Fringe - the Zodiac Paradox

by Christa Faust

  “Do you think Payton is going to be okay?” Susan asked.

  Speaking of traditional femininity, Susan was the dictionary definition. Cloying floral perfume, perky smile, vapid gaze. But Leslie didn’t want to write a sister off just because she’d been brainwashed by patriarchy. Never one to miss out on an opportunity to encourage free and radical thought among women, she reached into the inner pocket of her coat and pulled out a mimeographed flyer.

  “He’ll be fine,” she said, handing the flyer to Susan. “Listen, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, why don’t you stop by my place for the weekly meeting of our feminist consciousness-raising group.”

  Susan looked dubiously at the flyer.

  “What kind of group?” she asked.

  “Consciousness raising,” Leslie repeated. “It’s nothing uptight or structured or anything like that, we just meet once a week to share our experiences and feelings and talk about the ways in which we have been oppressed by the male-dominated culture.”

  “Oh,” Susan said. “Um... thanks.”

  Payton picked that moment to show up, sipping a large strawberry Butchie shake. Leslie frowned at the shake as he slid open the back door and climbed into the van.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked. “If your stomach is upset...”

  “It’s better now,” Payton replied.

  “If you say so,” Leslie said, shoving the van into drive and pulling out of the parking lot. “But I’m gonna tell you this right now, if you toss your cookies back there, I’m not cleaning it up.”

  A huge tan ’68 Chrysler Newport skewed across the driveway of the burger joint, smoke pouring out from under its hood, and blocking the only way out.

  “You have got to be kidding,” Leslie said. She laid on the horn and stuck her head out the window. “Hey, move that boat out of the way, will ya? We gotta be somewhere!”

  The driver got out of the Newport. He was a tubby, red-faced guy in a pair of skin-tight white pants that did extremely unfortunate things to his nether region. He threw his hands up in the air.

  “Engine no good,” he said, with a thick, Eastern European accent. “Is overheat!” He made a pushing motion with both meaty hands. “You help?”

  “Oh, crap,” Leslie muttered. “Come on,” she said over her shoulder, checking her watch again. “The sooner we get this guy’s car out of the way, the sooner we can be on our way.”

  “What?” Susan looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I’m not pushing anybody’s car. That’s a man thing. Let Payton do it.”

  Leslie restrained herself from raising Susan’s consciousness with a boot to her skinny little ass, and got out of the van.

  “Payton, you coming or not?”

  “Okay,” he said, following her like a reluctant child.

  “Thank you, thank you,” the man said when the two of them approached. “I steer, you push, yes?” Leslie nodded, struggling not to look down at his catastrophically squashed and all too visible crotch.

  “Right,” she said, grabbing Payton by the arm and dragging him around to the rear of the enormous vehicle.

  She placed both palms on the trunk.

  “Don’t just stand there,” she said.

  Payton put his hands on the car like he was petting a Doberman of questionable temperament. Leslie rolled her eyes.

  “Now,” the man called, putting the car in gear and then getting out to steer with one hand and push with the other. “Push!”

  Leslie did so with all her strength, but the massive beast of a car was so heavy that even with the three of them, it rolled up the driveway slower than a slug. Not that Payton was doing much in the way of pushing. More like just resting his hands on the car.

  “Come on, push!” Leslie said. “We’re already nearly ten minutes behind. The other teams are depending on us!”

  Payton put a little more effort into it and the Newport started moving a little faster, rolling into the parking lot. The man in the tight pants guided it into an empty parking place and then came back to shake both of their hands, thanking them and offering to buy them a couple of Butchie burgers as a reward.

  “No time,” Leslie said. “But thanks anyway.”

  Payton, who had started to look a little green as they were pushing the car suddenly lurched off to the left and threw up the strawberry milkshake into a nearby trash can.

  “Gee, imagine that,” Leslie said. “Who knew?”

  Payton continued to retch, while Leslie crossed her arms and checked her watch again.

  They were never going to get out of this parking lot.

  43

  As May worked her way through the snarled traffic around City Hall, dipping down into the Lower Haight to avoid the worst of it, she heard her mother’s voice in her head, criticizing her every move.

  So aggressive, the way you change lanes. No wonder you don’t have a husband.

  May hadn’t seen her mother in over a year, estranged as she was from her large family, but that voice was alive and well in May’s head. She could still hear the sharp little tooth-sucking sound of disapproval she would always make, wordlessly cutting May to ribbons over some unforgivable moral transgression, like wearing a short skirt or taking too much food for herself at the family table, instead of making sure her brothers all had enough first.

  Ever since she got the job at the Institute, May felt as if she’d found a brand new family of open, like-minded people who accepted her for who she really was, and didn’t think she was a whore because she took birth control pills or failed to live up to some antiquated stereotype of how women should behave. But the ghost of her disapproving mother wasn’t so easily exorcised. And whenever May was worried or anxious, that voice came back to remind her of what a disgraceful failure she was at every single thing she did.

  She distracted herself from the critical ghost by thinking about that guy from MIT, Walter Bishop. There was something about him that she found appealing, with his terrible coat and wild hair and gentle, curious eyes. He didn’t seem at all intimidated by her intelligence, and shared many of her most passionate interests. She had been deeply moved by the bravery and determination he’d showed in choosing to fight against the Zodiac Killer and was exhilarated to be a part of that fight.

  And she’d always thought she was the only one in the world who actually liked Necco wafers.

  “I don’t feel a thing,” Gary said, leaning his head out the window like a dog. “Are you sure this stuff is gonna work?”

  “Remember,” May replied. “It’s supposed to take fifty-four minutes to kick in. It’s only been...” She looked at her watch. “Thirty-seven.”

  “Do you believe all that business about the Zodiac?” Gary asked. “I mean, what if that’s just a part of the experiment? Testing to see how we react when an element of danger is added in to the mix.”

  May hadn’t thought of that.

  “I suppose that’s possible,” she said, heading up Divisadero to Fell. “I mean, it sounds a lot more plausible than the idea of fighting a psychic serial killer, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” David said quietly from the back seat.

  “No?” May asked, looking up into the rearview mirror. But his head was down, gaze aimed at the floor. “No, it doesn’t sound more plausible?” she said.

  “No, that’s not what’s happening,” David said. “This is real.”

  “What makes you say that?” Gary asked, turning back with one arm thrown over the top of his seat.

  “I just...” David looked away, out the window. “I can just tell. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always... known things. And as soon as I saw Doctor Bishop, I knew that this was real. That this, being a part of this, is what I was meant for. All of us, we have to be a part of this.”

  “Wow,” Gary said, turning back around. “That’s heavy.”

  “I see men,” David said. “Watching me.”

  May frowned, looking up into the mirror again, and then down at her watch.
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  “Right now?” she asked. “You shouldn’t be hallucinating yet.”

  “No,” David said quietly, speaking to his folded hands in his lap. “All the time. They wear hats. Like Alain Delon in Le Samourai. And they never say anything, they just... watch.”

  May looked over at Gary, who smirked and pointed a very unsubtle circling finger at his temple. This revelation was actually deeply worrying to May. David was clearly suffering from some type of mental illness, probably schizophrenia, and the idea of linking minds with a person like that seemed like a spectacularly bad idea, especially with so much at stake.

  Yet, many progressive thinkers had recently suggested that so-called mental illness was really nothing more than freedom from culturally imposed restrictions on the mutually agreed upon “reality.” It was possible that May was being too uptight in her thinking. She should allow herself to be more open about unconventional views of reality.

  After all, just because she couldn’t perceive them, who was she to say that mysterious men with fedora hats weren’t actually watching David?

  Still, she had no way of knowing how David’s unconventional view of reality might effect the experiment.

  Only one way to find out.

  44

  Walter, Nina, and Bell stayed lying on the floor the rest of the way to Golden Gate Park, but even hidden Walter felt as if the whole of San Francisco was watching him. He kept thinking he heard police sirens coming after them, but every time he strained his ears they seemed to fade away again.

  He had to keep wiping his face.

  Sweat was soaking his collar.

  “Paranoia,” he murmured. “I’ve never noticed paranoia as a side effect of our special blend before.”

  “It isn’t paranoia if they really are after you,” Bell said with a smirk.

  At last they were turning off Fell onto Kezar drive and entering the park, the lush green of the trees and lawns swallowing up the noise and visual chaos of the city and enveloping them in soft shady silence. But what should have calmed him down only made Walter more tense.

  They might have escaped the scrutiny of the police, but they were closing in on a much more fearsome adversary, and a much riskier enterprise. Their showdown with the Zodiac was only minutes away. Their chance to get rid of him once and for all. Or perhaps to perpetrate the greatest disaster in San Francisco since the Great Earthquake of 1906.

  Kenneth pulled off the road and parked just south of the playground that lay adjacent to the carousel. Walter rose up cautiously and looked around.

  “Have we heard from Leslie lately?” he asked.

  Nina picked up the walkie-talkie.

  “Leslie?” she said. “Report in please.”

  Leslie’s voice popped from the speaker.

  “Going a bit slow,” she said. “Payton is really feeling the bumps. Don’t know if he’s going to be okay for this.”

  “Damn delicate flower,” Nina growled. She keyed the mike. “Well, get there as soon as you can, please. The clock is ticking.”

  Bell shook his head.

  “Our blend should have no impact whatsoever on the digestive system,” he said. “It has none of the impurities of mushrooms.”

  “It’s fear, Belly.” Walter pressed his dry lips together. “Garden variety. I’m feeling pretty sick to my stomach myself.”

  * * *

  Leslie barreled down Fell Street like a race car driver on speed, pushing the crotchety old van to its limit, swearing out the window and cutting off cars with the horn blaring. Lucky for them, Payton didn’t seem to have anything left inside him to throw up, but he still looked pretty queasy.

  To Leslie’s surprise, Susan seemed exhilarated by her aggressive driving, even letting out a little cheer when she finally cut in front of a cigar-smoking cabbie who was being a jerk and wouldn’t let her into the lane. Leslie was even more surprised when Susan gave the cabbie the finger as they passed. Maybe there was hope for her yet.

  “I don’t know if this is such a hot idea,” Payton said.

  “That milkshake wasn’t such a hot idea,” Leslie snapped. “But you survived, didn’t you?”

  “I think this is fun,” Susan said with a big happy grin. “It’s like being in a cool spy movie or something. And I didn’t even want to come to this class in the first place, because I thought it would be boring!” She patted Payton’s arm. “You’ll be okay. Just visualize peace inside your stomach, like Doctor Rayley says.”

  “Uh... okay,” he said with a wan smile. “You’re probably right.”

  Leslie tried not to be bothered by the fact that men always listened to women like Susan, and almost never listened to women like her. There was too much on her mind to let something like that get to her.

  She drove into the park, searching for Bowling Green Drive. She’d never driven in the park before, since she normally rode her bicycle everywhere, so she got a little bit flummoxed by the one-way streets. The ticking clock made each minor mistake seem epic, and she hated to make any mistakes in front of Susan. It was important for her be perceived as a strong, competent leader, especially given the stakes of this particular mission.

  She forced herself to remain calm and double back without comment, searching for the entrance to the parking lot for the lawn bowling club.

  * * *

  May parked the station wagon on Stanyan Street. Gary ran around to the back and grabbed the picnic basket containing the biofeedback machine, along with a folded plaid blanket. David just stood quietly waiting at the curb.

  “How are you feeling, David?” May asked as they waited for a break in the traffic.

  “Good,” David said, a little half smile playing over his lips. “I feel good.”

  “I don’t feel good yet,” Gary said. “But we should be feeling good any minute now, right?”

  “Right,” May replied, crossing the street and motioning for the two men to follow. “Any minute now.”

  The Sharon Meadow wasn’t too crowded when they arrived. There was a birthday party taking place in the far northern corner, and several trees had been decorated with cheerful, brightly colored balloons and streamers. All the revelers were gathered around a picnic table, clamoring for slices of a large pink cake being doled out by a tiny, grandmotherly woman in a sweater that was almost the exact same color as the cake.

  A pretty young woman with a long black braid that hung nearly to the backs of her knees played fetch with a brindle Boxer puppy. An earnest young Latino man was playing an acoustic guitar while two female friends sang in harmony. On the far southern end, a young couple was enthusiastically making out on a blanket, willfully oblivious to everyone else in the park. The wide center of the meadow was basically empty, with the majority of the population sticking to the shady parts.

  It wasn’t a ton of people, but there were more than May might have preferred. In fact, a public park seemed like a pretty risky place for a dangerous experiment. If it really was dangerous.

  Was this all just part of the test, like the famous Milgram experiment in which students had been told they were delivering painful electric shock to subjects, when in fact they themselves were the ones being studied?

  As May and Gary spread out the blanket for the three of them to sit, she could see the burnt-out shell of the Sharon House through the trees, and wondered if Walter and his friends were in place yet. Real or not, dangerous or not, the experiment would begin in just ten short minutes.

  45

  “Alright,” Bell said to Kenneth. “Are you good to go?”

  Kenneth looked a little unsure, but did his best to cover it with a mask of cocky confidence. Judy and Simon sat side by side in the back seat of the bus with the hushed expectation of kids waiting for a puppet show to begin.

  Walter checked his watch. In about three minutes, the special blend of acid would be kicking in.

  “Excellent,” he said, without much conviction.

  “Start the biofeedback machine,” Nina said to Kenneth. “As
soon as we’re out of sight.”

  “Let’s go,” Bell said. “We have to be in place before the killer arrives.”

  He headed north, through the trees, toward the carousel. Nina followed close behind him. Walter cast one last glance back at the bus and its occupants before hustling to catch up.

  When the carousel came into view, the three of them paused and hung back, scoping the area for any sign of the killer. The carousel itself was open and running, with a small group of people waiting for the current cycle to end so they could have their turn. The organ music was cheerful and upbeat, accented by excited, high-pitched squeals and laughter. A little less than half of the colorful menagerie animals were occupied.

  Beside the carousel stood the Sharon House, a Romanesque stone building stained with soot. It had been closed down and fenced off after a fire gutted the place. Many of its tall arched windows were broken and boarded up. There was a large, charred hole in the north side of the roof.

  Just as they suspected, this burnt-out building would be the perfect hiding place for a sniper who wanted to shoot people on the carousel. It was also perfect as the epicenter for their psychic web, a place where they could open the gate in private, away from curious bystanders.

  When they circled around the back of the building, they spotted a large slit cut into the chain-link.

  Bell put one hand on the fence, eyebrow raised.

  “He must have beat us here,” Nina said.

  “Could have been kids,” Bell said. “Or vagrants.”

  “Should we go in?” Walter asked. “Or...”

  A scrawny black kid about sixteen years old sidled up to them. He had an impressive Afro, sunglasses and an orange leather jacket that he had clearly borrowed from a much bigger friend.

  “Hey, man,” he said. “You from Reiden Lake?”

  Walter and Bell exchanged a look.

  “Who are you?” Bell asked.

  “Your friend said you’d be here,” he said, instead of answering. “He gave me five bucks and asked me to give you this note.”