The Anathema (35 page)

Alex tried to object, but she turned away, and he didn’t blame her. She was right, and he knew it, sick to his stomach and sick through his heart, he knew it. He also knew that he had nothing to offer to fix it but it lies and flattery, and that both would fall short. He wasn’t surprised when she started to walk away, or that he didn’t do anything to stop her.

“Have a nice trip, Alex,” Eerie said, not looking back at him.

He just stood there, hoping the earth would open up and swallow him, hoping that he could stop his heart from beating just by thinking about it. Nothing of the kind happened. The world remained as before, the girl continued to walk away. He just stood there and watched her go, knowing that if he did nothing, that there would be nothing left between them for him to come back to. Yet all he did was watch her leave.

* * *

When Xia felt like this, the only thing to do was clean. He started at the middle of the room, using disinfectant that he made himself. The soap he used left a particular sheen that allowed him to see where he had cleaned already, so he could be precise. He did the floors with a rag, by hand, just to be sure. Then he did the walls. Then he cleaned everything in the kitchen, which was just a half-dozen dishes and a freezer full of bagged, frozen meats and vegetables that he had selected, prepared and vacuum-sealed himself. Then he did the bathroom and the futon he slept on, even though he’d done it the day before. Then he showered, changed clothes, and brushed his teeth.

It didn’t make him feel all that much better.

He put out a package of frozen broccoli and a chicken breast, each in its individual wrapper, to thaw, before he boiled and baked them, respectively. He took one look at the finished product, then put it back in the refrigerator, and had a sip from a sealed bottle of water instead.

Then he went to go change the tape that sealed the cracks in the door.

* * *

“Tell me,” Alice suggested playfully, “do you know what your favorite food is?”

The prisoner looked at her warily, blinking to get rid of the water that kept dripping from his hair into his eyes. He was too out-of-breath to respond immediately, but Alice was feeling generous, so she gave him time.

“What?”

His shaky voice belied his gruff tone. Alice’s grin widened another notch.

“Well, honestly, I’ve forgotten mine,” Alice continued brightly. “I thought you could relate, since you have all those cognitive blocks and anti-interrogation routines restricting your memory. It’s more complicated than you would think. I had a turkey with Swiss the other day, and it was okay, but for all I know, that’s my favorite sandwich, right?”

Alice stopped while she leaned over to the side, picking up the industrial sized cattle prod that sat next to her chair, moving it slowly enough that the man could watch her double check the batteries, the power, the weight of the thing. His chest heaved in panic. The whole front of his body was soaked.

“Then the next day, I have roast beef, and I’m like, okay, this has
got
to be it, right here… it was Robert Fisher, right? Anyway, Robert, I order a roast beef on rye and it’s mind-blowing, and I think maybe I’ve found it, and then that night I go out for Italian food, and it all goes right out the window when I have that pasta with cream sauce and shrimp. It could be that one day I’m going to eat some plain yogurt or whole-wheat crackers or some shit and discover that’s my favorite food. It’s nerve-wracking. What if macaroni and cheese is my favorite food and I keep skipping it in the cafeteria every afternoon? What if I like the donuts with jam inside them best, but pass them up ‘cause they look weird?”

Robert Fisher’s eyes crept up to the man above him, the man with his hands placed on his neck and one shoulder, almost in a friendly way. He was a hard man, and he looked it, all bulky muscle and obvious bad intentions. Then they returned to Alice Gallow, leaning across the chair back and smiling at him, happy as a cat with a mouse.

“What the hell are you-?”

He made it that far and then the man behind him drove his head down, into the bucket that he knelt in front of, cued by the slightest nod from Alice. He struggled and thrashed feebly, but he never managed to dislodge the man’s grip or upend the bucket. Alice started to giggle the moment his head hit the water with a gurgling, choking noise, and the man joined her a moment later.

“This shit never gets any less funny,” Alice said, leaning over the chair to watch.

“Are you ever going to ask him any questions?” The man asked, apparently untroubled by his victim’s rather minor struggles. “I’m starting to feel sort of bad for him.”

Alice snorted.

“Taking a page out of Alistair’s book, are we, Mark? You telepaths are all alike. Softheaded bleeding-heart pansies. What is the point of having all you mind-readers around if we still have to ask people goddamn questions?”

They both laughed again.

“Uh, should I let him up?” Mark asked uncertainly.

“Is he thinking about anything interesting yet?”

“Nope,” Mark said, shaking his massive, stubbly head. “Same nursery rhyme he’s been thinking the whole time, same counter-interrogation telepathic routine. Taos did a good job on the memory locks and the cutouts on their people. Quality psychic engineering.”

Alice swore and looked at the ceiling for a moment.

“Okay,” she said, sighing as Robert Fisher’s head came back into view, breaching the water with a hideous, shuddering gasp followed by coughing and spitting water. Mark dumped him unceremoniously on the concrete, where he writhed and shuddered.

“Now, what I was trying to point out is this,” Alice said, leaning close to the wet man, though not so close that his writhing splashed her. “I have forgotten my favorite food. Other things too, but this is the one that bothers me the most, for some reason. Unless luck or research intervenes, I may die never knowing.”

“Bitch,” Robert Fisher spat, “fuck your –”

Alice made a disappointed sound and then activated the cattle prod, pushing it firmly to his chest. There was sparking, a loud noise, and then a great deal of screaming and twitching, and some steam coming off his wet shirt where the prod touched. She kept it on for ten seconds.

“Don’t be impatient,” Alice scolded. “I am trying to make a point. My point is that I will die without ever being able to remember what I have forgotten. There is nothing I can do about it. You, however, can have all of your precious memories back, just by wanting them. All you have to do is trigger that psychic safety word they implanted in your mind, where my friend Mark can’t get at it, and it will all come flooding back to you. I am envious.”

He didn’t seem to be up to talking yet, but the look in Robert Fisher’s eyes made it abundantly clear that he doubted her sincerity.

“I’m serious,” Alice protested, pausing to zap him again, and then waiting until he stopped moaning and flaying before continuing. “Do you know what it’s like to suspect that you could be walking right by your favorite food, your dream house, the perfect lover, even ignoring your own birthday, all because you can’t remember? You should be grateful for what you have. You’re lucky to have the two of us here to assist you, working hard to try and help jog that memory for you.”

Robert Fisher straightened partway up and looked her hard in the eye. There was a faint crackle of power, a minor fluctuation in the Ether. Alice stared back hard for a moment, and then she laughed, and jammed the cattle prod into his crotch, activating it while the big man behind him recoiled in laughter and sympathetic pain. Again, Alice politely waited until Robert had stopped thrashing about on the floor.

“You are probably wondering why it is that you cannot use your magic brains to kill us,” Alice said crisply. “I should have pointed this out earlier, but I tend to lose my train of thought when I am having fun. My friend Mark Costas probably isn’t familiar to you, but he should be, if there was any justice in the world. You see, Bobby, you might be something of a telepath, but Mark here is a very
special
kind of telepath; really, he’s a rare and utterly unique talent.”

“You are too kind,” Mark rumbled.

In fact, he was too kind to point out that he heard this speech a number of times over the years, almost verbatim, and that he knew that it came from her diaries rather than any direct memory of him. However, since he actually was her friend, he kept quiet about this, the same way he kept quiet about the fact that he was also her former student, because he wasn’t sure whether she’d read about that yet. She’d actually been the one who had overseen his transformation from a chubby, awkward little Salvadorian kid from New Mexico to the tattooed enforcer that he was today. Still, no matter what she had forgotten, he was heartened to see Alice being Alice, and it showed in the genuineness of his smile.

“Don’t get me wrong, he can do all the normal shit too. That isn't what makes him unique, though. You see, Mark has a protocol that operates entirely on your autonomic nervous system. I’m sure you know all about that – maybe you’re even good enough to do a little of that sort of thing; making people stop breathing, say, or putting them down for a little nap. Mark, though, he’s fucking surgical when it comes to tampering with the actual workings of your nervous system. When Mark decides that you aren’t going to be able to use your protocols, well, I’m afraid you just can’t access that part of your brain. When Mark decides that you’re going to struggle about as effectively as a prom date after a couple wine coolers, well, then that’s what happens. Are you starting to understand? You, my friend, are going to die, face down in a fucking bucket.”

Robert Fisher coughed, shook, and glared at Alice Gallow, but he didn’t say anything.

“What about now?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at Mark.

He shook his head slowly.

“Well, then, let’s try again,” Alice suggested jovially, as Mark wrenched Fisher roughly to his knees, again not at all dismayed by his attempts to fight. “Let me know when you think of something interesting to say. Go ahead and call out.”

Mark plunged his head back in the bucket.

“How long till he dies from this?” Alice asked, yawning.

“We’ll have to get a medic in here to set him back up pretty soon, I think,” Mark said, considering.

“You wanna take the kid gloves off, then? We could try the thing with his fingers and the table saw. The last one definitely didn’t like that.”

“Yeah, I guess we probably should – wait a minute. I think maybe I got something here,” Mark said, closing his eyes and cocking his head, as if he were listening intently to music only he could hear.

“Would it help if I shocked him in the balls again?” Alice asked.

“Not really.”

Alice pouted, but she let him do his business. She had to remind Mark to let Robert Fisher up for air, and by the time he did, the man was in sorry shape, vomiting all over the floor.

“Gross,” Alice said contemptuously. “What’d you get, son?”

“He’s worried,” Mark said, a grin breaking across his tattooed face like sun through the clouds. “He’s worried about his kids. He’s worried that they didn’t get underground in time, that we’ve found them. He’s worried because he doesn’t think he could handle that.”

“Holy shit!
That’s
where the conditioning broke? They got sloppy! You have their names?” Alice said, reaching for her cell phone. “Let me make a phone call.”

She stepped out of the room to make the call, leaving Robert and Mark alone.

“Wh-where am I?” Robert Fisher croaked. “Is this Central?”

“Oh, you didn’t recognize it?” Mark asked patiently. “I thought you would. This is the worst place in the world. This is the room you are going to die in.”

Robert Fisher had nothing to say to that. Mark smiled, folded his arms, a man at peace with his place and station in the world, and waited for Alice, who didn’t take very long. She waltzed back into the room, sliding her phone back into her pocket, and kissed Mark on the cheek as she walked past, the only woman he’d ever known tall enough to do that without reaching.