Technomancer

by B. V. Larson

  I pressed the cell to my chest to block the sound. “Come on, Holly,” I said as she flounced out. “Give me a break.”

  “You should have told me you had a girlfriend before I made a fool of myself,” she hissed.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend—she’s more of a client.”

  “That’s not what she thinks,” Holly said. “I heard her voice change when I answered your phone. I know men, Draith. You can’t bullshit me. Don’t even try.”

  “She’s married, Holly.”

  “Oh, that’s even better!” she said. She tossed her head, sending her hair flying, and marched away. When she reached the hallway, she stopped because there was no place else to go. There were long lines of hotel rooms on both sides of the elevator lobby, but no exits. She looked back and gave me the finger.

  Part of me wanted to follow her and make a long series of apologies. Maybe that was what she expected. Instead, I decided to let her cool off for now. After all, I hadn’t cheated on her. We’d only gotten together the night before.

  When the elevator dinged, I let the doors close and I rode down to the lobby. Thanks to Holly, I stopped on every floor. I barely listened to Jenna, who was still talking in my ear. I rubbed my face and told her to meet me in my hotel restaurant for lunch. I was starving, and I was pretty sure I was lightly hung over.

  Eggs Benedict. Here I was again, eating food that made most people feel worse when they’d had a rough night. But as usual, it worked for me and I felt better. I was already wondering where Holly had gone. I figured she would be safe enough now and she would get over things eventually. She had my number and could call me when she wanted to.

  Jenna came to the restaurant with my black leather bag of stuff. She stood at an impersonal distance, put the bag on the floor, and slid it toward me with her toe. I wasn’t a big believer in body language, but this didn’t look good. I waved for her to sit down.

  “I don’t know, I’ve really got to—” she began.

  “I found the other shoe,” I said.

  Jenna stared at me for a second, then slid into the chair across from me. Her expression shifted from wariness to intense interest. “Robert’s shoe? Tell me everything.”

  I had no intention of telling her everything, but I did give her the essential information. I told her I’d found a portal like the one she said had sucked up Robert, and there was evidence a friend of mine had been taken through it. I’d followed that friend, rescued her from some strange people, and found Robert’s shoe in the same location. I edited out what Holly and I had done all night long in our stolen hotel room after I’d rescued her.

  “So, he might be alive?” Jenna asked.

  I nodded. “I didn’t find anything showing he wasn’t alive. But I didn’t find him either.”

  “Still, it’s something,” she said. She reached out her hand to pat mine where it rested on the table. “Thanks, Quentin.”

  “No problem,” I said, eating the last of my brunch. While I chewed, I used the time to do some hard thinking. What should I say next? I could tell her more—about the cultists and their use of blood. But that would only panic her.

  I realized she’d been talking while I was thinking. I tuned back in as I sipped fresh coffee. One cream, no sugar.

  “Being an instant widow hasn’t softened anyone toward me—except for you, of course,” Jenna told me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I keep getting these messages from the quickie chapel where we were married. I suppose they want to sell me more pictures, or bill me for something.”

  “Messages?” I asked. “Have you listened to any of them?”

  Jenna shook her head. “I just can’t face any of it. I can’t imagine how women hold up when their husbands die on them—arranging for the funeral and all of that. I suppose having years to prepare yourself mentally would help. But I can’t deal with it. I know I should, but I’ve been avoiding reality. I suppose I’m slightly mental in this regard.”

  I frowned at her. “No, I can understand your reaction. I’m sure it was a shock.”

  She dug in her purse and came up with an envelope. She pushed it across the table toward me. “Here’s one of their letters,” she said.

  “They’ve been sending you mail too?” I asked. I took the letter and glanced at the return address. White Rose Weddings, it read. The envelope was business-sized and looked like a bill. I tore it open.

  Jenna gave a tiny gasp and looked upset. I didn’t look up. What had she expected me to do? Ignore it? She was going to have to face up to this one. I unfolded the letter inside and read it quickly. It wasn’t happy news. My eyes flicked up to meet hers.

  “Well?” she asked. “You might as well tell me, since you’ve gone and read it.”

  “Um, I’m not sure what to say. It’s not good news.”

  She reached for the letter, but I slid it away.

  “Jenna,” I said. “Let’s go somewhere else to talk about this.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, becoming angry now. “It’s my letter.”

  I sighed. “It says you’re not legally married.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. Her face was full of mixed emotions, mostly shock.

  I swallowed, unable to think of any way to get out of telling her. If I just handed her the letter, would that be better than hearing the truth from a friend? I didn’t think it would be.

  “It says Robert signed with a false name. That the license and the certificate aren’t legal. They’ve been trying to contact you to come back and clear things up.”

  I explained the situation in a hushed voice and she began to quietly sob. People around us gave me dirty looks. I’m sure they all figured I was breaking her heart. I folded the letter and slipped it into my back pocket while she wasn’t looking. The note gave details she didn’t need to hear. Robert had signed as Harry Houdini. The people at the White Rose hadn’t found this amusing. I figured Jenna wouldn’t find it amusing either, so I made the letter disappear. Not only had she been jilted, the guy clearly thought it was funny. I wasn’t even sure Robert Townsend was his real name.

  I paid the check and walked her toward the elevators.

  “Are you OK, Jenna?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer me. The elevator dinged and two couples stepped out. Their conversation halted as they saw the two of us. Jenna had her hands over her face and was shaking with suppressed sobs. The two men looked uncomfortable and tried to avoid staring, but they did frown. The women glared at me quickly, then looked away. I realized I had a bag over my shoulder, heightening the image that I was in the act of dumping her. Jenna made no move to get onto the elevator despite the fact I had my hand holding it open.

  “Should I leave you alone?” I asked.

  “Come up with me. I have more to tell you.”

  I nodded and guided her, lightly touching her elbow. She finally stepped into the elevator, and when the doors slid shut in front of me, I felt a wave of relief. When we reached her room, I headed for her minibar and made her a drink. She took it wordlessly.

  “Remember when I told you about how it happened? About how Robert vanished? I left out some things. I changed some details.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the details made it sound more like Robert was leaving me. And I didn’t want it to sound that way. I knew if it did, the police would ignore the case. Once I had the story in my mind I stuck to it, even with you. I didn’t think it would matter. I didn’t think the details would stop you from finding him.”

  “So, he didn’t get sucked into a rift?”

  “Well, he did go into it and vanish,” she said, “but he wasn’t sucked up by it. He stepped into the shimmering, burning air, talking to me about how cool it looked. He didn’t seem scared at all.”

  “And the shoe?”

  Jenna looked a little embarrassed. “I ripped it off his foot. I thought maybe it was pulling him in, somehow mesmerizing him. He wasn’t a
cting like himself. So I went after him and grabbed his left foot. His shoe came off…he yanked it away from me.”

  I nodded, rubbing my temples. What a bastard. It was one thing to take off on her—but for Townsend to not even call and let her know he was still alive? I was convinced now that Robert Townsend, or Houdini, or whoever he was, still breathed somewhere. He had quite a sense of humor, our friend Robert. I intended to discuss it with him when I got the chance.

  “He seemed possessed. I thought I was helping.”

  I wanted to apologize for my sex, but I figured it was bad timing. I didn’t need to associate myself with this cad in her mind.

  “Love requires trust, Jenna,” I said. “Don’t let this man ruin your life.”

  “As of right now, he’s done just that,” she said.

  I looked at her, hearing a new tone in her voice. She was angry now. I saw a look on her face that reminded me of the Jenna I’d first met down in the casino. I recalled she was willing to do anything to get vengeance then. Now, I supposed she was doubly dangerous. If I were Robert, I wouldn’t come near her again. It occurred to me that perhaps he knew about her smoldering temper. Maybe that’s why he’d bailed out on her in such a cowardly fashion. I also wondered what else she might have lied about.

  I had a sudden thought. “What about the ring?” I asked. “Do you still have it?”

  “Yeah,” she said, lifting it up.

  I stared at her. “If he was such a bastard, why would he leave you his ring?” I asked.

  As I watched, she held up her hand and removed the ring. She reached out her hand toward me. “You should take it. I don’t want it now.”

  I had to admit, I was sorely tempted. I reached out my hand, my eyes widening, delighted with the power they saw in her fine palm. But I controlled myself. I reflected that these unique objects did fill a person with greed, just as Gilling had said.

  Instead of taking her ring, I closed her fingers over it. My hand gently encompassed her smaller fist. “If he did leave it by accident,” I said, “then he’s out there somewhere, kicking himself. What better way to get back at him? You have the one thing he truly loves.”

  Jenna brightened a fraction. Her tears had stopped now, and she looked at me thoughtfully. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ll keep it.”

  I leaned back and smiled. Inwardly, some darker part of my mind complained I was an idiot. Why didn’t I just hand her my sunglasses as well, along with every dime in my pocket as a tip? I told myself to shut up. Sure, I could use some luck. But the ring hadn’t brought Jenna luck in love, and that was what she really cared about. Winning at cards wasn’t all there was to life.

  At some point while we were talking, I put my hands into my pockets. I frowned, finding something hard in there. Something unexpected. I jerked my hand out in alarm when I realized what it was.

  “What’s wrong?” Jenna asked.

  I clenched my teeth and looked pained. How did you tell a woman you had a dead man’s finger in your pocket? And indeed, that’s just what I’d found. I had kept the Gray Man’s finger in there since I’d walked out on the cultists and had my little talk with Gilling. It felt odd to the touch—like a pen in my pocket. Only this pen flexed when I walked around, now that I was thinking about it, I could feel the joints move. I felt a little sick, and couldn’t hide the fact from Jenna.

  “I’ve had a hard night,” I said, standing up. “Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Of course,” she said. “The eggs Benedict probably didn’t help.”

  I nodded, wishing she was right. I went into the bathroom, which was more or less equivalent to a million other hotel bathrooms. I pushed the door shut with my foot and looked at myself in the mirror. I could see the outline of the finger in my pocket.

  “Do you have any tissues out there in the room? I don’t see—” I began, but then I found the box. It was hidden under the bathroom counter. I pulled out a tissue—then ripped out a half dozen more. I wadded them up and reached into my pocket, using them like a glove. I could barely feel the shape of it, and that was just fine with me.

  I had worked it halfway out of my pocket when a pretty nose poked into the restroom with me. She had a tissue in her hand. I realized I hadn’t locked the door.

  “Are you OK?” Jenna asked.

  I jumped. It was a natural reaction. I must have felt guilty at some level. The finger, which I was wrapping in a fresh layer of paper, sprang seemingly of its own accord onto the bathroom counter. The counter was polished to look like a granite slab. The finger stood out as a pale curled object, unmistakably alien on the slate-gray surface.

  The finger thumped down, and Jenna craned her neck to look at it. I thought about pushing her out, but it was already too late.

  “What is that—” she began, then she cut off in a strangled scream. She disappeared and I walked after her.

  “Sorry you had to see that,” I told her.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded. She sat on the bed now, beside the phone. She had put one hand on the receiver, but she hadn’t picked it up and dialed the police yet. Instead, she’d grabbed a pillow with her other hand and hugged it to her chest.

  “I never told you about what McKesson and I found,” I said, “about the Gray Men.”

  “What Gray Men? Are you some kind of weirdo? I really can pick them. Mom always said that, you know. She said if there were six football players and a freak in a line, I would choose the lucky number seven every time.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair. I wasn’t quite sure how to talk her through this one. In the end, I decided just to dive into it. I told her about McKesson, about the Gray Men in their city of cubes, and about shooting them as they came through into our world. I urged her to remember she’d seen her husband step away into an impossible rip in space. Before I was finished, she was staring at me in disbelief.

  “That’s how my story must have sounded to the cops,” she said. “No wonder they looked at me the way they did.”

  After I’d talked Jenna into a relative state of calm, she finally came to believe what I was saying—with reservations. At least she’d taken her hand away from the phone. She still had a death grip on her pillow. After a few minutes more, during which I explained how I’d come into possession of this unusual trophy, she was willing to look at the finger again. I noticed, however, that when she followed me toward the bathroom, she didn’t follow closely.

  What finally convinced her I was telling the truth wasn’t the grayish color of the finger’s skin. That seemed normal enough, given that it had been dead for some time. What did it was the pearl-colored spur on the knuckle. Once examined closely, it seemed distinctly inhuman.

  “So, you killed some kind of mutant?” she asked, leaning around the corner of the doorway.

  “I don’t think so. In his world, he was perfectly normal. There were quite a number of these Gray Men in evidence.”

  “How did you walk around all day with that in your pocket and not think about it?” she demanded.

  I thought of alcohol, of Holly, and the resulting long night of distractions. But I decided to leave Holly out of my explanation.

  “I had a few drinks,” I said. “And I was overwhelmed with other things, such as surviving.”

  Jenna was willing to accept that. She peeked at the finger with big eyes. “What are we going to do with it?” she asked, her voice hushed.

  I wasn’t so impressed by it now. I had originally thought I could use it to get McKesson’s attention. Maybe I could threaten to take it to medical people and blow this whole thing into a big news story. After all, he’d said it was his job to cover up details like this. But I realized now that the newspeople weren’t going to be terribly interested. Unsubstantiated sightings of aliens, bigfoot, and the like went on every day. They always turned out to be hoaxes. That indicated to me that they were either being covered up, or they really were hoaxes. In either case, no one was going to take me seriously. Still, I didn’t wan
t to give up on a piece of real evidence. I supposed that part of my personality wanted to investigate the darkest of secrets.

  “Have you got something to keep it in?” I asked Jenna.

  She looked at me and winced. “Do we have to keep it? Won’t it start to rot or something?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but I’m not dropping it in the hotel room trash.”

  “Maybe you could sneak into a room across the hall and dump it there.”

  “How rude,” I said, laughing. “But seriously, do you have something?”

  In the end, she produced a small plastic bottle filled with shampoo. “Here,” she said. “But I’m not touching it.”

  I dumped the shampoo into the sink. I washed out the bottle and dried it with the hotel hair dryer. Then I used a plastic key card to scoot and nudge the finger into the bottle and screwed on the cap. I could see it through the orange plastic. I shook it, and the spur rattled.

  “That is the most disgusting thing ever,” Jenna said.

  “You should never enroll in medical school.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  I frowned at the finger in the bottle. It did look exactly like it had when I’d found it. There had been no discoloration. Even the bloody end, where it had been severed, looked…fresh.

  Still frowning, I unscrewed the bottle again.

  “What are you doing?” Jenna asked.

  I tipped it upside down over the counter. The finger didn’t fall out right away; I had to shake it. The spur on the back of the knuckle had gotten caught on the opening.

  “I am not going to watch this,” she said, leaving.

  I finally managed to shake it out upon the countertop. I used the plastic key card again, scooting it around so the severed end faced me. I saw the flesh was red and looked like raw meat. Yes, it was disgusting, but it was also bizarre. Why hadn’t the blood dried up? Why did it still look wet and freshly severed? I tapped at it again and examined it, my face inches from the countertop.