled on his shoulders like a heavy wooden yoke on a draft horse.
    Then in the distance he heard a lion roar, and it echoed in his head—and heart—and soul.
    â€œDoes that happen often?”
    â€œThe lions?”
    â€œYeah—them.”
    â€œUsually only after sunset.”
    â€œBut it’s not—”
    â€œYes, well, things are changing.”
    Sliding, Decker thought, but he asked, “How? How are things changing?”
    They were outside the small door. Linwood pushed it open, revealing a tiny but immaculately clean kitchen. “Do you know the concept of one hundred thousand kowtows?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, you will.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œAfter you bake some pies.”
    The big man opened the door and indicated that Decker should enter.
    He did and was immediately adrift in the sweetness of apple preserves.
    Over his shoulder he heard the big man say, “You will, Decker Roberts of the Junction, you will—and then you will hear the music.”

4
VIOLA TRIPPING
    IT WASN’T A LION THAT Viola Tripping heard, but something that slithered—something malevolent, at large, released . . . and searching for her.
    She parted the drapes by her small bed and stared out at the thick blackness of the rural Nebraska night.
    It was out there, of that she was sure.
    She slid off her bed and wrapped her robe around her shoulders—such a small robe, such small shoulders—and went into the hall.
    It was cold. She shivered.
    At the far end she cracked open the door to Sora’s bedroom. In the glow of the new moon she saw her caregiver of almost thirty years sleeping on her back. Her steady breathing and gentle snores comforted Viola.
    â€¢â€ƒâ€¢â€ƒâ€¢
    In the morning Sora awoke to find Viola asleep in the bed beside her, her cheeks stained with tears, her fingers interlaced on her chest.
    She gently moved Viola to one side and slipped out from under the covers. A cold dawn greeted her. She looked back at her sleeping charge and made a decision.
    In thirty years Viola had never crept into her bed.