by Inmon, Shawn
He had not bought the same Chevelle this life. He associated it too much with the life he had just lived. Instead, he bought a more practical 1971 Ford pickup. It wasn’t beautiful—in fact, he called it The Ugly Truckling—but it was a lot easier to haul lawn mowers and Evinrude motors around in it.
Dominick started the truck and reversed out onto the street in front of the house. He didn’t go far, just a few blocks down to the convenience store, and the payphone outside. He had thought of making this phone call for months—years, really, if he was honest with himself—but like every other major decision in his life, he was impetuous and did it on the spur of the moment.
He stepped into the payphone and swung the door closed behind him, but it was immediately stultifying, and the enclosed space and heat made it smell suspiciously of urine. He swung the door open again and let the fresh air in. He reached in his pocket and scooped out a handful of quarters. He dropped them on the steel counter, then stacked them into piles of four.
From memory, he dialed the number he had memorized in Sheboygan the year before.
Not really going to talk to her. I just need to hear her voice. Know that she’s okay.
An operator came on the line and said, “One dollar and seventy five cents, for the first three minutes, please.”
Dominick dropped seven of his quarters into the slot. There was a distant, tinny buzzing on the other end of the line. It rang three, four, five times.
Nobody home. Okay.
He reached up to pick up the rest of his quarters.
He heard a noisy click on the other end of the line. A woman’s voice said, “Hello?”
Dominick’s throat grew tight. Sweating in the heat of the summer day, the phone grew slippery in his hand. He cleared his throat, and said, “Is Emily there?”
There was a long pause, then the woman’s voice said, mechanically, “Who is this?”
Dominick was ready for that question. “Brad Stevens,” he said, giving her the most anonymous name he could think of this side of John Smith.
“How did you know Emily?”
Dominick was nervous, and the past tense slipped right by him, unnoticed.
“I’m just a friend, from school.”
“I see. Mr. Stevens, Emily passed away almost five years ago.”
Dominick stood dead still, the phone still in his hands, but he wasn’t hearing. Her words echoed through his head, tearing paths like a bullet.
“Mr. Stevens? Mr. Stevens, are you there?” Her voice, more distant, as if she had turned her head away from the receiver, said, “He said he was a friend from school.”
A moment later, a man’s stern voice came on the line. “Hello? When did you know Emily? Hello?”
The phone slipped from Dominick’s grasp and hung at the end of its braided metal cord, swaying back and forth.
Dominick stumbled from the phone booth, leaving the stacks of quarters behind. He made it to his pickup, then reached one hand out to steady himself. His world spun around him, and he slumped to the ground with his head resting against the front bumper.
An unknowable time later, he started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. He drove without thinking. He passed the city limits sign for Emeryville and kept driving west. The further he drove, the faster he went. A few miles out of town, the road curved left. To the right was a steep hillside, covered by rocks, trees and underbrush. Dominick floored the accelerator.
Chapter Forty-Six
Margenta grasped Carrie’s pyxis roughly.
“Aaaack!” Carrie yelped in surprise. She had been so focused on undoing Dominick’s suicide that she hadn’t known she was being observed.
Margenta pulled the pyxis from Carrie’s hands and slipped it into a fold in her billowing white robe.
“You have already been warned. Now you will face the Council.” Margenta put one hand on Bertellia’s shoulder and another on Carrie’s.
The scene shifted as though someone had changed the channel. The three of them were in a room so large, it might have been outdoors, if not for walls in the far distance and an arching ceiling that rose as high as the eye could see.
The three of them stood on an inky-black floor. Hovering in front of them were nine desks. Bertellia leaned over to Carrie and whispered, “This is the Temporal Relocation High Council.”
Margenta shot a look at Bertellia, and Bertellia hushed, then took a step back.
There were nine figures, one standing at each of the desks. They appeared to wear robes made entirely of light, which made it difficult to focus on, or even see, their faces.
Carrie’s eyes widened. I didn’t think there was much they could do to me, other than maybe tell me I couldn’t do this job any more, but this place, those ... beings are unsettling.
The being in the middle desk, dressed in a shimmering robe the color of the sky at sunset, raised her hand and said, “Margenta, why have you asked the council to convene?”
Carrie shook her head slightly. She wasn’t sure if the voice—which sounded as melodic as a brook babbling across stones—was heard through her ears, or just through her mind.
Margenta bowed her head reverently. “Blessed One, one of my Watchers has deviated from her duties of feeding the Machine. Instead of performing her only task, she becomes involved,” she sniffed a bit, “in the outcomes of their lives.”
“This is against our protocol.”
“Yes. Thus, my request for the meeting of the High Council.”
“Watcher, what is your name?”
“Carrie.”
“Is what Margenta says true? Are you interfering with the lives of humans on Earth?”
“Yes,” Carrie said, trying to take the shake out of her voice. “It is.”
“Why?”
“Because I am human, and I refuse to watch my brother and sister humans suffer needlessly.”
“You understand that they cannot actually be harmed?”
“Yes, but their psyches can be harmed. I don’t like to see them in pain.”
An odd buzzing sound emanated from the beings behind the desks as they conferred.
“Do you understand that this emotional pain feeds the Machine?”
“Yes, but so does any emotion. I would rather gather happiness, contentment, joy.”
The being behind the far right hand desk, who wore a robe the color of shifting sands, said, “But, do you understand that the emotional pain you witness is likely part of their growth process.”
Carrie considered this, then quietly said, “No, I don’t. I don’t interfere often. Pain is everywhere. I just do my best to mitigate it for those I watch over.”
“Margenta, what do you recommend we do?”
“I recommend reassignment or recycling. Perhaps another few passes through lives on Earth will bring her the needed perspective.”
The blue-robed being in the middle desk said, “Thank you, Margenta, for bringing this to our attention. We will pass judgement now.” The odd buzzing, rising and falling in pitch and harmonics, recommenced for several seconds.
“It is the judgement of the Council that ...”
A breeze riffled the air, carrying the scent of a faraway dream. The room became brighter, but there was no apparent source for the light.
Carrie sucked in her breath. Her whole body tingled. A calm settled over her that she had never known.
“Oh!” Blue-Robe said. “We are honored by Your presence.” She bowed her head.
Carrie looked around to see who, or what she was referring to, but saw nothing else. She listened intently, but could not hear a voice.
After a moment of silence, Blue-Robe said, “I see. Yes, of course. As You wish.”
The light faded. The breeze dissipated. The sense of calm belonging that had washed over Carrie slowly receded.
There was a great sigh that spread across those assembled, as if the connection that had brought them all together, was now broken.
“The ruling of the Council has ... evolve
d. There will be a new protocol in place, effective immediately. The IS That IS has conveyed that what has been in the past will no longer be. The IS That IS has spoken. The word for this new protocol will be, kindness. The IS That IS wishes us to retrain ourselves to learn kindness and compassion for those we watch over.”
The buzzing, in a lower key this time, recommenced.
“Margenta, Bertellia, as part of the training program, you will be reassigned as Watchers. Carrie, you will be Watcher Superior now, and will be in charge of training.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
At the last possible moment, Dominick let off the gas and braked hard. The truck had veered onto the shoulder and fishtailed on the loose gravel, ending up sideways, with the back end resting on dirt.
I promised myself I would think things through. Stop doing shit without thinking. But, what is there to think about? Emily is gone from this world. No matter what I do, no matter how long I wait, she will never be here.
Dominick looked up and noticed his surroundings for the first time. He checked for oncoming traffic, turned the wheel and drove back the way he came.
What are my choices? Kill myself again, start over again, and hope that Emily is still there next time? I might go even crazier than I am if I have to live through this again. But, if I just stay here, then what? Just resign myself to a life without Emily? What does that look like? Wait and eventually meet someone else I can love, even though I know they would always be second in my heart to Em?
Dominick did his best to gather his wits about him and drove home. He parked in his normal spot and walked in the house. As soon as Laura saw him, she said, “Nicky! What’s wrong?”
“Huh? Nothing, Mom, why?”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
I’m the only ghost around here, Mom.
She hurried over to him and laid the back of her hand against first his flushed cheek, then his forehead.
“You don’t have a fever. Come on, sit down over here on the couch.”
“Ah, thanks, I’m really not feeling well. I think I’ll go lay down on my bed for a little while.”
“Good idea. I’ll have dinner ready soon enough. If you fall asleep, you just rest, and I’ll save you a plate.”
Dominick laid down in the darkened bedroom he shared with Sam and did his best to think, but his thoughts just chased each other round and round.
No matter what, it comes down to two choices. Go on, and live without Emily, or start over again, and have a chance to be with her.
He followed those dueling ideas round and round, like water circling the drain. Soon, he was asleep, and dreamed of Emily, as he so often did. Typically, when he dreamed of her, she was far away, and he tried to reach her but his muscles turned to jelly, or flat ground grew so steep he couldn’t climb to her.
Today, though, she was near him. He reached out to her and said, “Em, what am I supposed to do?” She didn’t speak, but reached for him, touching his face. He reached up for her hand, but opened his eyes to see his mother.
“Just wanted to check on you, Nicky. You’ve been asleep for hours, honey. How are you feeling?”
Suicidal, if you want to know the truth, but I can’t tell you that.
“I’m fine, Mom. Just got a little bug or something, I think.”
“Why don’t you come outside? I saved you some fried chicken, and your dad’s getting ready to cut up a watermelon.”
Dominick nodded, stood up and slipped his shoes on. He felt strange, like he was wrapped in gauze and walking through a cloud.
He wandered out to the picnic table they had set up in the front yard. The sun had slipped behind the horizon and he could see a few stars beginning to twinkle in the sky.
“There he is!” Joe said. “Ready for watermelon?”
“Sure,” Dominick said, although he had never been less hungry in his life.
Joe sliced a piece and set it in front of him.
Neighborhood kids ran down the street with sparklers, making crazy designs in the air.
Dominick sat and stared out at them, at the sky, at the deepening gloom. He didn’t notice it, but tears had formed and slipped down his cheeks.
Laura gave Joe an alarmed look but stayed calm. She laid her hand on Dominick’s shoulder and said “Come on honey, let’s get you back in bed.”
As soon as he laid down again, Dominick slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When he woke up in the morning, the fog of the previous day had cleared. He awoke before the sun was up, and already had the coffee on when Joe came out of the bedroom to get ready for work.
“Hi, Dad,” he said, as he poured two cups, black.
“Hey,” Joe said, blowing the steam off his cup. He looked appraisingly at Dominick. “Feeling better?”
Dominick smiled. “Yeah, better. Thanks, Dad.”
“Good boy. Thanks for the cup.” He collected his lunch box and was off to work. Dominick went out to the little one-car garage where he had worked on engines both large and small for almost twenty years, spread over two lifetimes. He lifted and moved several of the motors and mowers that he had been working on over the previous few days, making space.
While he was doing that, Laura got in her car to go to work as well. She gave him a smile and a wave.
Dominick got in his truck, drove it into the garage and shut the door behind him. Working steadily, he picked up the shop rags he kept stacked in the corner and filled all the holes and cracks in the little garage as best he could. He turned the little transistor radio to the same country station it always played, then started the truck and laid down across the bench seat,
One more try, Emily. One more try.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Carrie stood at the front of an auditorium the size of Utah, on Earth. She hadn’t sought the position she was in, but also didn’t feel like she could resist taking it. Her actions had led to this, how could she fail to follow through?
As she spoke, she leaned over and manipulated her Pyxis, which was blown up in size behind her so that everyone, no matter how far away, could see it. She looked at the image of Dominick, moving around the garage, preparing, once again, to end his life.
“This is an art, not a science. This is about knowing the people you watch over, and how the different paths of their lives will play out. We can’t just pay attention to what they want at any given moment, because humans are so imperfect, what they want will often lead them to more unhappiness. We need to learn to read their hearts, their true selves, their souls. A person’s soul never desires the wrong thing. It is incapable of that. A person’s soul only wants to connect, to feel, to belong.”
She waved her hand at the image behind her. Dominick was laying down in his truck, preparing to die. “This young man is preparing to commit suicide. So. Is that good, or is that bad? Is it harmful to him, or does it help him accomplish what his soul cries out for?”
She looked up at the faces of the millions who stared at her, rapt.
“There are no absolutes. Will you make mistakes? Yes. That is part of our learning process here, just as it is for those still on Earth. In this case, I have watched over this soul for three lifetimes. I know that with this person, his heart, his mind, and his soul, are all in alignment. The right thing for me to do here is to watch. And to feed the Machine.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
This time, Dominick opened his eyes, knowing exactly what to expect. Sure enough, Connie was sitting on his chest, looking worried. He sat up, hugged her, and said, “It’s okay, Squig. I’m okay.”
Relieved, she smiled and said, “Bubby’s burning.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m sitting on lava. Game’s over for right now. C’mon, help me pick up the cushions, but be careful not to knock the lamp over and break it.”
The extraordinary had become, if not commonplace, at least accepted.
Second time I died, I had no idea if I would even wake up again, and if so, where would I be. This time, tho
ugh, I’m starting to figure it out.
Dominick looked down at his hands, small and childish once again, where they had been lean and strong, just a few moments before.
Now, I’ve got the prison stretch of childhood ahead of me. I’ll bet people would think it would be great to be a kid again, no bills or responsibilities, but they haven’t had to live the reality. People don’t listen to you when you’re a kid, no matter what you have to say. Your life is constantly under the control of someone else. It sucks.
An image of Emily crossed his mind and a small smile crossed his face.
But you’re worth it, Em.
DESPITE HIS RESERVATIONS, Dominick slipped easily back into being a nine year old again
Fourth time’s the charm.
He did his best to make small improvements in both his life and the people he loved as he lived through well-trod ground. He had learned that his father was willing to listen to him about using chewing tobacco, so he made sure to have that conversation with him each life. Dominick dreamed about having both his parents there the day he and Emily got married.
The years passed no more quickly the fourth time through than they had the two previous. He still spent too much time bored, casting about for things to keep himself occupied. He still started the small engine repair business, but this time he took a longer view of his future, as well. He planned accordingly, doing his best to use his scant knowledge of the future financial markets to make his plans.
More than anything, he wondered and worried about Emily.
Is she okay? Is she even alive? How do I know?
Dominick still had her number in Sheboygan memorized, and he put it to use. Every year, from the time he was once again fifteen years old, Dominick snuck away to the same payphone. He stacked the quarters on the steel shelf and dialed her number. The operator answered, told him how much the first three minutes would be, and then connected him.
