by Keith LaHue
When they arrived home a few hours later, Davey was tired, and Mary told him to go to bed right away. She entered the guest room. Dave had already been told much of the story via the evening news, and now Mary filled him in on the details. Then for the first time since this had unfolded, she broke down. She rested her head awkwardly on her husband's shoulder, asking him how such hate could exist in the world.
He reminded her that they had saved the lives of two children. And to never hesitate to be nosey again.
Stenger had been treated for his superficial gunshot wound. The police that questioned him got a full confession, even to the murder of Stenger's wife. While it had been labeled suspicious, he had never been charged with a crime. The police told him that they were pleased that he had signed the confession and that the prison that served Indianapolis was going to be really a great place for him. They went on at length about how much the other prisoners just loved child rapists, and they were going to be so nice to them when he got there. Assuming he survived county jail that was. He'd be held there until he was tried, in this case, it was perfunctory, just a formality before being sent to real prison, doubtless for the rest of what was destined to be a short life. The police hadn't had to make that clear, even to an idiot like Stenger. They just loved and loved child rapists in prison. You see, said one of the detectives, there were things that not even criminals could abide by. They told him to get some rest; he had a long day ahead of him tomorrow. He'd be transferred to the county, where they would make sure his case was fast-tracked to be on the docket as soon as possible. They wanted him arraigned and in front of Judge Roy as soon as was humanly possible, or inhumanly in his case. The cops made no bones about what a piece of shit they thought he was.
The story made all the major papers, including nation-wide based ones. The next morning Dave read through the articles in the Indianapolis Courant. It included a list of all the crimes Stenger had committed, and the list was growing. Apparently, before he had killed his wife, he'd murdered several children from area fairly far away from Indy. One was from some small town in Ohio. So he'd developed his taste for perversion long before. Dave was satisfied that whenever he was put in prison, Stenger wouldn't last long. Even murderers and rapists had more of a moral compass than Stenger had. While the taking of human life disgusted him, part of him thought there was a place for capital punishment. Maybe. He was just finishing up his breakfast when Davey popped his head in the door. Dave bade him welcome and he entered.
"Dad, there was the thing I wasn't sure about that happened to Karl. His daddy murdered his mother, and then he did bad things to him, didn't he? Is that why Karl changed, and why he didn't want to play anymore?"
"Davey it's a sad reality of this world that sometimes bad things happen to good people. Karl is just a boy, like you, and no one should have to undergo what he did. Or Jill Sodaberg, the girl they had down there." He was intentionally vague, not wanting the conversation about sodomy and rape to take place at this time. He hadn't even told Davey about the birds and the bees. "So when you go to school, don't listen to what the other children say, especially the older ones. If you have questions, come to me. Not even your mom. Understood?"
"I get it, dad." He lowered his voice. "I think I know what Karl's dad did. But we don't have to talk about it."
Dave Sr. switched topics in order to avoid the subject. "Hey did you put that limousine back in front of the Chinese Theater? Hate to have the stars arrive at the premiere of one of their movies in a shoddy old Ford or something."
"That's a funny thing dad, I put it back, but then it was gone when I looked at it again." Davey thought he'd have to tell his dad about what was going on in Pangaea pretty soon. "I looked everywhere for it, and it just wasn't there."
From the next room, Marigold called for Davey to get his breakfast. "Go on Davey, we can worry about the model later." Davey left the room, calling to his mom that he'd be right there.
Dave was becoming increasingly concerned about what state the model was in. He still had at least ten days to go in his cast, and that was if the doctor cooperated and let him out of the plaster prison. He desperately wanted to get down there, to see what had happened to his spell that had been running out of control for how long? He'd lost track. Even if he could tell Davey, and underage wizard, Davey wouldn't be able to break his spell. It had to be undone by the original caster. Damn the rules of sorcery. For all, he knew the Great Wall of China would be finished now. He kept running over the scenario in his head. The builders of the wall were only bred for one other thing: war.
He'd felt the loosening of the lay lines even from here. That would attract attention from all of the wizards in his area, and an unwanted visit from his order would take place if he didn't get down there and fix the damn thing!" He fell into remorse, that he'd let a spell that powerful build the damn model for him. He thought that once he got out of here, and put everything back the way it was supposed to be, he'd stick to handcrafting whatever else they decided to put in. It was safer.
30
Jimmy the Quick and Dizzy ran into the Indians at the same time the heinous crimes of Randy Stenger were being discovered. They were both surprised that the Indians weren't really Indians. They were just regular people, albeit with some of the knowledge of the original inhabitants of the United States.
"So you want out of here too?" said Jerome to Tom. He thought it ludicrous that an Indian would be named Tom.
"I'd like to be somewhere with indoor plumbing, yes."
"You mean...you guys have to...you know. Shit.?"
"We didn't at first. But now we do. The longer you stay sentient, the more human you'll become. It isn't just self-awareness at stake here, it's the becoming. We still aren't exactly alive, but in our minds, there is still the knowledge of the ancients, who had medicine men and the like. They told of Gods that imbued all living things with life. We think that something or someone who created us did so by accident. We have only hazy memories of before when we were still unformed, but some of us seem to remember the endless warring between tribes. When we became aware, all of that stopped."
"How will we know when we become alive?"
"I don't think we'll ever be truly alive, not in the sense that we think of it. We'll become whatever the limits of the shaman or magic user that created us has. No life can be created by magic. That's a given. True life can only occur naturally. We will never attain that. It is reserved for something greater than magic."
"That doesn't exactly answer my question. Jerome and I have been wandering this remarkably temperate desert for days looking for answers. We haven't had to eat or eliminate waste in all that time. Yet you say that you're...people (He was hesitant to use the word tribe as they clearly were not Indians) now eat and excrete, right?"
"Come here, I will show you how you will know," said Tom. Jimmy approached him warily; unsure of what was to come. Tom took out a knife and told him to hold out his arm. He did, and Tom cut him. It didn't hurt, and he was obviously made of some kind of a cross between plastic and something else that didn't compute. Then Tom held out his arm and cut it. Jimmy and Jerome looked on with fascination at the liquid that oozed out of Tom. While all of them knew that it wasn't quite blood, it was something close.
"When you bleed, no matter what the color - mine started out white - you develop the things you mentioned. While I don't think we have to eat, we like it. And what goes in has to come out. We're not sure if any of the bodily functions pass for what is normal for humans. We could probably hold it indefinably."
"What we really want is to get out of here," continued Tom. "Can you show us the way?"
"I'm not sure," said Jerome. "We've become quite lost ourselves. We didn't plan on going back to New York. But, I have a feeling that if we pick a direction and head that way, staying on a straight line, we'd eventually come out somewhere else. But we don't know where. There are barriers between worlds, or areas. It was hard for us to get through the one that surrounded Man
hattan. The creator didn't deign to create the entire city. Just one part of it."
"What direction did you think you were traveling when you came upon us?"
"We were shooting for north, but our compass is useless, it just spins in circles," Jimmy said. He got the compass out of his pack and showed him. "It should point to magnetic north, but as we know now everything in this world behaves the way it supposed to. So we just followed the Canyon in one direction, and ended up here."
"Then it makes sense that if we follow it back, we'd end up at the point where you came in."
"Not so fast. One thing we discovered when we slept, or rather, were inactive; was that during the lightless part of the day, when we got up in the morning, nothing seemed to be in the same direction it was the day before. So we'd get out bearings and trudge along. We weren't sure what to expect."
"Then we will stay awake. Through the absence of light. Like you, we know that there is no day or night here, no sun or stars to follow. Will you help us?"
"Of course. You've given us much more than we could have hoped for," said Jerome.
"One thing though...the whole non-existent thing is bunk. There was this great philosopher that I had learned about when I was younger. The gist of it went, 'I think, therefore I am'. Get it? We are alive, or some semblance of it, as we can think independently."
"You're wisdom is great. Come, let us prepare for the journey."
Jerome and Jimmy helped them break camp, and they began heading back the way they came. At least as far as they could tell.
James was busy plotting where the next point of exit they should take should be. Donna had struck on an idea. How about the beach again? She'd asked there had to be some safe way to get there. None of them had ever been to the beach, and while they had these pseudo-memories of the sun in the sun and surf, they all knew that it was bunk. It was the day after the party, or the day of the party, whichever way you chose to think about it, it didn't really matter; it was all the same day.
So they'd go to the beach, or whatever they would find. They'd get as close as they could with the car, then walk. Some innate sense told James that there wouldn't be much trouble passing barriers, that time had gone. It was strictly intuition. There was something else. He felt hungry. At least he thought that's what it was. What else could it be? It brought a whole new aspect of the idea of being alive but not alive. He asked Donna for some food.
"Food? Why? We've determined that we don't need it. You said you'd gone days - the same day of course - over and over without eating. I have no memory of eating."
"I want a steak. Is there anything in the refrigerator?"
"I'll look."
Donna entered the kitchen of the grand house, there was bound to be something edible there. It was then that she saw her driver whose name was...she didn't know. He was banging his head on the counter, all bent over so he could accomplish this. It was a wonder they hadn't heard it before. She ran back into the living room.
"Guys, there's something you have to see. Come on." They followed her into the kitchen where the man was trying to give himself a concussion.
"Who is he? I don't think I've ever seen him," said James.
"He's my driver. At least he was. I'm not sure what he is now," replied Donna.
"What's his name? Maybe we can bring him out of it."
"I have no idea what his name is. He's just a fragment of a memory. We've been living the same day repeatedly, I didn't have to go anywhere so I never called for him. So I don't know that he even has a name."
"Hey! Driver!" said Kenneth, speaking rather loudly. No effect. James grabbed him by the shoulders if for no other reason than to stop the infernal pounding on the counter. He pulled him upright.
He face was without feature or nuance. It was blank, featureless with only suggestions of eyes, and a dent where the mouth would be. His nose was almost gone; it had taken the brunt of the pounding and had been pushed in.
The three of them stood in silence, deciding what to do.
"I think we need to kill him," said James. "I mean he's not alive anyway. We need him to stop 'being', in other words."
"How do we kill him if he's not alive? I died and came back whole. I told you. There was no time lapse as far as I know."
James grabbed a knife and plunged it into the driver-things chest. It continued to move. Then he cut his arm off. It looked to be made of plastic. The thing kept returning to pounding its head on the counter.
"Okay, he's not alive or dead. But I really want something to eat, so maybe we can get him out of the kitchen," said James. He took the thing, sans arm and sporting a non-face, along with various stab wounds, and slowly maneuvered him into one of the spare bedrooms. The thing kept trying to move on its own, but it was weak, so he had just shoved it through the door and locked it.
He returned to the kitchen. "That thing was a fragment of what we are. It's unfinished. Can I get some food?"
"Let's see what we've got here, " said Donna as she opened the fridge. "Looks like we've got enough to feed an army. "Kenneth, are you suddenly hungry too?"
"Nope. I don't recall what food tastes like."
"I think there are stages to becoming real, and because I became aware sooner than you guys, I'm a little further along the track to reality," said James
Donna moved to him and stabbed him in the forearm with a butcher knife. Nothing came out except for some viscous white stuff. "See? You're not exactly human just yet. And you know what? I think that as far as we can go with our evolution is some kind of approximation of a human. We'll never be truly human. But look at it this way. We'll never grow old and die, and we'll never age," she said. She turned the steak on the broiler of the well-equipped kitchen.
"Well the steak smells good," said James, fully cowed. The cut on his arm had already healed.
Suddenly his head hurt, and he moaned quietly. Donna and Kenneth looked at him. At first, Donna thought it was her fault for stabbing him, but the wound had healed.
He doubled over, visions swam in his head. He was in New York. He had never been to New York, but somehow he was there. Here he went by Jimmy. Jimmy the Quick. He was on the floor of the stock exchange; the closing bell had just rung. He was walking out the door, where he would walk to Central Park and buy some cocaine. From there he would go home, to his apartment on the west side, in a nice part of town. Then his girlfriend Sadie would come over and they would spend the night drinking and snorting the cocaine. Then he would pass out, and be unable to perform as a man for Sadie, who at first was disgusted, and then she would pass out as well. Rinse and repeat.
He awoke to Donna shaking the hell out of him. How much time (time doesn't matter) had passed?
"Donna?"
"You with us kiddo?"
"Yes, I am now, but for a while, I was somewhere else. New York. I was a stockbroker and...It doesn't matter. It wasn't real. None of this is real." He sat, forlorn and depressed. Donna brought him his steak and he ate. When they had first encountered Kenneth he'd been crying. Now he was close to tears himself. He came around and was himself in the time it took him to ear. He could hear the pounding of the driver, who had apparently found something new to bang his head on in the bedroom.
"Okay, are we still on for the beach?" asked Kenneth. James wiped a tear away. He tasted it. It had no flavor, no salt.
"Sure, what the hell. Let me ask you guys something. Ken, you were crying last night when Donna and I arrived. Did anything come out of your eyes? Any real tears?"
"Well yes...I think so. But now that you mention it, I'm not sure."
"I'm not sure of anything," said Donna.
"Neither am I. When I was out, or whatever that was I experienced, I was living another life. I wasn't an actor, and I knew how the whole night was going to go. I was a stockbroker on the New York Stock Exchange; the closing bell had just rung. Then I was going to go to the open-air drug market in Central Park, to buy some cocaine. After that, it was home to get high and drink wit
h my girlfriend Sadie. I even remember her name. That's how real it was to me. I knew all of it, and that was the day that that James, known as Jimmy the Quick in New York, lived his day. The short version of this is that I think it likely that we may not be individuals. We may be duplicates. At least in my case. I can't take the not knowing."
"Well hang in there. We've still got to see where going to the beach led us."
"Hopefully you won't die again."
"We'll take a different route. And be prepared to walk. I have a feeling that's the only way we're going to get there."
"Ken, you're still in right?"
"Yes. I think I'll be okay. I'm struggling with the existential horror of the whole thing as well as I can. And I'm more than a little creeped out that there may be a clone of me out there as well. I mean, there has to be a limit to how much we can take, isn't there?
"To be honest I'm not sure. I'm beginning to think we were all better off reliving the same day over and over again, oblivious to whatever reality is. I have no idea at this point. Fuck it; let's go to the beach while we've still got daylight as if there were days and a sun. Let's go"
The three of them piled into the VW, it was a little cramped but they made do. They could have taken one of Donna's cars, but James had wanted the familiarity of something he knew or at least thought he knew, in the VW. Hadn't he come across the county in this thing? He supposed this was another false memory, just another lie that the entire world had become.
They snaked their way down and down, out of the hills and suddenly they were on the cliff. They got out. James was pissed. Donna was reliving her death with bemused detachment. It had happened and it might happen again. This time she was going to find a path. A path down to the beach. Hazy memories of the Santa Monica Pier graced her consciousness and for a few seconds, she thought she felt good. But in reality, nothing was good. Even if they found the beach, what was there to find really? More illusion? Sleight of hand on the part of God? Not that she even pretended to believe in God anymore. She didn't know if she ever had.
