Despite multiple scrubbings under a hot shower, blue dye from the fake water at Disneyland clung to his skin, stuck in the cracks of his fingers, and gave his face an eerie glow. He thought the water inside the park was from the bay, but it must have been processed and colored to create a brightened, animated idea of a river. The leather of his wallet turned an odd mix of blue and brown. His clothes had a creepy blue tinge. He threw them out.
After he toweled off, he found a thin robe in the cabinet by the showers, but no slippers, not even the throwaway kind. He’d gone barefoot often enough in Boston and nothing bad happened. The hallway floor of headquarters couldn’t be worse than the dirt and grass along the Charles River. Or maybe it could.
Osaki and Sugamo waited by the vending mach
