Just beyond Karen, Olik was sprawled on another one of the seats, clutching his mangled hand to his chest, a cigarette between his teeth. As Jim watched, Olik pulled out a gold lighter and ignited the cigarette, then inhaled deeply and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. The smoke looked almost white in the darkness, a swamp mist that could lead the gullible or otherwise unsophisticated to believe in aliens.
Maybe that's what's happening. We've been abducted and this is all some kind of weird experiment. We're rats in a maze, being poked and prodded to see what makes us tick, and tock, and – in the end – stop either ticking or tocking.
That made a certain kind of sense. At the very least it allowed Jim to explain some of the bizarre things that had happened. But whether it was the truth or not the explanation didn't get him any closer to freedom, any closer to Carolyn or Maddie.
"What are you thinking of, mi hijo?" said Adolfa.
"My girls," said Jim. The train was still bouncing lightly in that way that is particular to trains, passing over the tiny seams between pieces of track, click-clack click-clack click-clack. But he suddenly doubted that the track was real. This had to be in his mind. There was no track, there was no train. It was just lunacy, a long dark trip through insanity that ended only in more of the same, a Mobius strip cut from a single infinite length of madness.
Adolfa's eyes looked worried. Like she thought he might fly off the handle and start trying to kill people at any moment.
Maybe he would. If that could end this, maybe he would.
"Tell me."
"What?"
"About your girls. Tell me about them."
Jim knew what she was doing. Psych 101 stuff: deflect attention from things too difficult to bear, get the subject to look at things that provide feelings of comfort, stability, safety. Something to live for.
But knowing what was being done didn't keep it from being effective. Sometimes placebos worked even when you knew they were just sugar cubes.
He pulled his journal out of his pocket, then took the picture of Carolyn and Maddie from its pages. His fingers shook, minute tremors that he suspected would never dissipate, as though terror had been genetically introduced into his DNA.
"That's Carolyn," he said, pointing. "And Maddie. My girls."
"They're beautiful," said Adolfa. Her wrinkled face crinkled still further in a smile. "Especially your daughter. She has your eyes."
Jim chuckled. "She's not my daughter."
Adolfa looked surprised. "But you said –"
Jim shook his head. "The father left when Carolyn was still pregnant with Maddie. I just came into their lives last year. But Maddie…." His thumb moved across the photo, touching the little girl's smile. So different from the last look he'd seen on her face.
Will I ever have a chance to make those things right? To get back to them and make sure they know I forgive them, and that we're all still fine?
"She's like your own," said Adolfa. It wasn't a question. Jim nodded. "Sometimes we get to choose our family," she said. "I have three sons. Two of them…." She made a dismissive motion, like she was throwing out minute bits of garbage. "But the third is de oro. Pure gold. Carrying on in the family business, hard worker. And he married a gorgeous girl, pura bella. Kim Hill was her maiden name. And Kim has a friend who also came into the business, a boy named Scott Robbins. I know, I know," she said, and smiled as she waved again, overcoming objections that Jim hadn't voiced or even thought of. "Neither of them are latinos, but it doesn't matter. They are good people. Hard-working. Trustworthy. Loyal. Loyal above all. To the family."
Adolfa reached out a thin finger and touched the picture in Jim's hand. "It matters not who provided the building materials, it matters only who made something of them, sí?"
Jim nodded. "You could be a helluva shrink, you know?" he said.
Adolfa cackled and clapped her hands together. "I'm an abuela, a grandmother. Sometimes this is the same thing as being a shrink."
Jim smiled back at her. He didn't feel good – the only thing that would make him feel good right now would be a guaranteed way off this subway train – but he felt better. And that was a start.
"So touching," said a gravelly voice.
Jim and Adolfa looked over. Olik stood before them, his face white and damp with perspiration. One hand hung to a leather strap, his body swaying with the subway's movement –
(click-clack click-clack click-clack on tracks that probably weren't even there not really not in the really real reality and not whatever fake reality held sway here in the dark)
– and marble-sized beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and cheeks. His other hand, the one that he himself had basically shot off, was tucked partially into his coat. Jim could see the blood-soaked dressing that Adolfa had tied on the shredded meat of the man's hand, and a rough circle of darkness was staining Olik's coat where his bad hand was tucked.
Of his gun there was no sign, but Jim had no doubt that the other man still had it. And that he could draw and use it quickly and without remorse.
Olik must have recognized the fear that clenched Jim's guts, that pulled and pushed his bowels at the same time. The huge man shook his head. "Don't worry. No need to be," he grinned, a smile that Jim supposed was meant to reassure but somehow only managed to put him more on edge, "uncivilized about this, yes?"
Olik turned around. He caught Karen's eye. "You. Come join us, yes?"
Karen looked at him. Her eyes didn't have quite the same dead appearance they had when she was efficiently destroying Xavier, but Jim noted they still looked veiled, almost sleepy. Like she was experiencing everything through some kind of filter.
After what seemed like an eternity, Karen spun and shoved at one more window. It rattled in its frame but didn't give, so she turned and walked slowly toward the group. Her boots, sans heels, gave her a peculiar gait. It reminded Jim of the way the zombies – or ghouls or whatever they were – had walked. Like they were no longer completely in control of themselves.
Not that any of us is in control of much anymore.
Finally Karen stood before them. She held her leather satchel in one hand, but angled her body so it was half-obscured behind her. Jim wondered if she thought she was hiding it. Then realized that was impossible: unless she had suddenly turned into an imbecile, the woman had to know they were all aware of her package. So why…? Then he realized: she wasn't hiding it, just keeping it as distant as possible from the rest of the group.
He wondered what was inside the bag. What would be so important that it would be worth going back toward Xavier, toward the ghouls, to grab it up before running like hell with the rest of the group?
Jim glanced at Adolfa, then at Olik, and could see instantly that the same thoughts were going through both their minds as well. Karen must have noticed, too, for she fell back into what looked like a half-crouch. Jim didn't know if she intended to run or to attack. Either way, Olik raised his hand once more. "No, lady, no. No fighting. Let's work together." He smiled his unsettling smile again.
"Like we did before?" said Karen. "When you and your boyfriend tried to use us as guinea pigs?" Her eyes lost their dullness for a moment. They sparked. Rage. Then the spark disappeared and that same muffled expression draped itself over her visage again.
"Look," said Olik. "We didn't know what we were going to see."
"We still don't," said Adolfa. "So you going to push us first into the next dangerous place?"
Olik looked almost embarrassed. "I probably would," he said at last. "But…." He lifted out his mangled hand. "Hard to push anything with one hand, yes?"
"Maybe I should just push you," said Karen.
Olik's attempt at good-natured appearance disappeared instantly. "Try," he said.
"Wait," said Jim. He stood. Loathe as he was to get between people who had the clear will and apparent skill to kill each other – and everyone else in the car – a dozen times over, he also didn't want to take a chance at being caught in their cross
fire. "Let's ease up. Take a breath." He looked at Olik. "What did you want to propose?"
Olik seemed to find that question amusing. "I should call you Nathaniel, yes?"
Jim frowned. "I don't…."
"You are like the man in Bible. Nathaniel of old, who Jesus said, 'Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile.'" Olik grinned. "You have no guile, little man. Like Nathaniel. You just ask your question, straight and forward."
Jim's head was spinning again. A subway going who-knew-where, with a rapidly diminishing number of strangers… and now one of them turned out to be some sort of macho thug who was a closet biblical scholar?
"What do you want?" he finally said.
Olik looked at the group. "I want to live," he answered. He pointed at Adolfa. "Like you, yes?" She nodded. "And you?" he added, pointing now at Jim. Jim felt his own head bob up and down, feeling almost as though someone else was controlling his actions. "And you?" Olik asked Karen. She didn't answer. Just stared at him. He nodded as though she had responded clearly in the affirmative. "Of course. So we need to work together. Talk. Survive."
"Why do you want to work together now?" asked Adolfa.
Olik smiled that predatory grin of his again. "When I was boy, I worked part of every year as shepherd. Deep in woods, with my brothers." He wiped a hand across his forehead, looking at the perspiration on his palm for a moment before flinging it away. It disappeared into the darkness. "All day long they teased me. Pushed me, punched me. I stayed away from them. But at night… at night I slept between them. And why?" Olik looked around. No one spoke. He wiped his forehead again, his eyes far away for a moment as he relived old memories. "Because at night the wolves came. They howl in the night, and I was afraid. So I sleep between my brothers. Not because they would protect me, but so when the wolves come, they will eat my brothers and I will be able to escape." His eyes refocused. His grin now looked like that of one of the wolves he spoke of. "I don't think any of you will care for me, yes? But I will stay with you, because perhaps you protect me from the wolves."
"Or maybe you'll be the one who gets eaten first," said Karen, her eyes still shrouded by a mist of non-emotion.
Olik's grin didn't falter one iota. If anything it grew wider. "Is what you call a win-win, yes?"
Karen smiled back. But Jim noted that the smile didn't reach her eyes.
Olik turned back to the others. "So we band together, yes?" He put his hand forward. "We fight together. Survive."
Jim stared at the outstretched hand. It was palm down, fingers rigidly forward. He didn't know what to do with it. But a moment later Karen put her hand on top of Olik's.
Good golly, he thinks we're in a football practice.
It was absurd.
But then, was it any more incredible than the events that had already transpired?
Adolfa put her hand on top of Karen's.
A moment later, Jim added his own hand to the group. And when he did he was surprised to find that he didn't feel silly at all. Rather, he felt like he was making a choice that would have fateful consequences. He was choosing his team.
And like it or not, it was the team he was going to play on until this deadly serious game was over.
TWO
================
================
"First is first," said Olik. He pulled his beefy hand away and sat down. Slumped almost, his body going loose at the last second as he let himself fall into one of the seats. "Who are you?"
Jim looked at Adolfa. She was looking back at him with a quizzical expression, and he sensed that she expected him to take the lead in the conversation. He swiveled back to Olik. "What do you mean?" he said.
Karen sat down. Rigid. A tightly-coiled spring that might burst into movement at any moment. Jim suspected he didn't want to be around if that happened. "He wants to know details about you," she said.
"Is right," said Olik with a nod.
"Like, our favorite colors?" asked Jim. "Our turn-ons and turn-offs?" He could hear the acidity in his voice, and didn't care. When Olik had pulled his hand away the sense of foolishness had returned. They had no chance. They were children playing in a minefield, and the only question was which one of them would be blown to hell first.
Jim sat down as well and wondered if he wouldn't be better off just staying in a seat until the train stopped or some new monstrosity came for him. Resistance was an exercise in pride sometimes. And sometimes it was worse: an exercise in stupidity. Sometimes it was better to let fate come, to let death take you.
No. Think of the girls.
"Not turn-offs," said Olik. He laughed loud and long. The laughter was harder than the situation merited, but his mirth seemed genuine. "I mean what you are good at, what skills you have. Things that may keep us alive," said Olik. He didn't seem to take offense at Jim's tone, and Jim had to remind himself that he was talking to a very dangerous man. "For example: I am businessman. Who is very good shot." He patted his coat where Jim presumed his remaining gun was holstered. "I also am good fighter, but with one hand, not so much." Olik looked at Jim. "I hear you talking about being shrink. Is doctor, yes?"
Jim nodded. "A shrink is a psychiatrist. A doctor of the mind."
"But with medical training of the body?"
"Some."
Olik nodded approval. "Good. Helpful. What happened to the little man, and to Xavier… you ever see things like that before?"
Jim shook his head. "I've never even heard of anything close to that."
"And of people who followed us into car?" said Olik. "They were dead?"
Jim paused. "I… don't know." Then he shook his head. "No, they couldn't have been. They had to be alive."
"But they kept coming when they were shot," said Adolfa. Her eyes were wide, fear settling into the shadows on her face. Jim worried she might shut down if she followed that line of reasoning too far.
He shrugged. "Maybe they were on something. Some drug. Like some super-powerful methamphetamine or some other drug I've never heard of. But dead?" Another shake of the head. "That I can't accept." He noticed Olik looking at him with narrowed eyes. "What?" he said.
"Super-powerful methamphetamine?" said Olik, repeating Jim's words, rolling them around for a moment as though sampling their taste. He paused, looking like he was going to say something further, then shook his head and switched his gaze to Adolfa. "And you?"
Adolfa actually grinned, that same wide-open smile that she had flashed on Jim before all this had started. She suddenly looked as though she hadn't a care in the world; as though she was having a conversation with friends on her veranda, and not a strategy session in a bullet train to nowhere. "I'm just an abuelita, she said." The pride in her voice was clear.
"Yes, a grandmother," said Olik. "I heard this, too. But even a grandmother must do more." He leaned toward her. To Jim's astonishment the huge man actually looked friendly now, concerned and interested. No hint of threat about him. "What did you do, abuelita?"
Adolfa looked around as though uncomfortable being the center of attention. "I… I helped my husband run our family business."
"Which was?" Olik still spoke softly, gently coaxing the information out of her.
"Just a little store," she said. "Little things to the neighborhood children."
Olik nodded somberly, as though she had just told him she was researching cures for cancer. "Where is your husband now?"
Adolfa laughed, a rasping titter that sawed through the darkness of the subway car. "Oh, he died years ago." Tears glittered in her eyes. She wiped them away and sat up straight, a proud woman pushing on with what tools she had. "I took over. I grew the business without him."
Olik nodded. Jim saw him, saw what he was doing. Saw him assuming the role of the father of this strange mixed family. Saw him forging a bond between Adolfa and him. Cheap, basic psychology, but the man was doing it well.
Whatever he is, he's more than a "businessman."
Olik reached out a hand and placed it on Ado
lfa's shoulder. He squeezed it. "What you do for the store?" he asked.
"Bookkeeping, mostly," she said, dabbing at her eyes with the ends of a sleeve. "Some hiring and firing. Inventory."
Another squeeze by Olik, and Jim saw gratitude bloom in Adolfa's eyes.
He's got her, thought Jim, and couldn't help admire the man's deft touch. She'll die for him now.
"We will find a way for you to help us, abuelita," said Olik. "And we will protect you until that time comes."
He turned to Karen. And as he did, Jim noted something. A flash in Adolfa's eyes. It was fast: so fast he couldn't be sure it really happened. Maybe he imagined it, maybe it was just the flare of one of the streaking lights outside.
But he didn't think so. At least in that instant he thought it was something real. In that instant he thought he saw amusement. Like Adolfa had been the one playing Olik.
Then the look was gone and she dabbed at her eyes, just looking grateful for the attention and the promise of protection.
Olik lifted his chin when he looked at Karen. Again, Jim noted the posture change. To Jim he had presented an overbearing attitude, a menace. A subtle threat if he didn't get his way. To Adolfa the man had seemed the patriarch and protector. Now to Karen he was holding himself forth as a fellow-soldier. As an equal – and equally dangerous – peer.
"And you?" Olik said. Admiration crept into his voice. "I've never seen someone move the way you did against our good friend Xavier."
Karen didn't answer for a long time. Then in a near monotone: "I take karate."
Olik snorted. "So you are just lawyer?"
Karen looked at him evenly. "I'm in acquisitions."
"And you take karate, what, after work and on weekends?"
"A girl needs her exercise."
Olik looked like he was trying to decide how much to challenge her on that. He sighed and leaned back. "So we have the brain doctor, the abuelita, the ass-kicking lawyer, and me."
"What kind of business do you run?" said Jim.
Olik's wolf-grin returned. "Internet commodities."
"Like gold and silver trading?"
Darkbound 2014.06.12 Page 12
