by Clive Barker
"I should have done that," Howie said softly. "I had a chance to learn from Fletcher, but I never took it."
"You're Fletcher's son," D'Amour said. "His spirit's in you. It's just a question of listening to it."
"He was a genius," Howie told Harry. "I really believe that. I'm sure he was out of his mind on mescaline half the time, but he was still a genius."
"I want to hear," said D'Amour. "Do you want to tell me?"
Howie stared at him for a long moment. Then he sighed, and with a tone very like surprise said:
"Yes. I think I do."
Grillo was sitting in the 50's Cafe on Van Nuys Boulevard in Sherman Oaks, trying to remember what it was like to enjoy food, when somebody came and sat opposite him in the booth. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the cafe wasn't full. He raised his head to request some privacy but instead said:
"Tesla?"
She was dressed in quintessential Bombecksquerie: a flock of ceramic swans pinned to a midnight-blue blouse, a red bandanna, dark glasses. Her face was pale, but her lipstick, which clashed with the bandanna, was glitzy. Her eyeshadow, when she slipped her glasses down her nose, was the same shade of riot.
"Yes," she said.
"Yes what?"
"Yes Tesla."
"I thought you were dead."
"I've made that mistake. It's easily done."
"This isn't some illusion?" he said.
"Well the whole damn thing's that, isn't it? All a show. But us, are we any more illusory than you? No."
"Us?"
"I'll come to that in a minute. First you. How are things?"
"There's not much to tell. I went back to the Grove a couple of times, just to see who survived."
"Ellen Nguyen?"
"She wasn't found. Nor was Philip. I went through the rubble personally. God knows where she went."
"Want us to look for her? We've got contacts now. It hasn't been much fun, as far as homecomings go. I had a body to deal with, back at the apartment. And a lot of people asking difficult questions. But we've got some influence now, and I'm using it."
"What is this we business?"
"Are you going to eat that cheeseburger?"
"No."
"Good." She pulled the plate over to her side of the table. "You remember Raul?" she said.
"I never met the mind, only the body."
"Well you're meeting him now."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I found him, in the Loop. At least I found his spirit." She smiled, ketchup round her mouth. "It's difficult to make this sound wholesome . . . but he's inside me. Him, and the ape he used to be, and me, all in one body."
"Your dream come true," Grillo said. "All things to all men."
"Yes, I suppose so. I mean, we suppose so. I keep forgetting to include us all. Maybe it's best I don't try."
"You've got cheese on your chin."
"That's it, bring us down."
"Don't get me wrong. I'm glad to see you. But . . . I was just beginning to get used to the fact that you weren't around. Should I still call you Tesla?"
"Why not?"
"Well you're not, are you? You're more than that."
"Tesla's fine. A body's called by what it seems to be, right?"
"I suppose so," Grillo said. "Do I look like I'm freaked out by all this?"
"No. Are you?"
He shook his head. "Weird, but no. I'm cool."
"That's my Grillo."
"You mean our Grillo."
"No. I mean mine. You can fuck all the great beauties in Los Angeles and I've still got you. I'm the great imponderable in your life."
"It's a plot."
"You don't like it?"
Grillo smiled. "It's not bad," he said.
"Don't be coy," she said. She took hold of his hand. "We've got some times ahead, and I need to know you're with me."
"You know I am."
"Good. Like I said, the ride's not over."
"Good. Where'd you get that from? That was my headline."
"Synchronicity," Tesla said. "Where was I? D'Amour thinks they'll try New York next. They've got footholds there. Had them for years. So I'm gathering half the team together, he's gathering the other half."
"What can I do?" Grillo said.
"How do you fancy Omaha, Nebraska?"
"Not much."
"That's where this last phase began, believe it or not. In the Omaha Post Office."
"You're kidding me."
"That's where the Jaff got his half-witted idea of the Art."
"What do you mean: half-witted?"
"He only got a piece of the thing, not the whole solution."
"I don't follow."
"Even Kissoon didn't know what the Art was. He had clues, but only clues. It's vast. It collapses time and place. It makes everything one again. The past, the future and the dreaming moment between . . . one immortal day . . ."
"Beautiful," Grillo said.
"Would Swift approve?"
"Fuck Swift."
"Somebody should have."
"So . . . Omaha?"
"That's where we start. That's where all the lost mail of America ends up, and it may have some clues for us. People know stuff, Grillo. Even without realizing it, they know. That's what makes us wonderful."
"And they write it down?"
"Yes. Then they send the letters out."
"And they end up in Omaha."
"Some of them. Pay for the cheeseburger. I'll be waiting outside."
He did, and she was.
"I should have eaten," he said. "I'm suddenly hungry."
D'Amour didn't leave until late in the evening, and when he did he left two exhausted storytellers behind him. He took copious notes, flipping the pages of his pad back and forth as he tried to make sense of the way fragments of information related to one another.
When Howie and Jo-Beth were talked out, he gave them his card with a New York address and number on it, scrawling another, private number on the back.
"Move as soon as you can," he advised. "Tell nobody where you're going. Nobody at all. And when you get there— wherever it is—change your names. Pretend you're married."
Jo-Beth laughed.
"Old-fashioned, but why not?" D'Amour said. "People don't gossip about married folks. And as soon as you've arrived, call me and tell me where I'll be able to find you. I'll be in contact from then on. I can't promise guardian angels, but there are forces that can watch out for you. I've got a friend called Norma I'd like you to meet. She's good at finding watchdogs."
"We can buy a dog for ourselves," Howie said.
"Not her kind you can't. Thank you for all you've told me. I have to get going. It's a long drive."
"You driving to New York?"
"I hate flying," he said. "I had a bad experience in the air one time, minus plane. Remind me to tell you about it. You should know the dirt on me now I know it about you."
He went to the door, and let himself out, leaving the small apartment reeking of European cigarettes.
"I need some fresh air," Howie said to Jo-Beth once he'd gone. "Want to walk with me?"
It was well past midnight, and the cold from which D'Amour had stepped five hours before had worsened, but it stirred them from their exhaustion. As their torpor lifted they talked.
"There was a lot you told D'Amour that I didn't know," Jo-Beth said.
"Like what?"
"The stuff that happened on the Ephemeris."
"You mean Byrne?"
"Yes. I wonder what he saw up there."
"He said he'd come back and tell me, if we all survived."
"I don't want secondhand reports. I'd like to see for myself."
"Go back to the Ephemeris?"
"Yes. As long as it was with you, I'd like that."
Perhaps inevitably, their route had brought them down to the Lake. The wind had teeth, but its breath was fresh.
"Aren't you afraid of what Quiddity could do to us," Howie said, "if
we ever go back?"
"Not really. Not if we're together."
She took hold of his hand. They were both suddenly sweating, despite the cold, their innards churning the way they had the first time, when their eyes had met across Butrick's Steak House. A little age had passed since then, transforming them both.
"We're both desperadoes now," Howie murmured.
"I suppose we are," Jo-Beth said. "But it's all right. Nobody can separate us."
"I wish that was true."
"It is true. You know it is."
She raised her hand, which was still locked in his, between them.
"Remember this?" she said. "That's what Quiddity showed us. It joined us together."
The shudders in her body passed through her hand, through the sweat that ran between their palms, and into him.
"We have to be true to that."
"Marry me?" he said.
"Too late," she replied. "I already did."
They were at the Lake's edge now, but of course it wasn't Michigan they saw as they looked out into the night, it was Quiddity. It hurt, thinking of that place. The same kind of hurt that touched any living soul when a whisper of the dream-sea touched the edge of consciousness. But so much sharper for them, who couldn't dismiss the longing, but knew Quiddity was real; a place where love might found continents.
It would not be long before dawn, and at the first sign of the sun they'd have to go to sleep. But until the light came—until the real insisted upon their imaginations—they stood watching the darkness, waiting, half in hope and half in fear, for that other sea to rise from dreams and claim them from the shore.
CLIVE BARKER was born in Liverpool in 1952. He is the author of The Books of Blood, Volumes I-III, The Damnation Game, In the Flesh, The Inhuman Condition, Weaveworld, and Cabal. In addition to his work as a novelist and short story writer, he also illustrates, writes, directs, and produces for the stage and screen. His films include Hellraiser, Hellhound, and Nightbreed. Clive Barker lives in I.ondon. Stephen King said: "I have seen the future of horror, and its name is Clive Barker." The future is now.
