Lifting his hand, Robbie brushed a finger across the closed eye. “This is a good reminder that I made some very bad choices.”
“You say your sister got you on the right track. That would be Rachel Malone, CEO of the Audrey’s clothing store chain.”
“She sure did,” Robbie said. “Ten years ago, I was almost beaten to death. A lot of the inmates had a score to settle with me. I layed in that hospital bed, bawling like a baby. I pleaded with my sister to kill me.”
“You were at the end of the line,” the reported offered.
“I sure was.”
Robbie gazed off as he recalled those days. “Rachel came to see me every day. She even cried with me those first few days. But then she got tough.”
Robert remembered the day Rachel showed up at the hospital like a drill sergeant with a new recruit. The moment Robbie started in on his daily rant on how unfair life was, she raised her hands to cut him off.
“We’re done with that, Robbie,” she told him. “The bandages are gone, the stitches are out. Now we’re going to get you healed inside.”
Robbie gave her this vapid stare, like he had no idea what she was talking about.
“I pulled a lot of strings to keep you here,” she continued. “But time is running out. They want to send you back to prison next week.”
Panic hit Robbie. “No! You can’t make me go back there.”
“I have no choice. If I thought I could get you another appeal, believe me, I would.”
Robbie sat up in bed. “Get me some heroin, or some sleeping pills. Anything I can OD on.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Please!” he screamed. “Don’t make me go back. They’ll kill me, I swear they will.”
“No they won’t. I’ve got lawsuits against the warden, the prison, and the state. The guards who were on duty the night you were attacked have already been dismissed. Trust me, no one is going to look the other way any more.”
“You don’t understand,” Robbie whined, “if somebody wants to get me, they will.”
That’s when Rachel sat on the edge of Robbie’s bed and looked him in the eye. “Then you have to be strong. You have to show those men that you’re not afraid.”
“Rach…”
She held up her hand to stop him. “Surely you’re not the only one who’s been picked on, Robbie. It’s been this way for as long as there have been prisons. It’s the bullies against the rest. You need to team up with those guys and stand against the bullies. If you make friends…”
“How am I supposed to make friends?” Robbie screeched. “I’m broke!”
“Oh, Robbie.” Rachel shook her head. “You can’t buy friends.”
She brushed his shaggy hair away from his forehead then rested a palm on his cheek.
“You have to show you care. That may mean you have to stand up for someone else before he’ll stand up for you.”
“You mean get beat up again.”
“If that’s what it takes to show them all that you aren’t afraid.”
The reporter shook her head as she listened to Robbie’s story. “Did the guards protect you when you got back to prison?”
“Oh, some,” Robbie said with a sigh. “But I still got harassed by other inmates. My sister was right though. I saw new guys coming in all the time who were just as strung-out and scared as I was. And I saw the makings of a new generation of bullies, choosing up sides, gathering recruits.
“There is a very complex hierarchy of power in prisons, some based on money, like mine was at one time, others based on fear and intimidation.”
“So you teamed up with the underdogs, so to speak.”
“Underdogs. That’s good,” Robbie said with a chuckle. “Yeah, we get together and talk. I’ve taken a few more knocks to prove that the tough guys can’t push me around anymore. Men are notorious for using their fists instead of their words. But some of us are getting better. Slowly but surely, more guys are willing to take a stand against the injustices.”
“Doesn’t that camaraderie aggravate the bullies?”
“Oh, sure.” Robbie rubbed his stomach and grimaced. “And it’s hard sometimes to forgive and forget. But that’s what you have to do.”
Robert tuned out the rest of the interview. Forgive and forget? Robbie sure had done his share of that once he was released from the hospital.
At least once a week, Robert showed up at the prison; not in the hopes of seeing Robbie get punched or kicked, but to see if his son could live up to Rachel’s expectations.
One afternoon, Robbie stumbled upon two goons pulverizing a punk named Frankie. Robert had seen him before, usually tagging along like a mutt behind a bully named Del.
Frankie must have really pissed someone off. He was wedged in the corner, his forearms up protecting his face. One of his attackers punched him in the stomach and Frankie dropped his arms. That’s when the other tough socked him in the nose. Blood gushed.
“Oh, that’s gotta hurt,” Robbie said.
“Keep walkin’,” one of the guys said.
“I wish I could,” Robbie answered, “Cause I got a feeling I’m gonna get my nose busted again, too.”
The other thug turned to glare at Robbie.
“What’s with you?”
Robbie shrugged. “You’re what? Two hundred thirty? Two hundred thirty-five pounds? I see you working out every day. Why does it take two of you to kick the shit out of Frankie here? He’s what? A hundred sixty?”
He didn’t sound confrontational, just curious. Both brutes turned on him, and Robert was sure he’d get more than a busted nose. But Robbie relaxed his shoulders and turned his hands up in a ‘what the hell?’ gesture.
“Fuck you, Richie Rich,” one of the thugs said, and then they both stomped off.
Blood rolled down Frankie’s chin and onto his prison uniform. He took a swipe at it with a sleeve.
“That won’t work,” Robbie told him. “You gotta pinch your nose until it stops bleeding.”
“Fuck you!” Frankie answered.
“I’m telling you, I’ve had plenty of bloody noses. You gotta pinch it.”
“Leave me alone,” Frankie yelled. “I see what you’re doing. You think if you’re nice to me, I’ll be your friend. Well fuck you. I’m never gonna be your friend.”
“That’s fine, man.” He even raised his hands, as if warding off further abuse.
“Fucking rich kid,” Frankie blurted, then he took another swipe at his nose. He paced back and forth like a caged animal, like he couldn’t get past Robbie to run away. His fists opened and closed. He shook his head, like a debate was going on inside. Then he screamed at Robbie.
“I’m the one who sliced open your leg, motherfucker!” Blood flew off his lips in a fine mist.
Robbie stood in stunned silence. His mouth hung open. He blinked slowly as though Frankie’s words were just now reaching him. Robert was just as shocked. He watched Frankie ball his fists and raise them, expecting Robbie to pounce on him.
But he didn’t.
“Thanks for telling me, man,” he said calmly. He started to turn away, but then added. “I’m not bullshit though. You gotta pinch your nose.”
Then he just walked away.
“Hey! You wait a minute,” Frankie yelled after him. “I know what you’re up to. You’re gonna make me sweat. Then when I’m not ready for it, you’re gonna come after me.”
Glancing back, Robbie shook his head. “No. That road leads to pain. I don’t need any more of that.”
Suzanne reached her hand along the table to Robert’s.
“I remember the day you came home from your visit to Robbie and told me that story,” she said.
“Yeah. Everything kind of turned around then,” Robert said. “It was the first time I was tempted to get inside Robbie’s head. To let him know I was there. And to tell him how proud I was of him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
December meeting, 2070
A gust of wind blew
pellets of sleet ticking across the parking lot. A lone glove was swept up from the pavement and went sailing right through a temp off to Robert’s right.
“I never realized how lovely Ann Arbor can be in December,” he remarked.
“At least fans don’t sit out in this kind of weather like they used to,” Maggie said.
Joe turned from the giant stadium across the lot. “I wonder if they ever covered the stadium in Green Bay?” he asked.
A group of temps ahead disappeared through double glass doors of the arena.
“This is stupid,” Robert said. “How are we going to hear anything?”
“Stop being such a stuffed shirt,” Maggie told him. “Sam says the Michigan Stadium is the largest in the country, and they needed some place big to get all us temps in one place.”
“I still don’t see why all the different cryonics groups wanted to meet here. Who’s going to speak? Stuart Greyson, or someone else?”
“Just be patient, Robert,” Maggie said. “It will all make sense soon.”
“You already know?”
“Yes, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
“What’s all the mystery?”
“Why can’t you just appreciate how much work went into getting every cryonics temp, in the world, at this gathering today. Over one hundred thousand souls all in one place, with one commonality.”
“Yeah, yeah, all right.”
Suzanne tickled her fingers under his chin to cajole him out of his sour mood.
“We’re going to be great, great grandparents again soon,” she told Maggie.
“Really?”
“Hey, that’s my news,” Robert said.
“Then tell it.”
Jerking his head away when Suzanne zeroed in on another tickle, Robert said, “Hunter’s granddaughter Erica and her husband have petitioned for a child.”
Maggie clapped her hands. “Oh, how exciting. Are they asking for a boy or a girl?”
“I think they’re waiting until they get permission,” Robert said. “They don’t want to get their hopes up.”
“This is their first, isn’t it?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, but Brock, her husband is a little worried that his financial dossier isn’t strong enough.”
“I’m sure everything will work out,” Maggie said.
A greeter at the door asked what year they had been preserved, then directed them to a section with the rest of a group with similar dates.
“How’s Angie?” Maggie asked.
“She’s so happy,” Suzanne said. “And she loves London. The conservancy she volunteers for can’t believe how organized she is.”
“After thirty-five years of managing Mark’s life, she should be good,” Robert said.
“Is Mark still badgering her?”
“I don’t think he knows where she is,” Suzanne said. “Last he knew, she was in Paris.”
At the top of a flight of stairs, Robert stepped out into the stadium.
“Good God!” he said.
His eyes scanned the huge basin. An ocean of temps filled nearly every seat. He turned to look up at the seats behind him, also filled. He spotted Bernie and waved. Surrounding Bernie were total strangers.
The agitation Robert had been experiencing eased a bit. If this many people were waiting to come back, surely he had several more years with Suzanne before his number came up for reanimation. Even with all the mergers, he was still only number two-hundred fourteen. That meant thousands of others would be reanimated first.
Five men strolled out to the middle of the football field, and stood on a huge M on the fifty-yard line. Some kind of animal had been spray painted on the turf as well.
The only person Robert recognized was Stuart Greyson. A rather portly gentleman next to Stuart raised his arms to quiet everyone down.
“Welcome everyone,” he said, pronouncing each word slowly. “Some of you may know me. My name is Nigel Witherington, I was an actor in the British Theatre for over thirty years.”
A smattering of hoots could be heard in various areas of the stadium. Probably all Brits. Robert had never heard of the man.
“I was asked to speak today,” he continued slowly, “because I’ve been told I have a big mouth.”
More laughs erupted.
“We were lucky to procure this magnificent stadium. I understand the Badgers are undefeated this year.”
A wave of boos and hoots rumbled through the crowd. One of the men on the field turned to whisper something to Witherington. He nodded and raised both arms.
“Sorry. Sorry. I’ve been told the team mascot is a wolverine, not a badger.”
As Witherington spoke, he turned in a circle, so that everyone could hear him. Robert was amazed that the man’s voice carried fairly well, even with his back turned.
“This month, December, of the year two thousand seventy, is a momentous date for all of you. On December twelfth, nineteen ninety-five, the first man was cryopreserved in California, here in the United States. Seventy-five years ago, this month, a small group of forward-thinking pioneers carried out the first successful procedure on Mr. James Gallagher.”
Witherington gestured to the man next to him and he stepped forward. Because no one could clap, they cheered. Gallagher took a bow before stepping back with the group.
“Now I know what you are thinking,” Witherington said. “What about Dr. James Bedford, a truly courageous man, who in 1967 volunteered to be frozen by traditional means. Dr. Bedford’s body remains in a frozen state at Crycor and we have every hope that he will be successfully reanimated in the very near future. Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. James Bedford.”
Again, Witherington turned and gestured to the man standing on his other side. Bedford stepped forward for a bow.
“Poor old geezer,” Maggie muttered. “If he makes it, it’ll be a miracle. That was very gracious of the committee to include him in the celebration.”
Back front and center, Witherington made another announcement.
“Another milestone was achieved in June of this year, but the committee felt it deserved repeating this December. This is now the second meeting of cryonics temps, worldwide, with no…new… members.”
The crowd roared their enthusiasm.
“This is an astounding revelation,” Witherington said. “It means that no one—NO ONE—has involuntarily died, anywhere in the world. Medical advancements have achieved what no one thought was possible one hundred years ago. Immortality.”
The crowd broke into ear-piercing screeches and howls. Robert wondered if their combined energy could be heard outside the stadium.
“No one has died?” Suzanne asked. “I can hardly believe that.”
“Oh, people are still dying,” Maggie said. “But because they have chosen to die. There’s still a strong religious coalition that believes life should not be prolonged beyond a certain point. Although it has become something of a gray area for religious leaders. A Christian can get a heart transplant when he’s ninety, but at some point he’s got to go meet his maker.”
“I wonder what the insurance companies are going to do, now that no one is taking out revival policies.”
“And Crycor won’t have anymore insurance payoffs coming in,” Robert said. “I hope they invested wisely. They’ve got a lot of work ahead of them.” He coughed out a laugh. “That would be funny if the board just took the money and ran.”
“Fat chance of that,” Maggie said glumly. “I’m afraid our reanimation is coming—soon.”
Sam came trotting up to the four of them as they crossed the parking lot. Robert wanted to find the nearest bar and get a drink.
“Hey,” Sam said, poking his head between Robert and Maggie. “You’re coming to our technology update at Crisler Arena, aren’t you? These guys I’ve been hanging out with are geniuses. We’ve got a fantastic presentation. The committee gave us the basketball arena because they figured we’d draw the biggest crowds.”
“I don’t know,” Maggie
said. “Maybe you can give us a recap later.”
“What? You’re kidding, right? We’re going to be talking about clones that are being grown right now for us. Well, not for us precisely, but for the temps that have only been in storage the last few years.”
He was so excited, he actually trembled.
“Look, Sam,” Maggie said, her voice soothing and calm. “I understand your enthusiasm. But some of us aren’t in a real partying mood right now.”
At first Sam stared at Maggie like she’d just grown a second head, but then he noticed Joe and Suzanne standing off to the side.
“Oh, right,” he said. “That was rude. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Maggie said. “We’re heading back to the Tower Hotel. We’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
“Sure thing.”
Sam cupped a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
* * *
The four of them sat at a table in the restaurant next door to the hotel. Robert stared out the window at passers-by.
“Do you suppose there are others like us who aren’t looking forward to being reanimated?” he asked.
Maggie snorted. “I’m sure Brian Campbell and the rest of his emo gang is unhappy. Of course, they’re unhappy about everything.”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “Now they’ll have to get all their new body parts re-tattooed and re-pierced.”
“And get a job,” Robert added.
“I can’t believe it,” Maggie said to Robert. “Seems like just a few years ago, you were lamenting how long you would have to wait, with nothing to do, and nowhere to go.”
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t see how I was going to survive without working fifteen-hour days.”
“I remember you even considered climbing into your dewar like Albert Jackson did, just hanging out in the liquid nitrogen for all this time.”
The Ups and Downs of Being Dead Page 28