Chapter Twenty-Eight.

He parked in one of the parking garages and went around to the trunk. He figured he could take two pieces at a time, one of the books and one of the thermal lunchboxes. He pulled the strap of the first lunchbox over his shoulder and picked up one of the books. He walked to the stairs and went down three flights to the ground level. Finding his bearings, he made his way down the sidewalk, which was more crowded than usual on a Sunday. Finally reaching the park, he sat down on one of the benches closest to the court building and set the book down on the seat next to him.

Watching the people walk by all wrapped up in their little worlds, nobody paid attention anymore. Someone could be dying or dead, lying in this one square block of a park, and it would be hours or even days before anyone might notice. It was rather depressing to think about how people had no compassion or concern for others around them.

And the people who found his little treasures, what would they think? They would never believe it was someone close to them. Bad things always happen to "other" people. He glanced around, as if just watching the people going by. When he was sure there was nobody looking in his direction, he stood up and walked away, leaving the book on the bench.

He walked slowly along the path to the other side of the park near the police station. He left the path and went toward one of the trees and set the bag down next to it. Walking around the tree a few times, Avery was staring up into the branches above him as if he were looking for something. On the opposite side of the tree from the bag, he headed for the street.

Taking a round about way back to the garage to get back to his car, he decided to leave the next two things down by the Saturday Market and the Waterfront. This was a little farther of a walk, so he got on the Max and got off at Old Town. He went in to the market under the Burnside Bridge and browsed among the booths. He slid the strap of the second lunch box down off his shoulder and set it at his feet as he looked over a set of prints in one booth. Nudging it under the table with his foot, he slowly wandered away toward Waterfront Park.

He crossed Front Street and walked across the grass. There were several people lying on the grass in the sunshine. Many of them had backpacks or bags next to them and under their heads. They were dirty and smelly; Avery didn't want to get too close to any of them. There was a monument of rocks down a little farther and he went to it, knowing it would be a good place to stash the book he still held under his arm.

Women pushing strollers, cyclists and joggers crowded the sidewalk along the river's edge. Staying close to the grass side of the pathway, he veered off in the direction of the large boulders. On one side of them were bronze plaques with the Constitutional Bill of Rights. He set the book down between two of the rocks, and stood back to read the plaques.

When he had finished reading the last plaque, he went back across the street to the Market and took the Max train back to the parking garage. There were three last deliveries to be made. These he would hide in restrooms nearby. He went into one of the buildings and finding the restrooms, he left one of the books next to the sink in one, behind a toilet in another and the lunch box hanging from the doorknob on the inside of the restroom door.

Avery made his way home after his last stop. In the bathroom which smelled strongly of bleach, he undressed and turned on the water for the shower. He ran a hand over his head, feeling the stubble. The hair was growing out again. He took out a fresh razor blade and changed old blade, throwing it into the trashcan under the sink.

Climbing carefully into the shower, he rubbed the shaving gel all over his body. With long strokes, he brought the razor up his belly, and then across his chest. After years of practice, he left no cuts or razor burn. He continued until his skin was completely smooth.

He rinsed off completely and stepped out of the shower to dry off. It was time to go downstairs. He left the bathroom and went down the stairs to the basement. On the futon, there was a stain in the center of the mattress, he should probably get rid of it and get a new one. He raised his head and sniffed the air, there was the slightest scent of decay that must be removed.

Pushing the drapes apart, he went into the shrine. Using a stick of incense, he lit the candles. He knelt down on one of the cushions. Making sure there was a fresh piece of cloth on the altar, he picked up the knife and cut the mark on his right side. This time it bled a lot more than usual, his brow furrowed in concern. He must have nicked a vein. He held the piece of cloth in the cut, pressing down to stop the bleeding.

After a few minutes, the bleeding had almost stopped, enough for him to take the pressure off. He set the knife down in its proper place, and put the bloodied material in the center with all the other pieces.

It was still fairly early in the afternoon; he had a few hours to meditate on his next step.