Joe Pitt 1 - Already Dead (12 page)

--Help me, Simon.

I don't move.

--Help me.

I crawl over, grab his tremoring legs and try to hold them down, but they kick loose.

--Hold him, Simon.

I grab the legs and pin them to the floor. He kicks and jerks and I force the legs back
down and lie across them and he almost kicks free again. Daniel has wrapped his arms
around Jorge's arms and torso. Still he beats and struggles and nearly bucks us both
loose. His other eye has popped free, they both swing at the ends of their cables of
nerves and blood vessels as his head shakes and twitches. He arches high in the air once,
twice, and again. Each time his back cracks back down against the floor I hear bones
breaking in his body. He's making vomiting noises now and it looks like he's spewing up
his lungs. He arches high again, tossing both Daniel and me off of him, and smashes back
onto the floor, and that's it. He lies there, his body barely recognizable as human, still
and dead. Daniel stands up and offers me his hand. I ignore it and get up on my own.

--Thank you, Simon.

I stare at the remnant of Jorge.

--Someone took my stash, Daniel, all my blood.

He gives a slight laugh.

--I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place for a free meal.

The Enclave don't believe in the Vyrus. Or they believe in it, but they don't believe that
it's a natural occurrence. Or they believe that it's natural, but not physical. Or
something like that. What they believe, what I understand they believe, is that the Vyrus
is supernatural in origin, not of this world. They believe in a whole supernatural
universe. They believe that when you are consumed wholly by the Vyrus, your physical being
becomes matter in the supernatural world, but your conscious-self expires. What they
aspire to, what the whole starvation thing is about, is

their belief that by starving yourself gradually, you can maintain your consciousness and
self, and be made over into a supernatural being that will exist in
this
world. I don't know why that appeals to them, but it does. Of course, so far they've all
ended up like Jorge. For centuries they've been ending up like that. Except Daniel.

We're sitting on the bottom step of the stairs that lead up to the cubicles, watching the
Enclave as they go through their exercises. They're doing some Tai Chi kind of thing. So
slow and precise you can't see them moving at all.

I look at the wall where they hung Jorge. They spread-eagled his body and spiked him to
the cinderblock. Daniel is looking at him, too.

--We'll leave him there until his flesh rots away and his bones fall to the floor. He'll
serve as a reminder and object lesson as to the transience of the physical. We'll meditate
on his decay.

I could have been a part of this. I could have lived here with these freaks and devoted my
life to the discipline of slowly dying. When I left the Society, Daniel sent for me. I had
never met him before, never been on Enclave turf, but I went. I had just gone Rogue, if I
wanted to survive I needed as many allies as I could get. I thought he might be looking
for an errand boy, someone to handle security or something. What did I know? Instead he
asked me to join, offered me a place as Enclave. It was kind of flattering, in the way it
might be flattering if the craziest, baddest gang on the street offered you their colors.
I declined, told him thanks and crossed my fingers as I went out the door, hoping they
wouldn't tear me to pieces for turning them down. But that's not how they work. The
Enclave don't take volunteers, they handpick new members, and once you're picked you're a
part of them for life, whether you like it or not. Daniel says you're Enclave because you
are made that way, not because of anything you do.

I say that's all well and good, but I'm still not planning on going out like Jorge did.

--The guy you sent to talk to me said someone was watching me.

--Was that anymore than what you already knew?

--Fuck sake, Daniel, can you just give me a straight answer?

--You haven't asked any questions.

I look away from Jorge.

--You know about the carrier, about what happened at the school?

--Yes.

--'Course you do, you know everything.

--Quite the contrary, I know virtually nothing.

--Yeah, right, in the big picture we're all fucking retards, but you know what goes down,
Daniel. So the school, you know someone was poking around in there, someone who didn't
leave a scent?

__Yes.

--Whoever it was is the same person who stole my stash, and I want to know who it is and
why they did it. That's my question, Daniel, that's what I want to know.

He runs his spidery fingers over the top of his bald head.

--It's the wrong question, Simon.

--Then what's the right question? Will you tell me that, will you tell me that so I can ask
it and get a straight answer?

--The question isn't
who,
but
what.

--Bull.

--Someone has summoned it and bound it and sent it to do their bidding.

I stand.

--OK, time for me to go.

He reaches out and takes my hand. His skin is burning. He's starving the Vyrus, and so it
has seized control of his autonomic functions, jacking his metabolism impossibly high as
it compels him to feed. Dying slowly, balanced at the edge of starvation, the Vyrus
gradually consuming him, he is continually in the grip of a feeding frenzy. It is the last
death rattle of the Vyrus, when it empties your system of all its reserves, driving you to
hunt. This is the state the Enclave cultivate, it is where Daniel has existed for no one
knows how long. As strong as we may be when well fed, we are that much stronger when we
are at the brink of starvation. Daniel holds my hand gently. If he twitches hell pull my
arm from its socket. I don't move.

--You aren't listening, Simon.

I sit back down.

--How is it your mind can account for your own existence, but resist so stubbornly the idea
that there are others like you, beyond you?

--Because I know I'm here and I know what I am.

--What are you?

--I'm a man. A sick man. And I want to know who grabbed my stash so I don't have to kill
some jerk on the street and drink him.

--You're more than a man, Simon, much more. Your stash is gone? What of it? Stay with us.
This could be a beginning, an opportunity.

I point at Jorge.

He smiles, nods, and lets go of my hand.

--It's a Wraith.

--Say what?

--The thing that was at the school and in your home, it's a Wraith.

Oh, shit.

--I don't believe.

--So you say. But it doesn't care if you believe in it or not. In fact, one is the same as
the other. Believe in it, and it will be just as invisible to you as if you did not. Don't
believe in it, and it will kill you as easily as if you did.

I close my eyes, rub the sweat from my forehead, and open my eyes. Crap.

--What do I do?

--Against something you say doesn't exist?

He shrugs.

--As I said, you can stay here. That is why I sent for you in the first place, Simon, to
offer you the Enclave again. You can't fight the other world, you can only strive to join
it.

I think about it, about a life in here. The Enclave are circling up now, two of them walk
into the middle of the circle and begin to spar. It looks like a Hong Kong kung fu movie
on fast forward. I can't follow the moves of the combatants, I just see a blurred tumble
of limbs, hear the whir as their arms and legs cut the air and the loud clacks of their
bones striking one another. It lasts only an instant, and then one of them is down with
two broken legs. The others clear him from the floor. He may decide to take a little more
blood to help heal the legs, or he might not and take his chances that they never knit
properly. I think about starving myself, no longer worrying about where my next meal is
coming from, spending my days in meditation and martial arts, perfecting my
self-discipline. No more hand to mouth. No more being on my own. No more Evie.

No. It's not for me.

I stand up.

--Thanks for the offer, but the answer's still the same.

Daniel smiles.

--That's unfortunate.

--Yeah, well, sorry.

--Nonetheless, you are Enclave, Simon, and you can't be otherwise. And I'm happy to know we
have you.

--Whatever.

--That's a healthy attitude to cultivate,
whatever.

I turn to go, then turn back to him.

--So, assuming this Wraith thing is real?

--Yes?

--Any idea who might summon something like that?

He watches as another couple of Enclave begin to spar.

--You can't simply call these things into our world and command them. It takes knowledge
and power, and one must have something to offer them. There are individuals who have
knowledge in this area, and certainly
we
are acquainted with the metaphysical. But in terms of relevance to you? You might look at
the Clans. Ask, what is the motive for the theft? Is it to weaken or to kill you? Perhaps
it is meant to punish or to motivate you? Who do you know, Simon, that deals in carrots
and sticks?

I nod.

--Thanks.

I head for the door. He calls after me.

--Come again, Simon, the door is always open.

I walk past the sparring Enclave. I think about the hundred of them on the streets one
day, and I do mean one day. That's what it's all about, the starving and crossing over
stuff. They think that when one of them finally manifests as a metaphysical being in the
physical world that not only will he become invincible here, but he will be able to imbue
the entire Enclave with similar abilities. Then they will begin their crusade in earnest,
take to the streets and cleanse the world of all that is not Enclave. But they won't do it
until they have their Messiah. So far Daniel's as close as they've got, and he's not
there. Not yet. I walk out the door and close it behind me, hoping I never have to open it
again.

I don't believe in another world where boogeymen lurk about and wait for opportunities to
cause trouble in our world. I don't believe in any of that shit and I certainly don't
believe in Wraiths. But I do believe that someone wants me to think that's the case,
someone wants me scared and more than a little desperate. So who do I know that deals in
carrots and sticks? Well, that's easy enough, everyone I work for. But I don't figure the
Society for a gag like this, it's not really in their interest to have me desperate and
hungry on their turf. Besides that, I don't think they have the chops or the subtlety to
pull it off. No, this is a sneaky deal, and sneaky deals have one guy's name on them:
Dexter Predo.

Figure Predo's not too happy with the way things are going down here. Figure he's caught
on that the carrier is still out there. Figure Dale Edward Horde got on Predo's case for
letting me hook up with his wife in public. Figure Predo told him he'd set it right and
gave him something to plop in my drink, something to keep me down while they pulled the
job on my place. Figure now Predo's got me by the shorties. He knows I'll be uptight
without a stash. He knows the Society won't put up with me going on a rampage and tapping
a bunch of clowns on their turf to restock my fridge. He knows I won't want to expose
myself to the other Clans and Rogues by hitting on their turf. He knows pulling a job on a
blood bank or a hospital takes time. And he knows I don't have that kind of time. Take all
that and figure one last thing. Figure Predo's applied the stick and now all he has to do
is wait for me to come to him thirsty and ragged and he can offer me the carrot, and then
he'll have me in his back pocket. He can tell me just how to handle the carrier and the
Horde kid and he can lock me up for a long way down the line. 'Cause restocking my stash
is gonna cost and he'll make me pay with my balls. So I may as well hop on an uptown train
and go get it over with. Except I don't.

I rush between patches of shade until I get to the L. I take it back across town and hurry
to my pad. I still haven't called Evie to tell her I'm OK. For that matter, I still
haven't cleaned up after sleeping on the sidewalk.

Out of the shower I call Evie.

--Hey, baby.

--You OK?

--Yeah, sure, babe, I'm fine.

--Was there any trouble?

Piles of it.

--Could've been, but Terry took care of it.

--Hope that was OK, me calling him. I didn't want to cause a fuss over nothing, but after
that stuff with poor Lep I figured . . .

--No, it's cool. You did right.

We hang on the phone for a second, listening to each other thinking. I'm thinking this is
new territory for us. She's always made a point of staying out of my business and I've
always made a point of keeping her out. I don't know what to think of her talking to Terry
on her own, but I don't like it much. As for her, I don't have a clue what she's thinking
about.

I hear her shift the phone, her short fingernails clicking against the mouthpiece as she
brushes her hair out of the way.

--I'm off tonight.

Tuesday, one of her nights off. Date night for us.

--Yeah, babe, probably not a good night for it.

She makes a little sucking sound, her tongue pulling down from the roof of her mouth. It's
the sound she makes when she's starting to get bugged.

--Right. 'Cause you got the thing you're working on.

--Yeah.

--'The thing that got Leprosy killed.

--Evie.

--That you won't tell me about.

--Not now, OK?

--Even though I was the one washing Lep's blood off you.

--I said not now.

--OK, then when, Joe? When do I ever get to know what you're

up to?

--Just. Not now.

--Not now. Where have I heard that before?

She pushes all the air out of her lungs; it's the sound a person makes when they're trying
to keep their cool, the one Evie makes when her cool's already been lost.