Quicksilver

by Dean Koontz

“So the peacemakers were bomb makers.” “A lot of people these days are the opposite of what they say they are, and a lot of them probably don’t even realize it. They’re opposed to racism even as they act like racists. They’re opposed to fascism, even as they act like fascists. The world’s gone weird.” “On the other hand, if you blow someone up, they rest in peace thereafter, so then you would be sort of a peacemaker. What happened in the bomb factory?” “We had an altercation.” “Which evidently you didn’t lose.” “We’re always prepared for trouble. It’s why we don’t fly, we do road trips instead.” “You always go everywhere with guns?” “Well, only since I was fifteen and Mr. Scuttler followed us home on parent-teacher night, clubbed Grandpa, and tried to rape me prior to killing us both.” I felt increasingly that I, an orphan abandoned at birth, had been so sheltered that I needed to apologize for having had such a cushy life to date. “Who was Mr. Scuttler?” “My English teacher. After that, I was homeschooled.” “Good idea. What happened to Mr. Scuttler?” “I held him off with a battery-powered carving knife until Grandpa pounded him silly with the debate-club gavel.” “Gavel?” “You know, a wooden mallet like a judge needs in a courtroom. Mr. Scuttler was adviser to the student debate club. He’d brought the gavel as a weapon.” “You said Sparky had been clubbed.” “Yes, with the gavel. This may sound odd, but it’s extremely difficult to knock Grandpa out. And even if he’s unconsci...