He tested his defense. A whisper: "It was the wine - "
But he could not complete the sentence, for it was already done. And it was not the wine. It was another thing altogether. And he felt it now.
The little thing in his heart. The little thing that had come and gone earlier in the evening. It was back again. It lay quietly, barely perceptible, like the breathing of a tiny creature, and he had almost not noticed it. But there was no mistaking it now, and he fought to grasp hold of it, to suffocate it, but his attempts were futile. It felt as though the thing had established permanent residency.
For many hours, until his consciousness finally succumbed to mental depletion, he was disturbed by a queer premonition. That the dark, throbbing thing in his heart was determined to eat its way out, ever so slowly, boring straight through the only parts that Peter had ever loved, the only parts that had ever mattered.
Chapter 3
It was a bright, hazy morning, not yet seven o'clock, but already hot and humid, which wasn't so unusual for a June day in New York City. William Harrell braced himself for the cool comfort of the limousine's air-conditioned interior.
For twenty-five minutes he would relax in a comfortable silent plushness. He stretched his legs, lengthening his taut body until his feet touched the facing seatback. His calves responded wearily. Last evening's workout, the first in more than a week, had taken its toll. He had skipped several sessions since putting in longer hours over the past couple of days, working on the company's portable computer strategy. The break in his routine, regardless of whatever aches and pains it caused, brought him the kind of excitement on which he thrived. His regal face had the precisely aged features of a character actor cast in the role of judge, or the President of the United States. On occasion he wore glasses, when he remembered, for seeing things up close. At sixty-two, his looks suited his job perfectly.
The car briskly pulled away from the brownstone, his course and destination the same today as it had been each business day for the past fourteen years.
He eagerly unfolded the "Wall Street Journal. In the News Brief column analysts speculated as they did every quarter about changes at Wallaby, Incorporated. According to the story, sources close to the company suggested that the company's founder, Peter Jones, and its president, Matthew Locke, were not getting along as famously as they once had. There was speculation that a major, long-overdue reorganization would be announced in today's board meeting. Matthew Locke's corporate organizational changes at International Foods were revisited. A Wallaby engineer who had asked to remain anonymous was quoted: "Jones has created a rivalry between his division [Joey] and ours [Mate]." The informant went on, "It's really strange. Jones invented the Mate, yet he says that anyone who is not associated with the Joey is a bozo." The article explained that separate product divisions were precisely what Matthew Locke had earlier in his career put an end to at International Foods, when he had merged the food and beverage divisions, as well as several other minor groups, into one umbrella organization. A brief background story on the Joey discussed its sparse sales and the fact that few software programs were available for use with the computer, underscoring the analysts' predictions of a major overhaul. All of the experts agreed that the product was revolutionary and proclaimed that if Wallaby could speed Joey applications to market, it could then gain major market share and thereby disarm the older, less flashy technology of its largest competitor, International Computer Products. The consensus was that Wallaby had to get its act together if it was to have any hope of remaining at the forefront of portable computer technology innovation.
William Harrell smiled. That was exactly what he had hoped to read. He folded the newspaper and tossed it onto the seat beside him.