Minders

by Michele Jaffe

  They went around the back to the door of the chancellery. It had been beautifully refinished and buffed to a high gloss. “Did you do this?” Ford asked, running his palm lovingly over the wood.

  Willy nodded. “Did all the woodwork myself. Left the front shabby so no one gets ideas.” He punched a number into a keypad and the door clicked open.

  They stepped into the cool, silent interior of the nave of the church. The pews had been removed, and the place was stacked with boxes of coffeemakers, salad spinners, curlers, Tupperware, and an inflatable pool. The boxes formed a corridor seven feet high that wound through the nave around other stacks of phone chargers, the complete Shakespeare collection, and a bulk of toilet paper.

  Sadie felt nervous, and she was glad when the hair on the back of Ford’s neck began to prickle. Willy may be a friend, but he’s clearly a troubled friend.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ford said, and it was true.

  “I like to know I have everything under control,” Willy explained. “If anything happens, I got what I need to handle it.”

  What is the inside of his mind like? Sadie wondered.

  Sadie heard Ford wanting to ask what situation called for six popcorn poppers, but he didn’t.

  The trail ran past Chia Pets, YourLastMop, and a ship-in-a-bottle kit, toward a room at the back, separated from the nave by a partition.

  “This must have taken a ton of work,” Ford said.

  Willy looked genuinely pleased. “Yeah. Not many people see all this. Sort of a private hobby, I guess you could say.”

  Sparkplugs, rubber bands, grow-your-own tomatoes—Ford looked up and realized Willy was halfway to the door in the back wall. He rushed forward to catch up to him. “Don’t we have to stay within three feet of each other?”

  Willy turned around, frowning blankly, then his face cleared. “Oh, because of the chips. Nah, that doesn’t matter here.”

  “Why not?” Ford asked.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  The hair prickled on the back of Ford’s neck more. “Why doesn’t it matter?” He followed Willy through the door into a big office, only partially filled with boxes. A large maple desk sat in the middle with a television behind it and a Crock-Pot beside it. The Crock-Pot was on, and the dried-out smell of three-day-old chili filled the air.

  “You hungry?” Willy asked.

  Ford shook his head, looking for a place to sit between the Accu-Lawn garden sprinklers, childproof knife set, beige cowboy hat, Miracle Ear hearing aid, drill—

  The hat. Ford grabbed it and looked inside.

  It was lined with tinfoil and had magnets taped around the edge. Unquestionably Bucky’s, Ford thought.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked Willy.

  “Right off Bucky’s head, would you believe. Was wearing it when they brought him in to chat.” He winked at Ford. “I have you to thank for that. Never would have found him if he hadn’t been so gung ho about talking to you.”

  Willy is the Pharmacist, Sadie said aloud, before she caught herself.

  Ford flinched, then said, “You’re the Pharmacist.” His mind entered a state of suspended animation, as though disbelief had wrapped all his thoughts in cotton.

  Willy smiled and took a little bow. “That I am.”

  It makes perfect sense, Sadie thought to herself. Willy was always the butt of everyone’s jokes, but really the joke had been on them.

  Ford, still struggling to grasp everything, stuck with monosyllables. “How?”

  “I’m the brains behind the operation. Or, I suppose I should say, the brains behind the brains,” Willy chuckled. “They all answer to me. Have a seat.”

  “I’m fine standing,” Ford said.

  “Sit the hell down,” Willy thundered, towering over him. The whites of his eyes showed, and his teeth were bared.

  Ford sat. Instantly, Willy was back to his old self, retreating behind his desk. “That’s better. You wanted to see the Pharmacist. The Pharmacist is in.” He spread his hands. “What can I do for you?”

  Ford’s thoughts were jumbled, and he had no idea where to begin. He stared at Willy’s familiar face, trying to make any of it make sense. “Why call yourself the Pharmacist?”

  “MRP,” Willy said. He had a blue aluminum baseball bat propped on his thigh, resting his chin on the end. “Mr. Pharmacist. Keeping the civil body healthy and in good working order.”

  “Through violence.”

  “Most natural thing in the world,” Willy told him. “Violence is the way of animals from birth on. Can’t have order without violence. Everything worth having has violence in it.”

  “But people only do what you say because you’re using mind control,” Ford said.

  “Not at all,” Willy objected, sounding almost hurt. “It’s an incentive-based system. People do what we want, and we give them what they secretly desire. Or they don’t, and we give them what they most fear. It’s up to them.”

  Ask how they know what desires and fears to use, Sadie said.

  Shut up, Ford ordered. But he said, “How do you know what incentives will work?”

  “From the chips,” Willy answered vaguely. “It’s a complicated process.”

  He’s hedging, Sadie said. Push him for specifics.

  Ford ignored her. “What about why you killed James? Is that complicated?”

  Willy frowned, his eyes drifting around the room. “Who says I killed him? Lots of people wanted him dead. You, for one. He slept with your girlfriend. Don’t look surprised, you knew that.” The eyes now honed in on Ford. “Hell, he practically let you drown. He thought he was so great, but he wasn’t anything.”

  Ford’s mind tightened, like an old-fashioned toy being wound by a key. “So why bother with him?”

  Willy sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk, slapping the bat against his palm. “He stole something of great value. Can’t let stealers go unpunished.”

  “You mean Plum.”

  “You think that’s why James was killed? Out of jealousy for that little tart?” Willy whooped with laughter. “Wrong.”

  Sadie heard Ford wondering what kind of patron Willy was. It was hard to picture them together. “What did he take?”

  “Money,” Willy said, like it was obvious. “James comes to me with this plan. Says he’s going to free City Center, free me, from the tyranny of the Pharmacist. Great guy, your brother. Way it works, that ungrateful girl told him where all the cash is kept—right here, in fact”—he gestured around the room—“and how to get into the safe. She’s only interested in the dough, but James aims higher.” Willie tapped his head. “He’s going to hide out here and ambush the Pharmacist when he comes in to count the money in his safe. The key being since James doesn’t have a chip, he won’t show up on the scanners in here. Just like he’s the invisible man, he says.” Willie grinned. “Only, he was plenty visible to me.”

  “He trusted you,” Ford said.

  “Beautiful sentiment. I didn’t let him down, either. My job was to stick close, take care of any muscle the Pharmacist might have brought, keep the peace.” He nodded boyishly. “And James sure was peaceful at the end. Hit him with a big shot of R22, and it mellowed him right out.” Willy’s expression got grave. “I hope that is of comfort to you and your family.”

  The key in Ford’s mind tightened again, and Sadie caught a split-second image of Ford beating Willy’s face with his fist. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Too bad Bucky’s dead.” Willie stroked the bat fondly. “Would love to know how he got the money out under our noses. And where it went too. Don’t suppose you know where it is?”

  Sadie’s chest tightened, and Ford’s imagined fist connected with Willy’s nose. “Bucky’s dead?”

  Willy shrugged. “More or less. His body’ll be found in a car wreck tomorrow.” He leaned forward, taking his feet off the desk. “But let’s talk about you.”

  Ford was seeing a slideshow of images—James—Bu
cky—Mason—each one interspersed with a punch to Willy’s face. “What about me? I thought I was going to swim with the fishes.”

  Willy waved the comment aside. “That day at the Castle, when you guessed our poker hands. How’d you do that? Fake blindfold?”

  Ford shook his head. “No.” The slideshow stopped, and his mind filled with darkness, except a slim margin where the blindfold was held off his face by his nose. Dots formed into the fingers of the other players, shifting their chips, tapping restlessly, moving around.

  He knew people were bluffing not by their faces but by their hands, Sadie reminded herself. And it was easy enough to see the hands blindfolded if you were standing up.

  “I just got lucky,” he told Willy.

  Willy guffawed. “Keep your friends close and your secrets closer.” He stood up from his desk. “Tell you what I’ll do. Let’s make it a game. I’ll put the bat on the desk between us and count to three, and whoever gets it wins. Test how good you are picking out bluffs under pressure.”

  Wins what? Sadie asked. What does “winning” mean in this game?

  She’d spoken aloud, but Ford ignored her, his mind full of the feel of the bat in his hands—

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll play.”

  What are you playing? Are you seriously telling yourself that you’re going to beat Willy up with that bat? Ford Winter, you are better than that.

  —full of the thwack the bat would make hitting the desk. Hitting bone. Hitting—

  “On three,” Willy said, putting the bat on the desk.

  This is insane. I know you hate me, but trust me, this is a mistake.

  Viscous self-loathing flooded Ford’s mind. Sadie heard him think, Maybe this will get rid of you, and realized the loathing was for her. She’d driven him to this, driven him out of his mind.

  “On three,” Ford agreed.

  “One,” Willy said.

  A flash of blue metal, a thud, dots of color splattering everywhere, Willy chuckling, saying, “I win.”

  Darkness.

  • • •

  She woke up feeling dizzy and had trouble making her eyes focus.

  Her ears were ringing, and there was a metallic taste in her mouth.

  Where was she? What had happened?

  Sadie glanced around the room, the uneven stacks of boxes looming like cliffs in the inadequate light from the high windows. The sounds of someone clipping their nails and watching a nature program came from inside the office up ahead, the announcer saying, “. . . but the natural habitat of these majestic creatures is succumbing to the drumbeat of civilization.”

  Ford must have regained consciousness before she did, because he was on his feet moving toward the office. As he walked Sadie felt his right hand tighten and realized he was holding something, something she couldn’t identify. His grip felt strange, less sensitive than usual.

  Gloves, she realized as he brought his hands up and she saw them. He lifted the edge of the right one just past the scar on his wrist to glance at the Mickey Mouse watch, which showed nine thirty exactly. Why would he be wearing glo—

  She saw it then. The object in his hand.

  He was holding a gun.

  Her mind reeled. No, she thought, then yelled, No! Whatever you are planning, stop. Don’t do this. It won’t get you what you want. But he’d perfected his ability to ignore her now. She felt as if he’d built a wall between them, impervious and reflective, so everything she said just reverberated back.

  He took a step forward, then another. Dread filled her. She wanted to close her eyes, look away, but that wouldn’t change anything. He raised the gun, and as he stepped into the office she heard him think, Watch this, Sadie.

  As if she had a choice.

  Willy spoke without looking up from his nails. “I’m almost done,” he said, nodding toward the nail clippers. “Tough on the mani—” He glanced up with a warm smile. It faded when he saw the gun pointed at his head.

  “Hey, wait a sec—” he said, dropping his hands.

  “Keep them up,” Ford whispered. “Stand up and come around the desk. No more talking.” His voice sounded strained to Sadie, and the windy noises she was used to were nearly silent and unreadable.

  She was terrified. Everything felt wrong, as though the force of Ford’s hate for her had changed his entire mindscape. It was disorienting, like being in the head of a stranger.

  Where are you, Ford? she demanded. I know you’re in there.

  An image of James with Plum’s head on his shoulder, looking up at him for a kiss, formed in Ford’s head, not out of points of color but like a photograph developing. It went from indistinct to clear then began to bubble and curl, the image melting away like old movie film catching fire in the projector, until there was only blankness.

  He steadied his arm and aimed at Willy, standing next to the Crock-Pot now, and the sensation inside of him was nothing like his regular anger, nothing Sadie recognized.

  What are you doing? Sadie cried. This won’t solve anything.

  Another photographic memory forced its way forward, faint outlines becoming Plum holding her iPad, filming, a boy’s voice saying “I promise. Anything you want. Just say you’ll never to leave me.” Sadie felt Ford struggling to hold the memory at that moment, freeze it, but it didn’t stop, overexposure singeing its edges, eating through until it completely corroded and dissolved into ashes.

  The interior of his mind was still then, and cold, so cold. Desolate. Loneliness, Sadie thought.

  But you’re not alone, Ford, she called. I’m here for you. I—

  Ford’s finger tightened on the trigger. Eyes locked on Willy, he punctuated each word with a shot. “She”—bang—“is”—bang—“not”—bang—“a”—bang—“tart.”

  Four hits, all to the chest.

  Sadie was frozen. Time stood still. For an instant Willy’s body hung in the air, and his face became James’s against the same backdrop, eyes glazing over, an expression of pure disbelief as he mouthed the word “You?” Then the body fell to the ground with a thud.

  Sadie opened her mouth to scream her horror, but it was too big, nothing could come out.

  She had just seen Ford kill Willy.

  She gulped, terrified, shaking. Could she have been in his head all this time and never really known the truth about who he was? What he was capable of?

  A loud shrieking filled her head, and she realized it was her own screams echoing back at her as she plummeted into a bottomless hole of pure, terrifying darkness.

  CHAPTER 30

  She’s coming to.”

  “Is she lucid?”

  “I have good brain scans.”

  “Her heart rate is spiking.”

  Curtis’s voice said, “Sadie, it’s all right, you’re fine, you’re safe. Can you look at me?”

  Sadie opened her eyes, expecting to see the oval ceiling of the Stasis Center, but instead she was in what appeared to be a hospital room. There were no sensors; she was in a nightgown. Curtis was next to the bed. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the medical wing at Mind Corps,” Curtis told her. “You’ve been under sedation, but you’re out of it now.”

  “Sedation? What happened to stasis? What’s going on?” The heart monitor reacted with a loud beeping that felt like it was piercing her head. And then it came back to her: Willy, the church, Ford, the gun, gloves—

  Horror. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why am I here? Shouldn’t I still be in Syncopy?”

  Catrina said, “There was a glitch.” Sadie thought she was avoiding Curtis’s gaze.

  Curtis interrupted, “You gave us quite a scare. Your mind disengaged itself from Syncopy. We’ve never seen that before. Did something happen?”

  Sadie had no idea how to answer. Rationally, she knew it should have been simple. She was the eyewitness to a murder. She saw it. She had to report it. Had to turn Ford in.

  I can’t, she protested instinctively, recoiling from the thought. He hadn�
��t been in his right mind.

  Because of you, she went on, torturing herself. You are responsible. You did this to him.

  Unless—

  Immediately she saw an alternative that was worse. What if the Ford she thought she knew wasn’t him at all? What if he’d really been hiding a monster inside of him the entire time? What if he was a psychopath so cunning, so cool, that he’d had her fooled?

  It wasn’t possible. Was it?

  She had to get out of here. She had to see him. Hear his version of the story. Watch him while he talked. Then she would know. Wouldn’t she?

  It would mean betraying Mind Corps, the contract she’d signed, the rules. Betraying Curtis.

  “Sadie?” Curtis said gently. “Is everything okay?” He sounded concerned, as if there could be something really wrong with her, and she felt a pang of guilt. He trusted her, and she was repaying him by lying and running away. Trying to run away, she corrected.

  A faint memory from orientation, someone saying that if you’re pulled out of Sycnopy too early it could cause—

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice almost hysterical in her ears. That could work, she decided. “I—I can’t seem to remember anything past dinner last night. Tortellini. Butternut squash. There was a beet salad.” Too many details, she told herself. “Then he went to bed, and—it’s a blank.”

  “After that?”

  “Nothing.” She felt like the lie must be so obvious, the way Curtis and Catrina were studying her, but she didn’t detect anything on either of their faces. They just looked like they were worried and trying not to show it. She felt another jab of guilt.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “It’s a little after ten,” Catrina told her. “You’ve been under sedation nearly twenty-four hours to make sure your brain scans were clear.”

  Sadie’s heart dropped and she forgot about feeling guilty. Twenty-four hours? He could already have been arrested. She looked from Catrina to Curtis. Did one of them know more than they were saying? Could someone else know what she’d seen?

  “Is there any way to read a Subject’s mind without Minders?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” Curtis said, looking at her curiously.