For a big guy, Ezra moved fast. At least he did when running from human remains. We were already outside, through the kitchen, out the back door. Trickles of rainwater ran the length of his bare torso as his massive chest moved up and down, his taut gut in and out. All of it was shiny and wet in no time, including his muscular shoulders and tree trunk arms, and there I stood with an affinity for trees. Still, stupid me went back for his T-shirt not far from where he’d dropped the tartan blanket in his hasty retreat.

“There are all sorts of real looking replicas these days.” The rain fell so hard, I could hardly hear my own voice. “They could be Halloween decorations.”

“In March?” Getting the wet T-shirt on was no easier than getting it off. “Fuck it.” Ezra gave up quickly.

“My Christmas tree is still up.”

That almost amused him. Half a smile was better than none, even if it wasn’t a joke.

“Maybe someone who lived here was in a production of Hamlet and brought Yorick and his understudies home.”

“Or from the stories I was told when I go here, they could be severed from three actual bodies, the remains of which are down there someplace. If that’s the case, I don’t want to know.”

I could understand that.

“I just want to get out of here, Titus,” Ezra said.

“Okay.” I followed him across the backyard and around the side of the house. We paused there a moment, and I thought Ezra might have changed his mind.

“Keys?” He held out his hand.

“Oh.” I passed them over, and heard a beep and a click as he unlocked his car from thirty feet away. We weren’t living like the Jetsons quite yet, but we were on the way to flying cars and robot maids definitely by 2020.

I was left with two choices: get wet staring at Ezra behind the wheel of his luxury ride or get in mine. “Bye.” He couldn’t hear me, of course, but I waved, and he nodded. My car door needed a key. It would have, had I locked it. Ezra’s car was already running. His brake lights were lit, his backup lights, too, but the car just sat there. His chivalry had him waiting for me, or his emotion had him paralyzed.

Click.

“Come on!”

Buzz.

The Titus Mobile made noises when I tried to engage the ignition, just not the right one.

“Fuck!”

Four more tries, the engine wouldn’t turn over. The next sound startled me. Ezra was at the window. I rolled it down.

“Car trouble?” He’d put on a navy blue hooded windbreaker which was keeping him a little drier as I flashbacked to how wet he was under it. The way the almost transparent nylon clung to every curve, I didn’t have to use much imagination.

“Seems like.”

“What do you think’s wrong?”

“I think I was wrong driving a ten year old junker nine hundred miles.”

“I could try to help, but all I know is how to construct a bridge that won’t collapse under the weight of hundreds of cars. I don’t know how to fix one.”

“Blake could fix it,” I said over the continuing deluge.

“We could call someone.”

“Yeah.” I reached into my pocket for my phone and found the photograph instead. “Glove box.” My phone was there, but I had no reception. “My phone’s as crappy as my car.”

“Do you have a better one in your Mustang?” Outside the house of horrors, Ezra was relaxed enough to tease me. “Use mine.” He handed it to me. “I’ll wait while you call for a tow.”

“I can’t afford a tow.” What point was there in pretending? “You go. I’ll find a pay phone and figure something out.”

“At least let me drive you to a pay phone.”

I then had to admit I didn’t know who to call. “There might be train service that would get me ... Blake is in Chicago in her rig. My mother could maybe meet me ... somewhere close to Jersey.”

“Or ...” Ezra flicked some rain drops away from his face. “You know what’s on the way to New York? New Jersey. Want a lift?”