Neuropath

by R. Scott Bakker

  So long as I hold him. So long as I never let him go.

  They dressed Frankie in a fumbling panic. Thomas silently thanked nobody that he had remembered to bring his velcro shoes. They did a passable job making a discreet, nonchalant exit. Every nurse they passed smiled at the sight of Frankie slumbering in his arms. One man, a custodian, whispered, 'Long day, huh?' An attractive doctor said, 'He's a beautiful little monkey, isn't he?' She even laughed and wiped drool from Thomas's shoulder with her sleeve. 'Such a sound sleeper.'

  Once again, Thomas silently thanked nobody, this time for having the foresight to bring Frankie's Jersey Devils cap. With his scalp shaved and bandaged, she would have realized something was up.

  It was strange, strolling and smiling while his heart lunged in terror. His skin tingled, as though rubbed raw by the catastrophic possibilities that surrounded him. But by the time they made it to the unattended lobby, Thomas felt something akin to criminal glee.

  Twenty steps, he thought, staring at the doors and the concrete darkness beyond them, and we're home free…

  Fifteen steps, and we're home free…

  They trotted down the stairs.

  Ten steps…

  They passed the metal detector, waded through the turnstile.

  We made it, Frankie! This is going to work!

  They pressed through the doors into the hot night, stopped dead in their tracks. All they could hear was the deep, over-the-horizon thrum of the surrounding city.

  The police cruiser's lights seemed to click as they spun, but it was just a trick of the eyes.

  'Sorry-sorry!' Mia cried, bounding to the curb. The officer, who was probing the Toyota's interior with a flashlight, turned in alarm.

  Thomas could only hug his boy's tiny body tight. Control had evaporated. He kissed his warm neck, then sobbed once, twice, against his little shoulder. He could hear Mia's insistent voice, then suddenly he was blinking against the flashlight.

  'Not cool,' he heard Mia say to the cop. 'Nawt cool.'

  'Sorry,' the officer said. 'You two take care.'

  Then Mia was beside him, disentangling Frankie from his arms. 'C'mon. It's okay, Tom. Ups-a-daisy…'

  Somehow Thomas ended up behind the wheel, while Mia tried to secure Frankie in the back seat. Wiping his nose on his blazer sleeve, Thomas slowly accelerated down the street. He felt like an ant pulling away from a tombstone. Please…

  The first police cruiser picked them up before they hit the fourth city block. The siren fairly kicked the breath out of Thomas's lungs.

  'Not-good-not-good-not-good,' Mia muttered.

  Thomas turned the vehicle slowly, not quite able to process what was happening.

  'What are you doing?' Mia cried.

  'I hit the blinker.'

  'I can see that. You afraid we might lose them or something?'

  Thomas sped down the side street. Then swerved to the right down a thoroughfare. Again he hit the blinker.

  'Are you kidding me? You worried about a traffic ticket?'

  'I can't help it!' Thomas cried. 'It's habit. Conditioning.'

  He screeched to the left, this time without hitting the blinker.

  'Faster!' Mia cried. 'Faster!'

  Thomas hit the blinker and yanked the SUV right.

  'Jeeesuz fucking Christ!' Mia howled. 'Tommy, I love you like a neighbor, but I will so fucking tear you another asshole if you don't. Fucking. Speed. Up,'

  'I can't help it! I'm a little neurotic when it comes to driving.'

  'A little? You make OJ look like Jimmy Dean!'

  'So I'm a lot neurotic.'

  'But you're a psychologist!'

  'What? You think I went to school to figure out why other people are so screwed up?'

  'Pull into that alley there! Pull into there!'

  At least this time he didn't hit the blinker. The alley was narrow—too narrow to open doors. Thomas drifted into the left wall, cried out as the mirror exploded from the side of the Toyota. The exit neared.

  'Brake!' Mia was shouting. 'Brake! Stop the fucking car!'

  Thomas stomped on the brakes. The police cruiser screeched to a halt behind them.

  'Now pull forward until our doors are clear,' Mia said. 'Pull forward!'

  Thomas did as he was told. When the doors were clear Mia opened his. 'Get the fuck out,' he cried. 'Switch seats! Quickly!'

  Thomas popped from the driver's seat, glanced back at the cops stranded behind them. They looked thunderstruck in a shaft of streetlight. He rushed past Mia in the headlights, rounded the hood, grabbed the door only to have it yanked from his hands. He heard a crunch and squealing tires, then toppled to the pavement. The cops had decided not to wait, had bulldozed the SUV clear. Mia pulled the Toyota to the right. Thomas stood just in time to get knocked onto the cruiser's hood.

  Frankie, something inside him cried.

  He rolled off the hood as the cruiser braked. He scrambled to his hands and knees, ready to dash off on foot. But there was a thump, the whish of exploding glass, and the cruiser's headlights were replaced by the Toyota's profile.

  'Get in! Get in!' Mia was crying. 'Get the fuck in!'

  Then he was in the passenger seat, his whole body shaking, the whole world flashing past the windshield. Another cruiser screeched into the intersection before them, blocking it. Mia gunned the SUV.

  'Noooooooo? Thomas cried.

  The impact threw him against the dash, but for some reason it seemed miraculously minor. The Toyota wobbled, then barreled down the street, stable as a spinning pigskin.

  'Frankie!' Thomas cried, nearly diving into the back. Frankie had slipped through the belts, fallen onto the floor behind Mia's seat. He was still unconscious, but seemed otherwise unhurt. Thomas sat him upright, did his best to buckle him in. He glanced through the rear window, saw flashing lights through dark, canyon streets.

  'Fuck,' Mia was saying, 'they're green-lighting us!'

  'What?'

  'All the lights in Manhattan are run by AI now. To improve response times they red-light interfering traffic and green-light emergency vehicles. And in situations like ours…'

  'But that's good, isn't it? It means we won't hurt anybody.'

  'But it means we're fucked too. So long as they keep feeding us greens they know exactly where we are, where we're going.'

  'What are we going to do?'

  'You see a grey leather case back there? You know, Bill's case!'

  'Yeah, why?'

  'Open it up.'

  Thomas fumbled behind his seat, fished out the case. He clicked it open.

  'Is his TV in there?'

  Thomas pulled the panel out. 'TV?' he asked.

  'Birthday present,' Mia snapped. 'Don't ask. Just turn it on.'

  Sure enough, he saw a helicopter shot of Manhattan, alternating between dark natural light and the whites and greys of FLIRR—forward-looking infrared radar. '… to recap, then,' a tinny voice was saying, 'we're following an old model, black Toyota SUV along—'

  'How did you know?'

  'Got another bad OJ vibe,' Mia said sourly. 'But this is good. It gives us information.'

  'They're setting something up ahead of us!' Thomas shouted. 'Something to take out our tires.'

  'Like my papa always said, 'Mia cried, '"Son, ya cain't outroon the frickin' ray-deeooo…"' Without warning, he yanked the Toyota right so hard Thomas nearly rolled onto his lap.' "Unless ya gawt woon yerself…"'

  The city was a whirring tunnel, a cylindrical swarm of light and streaking blackness.

  'Mia! What the fuck! What are you doing?'

  'Is this for keeps?' Mia shouted. 'Are we playing for keeps, Tommy?'

  'My son'… What are you talking about?'

  'This is for keeps, right?'

  'Yes… Yes! But what are—'

  'Look. I'm so scared I'm blowing bubbles out my ass, but if this is for keeps, if we really have to do this to save Frankie, then we're going to hafta take some risks.'

  'Take some risks? W
hat the hell do you call this?'

  'Softball,' Mia muttered, yanking the car hard right once again.

  Oh my word, a miniature voice chirped.

  What do you make of that, Delores?

  Well, Jim, things seem to have become more desperate. It was almost as though they sensed the trap the NYPD had set for them. I gotta tell you, though, the fact they're driving an SUV makes me that much more nervous.

  And why's that?

  Because of the higher center of—Jim? You got the bird's eye view up there? What are they doing now?

  I'm not sure, Delores. It looks like they've…

  Static punctuated by voices in the background.

  Jim? Jim? For those of you just joining us, our Fox 5 Newsnet Chopper is covering a dramatic police pursuit through the Upper West Side. Reports say that the two men in the vehicle have abducted, I repeat, abducted, a child patient from—

  Delores? Delores?

  Yes, Jim, we can hear you.

  I just asked Johnny Pharo, our expert chopper pilot, and he agrees that yes, the vehicle has entered the 207th Street Subway Yard.

  Why would they do that, Jim?

  We're not sure, Delores… Perhaps to take advantage of their four-wheel capability.

  I see them, Jim. My word, are they on the tracks?

  Yes, Delores, it would appear that they're on the tracks. Johnny seems to think—

  Put Johnny on for a moment, if you could, Jim. Johnny Pharo, for those of you who are not familiar with our Fox 5 Skyteam, is an expert pilot and a decorated veteran of the Iraq—

  Oh my… Are you getting this, Delores?

  Yes, Jim. What's happened? Did you lose them?

  No, Delores. They lost us! It would seem, ladies and gentleman, that they have entered the subway. I repeat, the black Toyota SUV being pursued by New York's finest, has just driven into the subway…

  They'd barreled down 10th Avenue so fast that the Toyota began shaking from the inside out. Then Mia was yanking them right down some side street, then left, smashing through a parking gate. Thomas cried out as he gunned the 4x4 across a lot peppered with parked cars and into what seemed a towering chain-link fence. It fell away like rotten fabric, though for an instant, razor wire looped and thrashed across the hood and windshield. There was an instant of zero gravity, the Harlem horizon dipped out of view, then a deafening thud, and they were bouncing over gravel and weeds, between stacked industrial spools, chattering over tracks, past night-silver subway cars, and Mia jerked them left once again, into a square maw of black cut into a cinder-block wall…

  The SUV danced like a stub-legged bronco. Pale lights lined the darkness before them, falling away like pearls dropped into the abyss. They were in the subway! Each time they careered into a wall, glass shattered, worlds screamed.

  'Mia-Mia-Mia-Mia!' Thomas cried.

  'Shut-up-shut-up-shut-up,' he exclaimed. 'I'm trying to think!'

  Without warning they passed through a station. It opened like a white-tiled miracle. Thomas glimpsed a handful of astonished faces, gaping in the drab light.

  'Did you see it?' Mia exclaimed.

  'See what?'

  'The fucking station! Did you see which station?'

  'No.'

  'Fuck!' Mia began bouncing up and down in his seat, punching and slapping the steering wheel. 'We're fucked!' he cried. Tears of frustration glittered in his eyes. 'We are well and truly fucked!'

  Then Thomas remembered.

  'Stop,' he said.

  'What?'

  'Stop the fucking truck! Stop!'

  The Toyota slid sideways. Metal popped and crunched. They were wedged to an instant stop.

  'We've bought ourselves a window,' Thomas said, reaching back to unbuckle his son. 'We have to hurry.'

  Dumb luck. They left the Toyota a ticking ruin behind them, headlights squashed against looming tunnel walls. They humped over the soot-enameled tracks, then followed a series of closeted service tunnels to a miraculously unlocked door. The next station. Trying not to blink against the antiseptic light, they ambled beneath the security cameras with the other exiting travelers.

  They climbed to the mighty surface, New York, then walked with urban purpose.

  Breathless, they sheltered in an alley next to some kind of defunct club. Sirens seemed to claw the air from every direction. Mia held Frankie against his chest, rocking him and rubbing his back. He watched Thomas apprehensively. Like him, Thomas imagined he could see them— whoever they were—in his mind's eye, running bio-metric searches using various search criteria, replaying images from all the traffic cameras surrounding the subway exit they took—which they knew they took, because of the AI security system installed in the subways three years earlier.

  Terrorist counter-measures. They had pinned the world down like a butterfly.

  Thomas pulled an ivory business card from his inner pocket, used the phone that Neil had given him.

  'Mr Gyges,' he said, shocked to hear his own voice distorted in the ear piece. 'It's me. It's Tho—'

  'Don't say a word!' the billionaire snapped. 'Their networks can recognize names, even rudimentary contents, as easily as they can voices. And try to stay calm. They can even detect vocal stress patterns. They'll be scouring everything looking for you. Everything.'

  'I-I don't understand.'

  'I think you do. You wouldn't be using a modulator otherwise.'

  'Listen… Mr Gyges, what you said back—'

  'I don't need this kind of exposure. Not now.'

  His thoughts raced. Something-something—

  'Then why are you up? Why are you watching the news coverage?'

  Silence.

  'Look… Mr Gyges. I don't know where he is, but I will, very soon—'

  'Just tell me where you are,' the gruff voice said. 'I'll send a car.'

  Thomas gave him the nearest intersection and a description of the boarded-over bar. 'Please,' Thomas added, 'hurry.'

  But the line had already clicked into silence.

  He crouched in the darkness, astonished that he would ever find this much comfort in the absence of light. Then he sobbed, thinking of what Sam had said not three days before.

  'There are only martyrs now…'

  'Shhhh,' Mia murmured to his son. 'Shhhh, laddie.' The look he gave Thomas was wide and scared. He knew nothing would be the same after this, Thomas realized. He knew the stakes. 'You trust this asshole?'

  'Yes,' Thomas said after a moment. 'In a sense, he's lost more than I have.'

  They heard the roar of a wound out six-cylinder. A police cruiser flashed across the mouth of the alleyway, whipping up litter like leaves in its wake.

  'I gotta feeling,' Thomas added lamely.

  The car arrived several minutes afterward, a black beemer with tinted windows. It coasted to a stop at the mouth of the alley. The driver was East Indian, very smartly dressed. He simply stepped out of the still-running vehicle and began walking.

  'I'm driving,' Mia said, hoisting Frankie to hand him over.

  'No,' Thomas said. 'Once we get out of the city, I'll drop you off.'

  'Are you fucking kidd—'

  'I can't afford to spook Neil. You know that.'

  Mia nodded, hitched Frankie higher onto his shoulder. They walked to the car together.

  Neil was right. It took time to assess and to organize. You could still slip through so long as you didn't hesitate. They used Bill's television to guide them through the police cordon before it could be effectively closed. Then they tossed it out just to be safe. Who knew what the Feds could do?

  Perhaps it was the beemer's soundproofing, or simply their post-adrenalin exhaustion, but a deceptive sense of normalcy crept into their drive out of the city. The sky was brightening in the east. Early-morning commuters were beginning to populate the roads. The world suddenly seemed orderly—servile even.

  Thomas found himself thinking about coffee, even though he knew that his horror was likely just beginning.

  'I hope th
ey pick out a nice one,' Mia murmured at one point, staring out over the dark Hudson.

  'Nice what?' Thomas asked.

  'Picture. Sooner or later they're going to start flashing pictures of me and my old act.'

  Thomas glanced at his Number One Neighbor.

  Mia snorted. 'What did you think? That the morning Post would read "PSYCHOLOGIST AND NEIGHBOR ABDUCT BRAIN-DAMAGED SON"? It'll be "PSYCHOLOGIST AND CROSS-DRESSER", trust me.'

  'I hadn't even thought about it.'

  'I'd bet my pink panty paycheck. Psychologists? Everyone knows you can't trust psychologists. You can't trust anyone who actually knows the rules. Once you know them, you can manipulate them. And cross-dressers… Well, they're just fucked up to begin with. They can't even dress right, let alone aim at the right hole.'

  Thomas stared at the road in the headlights, at the lane-marking lines roping to either side, thinking of that word, 'right.' Humans were judging machines, hard-wired to conserve the beliefs and attitudes that were required to keep stone-age communities afloat. They condemned so quickly, so regularly, because once it was imperative for their survival. Now, it was little more than psychodrama, yet another set of maladapted reflexes. People like Mia were mocked and ridiculed not for loving wrong, but because someone had to be mocked and ridiculed.

  'It could be a good thing though,' Thomas said after a pause.

  'What are you talking about?'

  'Not the ridicule. I mean the publicity. So long as we turn ourselves in, I'd be surprised if any of this made the courts.' Thomas breathed deep for what seemed the first time in weeks. 'There'll be threats, certainly. But there's a good chance we could simply get away with this.' He smiled, glancing away from the road. 'All thanks to your peculiar choice of evening attire.'

  Mia didn't look convinced. 'You don't have family in Alabama,' he said.

  The sun was full and low in the east when he dropped Mia off at an Exxon just outside Tarrytown. Everything, the dull-shining pumps, the gum-freckled pavement, possessed the air of cold things warming to the rush of daily life. Cars shot past, roaring as though driving across paste.

  'Take care, Tommy,' Mia said, leaning into his window. He glanced at Frankie slumped in the back. 'That goes for him too.'