Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  "Odd, you find it less distressing to talk about having someone in your head than the significance of ninety minutes."

  I glared at Carl, but he'd seen it all before. He was a Fund shrink. The terrifying and the ludicrous were his bread and butter.

  "You really want to know?" I asked. Carl said nothing. He was waiting to see if I was baiting him again. "It's how long I was dead."

  He didn't even blink. "From what?"

  "An overdose of sedatives injected straight into my neck."

  "I see," Carl said. "And you were hesitant to share this because?"

  "I'm not sure how I woke up again. My captors didn't do anything to trigger it."

  "As I recall, this isn't the first time something of this sort happened to you. You were impaled on a spear, and the Army surgeons had doubts that you could be revived. Then there was-"

  I raised a hand to interrupt. "I was there." Either Carl had access to my medical records, or he got it all from Fund mission reports. The latter seemed more probable.

  "Have you considered the pattern?"

  "What pattern?"

  "Of survival."

  I gave him a blank stare.

  There was a glimmer of a half expression for a moment, but stone-faced Carl returned to default. "How about we discuss another pattern for a bit," he suggested.

  "Might as well, I can't go anywhere or do anything until you've talked yourself sick."

  "You recall those quarterly team evaluation forms the Fund has you and your teammates fill out?"

  "You mean the 'lie out of fear of causing the Fund to disband the team' forms?"

  "Yes, those. For most paperwork, you're conscientious about filing on time and completely. These however, you always turn in late - much later than the rest of your team."

  "What's your point?"

  "When writing about your teammates, you use clear and concise terms. Whereas in the self evaluation portion, your language becomes vague and evasive."

  "So what? You think I'm afraid of introspection?"

  "No, quite the contrary. Those who avoid introspection fill out the self-evaluation using similar language to what they use for others. You, on the other hand, have looked inwards and are trying to hide what you think you see."

  "What I think I see? That implies I'm wrong."

  "If you're not, wouldn't the truth come out on its own?"

  "The truth, now there's the weakest force known to science."

  "Oh?"

  "Our lives are layer after layer of lies. There are the lies you tell the public. The lies your tell your team. The lies you tell your girlfriend. The lies you tell your family. The lies you tell yourself. The lies you tell the police. The lies you tell the fund. The lies you tell the shrink who's wasting your time."

  "Let's go back to the lies you tell yourself. Tell me about those."

  My jaw tightened and I suppressed a growl. "I was generalizing."

  "That's one of the lies you tell me. How about one you tell yourself?"

  "Can we talk about something else?"

  "Is there something you want to talk about?"

  "What do your patients usually discuss with you?"

  "It varies, but the common thread is building up the courage to confront what brought them to my office."

  "I already told you what the problem was."

  "You told me about a catalyst. Most of the time we've been playing word games."

  "So you want me to ramble about being psychically violated? My many near-death experiences? Being surgically violated? Or about how I watched my mother die and saw the monster who killed her snap my little brother's neck with a casual backhand? I must be riddled with psychoses for you to pick at."

  ""That 'monster' has a name. What was it?"

  "Michelangelo."

  "You were twelve, weren't you? They found you pinned under a bookcase, a wall, a ceiling and the roof. It must have been hard to breathe, let alone move."

  "I was convinced my spine was broken," I said. "I couldn't shift what fell on me, and I was numb from loss of circulation." I looked down at my feet. My left shoe was untied. I corrected it. "I wondered what it would be be like living in a wheelchair. While mom was fighting for our lives, all I thought about was how I'd be inconvenienced."

  I fell silent. The bastard Lindenbaum let me ruminate on the pain.

  "Anyone else could have done something. Nora could have outrun the collapse and distracted Michelangelo until the cavalry arrived. And Donny - it was a wood framed house. Knocking it down would have only armed him. No, it just had to be me. That's the story of my life. You can depend on me to be there when what you need is a real hero. The only time I'm not a complete screw-up is when my team covers for me. Pretty soon, they'll figure out I don't even have to be there. Then I'll go back to being a solo screw-up who can't afford his insurance payments because he knows too many people who piss criminals off."

  I stood up and walked out of the office. Lindenbaum was trying to say something. I ignored him.

  The annoying, dry breeze of early summer rolled over the asphalt. It carried the smell of lawn trimmings. It reminded me too much of suburbia and the facade we put on for the neighbors. I took a moment to put my eyepatch back on before finding a tree to wait under for Dad to get back. After all, Travis Colfax only had one eye.

  I couldn't tell if Dad was pissed that I'd walked out of the session early, because he still didn't ask me about it. I went to the hideout. Not home, or Gruefield, but that damn place on the river that had us in debt to pay off the taxman. As I went about trying to clean the poor neglected building, I gawped at the car in the garage. The last time I'd seen that '59 Ford, I'd crushed a sizable depression in the hood. Repaired and properly lit, the thing was eye-catching. It was a full size car in the era it had been made, making it feel gargantuan compared to modern sedans. The straight lines accenting the length made it look even longer than it already was. From the way I saw my reflection in the chrome and the bucket sitting nearby, I imagined Donny washing down the vehicle he still couldn't take for a drive.

  I tried to get my mind off of my session as I cleaned. The building was mostly used as storage with the new base built and my solo career over. But I had the sinking feeling I'd be needing the place again sooner rather than later.

  "You guys have enough Omicron bot parts, you could build yourself a robot maid." The voice echoed with a self-righteous fury I sincerely hoped I'd never have to hear again. I sighed, but did not turn around. I knew who she was, and gave a fifty-fifty chance that there was a gun pointed at my head. Why did she have to bother me?

  "What is it Nikki?" She dropped a folded stack of paper, maybe three sheets at most, onto the workbench next to me. I picked up the papers and unfolded them. It was a printout of an article from the Evening Herald, with an Ida Miles byline.

  The headline read, "Fabian Baker's fiance slain in car crash, foul play suspected."

  "You might have noticed the incident, since she hit your car," Nikki said. I skimmed through the article until I spotted the reference to me. It was almost at the end, and looked like it was there to pad the word count.

  "Yeah, I noticed," I said. "I ended up on the hood of a beemer."

  "Was it your reckless driving?"

  "No," I said. "We had the green. Her brakes weren't working, so she hit us in the intersection. It could have been anyone trying to cross Avenue C."

  I turned to face Nikki. I expected to find her in tactical gear instead of jeans and a purple t-shirt. Nikki had a very long braid, smooth, dark skin and narrow accusative eyes. Though that last part was probably just a reaction to looking at me. To say we didn't get along well would be an understatement.

  "So what have you found out?"

  "What?"

 
"You are investigating, right? You stick your nose in everyone else's business. When someone rams your car, you're bound to look into it."

  "What's your interest?"

  "I said I would keep an eye on you guys. Car crash dumps a dead girl in your back seat. If you're not investigating, I've got to wonder why."

  "I've been taken off active duty. Now I clean the hideout."

  I heard the front door open and close. As Nikki glanced in that direction, Donny called out.

  "It smells like lemon in here, who's been cleaning?"

  "Who do you think?" I asked. I was relieved when Donny appeared in costume, white domino mask still on his face. "I don't think you two have met. Nikki Greeler is an unlicensed vigilante. Nikki, this is the eighth Baron Mortis."

  "Bullshit he is," Nikki said.

  "Excuse me?" Donny said.

  "Baron Mortis is an icon of the black community. Not some scrawny little white guy."

  "What's skin color got to do with it?"

  "You can't replace a great civil rights crusader."

  "That was the sixth Baron. He's already been replaced. His successor held the title for over forty years. Now he wants to retire," Donny said. "Besides, the criteria to be Baron Mortis isn't race, it's the ability to talk to the dead. That narrows it down to me."

  Nikki smiled. It was a mischievous grin that made Donny take a half step back. "You can talk to the dead?"

  "Yes."

  "We're taking a trip to the morgue." Nikki grabbed Donny's arm and started to drag him towards the door. Two strides down the hall, Nikki cried out and staggered against the wall. Donny backed away, holding up a stun gun. From the purple casing, I guessed it was Nikki's. "Okay, I probably deserved that."

  "What is it you hope to find out from the dead girl that the car can't tell us?" I asked.

  "Who was supposed to be driving the car. Her or Fabian Baker."

  "I only get seven questions before a corpse stops answering," Donny said. "Asking impulsively only risks cutting off the channel of inquiry. So available alternate lines of inquiry should be utilized when possible."

  "In other words, we should ask the survivors or mister Baker first," I said.

  "Right," Nikki said. "Good luck with that. After you've wasted your time, and picked up a pile of lies, call me and we can see if they buried her yet."

  "You seem awfully convinced of that."

  "Because I started with your tactic. I know you're always a few steps behind me, but I also thought you'd have realized that by now."

  "And you really think that you can drag me into the morgue, past all the cops, and then make me use my powers?" Donny asked.

  Nikki scowled. She didn't have a counter argument. If Donny didn't cooperate, there wasn't anything she could do. "Fine. At least give me back my property." With a shrug, Donny tossed her stun gun back to Nikki. She headed off towards the front door. "By the way, nice car. What's it called? The compensator?"

  Donny growled under his breath as Nikki left. "Okay, who was that?" he asked.

  "A rejected sidekick applicant who's appointed herself to police us. The good news is, she doesn't share what she's found out."

  "Do you trust her then?"

  "I trust her to want to keep the antagonism going. It's her last link to the community."

  Donny ran his fingers through his hair. "Seems like a rather weak foundation."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "There's not much that can be done, is there?" I shook my head. "Did you know Ixahau put in a request with the board to be allowed to pick up new trainees and screen potential members?"

  I chuckled. "She hasn't read the charter."

  "No one reads those things," Donny said. He pre-empted my remark with, "Except you."

  "Do you really want to join the team?"

  "It's less important than moving back home, but I'm not really the solo type."

  "You know we still don't have a name?"

  "What's in a name?" Donny sighed. "Do you remember those hunting trips we used to go on with Uncle Kyle?"

  "I remember that you used to cry at the sound of the rifle when you fired it."

  "I did not cry at the sound. I got hit in the face with the spent shell casing. It burned me."

  "You would have to hold it in the wrong hands," I said. "There's no way Uncle Kyle would let you fire it that way. Especially not more than once."

  "Will you let it go?"

  "It's my filial obligation to torment you with embarrassing memories."

  "You want to start that war, because you know what sort of ammunition I have."

  "Okay, okay, I won't bring it up for a while."

  "A while?"

  "Probably next time we go hunting."

  "That would be when?"

  "We'll find a time."

  "Have we ever actually bagged anything?"

  "You, no. I did manage to tag a few." My phone rang. "Hello?"

  "What's this about Zoos and disguises?" Ixa asked.

  "Could you give me a little more context?"

  "Xiv's rambling."

  "Oh. I was supposed to ask if you have a spell that can disguise him as a regular person so we can take him to the zoo without causing a ruckus. In all the confusion, I forgot."

  "Well that makes a little more sense than what Xiv's sputtering. I think I have something we can use. It just requires concentration."

  Part 12

  According to legend, MacAdams Park had started out as the estate of a woman known as Alma MacAdams. who was known for hating children and the public at large. She developed the grounds into a massive park and a menagerie. After her demise, the estate fell into a charitable trust, maintained by the remains of her fortune as the city grew around it. When the money ran out, the estate had to reallocate the assets. The old manor house was sold to the city and is now City Hall. The gardens and fields were turned into the park proper, with a zoo built on the south field. The north field was eventually turned into a housing development.

  A beige brick wall wrapped around the zoo, with a wrought iron gate facing south. A wood shingle building housed the guest center and the indoor exhibits. Stephanie held onto my right arm as I guided her through the crowd. Xiv all but plastered his face against the glass, forcing me to pull him back from time to time. The illusion covering him made him look thirteen. The face and light brown hair made me think of Jeremy, though he'd have only been about ten. The problem was, the illusory nose stuck out past the end of his face, and if he got too close to the glass, it looked like he was sticking his nose through it.

  "Be sure to keep your tail in," I whispered, "You don't want people to trip over it." Xiv glanced in my direction, but didn't say anything. "How did you pick his appearance?" I asked Stephanie in the same tone.

  "Since your family has taken responsibility for him, I figured a family resemblance was in order." Her voice sounded strained, and I guessed it had to do with all of her focus being on maintaining the spell's effect.

  "Thank you for doing this."

  "Saying no to Xiv would have been cruel. He doesn't get to go out much." We proceeded along the exhibits, Xiv's illusory face hiding the true extent of the wonder I knew was all over his real one. The animals mostly sat around in a languid stupor. It didn't matter as Xiv soaked in the sights. Seeing a sign reading 'Komodo Dragon', Xiv rushed to the next enclosure. Confusion and disappointment crossed his face as he laid eyes on the large lizards therein.

  "They're not real dragons," Xiv said.

  "Do you really want them to put actual dragons into zoos?" I whispered.

  "No, they're not," a man in a brown uniform shirt said. He looked to be college age, and probably a seasonal worker. "They're actually among the largest of monitor lizards." Xi
v turned back to the enclosure. Seeing the lizard's forked tongue flick about, Xiv stuck his tongue out at it. "Please do not taunt the animals."

  Normally, I'd be happy at the opportunity to spend time with Stephanie, but she was in her Ixa-serious mode, too intent on the spell to pay attention to conversation. I also had to steer her around the crowd and keep Xiv from wandering too far away in his excitement. It was exhausting work, but it got easier with the outdoor enclosures. The crowds were thinner, and Xiv had enough sense that a verbal warning was sufficient to keep him from running off.