Who Is Brian Quinn?

Marginally Psychotic - Moonboots - Elephant

"Where's Cody!" demanded Dolores.

"Out tracking down your mother," replied Beardsley. He sat at the kitchen table reading a newspaper, chewing on a piece of cheese.

"Where did you get that cheese?" she asked.

"The fridge. You know, your brother is in bad shape these days, Dolores. I'm playing psychiatrist nearly all the time now. It used to be I had a little variation. Now it's endless mind games." He shifted in his seat. "Though I have succeeded in deciphering some of his dreams. Very curious. Full of strange and telling imagery. You know he had one about a spaceship? A real whopper."

"You're a maniac," cried Dolores. "And to think I offered my unblemished, untouched body to you. I should have known better. You're an animal and you've completely ruined me and my brother."

Beardsley shrugged. "You maybe. Your brother, I think not. He's a classic nut, a textbook head case. Marginally psychotic with a touch of dementia. That's not my fault."

"You haven't shaved in days," she yelped. "You look like a lumberjack."

"I am a lumberjack, sweetie."

"No you're not."

Beardsley giggled and swallowed the remaining chunk of cheese. "Well," he said standing. "Aren't you going to invite me up?"

"Up?"

"Yes. To your bedroom. Or is your sister there?" he jibed.

"She's out," replied Dolores.

"Really out, or just pretending to be out?"

"Just pretending," she said uncomfortably.

"You're all wackos here," he smiled. "That's what I like about you."

Dolores glared.

"By the way," he asked. "Any idea where your mom goes at night? Cody seems to think she goes to the swamp at the edge of town and fishes for books. Very bizarre. Even for him."

"She might," said Dolores. "I have no idea what my mother does most of the time."

"Okay, but you've got some idea. Right? I mean, you do know where she goes."

"Maybe." Dolores smoothed her hair back against her temples. On her feet she wore red and white striped moon-boots, not the kind made for lunar strolling necessarily but rather for earthly walks in the snow.

"What's with the shoes," asked Beardsley. "Don't tell me you've been out slogging through the streets like your brother."

"Don't be ridiculous," she exclaimed.

Beardsley eyed her suspiciously. "You've been following your mother too haven't you." He smiled slyly, looking her up and down.

"I have not," she replied. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. You know exactly what I'm talking about." He paused and quickly picked a piece of lint from the girl's sweater. She flinched slightly and made a face. Beardsley seemed to cogitate, peering at Dolores silently, then, "I think she does go fishing for books, doesn't she. Holy cow, I see it. She's," he stopped suddenly and closed his mouth. The girl had begun to cry silently. A single tear sat the edge of her cheek.

"Don't do that," said Beardsley. "Don't cry." He sighed and took a step back, looking at the girl from beneath furrowed brows. "What exactly is your mother looking for?" he asked.

Dolores shook her head and put a hand to her mouth. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

Beardsley sighed. "Okay. Listen sweetie, why don't you run upstairs and get those clothes off. I'll be up there in a second."

Dolores shrieked and nearly choked. She rushed upstairs. "Don't touch me!" she yelled.

Beardsley smiled and returned to the refrigerator. Inside he found some leftover meatloaf and an apple. Cody suddenly swept in through the back door.

"I lost her again," he moaned. "She's quick as a fox."

"She's right here," said Beardsley. "She doubled back and came in through the bathroom window. I was taking a leak when she slipped in, nearly landed on me."

"What?" cried Cody.

"No, just kidding. Haven't seen her all night." Beardsley bit into the apple and made a face. "Are you sure she goes fishing for books? Maybe she told you that to get you to stop following her."

"Maybe," replied Cody dejectedly. "No, no," he straightened. "She definitely fishes for books."

"And why is that do you think?" remarked Beardsley. "Certainly not to read them."

They suddenly heard a muffled shriek directly above. "That's the girl's room," said Cody, eyeing the stairs.

"It's just Dolores," remarked Beardsley.

"No, I think mother reads the books. And I think I know why."

"Really?" said Beardsley. "Sounds like you've had a breakthrough." He smiled and took another bite of the apple.

"I think she's looking for father."

"Your father?"

"Yes. I think he's in one of them."

"One of what? A book?"

"Yes."

"That's preposterous," replied Beardsley. "How could anyone get inside a book? You've seen them. They're far too small. Tiny."

"Not necessarily," remarked Cody. "I've been thinking about this a lot. Mother told me that each little symbol in a book stands for something. So when you see those squiggly little symbols you think of that thing. Like a certain group of squiggles could make you think of an elephant maybe. So that means you can fit an elephant in a book. Right? So why couldn't my father be in a book? If an elephant can fit in a book then my father can fit. After all, he is very small."

Beardsley exhaled loudly. "Okay, and why on earth would your father be in a book? And how would he get into one? Tell me that."

Cody frowned and sat down at the table suddenly. "I don't know," he murmured. "I don't know enough about these books to formulate any kind of theory yet. I'm working on it."