Apotheosis: Stories of Human Survival After the Rise of the Elder Gods (22 page)

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I spent the next month or so out of work, drinking away the foul memories. I wasn't so great with money, so that forty grand didn't last too long, and I noticed the wife spending more and more time hiding away in the bedroom as we neared the bottom of our funds. Her tendency to hide from her problems instead of facing them was one of her many character flaws.

It was around then I decided to sober up for long enough to consider the next transfusion. Someone had to take responsibility, and we needed money. So I asked myself, what about Papa? Well, my father was still around, though we didn't speak much. I considered how I actually felt about him, and what he was worth to me. This was a tough question, but after much mulling, I figured what the heck, and headed back into the city for another unscheduled appointment with the God. By then I considered myself an expert at the transfusion. A seasoned professional. I was confident in my ability to dig up all the good memories right at the last minute before I signed the contract so as to achieve the maximum cash value.

Papa had netted me only twelve grand, but one of my old girlfriends, a woman named Patty, had yielded fifty-five and change. My remorse was short lived when the God informed me she had been considering a transfusion of her own and had yours truly in mind as a possible candidate. No, that was a damned good payday for me, and that fifty-five lasted nearly six months.

One morning, I got up and the car was gone. Not a biggie in itself, but since the wife was still at home and so were the kids, that missing car got me scratching my head.

"I sold it," she said, no trace of remorse or any notion of what the fuck we were supposed to do without a goddamn car.

"You sold it?"

She nodded, then wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I said. "You're still crying? You're always crying. What the fuck for? The last one was my friend, not yours. The only one you're missing is Dane, and you said yourself he was a deadbeat fuckup anyway. What's your problem?"

All she could do was shake her head and point at a canvas bag that sat on the table. I hadn't noticed it before, but I had a pretty good idea what was in it. I picked it up and it felt light.

"What's this?"

"Five grand," she said.

I laughed and shook my head at that. Five fucking grand? For the car? "You know something? I got eleven times that for some worthless bitch I used to bang," I said. "And she was cheap to replace, too. Not like that car."

The wife continued to gaze down at the ground, that pathetic look of defeat on her face. "You do realize I'm just going to have to buy another one, right? I mean, what do reckon you've achieved here? You think we could somehow retire on that five grand? Head off somewhere warm and leave our problems behind?"

She said nothing, which was pretty much what I'd been expecting. I hated her right then. Hated that I still cared about her, but mostly hated that the world had changed and she didn't have the stomach for it. What good was that to her, or to our family? She needed to toughen up, and fast, or she was in for a big surprise as things got darker and shittier than they already were. Because that was the way things were going, I could see that much. Things were still changing, and they were getting really hard. People were dying, obviously, but not just for money anymore. They were dying for no better reason than desperation. They'd seen the greying sunset signaling the end to what had once been a bright, blossoming day, and they weren't so sure whether it would ever rise again in the same way. If you asked me, it probably wouldn't. One way or another, I needed to either talk some sense into the wife, or I'd have to drag her kicking and screaming into reality. It was for her own good.

But she broke my train of thought with a question that came out of left field. "What's a miscarriage?"

"Huh?"

She frowned, concentrating on what she was saying as if the words might otherwise float away. "I heard someone talking about it on the radio. They said it was a growing problem."

I thought about this. Not about the answer, but about why she'd asked the question. What made her think of that, of all things, at a time like this? But I decided not to pick apart her motives for now and just answer the damned question so we could move on.

"I've never experienced one myself, but my understanding is that it's when your remorse and sadness—and that's how they calculate the amount you get paid—is overshadowed by your anticipation at how much you’re going to make. And if that happens just at the wrong time during a transfusion, your suffering barely registers, and you're left with nothing. Pocket change."

The wife said nothing, just stared into space and continued nodding.

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The next day I sold her sister Franny and earned back the same amount of money she'd made from the car. When I got home I called her downstairs and dumped the five grand baggie on the table. I grinned. "Have you learned your lesson?" I said. She took a moment to figure out what was happening, but when all the little pieces fell into place, her hands came up to her face and she cried out through her fingers in a way that made her sound like a dying animal. I tried to shush her but it was no use. The kids ran downstairs to see what was going on. It really wasn't what I'd had in mind at all. I wanted to teach her about what it took to survive in this world, and instead the three of them blubbered like babies for the next week or so and pretty much ignored me. I could tell the older one wanted to yell at me, call me names, maybe even hit me. But that spineless pussy didn't have the balls. He knew I would put him down in a heartbeat and exchange him for a few bucks if I had enough of him. No, he was a pansy, just like his mother, but at least he was smart.

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Bud drops me off and I thank him for the ride, tell him I'm picking up a new car in a week or so, after payday, and I'll return the favor. I'm about to get out of the car when he grabs my arm. His grip isn't all that hard and I could easily pull away, but I turn to him anyway to see what he has to say. I'm expecting a lecture, but in true Bud form, I get something else entirely.

"What's the going rate these days for a loved one?" he asks.

I'm unsure if his question is genuine or rhetorical but I decide to answer anyway.

"Anything from a couple grand to sixty, I suppose. There's an art to it, more than anything else."

Bud nods. "Yeah, I read about some guy who managed to pull three hundred grand out of an old school pal. I guess it's all a matter of practice, right?"

Well, this takes the wind out of my sails. Three hundred for an old school pal? Course, Bud could be bullshitting me, but I don't think he is.

"I also read they do seminars now on how to maximize the return on your transfusion. They got some former God teaching the program and he tours the country. You ever been to one of those?"

I'm only half listening to what Bud's telling me, but the key points are getting in, hitting me like bowling balls in a way that makes me want to rethink and redo everything I've done over the past year. For a minute I'm actually thinking about going back and trying Dane again, or Papa, or Franny. That's how fucking stupid I am. And that's when I feel it, for the first time: the idea that I might very well be in over my head. My face must've given something away because out of the corner of my eye I can see Bud smile. A real smile, like he's just saved a puppy from drowning or something.

"What do you say, friend. Shall we turn around and head back home?"

I look at him for a second, trying to understand what the hell he's thinking about, but I can't hold back any longer and I burst out laughing at the man. It's a mean-spirited laugh that wipes that fucking smile off his face really fast.

"
Go home?
" I say, incredulous. "To what? You tell me that, Bud. What the fuck am I going home to?"

I was thinking he might lose it, but he's still calm, no trace of anger or frustration.

"It doesn't have to be this way," he says.

This time it's my turn to get frustrated and angry. How could anyone be so naive? I mean, Bud of all people. I shake my head and exhale, muttering something under my breath, though I don't know what it is at first.

"What was that?" he asks.

"I said
you sound like the wife
. You think if you sit at home and pray hard enough all this will get better? It's never getting better. It's too late for us now. We humans are done. Extincto, finito, and this is just the foreplay. This is a gift, don't you see? We're going to die. Every single one of us. And this is their way—I’m talking about the Gods—of letting us hit the snooze button on that. We get a little more time before we're done. That is, if we want it. If you don't, that's your problem. Some of us will die sooner than others, but it's coming. And I can't believe you don't know that, Bud. I thought you were smart."

Bud's face doesn't change, and I don't know how the hell he does that. "And how do you know all of this?" he asks.

"How do I...?" I'm stumped. Not at the question—I haven't even thought about that—but at Bud's stubbornness. "How do you
not
know this?" I say. "Have you been asleep for the last couple years?"

Bud reaches over and takes hold of my other arm, looking me dead in the eyes. "It doesn't have to be this way, friend. It really doesn't. You think it does, but you're wrong. All of you are.” He points a finger in the air. “They, up there... they don't control us. We do. Don't you get it? They're not nearly as powerful as everyone believed. And for the first time since man decided to kneel down and talk to the sky, we know this as an empirical fact."

I pull my arms away. "I feel sorry for you, Bud. I really do. The world's changing, and if you don't change with it, you're going to have a big problem. It's the smart people like me who are going to come out on top. You'll see that someday. Hopefully before it's too late."

Bud stays quiet this time. I take it as a sign that some of what I've said has finally stuck.

"And don't worry," I tell him. "I'm not selling you. Not yet, anyway."

Bud snorts. "You're not, huh?"

"You're my ride home."

He gives me a flat wave and I head into the lobby of the tall building for my unscheduled appointment with the God.

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"It's you again," he says with his loveless grin.

"Must be some sort of record, right?"

“Not really.”

I sit down. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?"

He nods and sits down across from me. "So, who's next?"

For some strange reason I think about the puppies for the second time today. Which is odd, since they haven't crossed my mind in months. There they are, tired and emaciated, their quiet cries of confused suffering, their begging eyes. I try to shake it off, think of something else. And it works.

"I have a question for you, before we start," I say.

The God looks impatient, but doesn't try to stop me.

"What's this I hear about some guy who made three hundred grand from some old school pal he barely knew?"

This seems to pique the God's interest a little. "What of it?"

"Is it true?"

"Yes."

The discussion is moving too fast and I need to slow it down so I can keep up. "So what? You're saying you've been short-changing me all this time?"

The God closes his eyes and sighs, a smile on his face that makes me think of the way a dog owner might consider a retriever who poops on the rug. "Or maybe you've been short changing yourself."

I frown, not sure what to say next. "So tell me what I'm doing wrong."

There's a moment where I think the God is just about to toss me out of his office—maybe his window—but he decides last minute to go another way and humor me.

"You want a quick lesson? Most people pay for that sort of thing. You hear about those seminars?"

I nod.

"Well here's a freebie. You have to delve. Delve deeper into all those juicy, complex emotions. They exist in every human relationship, and that's where all the good stuff is. Take your father, for instance. You got, what, twelve grand from him in the end? Why was that?"

"You tell me," I say, moving on the defensive. "I don't know, maybe it's because he was an asshole and deep down I really hated that fucker. Maybe the feelings I thought I had for him were nothing but my dumb memories playing tricks on me."