Prelude to a Scream (40 page)

So this, finally, was what he and Sibyl had in common.

And, likewise, this is what made them irrevocably, mutually exclusive.

For in order for one to live, the other would have to die.

He heard the whisper of the sheets drawn aside. “I'm inserting a catheter, Mr. Ahearn,” said Jaime soothingly, at work behind him, “in the back of your knee. You didn't even feel the Valium injection — did you? This will be your first IV, which you will hardly feel either. It will administer antibiotics and anti-immune products. Soon after I will administer amethocaine, the local anesthetic, a distant cousin to the one you now have in your maxillary sinuses, at the T-6 vertebra, just above your tailbone, also by stationary catheter. This will anesthetize most nerves within the trunk of your body from your knees, more or less, to your heart. Kind of like you're having a baby.”

“I must caution you, sir,” added Djell, who had appeared behind his wife, “that while you will be conscious during the installation of your new organ, the least movement could be disastrous.”

Stanley watched the green eyes.

Djell gingerly put a hand on his wife's shoulder. “
Coraggio
, my sweet.”

“Mustn't get touchy so early in the game,” said Jaime. “Or,
finito es el partido
, as we say at the country club.”

“Endgame?” Djell sighed raggedly. “It must be five o'clock in the morning.”

Jaime shrugged and held up a latex glove. “So? We going somewhere?”

“No,” Djell lamented, pushing his hand into the glove. “I'd just like to get some rest. I'd like to go home. I'd like to get my wife back. I'd like to be
normal
again.”

“Come off it,” said Jaime, holding up the second glove. “Take a look at the floor.”

“Vince.” Djell filled the second glove. “I'm going to miss that guy.”

“You and me both,” said Jaime. “Nobody in this outfit had his experience.”

“Not to mention his failure rate.”

“We're closing fast,” said Jaime darkly.

“Fucking don't talk like that,” shouted Djell suddenly. “You talk like you're trying to jinx us.”

“Who?” said Jaime, professing amazement. He clasped his hands to his chest. “Me? Jinx this operation? What you want me to do, burn chicken feathers or something? You think I don't think there's enough dead people laying around here tonight?”

“Reminds me,” said Djell, thoughtfully eying the two corpses piled along the wall, their feet at the head of the peacefully dozing Iris. “We oughta harvest them puppies.”

Jaime closed his eyes and sighed loudly. “I'm gonna start a union.”

“Can you think of something
better
to—.”

“First things first,” said Stanley drowsily. “Get on with it. Which reminds me, how long until Iris wakes up?”

Jaime shot a cuff and checked his watch. “An hour or two, I'd say.”

“Can you local her like you did me?”

“It's called a regional. I already did.”

“Good,” said Stanley. Incredibly, he was thinking he might need Iris to help him out. If she could get beyond a simple thing like her thirst for revenge, that is. Either way, she still might see the logic of the situation, which was that she might help Stanley anyway, as opposed to placing herself at the dubious disposal of Jaime, Djell, and Sibyl.

Maybe Stanley could talk her into it.

And if things didn't go smoothly?

Who would be left to care?

Certainly not Sibyl. Nor Stanley.

That would leave Djell, Jaime and Iris.

They could sort things out for themselves.

Maybe get couple of lawyers on it. Expensive. Enough body parts to fund a platoon of lawyers.

Get it straight in a couple of years.

Everybody healed by then. Everybody friends. Adjacent condos.

Come out and sit by Stanley's grave in Oakland. Hold hands and tell his tombstone all about the settlement.

The inscription on his tombstone? Easy:
Lived
,
drank
,
died
.

Maybe they'd bury him with Green Eyes. Mix their ashes.

Stanley and Sibyl: gone to hell together.

He looked at Sibyl.

Sibyl, with her wonderful eyes, was watching him.

He liked that mole in her plucked eyebrow.

Made her seem almost human.

Those moles sprinkled up along some meridian of her metabolism, like stars in a constellation. Little ones, bigger ones, round ones, odd-shaped ones. They might occur in pairs, too, like Castor and Pollux, the twin stars of Gemini, all of them asymmetric to her right side, all-girl stars strewn along the arm of some estrogen galaxy…

Could Djell even suspect this romanticizing? Isn't that part of being married to a beautiful woman? To know that other men fantasize over her?

“Hey,” he said. “What's your sign?”

Her eyes just perceptibly widened.

If a gun barrel hadn't been taped to her pursed lips she certainly might have laughed. As it was she said into the barrel, “You're a fucking idiot.”

Genuine contempt. Some mountains, Stanley reflected, are never conquered.

Again he experienced the impulse to pull the trigger and get it over with. To commit suicide and murder. He'd already killed tonight. His first murder. He hadn't felt a thing. Was that what it meant to be an idiot?

He heard a rumbling noise. It sounded like a dog chewing on a bone. He realized his teeth were grinding. The hand taped around the grip of the pistol had begun to shake. His hand was frozen, cramped, clenched, cast in iron, boned by pain. The bladed sight at the far end of the gun must be quivering against the backs of her front teeth or her palate. He could see in her eyes that he was — what? — some subatomic measurement away from pulling the trigger
by convulsion
. One Angstrom? A billionth of a meter? The radius of a hydrogen atom? But what about Time?

How long would it take him to pull the trigger on this cannon, even if the distance required for the travel of the spontaneously enraged trigger-finger were a billionth of a meter? How was time measured, at such a distance? Did
instantaneous
cover the subject?

Faster'n a greased string through a guru.

Catbird!

C'est moi, pardner.

Where the hell you been? I got, like, existential dilemmas wanting consideration.

Do tell.

Sure I —. What the hell you mean, do tell? Can't you see what's going on? Don't you know I've got this gun taped into this woman's face, here, and this guy out back installing my new kidney?

Yeah, I can see that. But I ain't sticking around to enjoy it.

What? What are you talking about?

It appears as how you're doing stellar by your own lights.

But I'm asking you for help. I need, like, a consultation.

I just came back to get my stuff.

Stuff? What stuff?

Oh, you know. Tool box. Pair of gumboots. Couple Louis L'Amour novels I can convince myself I haven't read yet. No big deal. Stuff.

What's up?

For the first time in our coexistence, I don't know what to say.

So? Say nothing. Have a drink. I'm buying.

The little voice didn't speak.

Hey.

You let them cut on that girl.

What girl?

What girl, he says.

Stanley listened to his circulatory system moving his blood around. Goose flesh arose on all his exposed parts. The overhead light dimmed. The grinding suddenly stopped.

Rage replaced everything.

I didn't
let
them do it. I
made
them cut on her.

Good enough. I'm not arguin with you.

Since when?

Since I'm leaving.

What do you mean you're leaving? You've been gone all night. Just when a man gets used to having somebody to talk to when he talks to himself—.

My sentiment exactly.

I don't get this.

Bullshit you don't get it.

All I get is I get into these useless arguments with you and you start disappearing.

Yeah, well, that's not going to be a problem much longer.

What's that?

Nothing. I don't mean nothing. I just mean you're not going to have to worry about pissing away your life with me sittin and watchin from the prime vantage point of your inner barroom. That's all.

But I
like
my inner barroom.

Well, it's closed. Empty. Deserted. It's dark in there and it smells weird. You got it all to yourself. It don't agree with my aesthetic.

Aesthetic? What aesthetic?

You shouldn't have done it to her. Simple as that. But it's done and I'm movin' on to greener inner barrooms. Maybe head out West.

We
are
out West.

Further west, then. Where West becomes East. The Sunset District. Maybe Australia.

I don't fucking
believe
this. Except she's a goddamn scar-licking pervert, Iris is fine. She's going to wake up with a scar all to herself. She'll spend her days happily, filling out insurance forms with a Get-Well Bear in her lap.

Silence.

Wait and see. We're gonna wind up
living
together.

You lost me there, Pard. That's totally over my head. But I guess now you joined this club, you can handle it all by yourself.

WHAT FUCKING CLUB

The club that pulls the trigger to get what it wants.
That
fucking club.

The sensoria flooded back in. The light brightened to a curious ochre, as if he were looking at the world through pricey Porsche sunglasses. Somewhere something dripped. His nose made little
snerks
when he tried to breathe through it.

Hey, he abruptly thought. You don't think I'm going to pull this trigger now, do you?

Well? Aren't you?

Now? Why?

The question is not why, it's
why not?

Hey.

You got nothing to lose.

Yeah.

You lost already.

Sure.

You been trying to kill yourself for three years. Why not now?

Yeah. Why not?

Stanley laughed.

He pulled the trigger.

Chapter Thirty

D
O YOU HEAR ANYTHING?

No.

I pulled the trigger.

Bullshit
.

No. No, I did. Nothing happened.

Have a look.

No, you have a look.

Me? I'm incorporeal.

We're all going to be incorporeal if somebody doesn't have a look.

Plus, I'm leaving. I'm already gone. You're talking to yourself.

So?

So have a look for yourself.

Stanley opened his eyes.

Two green eyes stared at him.

She's still there.

What? There should be little pieces of meat hanging off that duct tape.

I know.

Shoot her again.

Okay.

He pulled the trigger.

Well?

It didn't go off.

Try pulling the trigger.

I pulled the goddamn trigger! Twice. I pulled it…

Somewhere something rattled.

I
better get my stuff.

Hey. YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS.

Says you. What do you know about moral imperatives?

The WHAT? First it's aesthetics, now it's moral imperatives. Make up your mind.

It's made up. I'm gettin my stuff.

No, no. Make up your mind about…

Whispering. Outer whispering.

Shh! Outer shushing.

Well?
Outer voice.

Well what?
Another outer voice.

What do you think?

I don't think. This is strictly empirical.

SO? Djell.

Shh! So keep cutting.
Lopez.

For Christ's sakes, I'm almost through.

In a pig's eye.

Silence.

He's not moving.

So? That's good. If he moves he blows Sibyl's head off.

But I don't think…

I thought you said this was empirical.

True. I did say that.

So don't think. Is he out, or is he not out?

No. He's not out. But the arm might be.

Now you've said it! There's only one way now for
any
of us to find out!

You said this was empirical…

Silence.

A moan.

What's that?

That nurse. Don't worry about her.

I got so much sweat in my eyes I can't see.

Here's a sponge.

Check the machine.

Christ, I have to do everything…

Silence. A squeak of casters.

It's okay. You ready for it?

I
don't know. My hands are shaking.

Want some blow?

Did he give it back?

I took it.

You're kidding.

Guy had his mind on other things. The scalpel, too.

You're amazing.

I know.

That trick with the heroin
…

It almost worked.

It almost got us killed.

Silence. Rustle of plastic. Metal dicing on metal.

I
can't hold the straw.

Manny, Manny, Manny. Are you worried about sepsis? You? Of all people.

No. But I bet
he
is. Hold the straw.

Sounds of snorting.

Whew. Shit.

The other one.

Ack
…

Now me.

Snorting. Silence. More snorting.

You know, who are we kidding? He can hear us. If he was worried he'd have done something by now.

Ask him.

You ask him.

Ask him what?

I don't know, I'm in surgery! Ask him how he feels.

Ahem. Ahearn.

What.

Ahearn?

What?

What's his Christian name?

Which one is that?

The first one.

The nurse called him Stanley.

Right.

Try it.

Yo. Stanley.

What, goddammit.

Stanley?

What?

Hey. Hey Manny. I think he can't respond.

You think?

It worked, Manny. It worked. He can hear us but he can't respond.

How can you tell?

Look at his eye. Hey, Ahearn! See? His eye knows his name.

What's that prove?

Hey, Ahearn. Fuck you, Ahearn!

Cut it out!

He can't do anything! Don't you see? Hey, Ahearn. Pull the trigger, motherfucker.

I did pull the trigger. I am pulling the trigger.

You'd shoot if you could, wouldn't you Ahearn? Huh? Wouldn't you?

Don't touch him!

What's the big deal? He's paralyzed!

He's still got a gun in his hand, goddammit. It could still go off.

Oh. True.

Silence.

So now what?

Silence.

Catbird…?

Silence.

Hello?

Silence.

Casters on tile. Instruments on cloth.

Whispering.

Louder, assholes. No secrets. No secrets or I blow the dame's head off. Got me? Got me?

Okay.

He could hear the perfusion machine. It sounded like boiling porridge. A moan.

Can't you do anything about her?

You mean other than steal one of her kidneys?

Yeah.

Well. She's kinda cute. If I weren't so thoroughly queer…

Jaime, try to take the situation seriously.

Hey, Manny. See this syringe?

Sure.

Where is it?

Well-ll… It looks like it's firmly embedded between the T-5 and the T-6.

Oh yeah. Right. He's—.

He's frozen. Paralyzed. And I'm staying here to see that he stays that way. You want something done about that nurse, do it yourself.

Can he see?

Barely…

They fucked me. Now would be a good time to pull the trigger. Now. Right about right about now now now. He pulled the trigger. Now now. He pulled the trigger. Now.

Iced or not, we still have to get that gun out of his hand.

I have an idea about that.

Did you say something?

No, I
—.

Let me show you what I think.

Silence.

Laughter. Quiet at first, a quiet laughter. Then the laughter became louder. Mentally disturbed laughter.

You laugh like you just escaped to Costa Rica only to find a letter from the IRS.

I
always
pay my taxes.

Yeah. This isn't funny. Hold it like this. No.

Oh. Sure. Of course it's not funny. Don't twist it…

Silence.

We're completely screwed, here, aren't we?

Silence.

AREN'T WE—

Someone slammed a big metal door to an underground parking garage.

What metal door?

What parking garage?

I could certainly use a conversation with myself right about now, Stanley thought. Maybe if I take a little rest…

“Well,” said a gravelly voice. “What have we here? Ain't we met before?

Stanley said eagerly, “You're back — you're back!”

“I'm back?” The voice was suspicious. “I never left.
You're
back.”

“Oh. It's you. I was expecting — a friend of mine. Catbird. You seen him?”

“Don't know no Catbird. I don't see nothing but a purple sleeping bag. And—.”

“What.”

“Is that blood?”

“Where?”

“What do you mean, where? You're swimming in it.”

Stanley laughed.

“What's so funny?”

“Drowning,” laughed Stanley. “You swim, you drown. What a relief. Drowning's about the easiest way of dying I've heard about lately. Drowning, did you say?”

“Swimming.”

“Drowning.” He chuckled. “It sounds downright civilized. I hope it works this time.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Say—.”

“Yes?”

“Is your name Jasper?”

“Right in one, mister.”

“Have we met before?”

“I was wondering the same thing. You eat at St. Anthony's?”

“Where they serve meals to the homeless? No. No, I… I was almost homeless, once. But say, where is this?”

“St. Anthony's?”

“No, this. Here. Now. Where are we?”

“Why, mister, this here is the Panhandle of the Golden Gate Park in fabulous Californ-eye-yea, U.S. of A, World, Solar System, only four and a half light-years from Alpha Centauri, as the stoned crow aviates.”

“Jasper…”

“As for the Now of it…”

“Yes…?”

Laughter. Slow at first, and deep. That is to say profound laughter. Increasing tempo, getting louder, lowering in pitch to a belly-combusted cackle.

“Jasper…? Jasper…”

Throw it over there.

Buddy, that's cold.

You don't know the meaning of the word.

That voice… A woman's voice…

My Christ,
said Djell
. What next…

Pain is next. Why don't they ask me? Stanley could hear irrigation sprinklers. He could smell juniper and eucalyptus and diesel fumes. For that matter, he could smell Jasper.

“Got to get you out of here. Say, haven't we met before?”

“I think I was here once already. Couple months ago.”

“Say, that's nothin'. I sleep here most nights. Ever since word got out about a guy I found in a sleeping bag… kinda like the one you're in now… nobody wants to camp here anymore. Plenty of room.”

What's that smell?

Blood.

I think
—.

Don't. Just do it.

Dragging me around a tremendous exploding fire door.

“—know you from—”

Just the majority of it.

“No, no. Can't say as I remember.”

Leave just enough to aim with.

A tremendous exploding fire door won't stay closed.

A resonant boom in an underground parking garage, onto which the metal door closed. The echoes fade into the ragged buzz of a single fluorescent tube.

Somewhere something dripped. Something whined. Caster clatter. After tremendous concentration he realized the colors he was seeing were somehow tuned to the music he was hearing. Oh, yes, there was music. Plaintive trumpet. He couldn't tell where it was coming from. An irrigation sprinkler rotated by, a jet of water shot through the juniper. In the grass just beyond the skirt of water two seagulls stood watching him. They were interested in his eyes. Eye. Jasper was telling him a story about the bus system, while Stanley wished Jasper was… what? Who? Although
vice versa
would do. Someone To Talk To. Women don't count. Do I think that? Stupid. Stuck on stupid. Dumb as a box of rocks. Laughter sounds like a Chihuahua locked in a closet. Acts like. Sounds like. Walks like. Quacks like. Must be laughter. Or a Chihuahua. Scar tickles, of course. Pink tip of wet tongue on purple ridge of scar, glistening radioactive under hand-held black-light. Smoldering incense smells like guano, two-and-a-half units. Tree roots exposed and peeled. Gravel and burnt matches. Empty cellophane bag labeled RED HOT. Taste of acetone. Somewhere something hit a floor with a sickening thud, a watermelon dropped from a great height. No more slamming doors? A conversation, then, while we wait. A little one-on-oneself. The beep of a video game. Must score. Oh yeah? Explain the game. Well, I hate to tell you this, but it's called The Moral Imperative. Beep. The what? “They got that at St. Anthony's, too.” Deconstruction. “They gave it away.”
We Can Build You.
Damn. Philip K. Dick had to get in here somewhere. If they can build you they can take you apart. “Come on let's get us a coupla transfers and— say.” Say? “That's blood.” Mine. Whose. Theirs? Whose? Mine and theirs. Hers, too. Iris. The girl gave her all. Talk her into it. Just ask her.
We Can Build You Something To Live On
. It's only the spare. Her spare. Afford it. Over the top
vis-à-vis
methods of self-preservation. Ditto, pre-spousal altruism. Bartendress! A drink for every concept! Ice in a glass. Purling
uisge beatha.
Somewhere something screams. Maybe car alarm, maybe robot, maybe neighbor's television. If things made sense at this point, they might not make sense later. Let's see you get out of that one. Oh my god, it's Gray Eyes. She brought the kids! Come on in, honey. Join the party. What do you say to a kid? Ahm, this is Dr. and Mrs. Djell, and that there with the blood all over him is Jaime. My surgical team. I'm going to be okay, aren't I fellas. That's Iris. Oh, she's going to be okay, too. Just napping. I just know it. And Jasper. He—. What do you mean, this all looks
familiar
? If that's so, why don't you explain it to us? Typical? Typical? I'll show you typical—. Mary? (her name) Mary. Let's don't fight. Please God, after all these— let's don't.… Her name aloud in years. Silence heard me. Not until
pock
… I didn't know Lieutenant Uhura made it with—
Pock-pock
…
To go where no man has
—
pock
—. Is this Thursday? Night?
Pock
… You got a lime?
Pock-pock-pock:
Oh for the wand of non-awareness.
Pock
… How genuine a night is the night when all life's aspirations become glandular, announcer holds up envelope, and the Secret of Life, which is
pock
fill 'em up, on me
pock No, no
let me get this round, four rounds left, no ammo and enemy activity just beyond the bridge, sir, if they're from Berkeley, throw cigarettes at em, you can see the whole East Bay from up here… How much is the complete
Flammenwerfer
Surround System anyway?
Not so much as a single kidney.
Installed? The Big Head shakes No, the Big Hand slams dice on the bar — Bam!
Still in the box
comes the
pock
mortal coil, good for heating coffee,
my coil and them Louis L'Amours
, craps again.
Inner voices travel light.
But Shane,
Shane
… Face it, boy. Should have married that girl when you had the chance, Lt. Corrigan, still in police school. What chance did a man have? No bankroll, big Catholic wedding. She always ran after the wild ones, the mutts, the no-goodniks. —
Additional dialogue by the man who brought you
Absalom, Absalom —
Oh yeah?
voice, falling off a building:
Who's thaaaatt
… Skip to random select. How much of real life do movies make up, anyway?
This much, buster: pow-pow, pow!