Between the thing and the horror
Here's the thing: Robert remembered the act. And he remembered saying on the phone that he didn't mean to, didn't want to. But he couldn't connect them, connect those two events in his mind. There was this gap.
He thought about it a lot.
Sometimes, when the TV was on, he would be watching it and he wouldn't even know what he was watching. A guy would say, man, what you watching this for? and he wouldn't even know what it was they were saying he was watching. He would just be staring. Sometimes he'd listen to the air conditioner going shhhhhhh, shhhhhhhhhhhhh over all the talking of the inmates, bitches slouching around in jumpsuits and untied shoes, and shhhhhhh, shhhhhhhhhhhhh over the COs, the clenched-up Correctional Officers who were always talking into radios, and he would be thinking about it. That gap.
How long was it? A couple minutes or an hour? How was it he couldn't remember? How did he get out of the house and over six blocks in the dark to where he was when he called the police? He didn't know those streets. Why was there this gap there?
Robert could imagine what he'd done. What he must of done. He could reconstruct it in his mind. He must of gone out the front door. Maybe the back, but the front door would make more sense. He must of gone out, unlocking it from the inside and leaving it open and walking across the lawn. He didn't get in to his car, probably because he didn't get it dirty. And he must have walked the one way because it was away from the streetlight. He didn't want to be seen. The streetlight must of been on and he'd have walked the other way, so he walked that way, probably walking dazed, like he was shocked, and not really looking where he was going but just following the street. He went up to where there was a park, and then turned and went to where the big street was. That was the edge of the neighborhood. That was where he called. He remembered calling. The woman said what was the nature of his emergency and he had blood all down him. It was on his hands, too, and he remembered when he bit the nail on his one hand he could taste it, drying under the nail.
He wondered where he'd dropped the tire iron. Somewhere in there. In that gap. He knew he hadn't left in the house, so he most have carried it out in the yard. Maybe the police had it, but maybe they didn't. He'd have to ask the lawyer.
That gap was something to think about.