Lizard People (6 page)

“Visitor?” Mr. Bellarmine asked, his brow creasing. “Who? That long-haired bozo in the black car? I thought he was just delivering liquor. She's not supposed to have liquor, is she? Never buttons his shirt? Those motorcycle boots? I never liked that look.” He was standing in his doorway, holding the screen open. “Come in if you'd like,” he said.

He looked like he was dressed for work, in a sportcoat, gray hair carefully combed, shoes shined. He caught me sizing him up.

“It doesn't do for a person to let himself go, just because he's retired,” he said, explaining, not apologizing. “Want breakfast?” he asked.

I shook my head.

This visitor was not good news.

Dullborne got me out of Chemistry, which was great, because I was lost somewhere in the nomenclature of inorganic compounds. We walked away from the classroom and over by the stairs, where we had some privacy.

“Thanks,” I said. “It's about my dad. I found him in a bar between here and Lake City, but I've already talked to him once, and I don't think he'll come home and deal with Mom unless you make him.”

Dullborne took off his dark blue patrol hat, ran his hand over his hair, and put the hat back on. “I can't do that,” he said. “It's not legal. It's not even my jurisdiction. That's County. Sheriff's department. But it doesn't make much difference, because they won't do it either. A law officer can't make your father come home and take care of business.” He shifted his weight. “A sheriff could arrest him if there was a warrant out for a crime your dad committed, but I don't think that would help you any, unless maybe it wound up getting your mom some back child-support money. The law can't really force anyone to behave like a good husband or father.”

I tried to mask my disappointment. “But, uh, but I thought you said to call you if I needed help.”

“With your mother,” he said. “I can help you if your mother gets out of control and becomes a danger to herself or others, but I can't help you with your father unless he breaks the law. I'm sorry. Has Betty Lou followed through?”

“I don't know. Maybe. She's supposed to come by later today and see that Mom's settled in okay. She might still be there when I get home from school.”

“Yeah, well, I got to go. Sorry I couldn't be much help.”

“No, yeah, I mean, I understand. Thanks for coming by. One more thing?”

He waited.

“If a guy was giving Mom street drugs, would you arrest him or scare him off? I mean, you asked me before if she was using drugs. Maybe she is. Would you help with that?”

He was rubbing the bridge of his nose again.

“We'll see,” he said. “Call me if you find out something for sure.”

I watched him walk down the stairs to the ground floor. Now what was I supposed to do?

Vice Principal Onabi answered that question. “Get back to class!”

Rude, Blued, and Tattooed

When
I got home after school, a guy was sitting on our couch. While I was standing in the front hall, looking at him, Mom came in from the kitchen and handed him a can of beer. She saw me when she sat beside him. Her eyes were red and didn't seem focused. She was still wearing yesterday's clothes. She looked away quickly and brushed her hands against her jeans, a thing she often did when she was nervous.

“Ben,” she said. Her voice was rough, probably left over from screaming at Dullborne. “Ben,” she repeated, “I'm sorry.”

I didn't answer. She always felt embarrassed when the police had to take her in.

I had so many feelings. I was mad at her for stopping her meds and getting crazy again. Sorry for her. I knew she felt humiliated.

I didn't know what to say. This was the third time we'd played this scene this year. Nothing I could say would do any good. She'd promised lots of times that she would take care of herself and do what the doctors told her to. I felt like yelling, and I felt like crying. I wouldn't do either in front of this guy.

I felt like slapping her. As if hurting her physically would knock some sense into her. Right. And an image passed through my mind like a commercial. I was in my room packing. Taking the few things that mattered to me anymore: the photo of Mom and Dad, the framed academic award I got for being the top of my seventh-grade class, my first-place sophomore wrestling trophy, and my fly rod. And then I was walking out the front door, going to live with Hubie. Sweet!

The guy caught my attention, shifting his position on the couch. He hadn't looked at me. He kept staring at the wall across from him like it had a newspaper taped to it, or maybe he could see out the window and there was something fascinating happening on the lawn.

I didn't say anything and neither did he. Mr. Bellarmine had been right. He was wearing heavy boots and his shirt was open. He also had tattoos all over his arms, and he was outhouse ugly.

I walked to the coffee table.

“What are you doing here?” I said, a hard edge in my voice.

He looked at me then. Like I was a bug that had lit in his food. He stood up. He was an inch or two taller than me, but probably didn't weigh as much. Wasted, thin, with a little pot gut. He had scars around his eyes. Broken glass? Knife? And the teeth I could see were stained yellow and brown, at least one missing from both top and bottom. Scraggly mustache.

“Leaving,” he said, and carried his beer out the door without another word or a backward glance at Mom.

“What's he doing here?” I asked Mom.

“Nothing,” she said. She sounded real tired. Had to make an effort to speak. “Nothing. Came to see me.” She didn't meet my eyes. “I'm tired.” She made a gesture with her head toward the back of the house. “I'm going to bed.”

“Are you doing drugs, Mom?” I could feel the shock wave as I said it. I don't know if she could.

She looked at me then. Shook her head. “I'm feeling pretty groggy.”

“Do you remember yesterday?” I asked her.

“You don't think people are trying to kill me, but they are,” she said, her eyes growing brighter. “They're broadcasting. You pretend you don't hear it, but you know who they are. Doctors think they can knock me out so I'll forget about it. Well, as soon as you forget, they've got you. If it wasn't for me, you and your dad would already be switched.”

Mom's face sharpened and she looked more intense when she talked like this. The doctors said it wouldn't work to argue with her about these ideas. Strange ideas are a symptom of the illness, they said. The only treatment is regular doses of antipsychotic medication and a stable environment with as few stressors as possible. Right. And then Dad leaves her for another woman.

“Is that guy giving you drugs?” I asked her.

Her eyes flared. “Vinnie's my friend,” she said, getting up. “My friend.” She walked past me to her bedroom and closed the door.

That night … Why did I wait until dark? Why did I even go? I don't know. That night, I went back to Marco's house, got the dining room chair myself this time, and asked for more of the story.

4000

Marco knew he needed to get back to the portal. He thought if he could escape the hospital, if that's what it was, he could just keep going till he reached the park. He needed out of this room.

“I have to see Dr. Gila!” he yelled, and pounded on the door.

A little bit of white steam came out of a vent in the ceiling, and the next thing Marco knew, he was on the floor, feeling dizzy. Marco didn't see the door open but he felt the tube pulling on his arm. He heard some tonal clicking, but he couldn't understand it. He realized his earpiece had become dislodged when he fell. He found it and put it back in.

“… me now. Come with me now,” the machine was saying as it led him along the corridors back to Dr. Gila's office.

“I'm feeling better,” he told her after the tube had exited.

“All right,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I'm … My name is Newt. I'm a nephew of Dr. Monitor. That's why you don't have me in your records. He sent me over here to teach me a lesson.” Marco watched Dr. Gila to see if she bought his story.

“That kind of teaching doesn't sound like the Dr. Monitor I know,” the woman said, looking for something on her desk.

“Wait a minute!” he said, thinking this might be his last chance. “Okay, my name's not Newt. But here's the problem. When I told you the truth the last time, you didn't believe me. Give me a minute, and I'll explain the whole thing.”

Dr. Gila leaned over and pressed a button on her desk.

“No!” Marco screamed. “I can explain!”

“Hold my calls,” Dr. Gila said to a small pad below the button. Then she sat and looked at him. Waiting.

“Okay. First, I don't understand how it works, but I really did come through a wormhole or time connector of some sort. It's located over in a park or a field about a mile or two from here. Second. I'm … on a mission.” Marco was starting to believe it himself. “I really do need to know what the cure for mental illness is. So I can help my Mom.”

Where was his Mom? Where was his family? Was his Mom in the hospital all this time?

“I live in a state called California, in the year 2007,” Marco explained. “I'm not crazy. I just wanted help and thought I might find it here in the future.”

Dr. Gila smoothed wrinkles out of her sleeve. “California. I've not heard of that. An ancient state? This planet?”

Marco nodded. And then he realized he wasn't sure. This planet? He couldn't say exactly where he was or what had happened to him.

“We don't have anything like mental illness in 4000,” she said. “Genetic engineering, glandular implants, and brain chemistry balancing devices have virtually eliminated it. When the rare case surfaces, the person is offered a variety of treatment options. Which one would you like?”

Marco was disappointed by the question. “I don't need one. There is nothing wrong with me!”

“Why did you tell me your name was Newt a minute ago?”

“Well, uh, because your name is Gila and the other doctor's name is Monitor and those are both lizards. And, I saw your face get different and your skin change when you whistled for information earlier and so I thought … uh, if I pretended I was a lizard, too, you might think I was okay.”

“You think that I'm a lizard?” Dr. Gila leaned back in her chair.

“I, uh, yes,” Marco said, feeling very off balance. Feeling less certain every second. “I think so. Aren't you?”

“Do you think a person can be a human being and a lizard at the same time?” The doctor made a steeple with her fingers.

“Um, no,” Marco said, “I don't think so.”

“So,” Dr. Gila said, “let me ask you again. What kind of treatment would you like?”

Marco felt like his brain was being tied in knots and rearranged into cornrows. The more he tried to tell the truth and make sense of his situation, the more confused he got. Now he wasn't sure of anything that had happened to him in this place. Did his window change each day? Or did he move to different locations? Was he in a building or on a ship of some kind? And was he talking to a person or a lizard?

“I need to talk to Dr. Monitor,” Marco said. “I want to go to his office with you and I'll show you the entry or exit or whatever it is.”

“Well, I want to talk with Dr. Monitor, too,” Dr. Gila said. “But he's missing. No one has seen him since the day you were admitted.”

“He's gone through the portal!” Marco practically yelled at Dr. Gila. “I told him about it. About how I got here. That's why you can't find him.”

Dr. Gila was up and out of the room before Marco had even finished speaking.

She came back with a shot-putter of a woman wearing a yellow uniform that was covered with what Marco first thought were medals, but which turned out to be tools of all kinds.

“Show us what you call the portal,” Dr. Gila said. It sounded like an order.

Yes! Marco tried not to let them see how eager he was. Practically free!

The woman in yellow took two different-sized buttons off her tunic and placed them on Marco's cheek. “Stabilizer and locator,” his headset translated.

Marco didn't like the sound of that but had no time to protest as they briskly led him out to the street. A toboggan-type board slid up to them and both women stepped up on it. Marco joined them and it glided away immediately.

“The locator traces your spatial memory,” Dr. Gila explained as they sped along in what Marco thought was the direction of the park.

And the stabilizer? Marco wondered.

Tonight I wasn't as uncomfortable as I'd been the night before. With my eyes closed, it was a little like being told a weird bedtime story. I could picture the whole thing as he spoke, like I was watching a movie. But in the back of my mind, I was computing. This can't be true, so what's going on here?

“The entry point is under the biggest branch a few feet from the trunk,” Marco told the two women.

The big woman in yellow took a lie detector box off her belt and held it above her head. In less than a minute, a silver tube appeared. They sang to each other, but Marco didn't get a translation. Yellow took a small cylinder out of her pants pocket, and it unrolled to form a screen. The silver tube began projecting onto it.

The field. Gliders. Then a man in a pale blue smock coming in from the side and dismounting his glider. Walking around the field like he was mowing the lawn. Covering every square foot. His motions became jerky as the video fast-forwarded. Then he was gone. Reverse to the man walking. Slow. He's by the tree. He's standing under the branch. He walks forward a couple of steps and … disappears!

“He found it,” Marco told Dr. Gila. The picture moved back, forward, back, forward. The same thing happened each time. Poof, he was gone. Yellow sent the tube away with a flick of her wrist.