Trader

by Charles de Lint

  Back in the bedroom, she exchanged her dirty T-shirt for a clean one, then put her jacket back on. When she left the apartment, the only thing she took with her that she hadn’t had when she’d been out with Julie the night before was a small canister of pepper spray. She’d bought it a year ago when she’d had to work overtime more often than not over a period of a few weeks. The walk home from the bus stop through the Market at night had made her nervous.

  She hadn’t had to use it then and she hoped that wouldn’t change. But when she thought of the boy who’d stabbed Julie last night, she knew she wouldn’t freeze up again. She couldn’t afford to be a victim. Not with Julie and Nia depending on her. They were both going to need nurturing and she was determined to be there for both of them.

  Dropping the canister into the pocket of her jacket, she checked to make sure she had both her wallet and keys, then left the apartment. She held the pepper-spray canister tightly as she passed the door to Max Trader’s apartment, half-expecting a confrontation with the creep, but the door remained closed and she made her way safely downstairs and out onto the street.

  Nothing seemed quite the same as she looked around her neighborhood. Everything seemed to have an edge—both a stridency and a sense of foreboding.

  Don’t let something have happened to Nia, too, she thought as she walked toward Lee Street.

  She had more to go on now that she’d had last night when she’d been out looking with Julie—little enough though it was. Fitzhenry Park, the stranger had said. He’d met Nia in the park. He could have been lying. There was no reason for her to trust him. And he’d said nothing about Nia still being there. But it was the only lead Lisa had and she meant to see it through.

  When she reached Lee Street, she was too impatient to wait for public transport. She flagged down a cab.

  “Fitzhenry Park,” she told the driver as she settled into the backseat.

  She met his gaze in the rearview mirror.

  “No problem,” he said. “Which entrance do you want?”

  Lisa remembered her own teenage years, hanging around by the War Memorial with the other disaffected youth of the sixties. Her mother had been so embarrassed the day The Newford Star had run an op-ed piece on the hippies in the park and their be-ins and love-ins. A staff photographer had taken a candid group shot of a bunch of them, just hanging out, and there Lisa had been, in between a couple of guys, the one looking like Davy Crockett, the other with so much hair he might as well have been Grok from the comic strip “B.C.”

  “The main entrance,” she told the cabbie. “Where the kids hang out.”

  31 MAX

  Of course when I get to the park, there’s nobody here. Not Bones, not Nia and Buddy, not even Zeffy, though I’m sure she’d really be happy to see me again. I take a stroll through the area where the vendors and fortune-tellers are set up and can’t spy Jenna either. I wonder if she remembered to bring me that cloth and what she thought when I didn’t stop by to get it. Not much, probably. I get the feeling that there’s only a small core of real regulars working here; everybody else is transitory. Like me.

  I see a guy playing an octave mandolin where Zeffy had been earlier with my guitar and that reminds me of my show with Zeffy and the cops and all. I don’t know why I snapped the way I did. It’s not like it was her fault Devlin lent her my guitar.

  Devlin. Everywhere I turn, he’s waiting for me. All I have to do is look in the mirror.

  I didn’t like him, almost right from the start, and I still don’t. But I find I don’t much like myself either. And for good reason. Truth is, I don’t know who I am anymore. It’s not only the moodiness. It’s this sense of having no roots, no commonality that I can tie into, no connections like everybody else has. Family, friends, job. Switching bodies with Devlin isn’t the cause of it. I was like this before any of this started. It took the switch to show me.

  But I want my own skin back. I feel like yelling to whoever’s in charge. Okay, I get the point. Let me have my own body back now. But there’s nobody listening. No way back.

  I recognize the sense of depression that’s coming over me, but can’t seem to do anything about it. Can’t seem to be bothered. Intellectually, I know it’s an echo of Devlin’s personality. I never had a lot of high good times, but I never had a lot of lows, either. I just coasted. But Devlin, he’s mildly manic, I suspect. Up or down and no in between. Now it’s my problem. But recognizing it’s easier than dealing with it. It’s so much easier to coast, to stop fighting it and simply go with it.

  I buy myself a cup of coffee from a cappuccino cart and take it back to the free end of a bench. Welcome to your new living room, I tell myself. I drop my knapsack to the ground and sit down. Holding the coffee gives me something to do with my hands. There’s a couple of guys at the other end of the bench, one standing, looks like he’s in the middle of a run with his sweats and Airwalks, the other sitting, his back to me, one arm hanging over the back of the bench. I try not to pay any attention to them, but it’s easier to eavesdrop than it is to deal with my own problems.

  They’re talking about sports scores and dance clubs. One of them’s going to a new gym tonight. The other guy thinks he might be losing his job, but he doesn’t much care because he never liked it anyway.

  After a few more minutes of this, the runner leaves, heading deeper into the park on one of the trails. He’s got good form, looks like he knows what he’s doing, like the last thing he needs is more exercise. The guy on the bench turns so that he’s facing forward, smiling at nothing in particular. Must be nice. But then he notices me and he loses the smile.

  “You,” he says.

  I hadn’t really been looking at him, so we recognize each other at about the same time. He’s Zeffy’s knight-in-shining-armor. Hank. He’s not wearing the shirt with the nametag anymore, but I don’t need it to remind me. I’m about as happy to see him as he is to see me. More trouble I don’t need, so I look away from him. He doesn’t take the hint.

  “The thing I can’t figure out,” he says, “is why do they put up with you?”

  I sigh and shift so that I’m facing him. “Why does who put up with me?”

  “It’s not just you in particular, but all the guys like you. You treat women like shit and all they do is come back for more.”

  “I don’t treat women like shit.”

  His eyes are cold. “Hey, pal. I was there. Bullshit your girlfriend if you want to, but don’t try it on me.”

  I take a sip of my coffee and look away again, trying to ignore him.

  “It’s a simple question,” he says.

  I don’t say anything. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of arguing.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you, pal.”

  Trouble is, it seems like he’s not about to back down.

  “Doesn’t mean I have to answer,” I tell him.

  I keep my tone reasonable, but I can feel the anger rising in me. Devlin’s legacy. No wonder nobody likes him. I glance at Hank. He’s smiling now— the kind of smile you see on a barroom brawler when he’s looking for a fight.

  “Let’s not get into anything,” I add.

  “Who’s getting into anything? I’m just talking.”

  “You’re bothering me.”

  His eyes narrow. “The way you bother your girlfriend?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. I don’t know her. I don’t live with her. All that was going on was we were having an argument because someone lent her my guitar. End of story.”

  “That’s not the way she had it,” he says.

  “Well, then go talk to her about it.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m holding you accountable.”

  “Accountable for what? Having an argument with someone? You might as well take on the whole world.”

  “Maybe I will—a piece at a time and starting with you. Because I’ll tell you, pal, I’m sick of hearing about people like you. I’m sick of seeing the way you treat
people.”

  It’s all I can do to stay reasonable now. I know if it had been Devlin sitting here, the two of them would already have been at it.

  “You don’t even know me,” I say. “You know nothing about how I treat people.”

  He stands up. “I know how you treat your girlfriend. Christ, do you think I’m stupid? I’ve seen this kind of crap going on since I was kid. You’re like my old man. Happy to smack around those that can’t hit back, but you turn into a pussy the minute you run into someone who won’t back down from you.”

  He’s starting to get on my nerves now—my nerves, not Devlin’s.

  “If you’ve got a problem with your father take it to him,” I say. “Same goes for Zeffy—the woman with the guitar.”

  He stands there looking at me and all I can do is feel sorry for him. He’s obviously got a lot of old problems he hasn’t worked through yet. But that doesn’t give him the right to take them out on me.

  “Get up,” he says. Voice cold, hard. Mr. Tough Guy.

  My sympathy leaves and I feel like throwing my coffee in his face. But I don’t move. Don’t say anything, don’t move, hoping my passiveness will undermine his need for a confrontation. Doesn’t work.

  “I’m only going to tell you one more time,” he says.

  I try one more argument, though I already know this has gone too far for it to have any impact. “What you’re doing now is no different from what you’re accusing me of.”

  “There’s a big difference,” he tells me. “You can fight back.”

  He starts to reach for me to haul me to my feet, so I let instinct take over and throw the coffee in his face. It’s not hot enough to do any real damage, but I know it’s got to hurt. He cries out and stumbles back, out of my way. I grab my knapsack and rise off the bench. I mean to make a run for it. I’ve got no real fight with this guy and can’t see any point in sticking around. All I need right now is for the cops to come by again because this time I don’t have Zeffy around to bail me out—not that she even would, considering how well we got on the last time I saw her.

  But I don’t get the chance to run. Someone grabs me from behind. A voice shouts, loud in my ear.

  “Here, I’ve got him!”

  Hank comes at me, swinging. I jerk my head back and it rams the face of the guy holding me. And then...

  I don’t quite know what happens. I have this fleeting thought that I must have given myself a concussion, because a severe vertigo hits me. My eyes are open, but there’s nothing to see. It’s as though someone’s erased the world, deleting everything in it except for me and the stranger holding me.

  But he’s not a stranger, I realize. It comes to me that I recognized his voice. His voice? My voice. It’s Devlin that grabbed me. Devlin that’s with me here, wherever here is.

  And then I lose it. The ground comes rushing up to hit me. I’m pulling Devlin down with me. But there’s no impact. We just keep falling, falling. I hear someone yelling something, but I can’t tell if it’s Devlin or me. Can’t tell up from down. There’s a pulling in my head, as though my mind is being sucked into a funnel, squeezed into an ever-narrowing conduit that it simply won’t fit through and—

  Everything goes black.

  OWNING YOUR OWN SHADOW

  For every evil under the sun,

  There is a remedy, or there is none.

  If there be one, seek till you find it;

  If there be none, never mind it.

  —from Mother Goose

  1 NIA

  The more time she spent in Zeffy’s company, the better Nia liked her. She’d liked the whole group of them—Zeffy, Tanya and especially Jilly. They were so interesting. The fact that they were all probably twice her age didn’t strike her in the least bit odd. She’d always gotten along better with adults than kids her own age. That wasn’t something that had started with Max; it was just the way it was. If she thought about it at all, it was probably because her mother had always treated her as a friend instead of a child.

  Used to treat her that way, Nia corrected herself. Before the walls went up. Before her mother decided she liked women better than men. Before the aliens came and set up house in her head. Whatever.

  She sighed heavily which made Zeffy turn to look at her.

  "We’re almost there,” Zeffy said.

  “I’m not tired,” Nia assured her. “I was just thinking.”

  Zeffy’s features took on a worried look that Nia already knew didn’t fit in at all with her new friend’s usual good humor.

  “You and me both,” Zeffy said. “I’m still trying to figure out why I’m even letting myself get mixed up in all of this.”

  At Nia’s side, Buddy seemed to have taken Jilly’s advice to heart. He’d been relaxed ever since they’d left the restaurant, actually butting his head against Nia’s leg and wagging his tail whenever she reached down to give him a pat.

  "Is it Max you like?” she asked Zeffy. “I mean, the person he is, or is it the way he looks?”

  “What makes you think I like him?”

  Nia smiled. “Because I figure that must be why you’re here. If you hated him, you wouldn’t be helping out.”

  “If I buy into it—which I haven’t completely...” Zeffy’s voice trailed off. She glanced at Nia. “Well,” she tried again. “He looks like Johnny Devlin, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.”

  “I think he’s handsome.”

  “Handsome’s perhaps too strong a word. I’d say attractive instead, except Johnny—the Johnny I've always known before the last few days—has always been so full of himself and there’s nothing worse than a good-looking man who’s too aware of his good looks, you know? There’s something in their eyes, or in the way they smile, that just gives me the creeps.”

  “But Max isn’t like that.”

  Zeffy gave her a tired smile. “Max. Who’s supposedly living in Johnny’s head now.”

  Nia hadn’t lost her own confusion in dealing with it all, either. Last night, she’d have had no doubt. But after he’d jumped all over her earlier today and been so mean, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

  “Except for the two big fights we’ve had,” Zeffy went on, “and even they weren’t anything like arguing with Johnny, I have to admit he’s been really sweet. He wasn’t all full of himself like usual, his gaze stayed on my face instead of my boobs and he just generally seemed like another person.” She shot Nia a glance. “And yes, he was someone I could like.”

  Nia didn’t say anything.

  “Okay,” Zeffy said. “I could like him a lot.”

  “How do you think you’ll feel when they’re both back in their own bodies again? Do you think you’ll still like him?”

  “What are you now—a matchmaker?”

  Nia shrugged. “I just like Max and I like you and I think it would be really cool if you guys were together. Who knows?” she added, teasing now. “Maybe he’d make you a guitar.”

  “Oh, please. Like that’s a good reason to get into a relationship? Though when I think of what it’s like to play one of his instruments, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

  Nia gave her a quick worried look.

  “Now I’m teasing,” Zeffy assured her.

  “I knew that.” Beat. “So? Would you still like him as much?”

  “I really don’t know,” Zeffy said. Then she smiled. “Who knows? Maybe I’d like him more because then he wouldn’t be carrying around the baggage of Johnny’s face.”

  Nia gave her a puzzled look.

  “You know,” Zeffy explained. “Looking at him, I wouldn’t keep thinking of everything that went down before.”

  “I guess there’s that.”

  “What about you?” Zeffy asked. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Nia shook her head. “I only ever seem to meet dorks.”

  “Well, thank you very much.”

  Nia laughed. They waited for a last light. Across the street, they could see the entrance of the park ahead. Buddy
pushed his face against Nia’s thigh, the way he did every time they stopped for a moment, and she gave the wiry fur around his ears an affectionate ruffle.

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “I never seem to attract the kind of guy I’d like to hang out with.”

  “Welcome to the real world,” Zeffy told her.

  The light changed and they crossed over.

  “So Max isn’t really your type?” Nia asked as they approached the park’s entrance.

  “I don’t know,” Zeffy said. “I’d have to get to know him first.” She gave Nia a wry look. “I will tell you that there were sparks when I met him in Johnny’s body—and that was when I was still entirely sure he was Johnny and had absolutely no inclination to like him, little say think about getting into anything more intimate with him. But looking back, I know those sparks came from who he was inside because Johnny never appealed to me in the looks department.”

  “I wish—” Nia began.

  But then Buddy tugged on her leash at the same time as Zeffy said, “There they are!”

  Nia looked in the direction Zeffy was pointing and spied Max sitting on a bench, arguing with a man she didn’t recognize. Behind, out of Max’s line of vision, Johnny was making his way toward the bench. There was something about his body language that told Nia he meant Max harm, though she couldn’t have explained exactly what she thought he was going to do. It was just a warning tingle that went racing up her spine, but before she could shout a warning, the opportunity was gone. She watched Max hurl a coffee in the stranger’s face, Johnny grab him from behind, Max whip his head back as the stranger took a swing at him and then the world went surreal.

  One moment there were three men jostling about beside the bench, the next there was only the stranger, staggering back from where Max and Johnny had simply disappeared. The stranger backed away slowly. He glanced in their direction, eyes widening slightly, then he took off, running in the opposite direction.