“How could you know by being near us?” Remmie said. All this story needed was a psychic element.
“I know because I’ve learned to physically sense the difference between someone with Malclenersy and someone without. You can learn it too. But that’s for later.” Victor paused to scan the area. “It’s the part of the brain affected by Malclenersy that causes our symptoms. But the pattern and the déjà vu are caused by the battle between Malclenersy and the IENDE Nanomachines—Dames for short—that are attacking our brains.”
“But why do we exhibit the pattern?” Remmie was fixated on the pattern as she tried to stop her fingers from tapping, her tongue from rubbing her teeth, her toes from flopping in her shoes. “It seems that everyone else, ‘under control,’ should exhibit a pattern, not us.”
“Malclenersy changes the part of the brain the Dames use to link in. They can’t link into us because our connectors are defective. And we exhibit the physical pattern because the Dames are still trying to connect. It’s their inactive pattern that we exhibit . . . like a computer trying to reboot over and over again. Our brains sense it and subconsciously follow it, like when a song gets in your head and you hum it all day. And the déjà vu is a result of the Dames’ occasional disruption of thought, like an old vinyl record skipping. We experience the same moment twice, in succession, without realizing it. At least, that’s my conjecture.”
“What’s an IENDE Nanomachine?” Kyle said. “And what do Dames have to do with it?”
“An Invasive Electro Neural Disrupter Extraterrestrial Nanomachine. And Dames? It’s just an easy thing to call them. Like how Dames—ladies—control your shit.” Victor chuckled.
“That’s kind of sexist,” Remmie said.
“Whatever. They’re tiny, elusive. You’d have to be really looking for them to find them. And nobody but someone like me—a biomedical engineer with Malclenersy—would be looking for them, because everybody else is controlled by them. And the machines don’t stick around after the death of their host, so they wouldn’t show up even a moment after somebody dies. They move on. They wait in the environment, or in expectant mothers in anticipation of a new host—”
“Wait,” Remmie said. “So what you’re saying is there are tiny robots infesting our brains, which enable us to be controlled by aliens?” Saying it out loud was like a knuckle to the funny bone, spiking her absurdity meter. “And you, Kyle, me, we’re all immune because of our Malclenersy?”
“Exactly.” Victor seemed relieved, as if he’d said all he had needed to say to recruit a couple of disciples.
Remmie started thinking Victor was like someone who researched your life and then showed up to give you a psychic reading, knowing things he shouldn’t, and using that information to lead you to believe in or do something, strategically bombing a topic with deep emotional capital: their lifetime of illness. Except that Victor was his own victim.
Kyle’s mouth was open like an opera singer holding a note.
“You believe this, Kyle?” Remmie said.
“Actually . . . it sounds like bullshit to me. Hey Vick, you do any time at Twelve Virgins?”
Kyle and Remmie burst into laughter.
“You’re both a lost cause,” Victor said, appearing indignant. He stood and started to walk away.
“Say something, Remmie,” Kyle whispered.
“What? Why me?” Remmie thought Victor was crazy, or a good actor in a big prank, but she still felt bad for laughing at him. “Hey, Victor, I’m sorry. Please. You have to know that what you’re saying sounds crazy.”
Victor paused.
“Look,” Remmie said, “if aliens were controlling everybody, then why are people just living the way they’ve always lived? Do your Dames really change someone? Do people under control lack a soul? And why? Are they using us for food or something, when people go missing?”
“I’ve wondered that myself, the why. And what it really means for those who are under control. But I believe that those under control are still unique individuals, just influenced to some degree. It’s like you have a pain in your ankle and it changes the way you walk, but nothing else. But that change makes you do certain things different, or avoid certain things altogether. And if my research and assumptions are correct, the Dames have been on earth for a millennium, maybe longer. None of it makes sense, really.”
“So, they’ve been using us for food for—” Kyle said.
“Not food,” Victor said. “Like I said, I don’t know the why. I just know they’re here, and to a lesser extent how they operate.”
“How do you know how they operate?”
“Because I was able to successfully measure their signals. They implant themselves and infect the brain’s limbic system and corpus callosum, causing what I’d term subtle control. They operate in a default capacity, but they’re capable of doing many other things. They just need a trigger. I’m not sure what it is, but they could pretty much make somebody do anything by affecting emotions, motivation, and to a lesser extent, memory—almost like a customizable drug. I figured out how to manipulate them, in the lab.”
“Have you encountered others like us?” Kyle said.
Remmie again wondered if Kyle was starting to believe. But then he winked at her.
“Someone close to me in the past.” Victor paused. “It was by accident that I discovered the Dames. I thought it was an isolated case at first. But I was able to detect them in everybody I tested, even me. I studied further. It became an obsession . . .” Victor watched the passing waters of the stream and let the conversation fade away.
Remmie’s limbs were suddenly chilled. Victor couldn’t be acting. He believed what he was saying. And despite what he was actually saying, he didn’t seem insane. And that was frightening.
“I know this sounds crazy, but I can prove it.” Victor’s piercing gaze landed on Remmie. “My timeline changed when I lost the warehouse. I need you to give me a chance to prove it, and then we need to get out of here, to a safe place where we can regroup. I need your help. I understand how the technology works, and I believe I can figure out a way to shut it down. At one point, I thought I already had.” Victor pulled in his lips and narrowed his eyes, purposeful. “Somebody knows what I’m up to, and now they know you’re connected to me. I’m sorry about that. You should gather whatever things you absolutely need and meet me this afternoon. I’m thinking there’s about a fifty-fifty chance, or probably less odds”—Victor winked at Kyle—“that you’ll show up, but everything’s gone awry at this point anyway. And there’s no time to track down more appropriate Malclenersy sufferers.”
“What makes someone appropriate?” Kyle said.
“I just mean those willing and able to help.”
Kyle seemed to sway in his seat, in deep thought maybe, or maybe without a single thought in his naïve little head. He was probably swaying that pattern.
“Kyle, you’re making me nervous,” Remmie said.
“Gather your effects,” Victor said. “Watch your phones. I’ll text you how to meet me, later. In the meantime, I need to put a few things in order.”
“What if the cops come back?” Kyle said. “And what about that guy at the warehouse? Are we safe?”
“The cops aren’t really after you—well, they may be. I called them and said you were allowing the sale of drugs from your apartment. I’m sorry, but I needed you to be scared enough to go to the warehouse when I was ready for you—not counting on the photos on the table and the crazy guy. You won’t have to worry about the warehouse guy, at least not anytime soon. He’s indisposed.”
“Indisposed? That’s what Lara Stilltrot always does to the bad guy, and it usually means—wait, you told the cops I was selling drugs?”
Kyle was starting to act double-expresso-with-triple-sugar. Remmie felt a burning in her lower gut. She wasn’t sure if it was that salad from Thursday Twilight, the ordeal she was experiencing, or her desperate need for a shower and a clean pair of underwear.
“Kyle and I will talk about it, Doctor Victor,” Remmie said. “You’ll have to wait and see what we decide.” She suspected that Victor was a certified sociopath and had resolved herself to call Twelve Virgins and then the cops, maybe.
No, she wasn’t sure about anything. But she did feel at that moment like she had some control over the situation: the ability to decide. And she knew Kyle was infatuated with her, that he would do things her way whatever she decided.
Victor gave a subtle nod. “I hope to see you both later. Take care.” He returned to his Caddy.
“I can give you a ride home,” Remmie said to Kyle. “Then we’re gonna call the cops or maybe Twelve Virgins. Then I’m going home to take a shower.”
“I’ve got a shower at my place.”
“What? Not on your life.”
“No, I meant you can use my shower, not take one with me. I just want to help out.”
His face told her he was telling the truth. Maybe she could take a shower there if the lock was secure. And she could wash her underwear in the shower, maybe dry them with a blow-dryer. “You got a blow-dryer?”
“No, I don’t.” He frowned, then grinned. “I can borrow one.”
Should she really trust this guy? He wasn’t any smarter than the guys she normally dated, but he was more innocent. It was kind of refreshing. “Okay. I’ll take a shower at your place, and you’ll provide a hair dryer. Then we’ll call Twelve Virgins. Then the cops.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“You better not try anything while I’m in the shower.” She made a fist and shook it in his face.
“Wait,” Kyle said. “What about all that just happened? About what Victor was saying, about the Dames and all?”
“Do you believe that nonsense?” She wasn’t sure what to believe.
“Uh, no, of course not.”
Apparently he wasn’t sure, either. “Good. Now, let’s get out of here.”
THIRTEEN
IT WAS 1:08 p.m. Kyle parked the car at his apartment complex and shut off the engine. His mental concentration was fading, not up to the key problem at hand: finding a hair dryer. The only person he knew to ask was Anthony. But Anthony would bed Remmie given the chance; Kyle knew that. Maybe he could find a hair dryer at the 7-Eleven. He would check while she was in the shower.
Remmie’s eyes scanned the complex. “You live in this dump?”
“What are you talking about, dump? I’ve got my own place. You live someplace better?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to criticize.” She looked away, her expression like she discovered she’d left her fly open. “Yeah, I live with my parents.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. You can save money and all that, right?”
“Yeah, that’s true.” She smiled warmly. “Thanks for not taking the opportunity to give me crap about living at home.” She reached out and pushed back his bushy hair from his forehead, his scalp tingling like a parched tongue under a premium beer. “With a few wardrobe enhancements, some hair gel—maybe a visit to the dentist . . .”
“What do you mean?” He looked down at his clothes and licked his teeth.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to complement you, but it’s not coming out so well. I guess I’m kind of a jerk sometimes. Maybe that’s why I’ve always dated jerks.” Her gaze wandered to the passing traffic. “They were always worse than me, so I didn’t have to feel so bad about myself.”
Kyle didn’t care if she was a jerk if she was his friend, or better still, his girlfriend. He would even let her treat him like carpet. It didn’t matter.
“So,” she said, “we gonna go in or stay in the car all day?”
“Oh, sorry.”
Kyle threw his backpack over his shoulder and handed the keys to Remmie. They walked the path to his building.
“Looks like they take care of the grass and all here,” she said. “This would be a nice place to play Frisbee.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. We all come out here, sit and drink beer sometimes.”
Kyle suddenly remembered that he only had two beers in the fridge. If Remmie wanted a drink he wouldn’t have much to offer. He wished he had gotten to the liquor store.
As they entered the building Kyle felt compelled to get out of the hallway with an urgency reminiscent of the time he accidently walked into the lady’s bathroom at the mall. He envisioned Anthony’s door slowly creaking open, him standing there with a bottle of vodka and two glasses, wearing a smoking jacket. Remmie would be swept away.
Kyle unlocked the door. This time it was secure. Remmie took a studying scan of the place as they walked in, an untidy displeasure rinsing over her face.
“You clean this place much?” she said.
“I vacuum and all.” Kyle remembered the bathroom hadn’t been cleaned in a month. It smelled like a wet stray dog had urinated on the floor. “Hey, uh, have a seat and give me a minute.” He tossed the backpack on the kitchen counter.
“Uh, sure . . .”
Kyle shut the bathroom door behind him. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of bathroom cleaner from beneath the sink. Foam expanded as he doused the shower walls, bleach fumes invading his sinuses and lungs. His throat tightened as he scrubbed the orange-red stains from the grout and pushed his scattered body hair to the drain. A dull achy pressure formed in his head.
There was a knock at the bathroom door. “You okay in there, Kyle?”
“I’m fine, just wanted to clean up a bit.”
“May I open the door?”
“Uh, just a second.”
“You aren’t masturbating are you?”
Kyle gasped. “No, of course not!”
He opened the door, yellow dish gloves on his hands, holding a T-shirt turned rag and his bottle of cleanser. Remmie moved back, covering her mouth as she hacked up a bottomless cough. She stepped on a piece of Kyle’s name tag.
“Sorry, Remmie.” Who was he kidding. He was just Kyle, the kid who was always sick and took so much crap in school, the kid who got so much crap from Anthony. He had to face it—a girl like Remmie would never want him. He could no longer handle the pressure he was putting on himself. “Look, the bathroom is nasty just like the rest of my apartment. I’m sorry. This is all I am. I’d understand if you left.”
“Hey, put your chin up Kyle. I didn’t expect the Taj Mahal. If this place was pristine, then I’d be concerned. And you shouldn’t use those cheap chemical cleaners. They’re bad for your lungs, not to mention the environment.”
He looked at the bottle of bathroom cleaner he’d taken from his mom’s house. “You don’t want to leave?”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No, of course not. I just want you to have a shower in a clean bathroom.”
“That’s . . . nice. Let’s wait a few minutes for the fumes to thin out, maybe open a window. Then I’ll take a shower. Maybe we could watch TV. You have anything to drink around here?”
Kyle grunted. “I only have two Thrifty Lights—”
“No, not beer, silly. Jeez . . . it’s only like one in the afternoon. I just want some water or something.”
“I have some juice boxes. Fruity Nut Splash.” He pulled his gloves off and threw them into the kitchen sink, then pulled a juice box from the fridge and handed it to Remmie.
Remmie snickered. Kyle was again reminded of the girls from high school who would make fun of his bacon-and-mustard sandwiches. They said it would look the same when it landed in his diaper. Remmie seemed displeased but took the juice box and poked the straw into the little foil circle.
“Thanks, Kyle . . .”
There was a knock at the door. “Hey pussy boy. You in there?”
Kyle’s jaw seized up. It was Anthony.
“Who’s that?” Remmie said. “The building douchebag?”
“My neighbor.”
“Hey, marblenuts!” Anthony banged on the door again. “I know you’re in there. I need to talk to you.”
“You friends with that g
uy?” Remmie said.
“No, of course not.”
“Why don’t you tell him to”—she turned her head to the door—“piss off!”
How would Anthony react to that? Yeah, Kyle had a girl at his place. Pride swelled.
But then Kyle remembered that he and Remmie were nothing, not even friends. Anthony would have her in the end. Kyle’s pride gave way to impotent concession.
“Kyle, you sly dog,” Anthony said. “Please tell me you have a girl in there and not your cousin or some shit like that.”
Remmie looked at Kyle, seemingly waiting for him to do something.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Anthony said, “but I need to talk to you. A couple a guys came to my door looking for you.”
Remmie and Kyle shared a concerned look.
“What guys?” Kyle said through the door.
“White-collar types, asking about you and that Victor guy . . . where you were, shit like that. I’m pretty sure they weren’t cops. I’m pretty sure one of them was armed. We gonna talk through the door all day?”
Remmie opened the door. Anthony gave her a slow once over then flared his nostrils. “Smells like piss in here . . .”
Remmie’s face went apple red. Probably, Kyle thought, because she was attracted to Anthony.
FOURTEEN
ANTHONY STEPPED AROUND Remmie and strutted to the kitchen.
“Hey, you got any brews in here?” he said, his arm already emerging from the fridge with a Thrifty Light.
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