Elvissey Page 15

  "You're truthing?" John asked; I'd never seen him so nervefrayed.

  "I'd lie to you?" I shouted. "Supplant anger with logic, John. A quick return's essentialled. Backups'll follow to see what's ensued here." Glancing round to see if other police were arriving I saw the cars parked amid desecrated graves and policemen's pulped husks; the searchlights whitened the woods, appearing them as a photo negative, as a forest of bones. "Forgive me for hitting," I said. "Something needed doing. I adhocked."

  "Forgiven," he sighed, lying; he lied so infrequently as to give himself immediately away. It was ungatherable at that moment whether he falsehooded at will or sans consciousness. It frightened me that John was so uncontrolled; having been commanded not to act upon his slightest desires, he now appeared willing to revel in his deepest. "Is he viabled?" John asked, as if having only come upon E, and expressing the polite curiosity gentility demanded. I circled back to where our charge lay bleeding, approximating life.

  "Elvis," I asked, trying to find an unwounded spot so that I might touch him, and comfort as I could.

  "Take me home," he whispered, mumbling as if his tongue was too swollen to suitably articulate.

  "Can you move?"

  "Don't know," he said, seeming to fade. "Who are you people?"

  "Why did you hurt my wife?" John asked, staying his actions, lowtoning as if to seem capable of lesser harm.

  "Back!" I said, shouting at my husband.

  "You killed those cops," said E. "The Feds. They shot you and you got up."

  "I know how to fall," John said, monotoning as before.

  "You're not human," E said. "Are you?"

  "Human as any," I said.

  "You're Dero-"

  "From down below," John said, nodding; he'd evidently overheard E's earlier recounting. Raising his hand, he traced his thumbedge around E's swollen lids as if marking the orbits for an anatomy class. "What beautiful eyes."

  "Stop it!" I slapped John's hand away; it hurt overmuch to realize that, at least for the moment, I could no longer trust him not to do harm. "We're not Dero," I told E. "Pay him no mind."

  "You are," he said. "I know you are. What are you gonna do with me-?"

  "Take you home," I said. "Our home." He wailed, shouting through the night. Carefully sliding my hands beneath his back, I readied to move him; a voice furred with static blared from the police car's radio.

  "Car 43, come in," the voice said. "Car 43. Please respond, Car 43. Over."

  "Time to blow," I said, struggling to raise E without damaging him further. "Rapido, John. Engage the device and let's home it."

  "Point of emergence's preferable for transferral back, as told," John said, assisting me, supporting E's deadweight as he hoisted him. "We'll make New York by tomorrow night."

  "We're transferring here if abled," I said. "Not a moment longer here."

  "I like this world, Iz," he said. "And the in-car device's emergency sole-"

  "All cars, please respond. Car 43-"

  "We're emergencied," I said, helping John to guide E's bonebroken form into the back of our car; after certifying that his feet were out of the way I shut the door, securing our prisoner.

  "We'll need distance, and a matching road," he said, wheeling himself as I ran to the front. "It's unassurable where we'll come out if we transfer from here." Rising in the distance was a long, steady whine; the sirens distinguished themselves as they drew nearer.

  "They're surrounding," I said. "Come on, John--

  But before he did anything he kissed me again; I pushed him away from me, saying nothing, wanting nothing less than loving so long as we might still escape. "AO," he said, pressing the starter, engaging the engine. "Iz-"

  "What?"

  "I understand, Iz," he said. "You'll tell me, in time." My husband's condition of paranoiac insecurity was gathering greater strength as it momentumed, and I said nothing, estimating my protestations would only assure him that I belied all truth. The sirensound neared; nothing yet showed in the rearview. He ran his hand along the dash until he found the Alekhine's red button.

  "Press it, John. Let's away."

  I eyeshut, desiring of blinding myself against that midworld nothingness, trusting that I would never know if our transferral was unsuccessful. My ears continued to gather sounds of insect and siren, and when I opened my eyes I saw the sharp-shadowed woods, and the field, and groundbound red flashes speeding toward us in the distance. "It's lemoned," my husband said. "No go."

  "I've something to use-"

  "Floor yourself, Iz."

  As I wedged myself beneath the dash I felt for my purse; remembered as I found it that E had dumped the contents while taking my money. John shifted the car into drive and spun the wheel; from my viewpoint I was unable to tell where he was aiming us. I ran my fingers through my debris, shoving aside E's valise, trying to find the compactJudy had given me.

  "Ready yourself, Iz. We'll have to smash them head on. That'll hash the leads-"

  "They'll be shooting, John," I said, rummaging through tissues, pens and pillbottles; farragoes of makeup never wanted, never used. "The glass'll give." Nothing I touched held the right shape; I thrust my hand beneath the front seat, finding naught but additional clutter so well as E's magazines. "Drive us away from them, not toward."

  "Ten oncoming," he said, slumping down in the seat, allowing himself vision enough to see through the spokes of the wheel. "Hold on."

  He floored us, tearing across the field; I thought of the people beneath our tires as we inflicted one last indignity upon them. Hearing gunfire and the ring of metal hitting metal I trembled; felt a cold, flat roundness in my palm. Fingerclamping tight, I brought out the compact. Bullets beat against the car, sounding as a thunderstorm, a rain of metal frogs. "They're trying to take out the tires," John said, wheeling rightways. "They've encircled. What've you got?"

  "Release," I said, breaking off my nails against the compact's rim; the seal seemed airtight. My hand so shook I could hardly hold it.

  "Together, Iz," John said, slowing the car as the rear window shattered. The gunfire ceased, and I heard shouts. "We'll go together-"

  "Agreed," I said, flipping open the compact's lid as something heavy thudded against the hood of our car. Glass rained over me as I thumbed the pad's center, counting off ten seconds. Looking above my head I saw a uniformed arm passing through the broken windshield, aiming a gun at my husband. Then the car's interior whitened with light; all sound tuned out but for my husband's scream.

  "Hold me," John said; I clambered onto the front seat and held him down against its fabric before he could be drawn out of the car. A policeman was slipping away from our vehicle, appearing to swim backwards, mouthing words sans sound; as he glided into absence his colors became translucent, and his dissolving form pinpointed as it blended into the whiteness. As I braced one arm against the dash, holding fast to my husband's legs with the other, I sensed myself drifting toward the opened windshield; had I slacked my arms I surely would have slid through, transversing the glass, losing myself in the space beyond.

  There was a moment more of motionlessness, floating in that timeless freeze; then at once we reentered our world as if slapped awake by an intruder. Our sun, carcinogenic and welcoming, pricked us with hot needles. I looked through the windshield, seeing that we'd come to rest on several lanes of concrete; two multistory glass towers trellised with brown vines from ground to roof stood opposing, on either side of the road.

  "Iz-! "John shouted as we were broadsided. Our world's freeways were not so expansive as theirs had been; our cars, nonetheless, sped nearly as fast. Most of those oncoming missed us; the one with which we collided had slowed enough to prevent our outright exing. We had emerged at a right angle to the road, blocking two lanes. John sustained full impact; our car pinwheeled down the highway, goosing the rear of one of our fellow travelers before caroming through the guardrail down a low embankment and coming to rest in a kudzu bed. The car didn't fourth-of-July on impact; I gat
hered that nothing of mine bled overmuch. I didn't fight to remain conscious, now that it no longer essentialled. Before fogging I recalled glancing through the unglassed windshield at the vine-entwined buildings overlooking us; around the cornices the foliage was chopped away, that nature, least of all, should hide Dryco's logo. E was viable; his screams assured me. As I looked over at my husband lying red amid our wreck, I wondered how much he regretted surviving. It didn't take our company's reps long to find us.

  "Inhale." I did as demanded. "Exhale."

  Dryco's clinic tables were so chilled after our return as they'd been, predeparture; the overheads blinded as before, the familiar odorless stench permeated the air, and my medicis evinced the same warm concern which I'd come to expect. Outpatienting, nonetheless, didn't inflict so much trauma as was sustained during their treatments. Following a week of isolate, intensive care, I was released; afterward naught essentialed but my whiling an hour in their bondage daily so that they might chart my recovery rate.

  "Circulatories, normal," my nurse said, tallying. "Endoc- rinations, uninterrupted. Neural charges, steady. Respiration, acceptable. Lymphatic conversion, responsive-"

  We'd returned a fortnight before; the New York observers, eyeing our dot on their screens as we reappeared, worded south to assure that, minutes later, our overt damages were being treated in Mississippi. Copters came and medevacked us direct, and an hour after our pickup we were each singlebedded in the Bronx, in Montefiore's Dryco wing. That eve ping I wavered momentslong into consciousness, unconcerned by my strapped limbs or my wired head once I realized where I was; I felt tubes inserted into my neck, and I puzzled over why they were there; once I recovered I accessed a library text and comprehended that my blood had been vacuumed from me so that it could be supplanted with a purer vintage. As I considered my state, startled to still be alive, a nurse noted my wakefulness and sedated me anew. My physical injuries were slight: a concussion, sprained ankles, contusions and a fractured knuckle, sustained when I hit my husband.

  "No infective signs," concluded my doctor. "Melaway treatment ongoing as required."

  "I want my color back," I said; they ignored. "Why is treatment ongoing?"

  "Addictive factor of Melaway demands a three-week withdrawal program, once treatment is deemed inessential."

  "Who essentials it?"

  "Inapplicable question unanswerable by this department's representatives," said the nurse. "Silence, please."

  John, too, had been released; only E remained in hospital, secured on the wing's uppermost floor, still sealed away from all eyes save those of his doctors, and Leverett.

  "Detail troubling symptoms, if any," my doctor said.

  "Headaches, as told before," I said. "Of lowgrade intensity and unceasing."

  "Accounted for by concussion's lingering effects. Continue."

  "I want magnetic resonance to certify. Cat me."

  "Clinic policy cost-inhibits use during outpatient period unless circumstances warrant, as explained," said my doctor. "Unwarranted here. Detail other symptoms."

  "Nausea upon rising," I said. "A prolonged bloat, and menstrual abeyance."

  "Believed to result from prolonged usage of Melaway. Conclusive results regarding remaining related tests will be available to you tomorrow morning between eleven and twelve, Lab Five, Desk Nine, Patient ID 74651135-"

  "I'll not recall," I said, interrupting her reel. The machine nearest the table vomited from its slot a printout sheet.

  "Use directionals supplied to locate. Present yourself at Lab Five, Desk Nine, between eleven and twelve tomorrow morning."

  "Update concluded," said the nurse. "Report here at ten, morning. Rise."

  "Which test results remain?" I asked, directing my question to the corner intersections of wall and ceiling from where their voices issued; again, no response. I loosed my robe, letting it fall floorways; eyed the flashings of machinelights as they blinked on and off, poxing my goosebumped skin with spurting reflections. My skeleton semblanced in greenline upon one screen's black field, duplicating my structure's shifts as I moved. I'd not noticed before how unerringly its blended dots mimed me; placing my stance before the screen, I drew up my arms and flexed my legs so that I could watch my inside at play.

  "Refrain from gesture stylization, please," my doctor said, startling me by returning so unexpectedly. "Move normally while clothing yourself."

  "What's wanted?" I asked, pulling my shirt over my head, fitting its collar around my neck. "Why?"

  "Self-conscious motions pattern falsely, throwing the observers' controls."

  "Observers?" I replayed. "Who-?"

  "Medical observers from appropriate fields," said my doctor. "Incognitoed, as awareness of presence inevitably affects patiental behavior."

  As I backed against the table's cold edge I tugged my shirt down over my hips. "I'll not be eyeraped!" I shouted, uncertain of who stared where; wondered how long and how often I'd been onceovered. "Why are you watching me?"

  "Observation assists research needs," she said. "Research purpose is inessential information."

  "It's invasive," I said, forcing my feet through my trouserlegs so quickly as to nearly rend the inseam.

  "Patiental commentary inessential," said my doctor. "Silence, please."

  Retrieving my shoes and underwear, I rushed out of the room, not sliding the door closed behind me, knowing I'd never return after the next day, when I could gather my test results; results for tests whose purpose remained enigmaed. I shamefaced as I halled myself, forbidding tears, guilting sans reason as I always had whenever another assaulted me, as I'd done after unblanking my memory of the patrolman's probing; as when John went missing while we made love, or as Judy had known me before she knew me. But the rape for which I blamed myself most was the one that never occurred.

  Late that afternoon, unenjoying my remaining moments of unscheduled time, safe from any eyes but those I desired might stare, I studied the disk I'd purchased at the fetal art exhibit. When I looked again upon the pieces they reentered my head half-forgotten, as if I'd seen them years, and not weeks, before. I studied their holoed images, reappraising my first looks, deciphering subtleties too cloaked to grasp even after years of study. Tanya's voice audibled clear over the unit's phones as I allowed all mundanities to slip from my mind, losing myself in her work.

  "Violence against another is doggerel, not poetry, however developed its structure, no matter the comforts of its theory, " she said. "But there inheres to the aesthetic of violence against oneself an unassailable truth, that the greatest art bestows upon its onlookers, and its artist, the sublimity of pain. "

  "Iz?" I heard John say.

  "What, sweetie?" Switching off the unit, I freed my ears to better hear my husband. He'd suffered greater injury than I had in the smash; still, much of what was harmed was partially if not totally artificial, and so his recovery progression had matched mine. He trod catfooted upon his improved leg; his freshest scars were unbasted several days before. His Krylar implants secured his innards so well as shielded, and though he'd taken full impact he'd sustained only minor internal damage. In rebuilding his bone-shattered arms his doctors strengthened their lengths and joints, restringing new tendons so that both his fists might sound fortissimo chords, if he was ever again allowed to play.

  "I've interrupted," he said, readying to exit. "Forgive-"

  "Stay and speak," I said, patting the chair next to me. He sat himself with caution, slowing his motions so as not to harm what remained to be healed. "What's troubling?" I asked. "You've medicated?"

  "I singled at half past." He lifted his head, revealing his oldest scar, one gained in teenage; a whitened furrow usually hidden within his neck's folds, close to but not touching the carotid. "I can't doubledose, Iz," he said. "It blanks me. That's life sans life-"

  "It's essentialled," I said. "That's known."

  "It's undoable, whatever's demanded," he said staring at dust-motes aglitter in the room's fading sunstream.


  "They unanimoused, John. It's temp, all the same. A shortterm requirement, we were assured-"

  "Retirement doesn't become me," he said. "I can't regood, Iz. I should have stayed-"

  "That's not our world, John," I said. "It momented pleasant to you in some ways. At the end it was prepping to swallow us both. You weren't you, there."

  Through my window I saw an adblimp sail by, puttering toward Jersey; bedecked along its bulges were all the marks of Dryco. From its fins a banner fluttered, iterating the company motto in letters twelve meters high. Leverett, fulfilling Dryco's promise, had had our salaries doubled after assuring that we'd not only met our goal, but returned with him. Debriefing our overseer two days before, I'd detailed the ensuings of our travels; demanded as well explanation for why my husband's medication hadn't acted. Leverett guaranteed a full investigation, and sent me homeways; that afternoon John was notified by nameless ones deep in Dryco that, for contrarying against regooding regardless of cause, he was suspended with pay for indefinite duration.

  "I was me," he said. "You've not glimpsed before."

  "No," I said. "You did as trained, John."

  "Trained no longer," he said. "I'm redundant. They're unphasing me."

  "Tomorrow I'll be conferring with Judy," I said. "I'll make your plea, I know she'll hear."

  "I'm maddening, housebound."

  "You're not imprisoned," I said. "Come and go as willed in my absence."

  "I can't, Iz," he said. "It's impossibled-"

  "You're fearful going alone, nothing more."

  "More," he said. "I'm tongue-tied, trying to tell. It's-"

  "It's temp," I said, fearful that it would be longer; lying to him came easier to me now, came almost so easy as breathing. "Once he's healed you'll be returned to the fold. Till then we're together. Mayhap we can vacation, at last-"