Nonentity (11 page)

“What the hell are you talking about?” said I.

“You are not your own person. You’re a facsimile of someone who once was. You’re a shadow. The Permanent Regime
is not
your enemy. There is no Permanent Regime and never was. It’s a cheap illusion.”

“Horseshit! Do you deny the tyranny that rules us? Do you declare it unreal?”

“Yes. At the risk of revealing too much: the Regime is no more than a plot device. Set it aside. You have sold yourself short, purchasing a room in a house of sand. It was your attempt to escape.”

“Escape what?”

“Your own grief. Self-loathing. That feeling of not doing enough. You are lost, Sebastian.”

“How so?”

“Sometimes it is easier to fall for terrifying illusions than to properly forgive oneself.”

“What does that mean? Please elaborate, preferably in language I understand.”

Lukas lowered to a whisper. “I have said too much. Everything I have indicated will actualize at the appropriate juncture. Patience, my friend.”

“To hell with that. I demand a better explanation.”

“Forget it. I have a request unrelated to what we’ve been discussing.”

“What is it?”

“I asked you to do this the last time you were here. You were not receptive to it then. I hope your attitude is different now.”

“We’ll see. What do you want?”

“Clear your thoughts. Concentrate all your energy,” he said. “Locate Lorna within this room, using a finger to point her out. Can you do that?”

“No chance. She is dead.”

“She wasn’t dead in that vision you had. She was unambiguously alive when she appeared to me. Do not allow the illusion of death to blind you. Reach beyond the artificial limits of your perception. Find Lorna, Sebastian.”

I sidestepped my reservations and focused all my meditative strength toward pinpointing Lorna. Her face flashed but only as a memory. I became discombobulated.

Lukas said, “You are spinning out of your momentum. Slow down and regain command. Use your love to pull her into the light.”

“I can’t, man. I, uh, I just don’t have the ability. I’m sorry. I did my best.”

The music stopped. The blue blotch faded and my normal vision resumed. I looked around and spotted Lukas placing his SRF-3 back into the file cabinet.

“That was interesting,” I said. “What should I make of it? I’m disappointed I couldn’t do what you asked there at the end.”

He walked over to me, patting me on the shoulder. “Don’t get down on yourself. The timing of my request was poor. Sometimes I rush things a bit. I apologize.”

“It’s okay. That was a lot more revealing than my first session. We were getting somewhere this time. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Oh, we got somewhere alright. It wasn’t where we needed to be.”

“I want a stronger grasp of all this. Please share your insight.”

“Let it go, Sebastian. Trying to put the pieces together will scramble your mind more than it already is. Only an unscrambled mind can successfully scramble time.”

I recalled a comment by Lorna’s father, Randolph Doppelganger. “You know, somebody once told me that the scrambled mind is often superior to the mind that is clear. The clear mind becomes fixed and is too perfect to improve. The scrambled mind strengthens itself as it puts things together.”

“What kind of insanity is that? You can’t put things together. Who told you this nonsense about the scrambled mind?”

“Well, shortly before she died, Lorna introduced me to her father. He said that to me.”

Lukas frowned. “As I should have surmised. That man is never at a loss for imbecilic bullshit. You should have tuned him out. He is an abject fraud.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that. He spoke favorably of you. He claimed the two of you were good friends.”

“Ha! False diplomacy knows no bounds. Place no credence in that scoundrel. He’s been trying to discredit me for years. Fortunately, I am impervious to his libel. You didn’t read any of his books, did you?”

I hesitated. “Well, uh, Lorna gave me
Extracurricular Explorations
.”

“How disconcerting. I read that one myself and found it even more frazzled than his customary filler. You see, that man sings the praises of the scrambled mind because his own mind was irreversibly scrambled a long time ago. That’s why he publishes so many ridiculous books. And that name he uses – Randolph Doppelganger – it’s a testament to his schizophrenic lunacy. He gets off on fucking with people’s heads. The scrambled mind loves company.”

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t care for
Extracurricular Explorations
either.”

“You never should’ve read it in the first place. I blame Lorna. It is incredible that a woman like that could come from such bad stock.” Lukas looked at his watch. “You’ve got to get the hell out of here this instant.”

I did not try to dissuade Lukas from kicking me out, though his disdain for Lorna’s father confounded me. I had only met Randolph Doppelganger once. He had seemed genial, disinclined to attracting enemies. Was that impression erroneous?

Riding back to my apartment, I pictured Lorna sitting beside me. Due to my vision of her earlier that day, she was exceptionally vivid. I could see her clothing and her face. I sensed her eyes burrowing deep within me. With quiet passion I hoped that she and I would meet again.

****

Cranston Gage castigated me for transacting with Rev Coomer. “How could you be so damned careless?”

I said, “I’m trying to find some things out for the sake of inner peace.”

“Fuck inner peace! Staying out of trouble far outweighs all else. Besides, what the hell do you need to find out? You already know the Regime killed your father.”

“I’ve never confirmed that. There are still a lot of unanswered questions.”

“You’re digging your own grave,” said Cranston. “Just like Lorna. No. What you’re doing is actually worse. She arguably put herself in jeopardy for a worthy cause. Your risk serves no legitimate purpose.”

His protestations fell on deaf ears. Had I acted recklessly? Probably no more so than Cranston often did himself. I shrugged him off.

Two days prior to the Grand Premier election, I met again with Rev Coomer of the Office of Misinformation, in the same vacant parking lot of our first meeting. It was another bright and crisp afternoon. Rev carried an ominous manila envelope.

He said, “Where’s my goddamn money?”

“Right here,” I said, pulling the cash from my pocket.

“Wow. I’m impressed a renegade like you can produce coin like that. A lot of you punks flake out when it comes time to pay.”

“Believe it or not, some of us are fairly reliable.”

“Yeah right,” he said, taking my money. “You’re still a bunch of loons.”

“Hey, from what I hear, you make a damn fortune dealing with people in the underground. You should be grateful.”

“You fellows aren’t paying me for nothing. I provide excellent service to screwballs too far gone to appreciate my excellence. They should be grateful.”

Rev handed me the envelope. I opened it and pulled out the top sheet.

“Damn it, Flemming. Are you suicidal? Check that stuff out at home.”

“What if this shit is worthless? I have to check it out right here. Don’t worry. Nobody else is around.”

“Think again,” he said, pointing. “That Mason chick is over there watching us.”

I looked over my shoulder and saw Victoria hiding by the side of the same building as my first meeting with Rev. This time she did not notice me noticing her.

I said, “You know, I’ve been trying to avoid her for too long. Enough’s enough. I’m going to run over there and force her to explain herself.”

“Try a more tender approach. Maybe you can nail her here in the parking lot.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Rev. Thanks for the file.”

“Don’t give that little whore my name.” He walked away. I would never see him again.

I sprinted toward Victoria. She took off down an alley next to the building. She was fast; I was faster. I caught up to her about a dozen steps before she reached the front of the building. Grabbing her, I dropped my envelope to the ground. She tried in vain to escape my grasp.

“Get the fuck off me, you neanderthal,” she shouted.

I put my right hand over her mouth. She bit into my palm with razor teeth.

Ignoring the pain, I said, “Stop acting like a wild animal. I don’t want to hurt you, Victoria. I just want to talk.”

She bit into my hand a second time.

I swung her around and pushed her against the wall of a building, keeping my hand over her mouth. “I’ll knock you right out if you bite me again. I mean it. Can you calm down so that we can have a rational discussion?”

She nodded in agreement. I removed my hand from her mouth. A small piece of flesh was missing from my palm (had she swallowed it?). I continued holding her in a tight embrace.

“Well, this is awkward, isn’t it?” said Victoria.

I laughed. “Yeah. Thanks to your hawk-like behavior. What the hell is going on?”

“What? Everything’s cool.”

“It’s not cool. We’re finished. Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Hey, you’re practically squeezing the air out of me. Can you please let go? I promise I won’t run.”

I withdrew my arms from her. She took a few steps away.

“What’s with the envelope?” she said, peering at the ground.

I picked the file up. “It’s nothing.”

“Who was that guy you were with? I saw you giving him money. Were you paying him for that envelope?”

“Damn you’re nosy. Forget about what you saw here. Then again, that guy I was with won’t forget you anytime soon. He’s seen you around a lot. Why is that?”

“Coincidence probably.”

“Doubtful. I suspect I’m not the only one you’re stalking. You’re courting danger. Keep trailing people like me and you could land in a heap of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

I hesitated. “The kind you don’t want to find out about. For your own wellbeing, maintain some distance. Is that so hard?”

“It shouldn’t be. I just feel bad about what happened between us. I miss you. Don’t you feel the same? Wouldn’t you like to fuck me again?”

“I’ve got enough problems as it is. It just wasn’t meant to be, Victoria. Accept that and move on. Can you please do that?”

There was a pause. “I guess.”

“You should never guess unless you fully understand the question.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I wish you no harm. Just leave me alone and we’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Sorry I let it get it out of hand. I’ll stay away from now on.”

“Thanks. No hard feelings. Best of luck.”

“Same to you,” she said. “I hope you find whatever you’ve been looking for.” Victoria left. Her parting remark bothered me.

I returned to my apartment, tearing into Rev’s envelope and emptying its contents onto my kitchen table. I pounded some coffee while sifting through the numerous pages.

The information covered twenty-eight years of Sebastian R. Flemming the Second’s activities. Early in his career, my father qualified as a Triple-P – “potentially problematic person.” That designation stuck. “Petulant” and “unrelenting” appeared throughout the dossier that the Regime had compiled on him. The packet included a list of all his clients and the results of every legal proceeding in which he participated. Also enclosed were photos of his immediate family. A brief note on my brother Hagen: “Alcoholic miscreant. History of turbulent behavior and failure to properly assimilate. Recovered from substance abuse and joined underground movement. Eventual circumstances detailed in personal chart [unattached].” A photo of me at about twenty years old contained a shorter notation: “Wannabe filmmaker. Government employee. Not a concern.” The thoroughness of the material was impressive. No wonder people rated Rev’s services so highly despite his surliness.

I came to a snapshot of someone I recalled from previous reading: R. Smith Manchester. He sported a long gray beard and eyes of steely blue. His red captain’s hat bore the famous black “PR” insignia. His brooding countenance matched his description in
A Man of the Regime
. Gabriel Manchester had depicted his father as a soulless (yet dedicated) architect of the police state. According to Rev’s info, one of the elder Manchester’s final professional deeds was hunting down the recalcitrant attorney, Sebastian R. Flemming the Second. R. Smith supplied a lengthy commentary about the case, the final sentences of which read: “This arrest is among the pinnacles of my working life. Flemming is an irredeemable enemy of the Regime and its people. Putting him away is necessary and affirms my confidence in our system.”

These discoveries were more than satisfactory. I returned the material to the envelope and placed it in a desk drawer that I locked. An expanded awareness jolted me; I now had two deaths to avenge.

****

A day after I received my father’s dossier, Gregorian psychedelia torpedoed me: