Nobody Gets The Girl (21 page)

Amelia nodded against his chest.

"It feels wonderful, whatever it is," he
said.

"Do you love Sarah?" asked Amelia.

"No. I mean, yeah, as a friend. But we
weren’t in love, love. She didn’t take anything seriously. True
love is a serious thing."

“This from a comedian.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Point taken. But, I don’t
know, there’s a line in wedding vows, ‘in sickness and health, till
death do you part.’ I think it means something. If it really is
love, you are committing to be with that person when they are at
their worst moments. You’re saying, “if you break your neck and
can’t even use the bathroom, I’ll always be there to change your
diapers.’”

“Well that’s a lovely image,” she said,
scrunching up her nose.

“People go to some dark places in their
lives,” said Richard. “If it’s love, you won’t turn and run from
that darkness.”

She nodded, seeming to accept this
definition. "No one has ever loved me," she said, in a
matter-of-fact, unemotional tone.

"Don't say that."

She rolled away from him and sat up.

"Do you know where we are?" she asked.

"Um ... in your dad’s garden?"

"This is my brother's grave."

"Oh." He sat up, looking down at the granite
slab they’d been lying on. He felt the hair rise on the back of his
neck.

"This bothers you," she said.

"No," he said. "It's just... okay, yeah, it’s
sort of creepy."

"I killed him," she said.

"I know. Sarah told me it was an
accident."

"I don't remember," she said. "I've heard the
story of what happened so many times, it seems like a memory, but I
don't know. I've blanked it out. My father weaves so many lies.
There are no photos of Alexander. What I remember of him is so
hazy, more like imagination than memory. I sometimes wonder if
there's anything under this slab at all."

"Sarah remembers him. Your mother does
too."

"Father did everything to make me forget,"
she said.

"He didn't want me to feel any guilt when I
used my powers." She clasped her knees with her arms, and rested
her chin on them. "Eventually I stopped feeling anything."

Her face wrinkled, as she clenched her eyes
shut.

"Oh God," she said, as tears rolled down her
cheeks. "I wish I could stop now."

He placed his arms around her, holding her
tightly.

"He said I was a monster," she sobbed. "But
I'm so much worse than that."

"No," he whispered. "No, don't say this.
Don't think it.

"I'm
evil
," she said. "I'm
death
. My heart is dead. I kill women and children and men,
young and old, and never feel a
thing
."

"You aren't evil," he said, rocking her
gently in his arms. "You're just a girl. You're just a girl who's
made a terrible mistake."

"Oh God," she cried, her voice cracking. She
pressed her head to his chest and wept. "Oh God, oh God, oh
God!"

"Shh," he whispered, his own voice choking.
"Shh."

"I've done... such bad... things," she
gasped. "And I-I... I think it might have been different..."

"It's OK," he said, stroking her hair. "Shh.
It's OK."

"If only I could remember him," she said. "If
I could remember what he looked like. If I could remember his
voice, or... he's
gone
. I'll
never
see him again. And
all those people in Jerusalem.
Gone
. The people who loved
them will never hear their voices, or see their smiles, and it's so
awful. So awful."

"Yes," he whispered. "It is. But you aren't.
You've been carrying the weight of the world. Your father told you
the whole damn world was your responsibility. No one is strong
enough to carry that. You've made a horrible mistake. The worst
ever, maybe. I watched you do it. And I saw something beautiful as
I watched you. I can't explain it.”

“Beautiful? You’re as s-sick as I am.”

“Maybe. But maybe I’d still like to be with
you, in sickness or in health, for better or worse. I’ll stand by
you. You’re a complicated woman, Amelia. But you’re not evil.
You’re just lost. Maybe I can help you find your way back."

"Back to where? Everyone is dead because of
me," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "My heart stops, and I keep
moving. There’s no better. There’s no health. There’s no normal for
me to go back to."

"Sarah ran away," said Richard. "She felt
like your father was to blame for what happened. She wants to go
lose herself in the real world, live like a normal person, who
doesn't fly, or mess with minds. Maybe… maybe she has the right
idea."

"I don't know what normal is," said
Amelia.

"You can be normal anytime you want. Normal
is only a state of mind."

"I don't know how."

"You can learn it. The first step is to get
away from your father, with his schemes and plans for the world.
You've got to stop worrying about the wars that won't end and the
hatreds that won't die. You've got to let it all go, and take care
of yourself."

"I can't even imagine it," she said.
"Normal."

"Maybe you'll like it," he said.

She ran her fingers across the granite
slab.

"His name," she said, "was Alexander."

The stone seemed to bubble as she spoke, in
thin lines spaced closely together. Iron letters formed, spelling
his name, and the dates of his death and birth. Beneath this, a
rose of black iron formed, its petals delicately and artfully
formed.

"I'm so sorry," she said, wiping her cheeks.
"I'm so sorry I lived and you died."

"Amelia," said Nobody. "You're a beautiful
person. You have a beautiful soul. Please live. For me."

She stood up, shaking her head. She turned
her gaze toward the moon. "I've been there, you know."

"Where?"

"The moon."

"Get out."

"Three years ago. Rex Monday was building a
missile base there, to hold the ultimate upper hand against the
world. Father put together a space ship in a little under six hours
once he figured out what was happening. I went up and tore the base
apart. Mindo went along also."

"You're making this up," said Richard, though
why this was so hard to swallow he couldn't say, having actually
seen the space ship. But, still, the moon?

"I've been there," she said. "And I've seen
Earth, all at once, like a little shining Christmas ornament just
beyond my grasp."

"Wow."

"It didn't look so heavy," she said. "And I
thought, looking up at it, that I could actually save it."

"You've done what you could," said Richard.
"You just had some bad guidance."

"I'm sorry I hit you those times in the gym,
Richard."

"Eh," he said. "Don't sweat it. I'm tougher
than I look."

"Will you come with me?" she asked.

"Just did," he said, grinning.

"You can help me learn to be normal," she
said.

"It's best that I don't," he said.

“What about all that talk of wanting to help
me just half a minute ago?” She frowned. “Was all that talk about
for better or worse just talk?”

He shrugged. “Everything I say is just talk.
But, I mean what I said about wanting to help you find a normal
life. Step one: hop onto one of those rails of yours and get as far
away from here as you can.”

"So, what? You have your way with me and now
it’s good-bye forever?”

"Get out of here," he said, waving his hand.
He could no longer look her directly in the eyes. Then, he sighed.
"It’s not good-by
forever
. There are just… just some things
I need to do. Alone. I'll find you. When it's time."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Very well," she said, leaning down to kiss
his cheek. Then she sent a rail toward the moon, and rose along it,
nude in the night sky.

Richard gathered up his clothes and began to
dress. Not that it mattered, really, if he ever wore clothes again.
He still didn't exist. A girl who could fly might learn to walk
among normal people, and a woman with a dead heart might learn to
live like everyone else, but for him there was no ordinary world
left for him to go back to. Now and forever, Richard Rogers was
Nobody.

THE NEXT DAY
, boats and planes began
to arrive and dozens of workers descended on the mansion, beginning
the repair work. Nobody slipped aboard one of the outbound planes
and a few hours later found himself in Atlanta.

By now, he was starting to stink. He hadn't
showered since his encounter with Amelia, and the aromas that had
been a pleasant reminder of their lovemaking immediately after her
departure had now soured. He stole a cab ride with a pair of flight
attendants and accompanied them to their hotel room. He engaged in
a bit of voyeurism as he shared a shower with one of them.

"I sure am seeing a lot of naked women
lately," he said, making small talk as she toweled herself off
afterward. He sat on the toilet and studied her body in minute
detail. It was interesting, her posture, her movements. In the cab
Tonya had been talkative, a little too perky for his taste, really,
with a face that seemed permanently set to smile. But now she was
"off," her face sagging, her makeup washed away. In the cab she
had seemed younger than he was, but now he was pretty certain she
was at least ten years older. The lines on her face were deeper now
that the make-up was gone, and her stomach had a bit of a
middle-aged pooch to it. Her breasts sagged more than most women
he'd been with, and her skin looked a little leathery. She looked
as if she'd spent a little too much time in tanning beds.

Curious, how he found himself studying her
flaws. He realized that he'd never spent so much time near a naked
person whose guard was so completely down. She wasn't trying to
hide anything from him. She used the toilet, oblivious to the fact
that he was sitting on it. He found himself sharing her body. He
couldn't feel her, but when he looked down it was her body he saw,
her breasts and legs. The tinkle of water in the toilet was
curiously arousing.

Perhaps, he thought, this would be how he
spent his life. Instead of being a poltergeist, or a guardian
angel, he could become a voyeur ghost, eternally seeking truth and
beauty, jerking off when he found it.

There were worse ways to pass time, he
supposed.

HE READ IN
the paper the next morning
that the Israelis and Palestinians had formed a joint security
alliance to defend themselves against a common enemy. The UN
investigation was still under way, and it was cautioned it would
be months, possibly years before any conclusions were reached. Less
cautious commentators were throwing out theories as diverse as
meteor strikes and alien invasions. Now governments of the world
were opening lines of communication with one another, sharing
information, and watching the skies.

He assumed this was Dr. Know's spin on
things, and it wasn't a bad one. He wondered if Amelia had seen the
same story, and if it made her feel any better.

Later that day, in the supermarket, he saw in
the Weekly World Star that Rail Blade and the Thrill had been
discovered to be aliens. Their photos had been airbrushed to
reveal their antennas, and their ears had a definite sinister slant
to them.

He wondered if that was also the work of Dr.
Know.

THE FOLLOWING MONTHS
, he discovered
that airbrushing was a more common practice than he realized. He'd
decided to haunt famous supermodels. All proved to be
disappointments. For a little while, he had stalked Charity, the
cute lead singer for the Famous Five. She stayed cute even when the
cameras weren't around. She had an interesting love life, sleeping
with two members of her band and her publicist, and she was fun to
listen to as she talked. And she talked all the time, more even
than Paco had. She talked over breakfast, with whomever she woke up
with. She talked in the shower on a cell phone. She continued the
conversation on the toilet, often switching between conversations
with multiple callers, and texting ten other people at the same
time. Then she would talk with a dozen people at once at lunch,
then spend all afternoon talking with members of her band, and then
spend all night talking with strangers at a club, until she finally
was dragged back to the bed of whoever she was sleeping with that
night, where, of course, she talked in her sleep. A week of this
was enough, and Nobody moved on.

After months of wandering in and out of the
lives of the famous and not-so-famous, he found himself at the
Pulpit, Chicago's most famous comedy club, one he'd always dreamed
of playing back in his amateur days. Now, he got to sit in the
audience and listen to a string of great comedians while he swiped
cigarettes and stole drinks. Eventually, the last comedian left the
stage and the bar closed. There were only a handful of people
remaining in the joint. He looked around for an attractive woman,
and found one quickly. She was a redhead, very nicely put together.
He had a sneaking feeling that he recognized her, maybe from the
week he'd spent hanging around with Heff. He followed her out. She
was a bit tipsy and was hanging on the arm of a middle-aged man,
who led her to a shiny new convertible.

He watched them as they drove off. He'd
changed his mind. Following around beautiful women was beginning
to lose its charm. He kicked at a piece of gravel in the parking
lot, sending it skipping off across the pavement. What to do, what
to do?

He turned around and went back into the club.
He felt funny.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

IS THIS THING ON?

Long ago, the Pulpit had actually been a
church, a smallish one. For decades the old building had stood as
the congregation grew. Eventually they’d built a gleaming new
church in the suburbs, and the little church at the dead end of the
street had been abandoned, put up for sale for years before the
present owner had turned it into a bar. Much of the original
stained glass and woodwork had been preserved, though the pews had
been replaced with tables, and a bar ran the length of one
wall.