Mahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah!" Topper laughed, letting his hysterical misery ring off the walls of the dark concrete room. He caught his breath and was quiet.
"I did it to me. So shoot me. Stab me. Whatever. Lock me away from human memory. The best thing you could do is just walk out, close the door and leave me down here to die."
Topper heard the scrape of a wooden chair against the floor. Then the sound of footsteps on the polished concrete as they walked away from him. The clack of an industrial doorknob was followed by the barest sliver of light. He had been an exhausted captive in the darkness so long, he almost didn't recognize the light. But as the door opened further, the outline of an average-sized man in a suit was revealed.
As the man left the room, Topper's blood ran cold. "Hey, HEY, wait a minute! I was just being dramatic, y'know. You can't do this to me!" Topper feared that the door would swing shut. That it would close with a boom and trap him underground forever. Even though he knew it was what he deserved, a wiser, more primal part of him could only rail against the idea of death, no matter how just or poetic it might be.
"You? Hey, I thought we were friends! No, no, that was stupid, I mean, ah, crap." He heard the footsteps getting fainter and fainter. And then Topper had one last ditch idea, "This isn't right! You can't do this! I wanna talk to your manager! Hunh, you hear me? Your manager!"
He heard the far-off squeak of another metal door being opened.
"All right. All RIGHT! You do that. You just." Topper rattled his chains violently. The table did not move, but his wrists began to bleed again. "But if I get outta here. Buddy! OOOOOOOHHHHHOOOOOO BOY, I'm gonna find you. I'm gonna find you and your family and your dog and the bitch you took to the prom and that tree you planted on Arbor day. And then, and then I'm gonna get a dump truck, some zip ties, a whole shitload of motor oil, some FEATHERS, some nine volt batteries—And I'm gonna tie all those people up and make them watch me rape the tree. The TREE, you understand? So they'll be sitting there, and the tree and, and, and..."
At the end of himself, Topper trailed off, hung his head and wept. His sobs were interrupted by the sound of long, heavy strides in the hallway. Somebody big was coming.
Topper's fears reversed in an instant. Before, he was afraid of being alone in the dark. Now, he was afraid of who was coming for him.
"Uh, heh heh heh, I was just joking. I'd never hurt a tree," Topper said to the approaching footsteps. "Y'know, jokes. Whattaya call the act? The ARISTOCRATS! Heh, heh, hee."
When the shadow appeared in the doorway, fear choked off Topper's laughter. He realized that it wasn't the same man who had left. This person was taller, much, much, much taller. So tall in fact, that he had to duck to enter through the door. Once through, he drew himself up to his full height. How thin he was. Thin like—
"Topper," said someone who Topper knew was dead.
"Ed—" before he could finish saying the name, the lights blazed on. Topper had a flash of his dead friend, before his pupils contracted painfully and his eyes defended themselves with a squint. As Topper adjusted to the light, Edwin unlocked the restraints that held him in place.
"Come," said Edwin, "It's over."
"It?" was all that Topper could manage. His jaw opened and closed, but no sounds would emerge. "How the…? What the…? Who the…?" He gave up on speech and ran to Edwin. He threw his arms around the tall man's legs and hugged them.
Edwin did not hug back. But it surprised Topper when he felt the tall man's hand on the top of his head. Edwin patted him gently and said, "You were right."
Topper jumped back in shock, "I was right? Really? How did that happen?"
Edwin turned and walked out of the room. Topper followed him. Across the hallway was a bathroom, and an immaculate suit cut to Topper's measurements. Edwin said, "Please, take some time to recover your dignity."
"Dignity! I had power. I had POWERS. That's its own dignity!" Topper protested holding up the shreds of his supervillain costume.
"Unfortunately, your power was all too fleeting. That's the problem with Dr. Klibanov's work. He knows how to effect a transformation, but he doesn't yet know how to make it stick."
"The bastard! He didn't tell me that."
"I'm sure he realized that you would figure it out on your own."
"He ripped me off!"
"Would you do anything different?"
"That's beside the point!" Topper sputtered with rage. "All right, get out of here and let me get this monkey suit off and that monkey suit on."
When Topper had composed himself, they left. He was surprised to find that they weren't far below ground, but merely in a cinderblock building in the middle of the desert. It was early in the day, and the light of morning wrapped the landscape in long shadows and warm tones. The desert was filled with brilliant blue flowers as far as Topper could see. When Edwin walked out into them Topper followed.
"It's beautiful," said Topper.
"Yes, Topper, it is spring. One must learn to appreciate these things. Even in the desert, renewal comes."
"Edwin, what the hell just happened?"
"I realized very early on that you were right. Perhaps even before you did. Yes, Omdemnity was a mistake, but it was the worst kind of mistake, a successful one. It is much harder to undo a successful mistake. I had raised my profile and given a convenient target to all the forces that would care to array against me. The stupidity of it is a little embarrassing to me now."
"Ah, don't worry yourself big fella, I've made lots of mistakes."
"Yes," said Edwin, "But we should both stick to what we are good at."
"Hey, that's not nice," Topper said, struggling to keep up. "I thought for sure you were dead."
"I am dead."
"Then is this a dream?"
"Metaphorically dead. Dead in every way that can help me and none that can hurt me. You were right Topper, I was working too hard, for too little reward. My profile was too high. As satisfying to my vanity as it was to run a successful company, such an entity can only ever be a target. And controlling people through laws or policies or procedures is a fool's game. A populist's game. And I am not a man of the people. The mark of real elegance is to get people to do what you want them to do and have them think it was their idea."
"Hunh? So you're not mad that I betrayed you."
"No,
Topper, I had to disappear in such a way that no one would ever imagine that I could come back again. Not just to disappear under mysterious circumstances, but utterly and irrevocably. Driving you to rebellion was the best way to achieve that. I must say, you played your part admirably."
"What? You mean to tell me that it was all part of your PLAN!"
"Do you think God left Judas any kind of choice?"
"Ooh! Oooooooh! You're... You're just…"
"I believe inexorable is the word you are looking for."
"EVIL!"
"Yes, that will do."
"C'mon, how did you escape from Excelsior!"
Edwin turned and gave his small friend a short frown. "Do you really think I would construct a bunker that only had one exit? Rather than a dank passage through the bowels of the earth, I designed a high speed pneumatic tube to convey the chair in Dr. Loeb's absurd control room to a small shed several miles away. There may come a day when I am outwitted, Topper, but it will not be by an over-muscled idiot in spandex, I assure you."
They walked on in silence through the flowers. On the other side of the field, Topper could see that a car was waiting for them.
"So what now? You gonna start another business?"
"No, Topper. I think I will go into politics."
"Holy shit, you're gonna run for office?"
"Oh, no Topper, I'm hardly a puppet. And, with your past, I'm not sure you are electable. No, I think we should steal a country."
"Steal a country? You can't steal a country."
"Of course you can Topper. Where do you think the United States came from? Steal or buy, these are the
only two ways."
"What about conquer?"
"That's just a way of paying too much."
When they reached the car, Daniel held the rear door open as Edwin folded himself up and carefully climbed in. Topper looked at Daniel and asked, "Did you know? You knew? You knew! I can't believe you. You were just screwin' with me the whole time! How could you not tell me?"
"I don't like you," said Daniel.
"Fair enough," said Topper. As Daniel moved to open the other door for Topper, the little man shoved him out of the way, "Enh, I'll get my own door. You'd just close it on my foot."
Daniel smiled. He would have to remember that for later. He got in and drove the car east, into the rising sun.
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The World’s Most Dangerous About the Author Blurb.
You know those “About the Author” blurbs that begin with poignant details from the writer’s childhood? The ones that quickly move through a series of credentials and accomplishments so impressive that they make you feel that if you don’t buy a book, everyone will recognize you for the uncultured Phillistine* that you are? Yeah, this is not that kind of author blurb. This is the other kind.
This is an About the Author blurb that actually tells you about the author. If you stick with this blurb it will tell you that Patrick has been shot, has fallen off a mountain, was once framed for a crime he did not commit — that he has gambled with his rent money and knows how to replace the water pump in a 1966 Chrysler. It will also explain to you that, much like a lost boy raised by wolves, he was brought up by economists and can interpret the strange dances and guttural utterances of their dismal tribe.
But most of all this blurb wants you to know that Patrick can write. That he puts words and concepts and characters together in a way that will make your synapses light up like an accident in an unlicensed fireworks factory. Yes, a substance that powerful should be made illegal. But before that happens, you’ve got a chance to go to www.patrickemclean.com to get more of his writing.
If you don’t use this chance, Patrick won’t hold it against you. After all, he’s a nice, easy-going kind of guy. But this Blurb will know. And believe me, this is one “About the Author” blurb you don’t want to cross.
* Editor’s Note: Patrick put an extra l in Phillistine here just to make sure it STAYED down. Don’t let him fool you. He’s also a little dangerous. Especially with a consonant close to hand.
© 2005-2012 by Patrick E. McLean
Published by good words (right order)
www.patrickemclean.com
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