Teek

by S. Andrew Swann

  Why did she think he would help her? Even if he could.

  Why should she think anyone would help her?

  Everyone out there had their neat little lives. No one out there would want to be bothered. Just like Mom and her denial and her files and her meetings and her schedules.

  Where did Allison fit in a world like that?

  She turned on the motel’s TV and was greeted by the latest terrorism in the Mid-East.

  She sank back into the chair, too weary to change the channel.

  How had she ever written anything like Restless Nights? She felt like she had lost the part of her that was Melissa and Randolph.

  I’m not like this, Allison kept telling herself. I don’t think like this.

  The world wasn’t satisfied with what it had wrought. It— CNN Headline News in particular— wanted to hurt her more. Allison was half asleep when she caught the sight of her own face. Her high school picture had the hypnotizing effect of a serpent’s gaze. As she watched, the reporter’s voice sank its venomous fangs into her mind.

  “—victim of the attempted rape. Both she and her mother have been missing from their Euclid Heights residence since late yesterday. Euclid Heights police insist that they are treating the event as a case of self-defense, despite the death last night of the alleged rapist Charles Wilson—”

  Chuck died?

  Something tiny and evil laughed just at the edge of her mind. Her brain froze into an icy lump of horror worse than anything she had felt before. It went beyond even what she’d felt when Chuck had leveled the gun at her, beyond what she’d felt when he’d reached for the belt of his pants. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and she felt her heart compress into a tiny ball-bearing.

  Worse than the terror was the tiny voice that was glad the bastard was dead. Waves of self-loathing and revulsion swamped her like the outflow from a frozen sewer.

  Somehow, without realizing it, she had done something to the TV. Blue smoke wisped from the back and the picture tube was now a blind gray eye webbed with spidery black cracks.

  The door to the bathroom opened and Macy stepped out wrapped in a battered red robe. “All yours.”

  Allison stood up and silently walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

  I killed him, Allison thought.

  She began to sweat profusely in the humid bathroom. She didn’t bother removing her denim jacket. She still felt chilled. Next to her, the shower emptied into a tub, and as she watched, the faucet turned and the tub began to fill with hot water.

  “Hey, Allie?” came Macy’s voice, muffled, from outside.

  Allison looked at herself in the fogged mirror. She couldn’t stand the sight. She began weeping.

  There was nothing she could do now. Nothing to make any of it better. She had killed someone. That could never be erased.

  Her body shook with wracking, silent sobs that sucked all the air from her lungs.

  She wanted to melt. Disappear and make all the hurting stop. Dissolve into a puddle and evaporate. Disappear into a place where her thoughts didn’t matter. She looked up at the mirror and felt her teek wrap around it. Her odd perceptions reversed and re-reversed until it felt like it was the universe watching her from inside. She cringed.

  The mirror tried to rotate against its frame, and pressed itself until it shattered against its bonds. It spun then, slowly, like a spiral galaxy of icy shards. Allison let go and the shards collapsed against the sink, spraying fragments across the bathroom.

  “Allie?” Macy must have been right outside the door.

  Allison picked up the largest shard and clutched the mirrored dagger in her right hand. Then she stepped, fully clothed, into the still filling tub. The water was scalding, but the chill inside her wouldn’t allow her feel it. She sank down into the tub and looked at the shard of mirror.

  The mirror was fogged white, with a few beads of blood on the edges where it had cut into her palm.

  Melting into nothing would be such a relief. No more hurting. No more people would be hurt.

  The door rattled and tried to open. Then it began pounding.

  Allison drew the mirror across her left wrist, drawing a thin red line of blood. It barely hurt at all.

  She looked at the cut, waiting for the blood to spurt, flow away. The cut barely oozed. She’d barely cut the skin, not nearly deep enough. She sucked in a shuddering breath and pressed the shard against her wrist.

  Hard this time.

  She wondered why she couldn’t do this to frogs in biology class.

  Allison closed her eyes.

  I’m sorry Mom, I know I promised.

  The door of the bathroom burst open.

  “Oh God, Allie!” Macy ran across the mirror spiked bathroom floor, sliding with bleeding feet, and half fell, half dove, into the bathtub to grab Allison’s arms. “Don’t!”

  Allison looked at her panicked friend. Macy held both of her wrists, and her hands were shaking. Allison looked at the twin red stripes on her left wrist, and for the first time she heard her own sobbing.

  “He’s dead,” Allison said. “He’s dead and I killed him.” She dropped the shard of mirror into the tub.

  “Damn it, Allie. Don’t even think like this.”

  “It’s all so rotten.” Allison slipped further into the hot water. Wet denim pulled her like a lead weight. Macy fell into the tub in her effort to hold Allison upright. Macy gasped when she hit the water and reached out with a hand to slap on the cold water on full.

  “Please, girl, come back here, huh? Please?” Macy had landed, sitting between Allison’s legs, back to the tile wall, and knees over the rim of the tub. She put an arm around Allison’s shoulders and hugged Allison toward her. “You can’t leave me, hear? Hear? You can’t die on me.”

  Macy began to rock back and forth, crying.

  “I’m sorry.” Allison sobbed into the damp robe on Macy’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to hurt you. Hurt anyone.”

  “You’re my best friend. You can’t—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  They rocked back and forth until the tub began to overflow.

  ◆◆◆

  An unreal haze shrouded over the remainder of that night. Repeatedly, Allison felt as if she was trapped inside one of her nightmares.

  Allison did what she could to clean herself up in the shower while Macy sat on the toilet and tended to her lacerated feet. Even with the shower door closed, Allison winced every time she heard a piece of glass hit the waste basket. She couldn’t help picturing Macy pulling the shards out of her bare feet.

  That was where, in fact, most of the blood messing the bathroom had come from. The two slashes on Allison’s arm hadn’t amounted to much of anything. They could have come from one of her cats.

  She wondered who was feeding them.

  Allison turned off the shower and got out. Macy handed her a towel. The only clean, dry one left. “Be careful, I tried to get up all the glass but—”

  “Macy?”

  “What?” Macy’s eyes were red from crying, and the robe she wore was streaked with blood.

  “Forgive me?” Allison asked.

  Macy stared at her.

  “Macy,” Allison said. “You’re my best friend in the world, and I promise that I’ll never, ever put you through something like that again.”

  Macy looked as if her well of belief was almost tapped dry. “Promise?”

  Allison nodded.

  “Even if things get worse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even if someone else dies?”

  Allison was brought up short by that one. Macy stood, winced, and grabbed Allison’s naked shoulders.

  “You promise me, girl. If you’re my friend you going promise right now that you’ll never raise a hand to hurt yourself again! I don’t give a shit what happens.”

  “I—”

  Macy shook her. “Promise!”

  “Promise,” Allison said.

  “Say it all!”
/>
  “I promise I won’t hurt myself.”

  “Ever.”

  “Ever.”

  “Even if people die.”

  “Even if—” Allison swallowed hard. “— someone dies.”

  Macy looked at her with red puffy eyes. “Even if I die.”

  “Macy—”

  “Say it!”

  Macy’s face was indistinct behind the blur of her tears. “Even,” Allison said. “Even if you die.”

  Macy hugged her. “Oh God, Allie. You scared me so fucking bad.”

  “I scared myself,” Allison whispered, patting Macy on the back. “It’s all right now.”

  “Really?” Macy let her go.

  Allison sighed. “No. But with you here, it’s better. And I made a promise.” She wrapped the towel around herself and walked out of the bathroom.

  “Allie, it isn’t your fault about Chuck.”

  Allison stood in the door, saying nothing.

  “It ain’t evil to be glad he didn’t get you.”

  Allison didn’t have an answer for that.

  ◆◆◆

  The school cafeteria was dark and almost empty. Seated around her table were Fred, Barney, and George. Also seated was Mr. Counter, Mom, Dad in his mothball-smelling uniform, and the reporter from CNN. Everybody grinned at her.

  She looked down to see if she had her clothes.

  She had, but they were damp. In fact, she was soaking wet.

  Mr. Franklin walked out of the shadows wearing a surgical gown. On the white coat were flecks of red.

  He shook his head at Allison as if he was disappointed. “I’ve been told, my dear Miss Boyle, that you had only taken physics to avoid the dissections in biology.”

  Allison tried to speak and found herself frozen.

  Mr. Franklin ran his hand through slate gray hair. His habitual gesture left thin trails of blood. “I’m hurt, Allison. You’re an intelligent girl. You should know that squeamishness has no place in the physical sciences.”

  “But—”

  “No ‘buts,’ young girl.” He took off his glasses and smeared blood on them with the corner of his lab coat. “I am simply going to have to explain things for the whole class, again.”

  Allison realized that it wasn’t a normal cafeteria table everyone was seated at. It was one of the black-topped lab tables, the ones with the built in sink and the spigots for the gas lines.

  A blackboard had come from somewhere, and Mr. Franklin wrote on it, “Rule #1: The universe does not care.”

  “Class?”

  “The universe doesn’t care,” said everyone around the table. Everyone except Barney, who was mumbling about his hand.

  Mr. Franklin nodded. “You see, everything is very simple. Action, reaction, forces, acceleration. No morality in the equations. No right or wrong. No human emotions mucking the works. Physics is not for the squeamish.” Mr. Franklin looked down at the table. And Allison followed his gaze to the white-draped figure on top of it.

  “Today’s lesson,” Mr. Franklin said, grabbing the edge of the sheet. “The effects of telekinesis on the human body.” He drew the sheet away.

  Chuck was there, cut open, laid out on a gigantic dissection tray.

  Allison felt bile rise in her throat as Mr. Franklin reached for a surgical instrument that resembled a knitting needle. The world went grainy and black-and-white, and she realized that she was watching the documentary again, and she was seated in Mr. Counter’s classroom.

  Mr. Franklin inserted the needle behind the orbit of Chuck’s eye and began rummaging around.

  “I didn’t sign up for no damn lobotomy, sweetcakes.”

  Allison turned and saw Chuck manning the projector.

  SIXTEEN

  LYNCHBURG, VA: Thursday October 28, 1999

  11:25 AM

  “Allie, wake up.”

  “Ah— what?” Allison blinked her eyes open and squinted against the sunlight streaming in the window. She faced Macy’s back as her friend looked out the window.

  “Get dressed, girl. I think we have a problem.”

  Allison nodded and followed Macy’s direction because she was still too sleepy to argue. She untangled herself from the bedspread and pulled on a random assortment of clothing from the bag Macy had brought for her. By the time she’d pulled on a pair of black stretch pants that were a little too tight and a little too long, she was awake enough to ask, “What problem?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Allison pulled on a red-yellow-green Africa sweater over a bra too generous for her and walked up next to Macy. The window looked over the rear parking lot, and the Taurus. The view also now included a single Sheriff’s patrol car that was parked behind the Taurus, blocking it in.

  “The cop rolled by and stopped. He looked at our car, got on the radio, and walked over to the manager’s office.”

  “Oh no.” Allison said.

  Macy shook her head. “Get your shit together.”

  Allison pulled on her boots and her denim jacket. Even though the jacket had been on top of the heater all night, the wool lining was still damp. She picked up Babs and shoved the rabbit in the backpack Macy had given her. She followed it with her yellow note pad, and the ASI film can. The only other thing she had was the tattered-looking grocery bag, which was beginning to smell.

  “Ok,” Allison said. “What about the car?”

  “It’s a cop magnet. We’ll leave it.”

  Macy picked up her backpack and opened the door. Allison followed her out. They had barely taken a few steps into the parking lot when the cop and the day manager walked out of the front office. The manager fumbled with a large key ring.

  The cop looked up and said, “Hey.”

  That was their cue to run.

  The two of them ran out of the parking lot, kicking up gravel. Macy should have outdistanced Allison easily, she was on the track team, but she was already limping before they reached the edge of the lot. Allison thought of her friend’s wounded feet and cringed inside.

  They hit the edge of the lot and had to push through knee-high grass. The grass slashed at Allison’s exposed skin and grabbed at the loose parts of her borrowed clothes. She threw a frantic glance behind them and saw the sheriff, deputy, or whoever running after them, and gaining.

  Allison wished they’d been seen by a more stereotypical southern cop type, one with the mirrored sunglasses and the sagging beer belly, one who wouldn’t run worth anything. But no, this guy looked like he ran marathons for fun. Allison was already panting breath hot enough to sear her throat, and she didn’t think the cop was breaking a sweat.

  The cop had already halved the distance between them.

  They weren’t going to outrun this guy. Or, at least Allison wasn’t. Allison hung back to let Macy precede her to the top of the hill. When Allison reached the crest of the overgrown hill, she stopped and turned to face the cop. He had reached the edge of the lot.

  She hoped Macy had the sense to keep running, even with her damaged feet.

  Allison had to do something. It was that or give up. But what could she do without hurting him?

  She stayed at the top of the hill and raised her hands.

  The cop stopped running at her so fast. He started maneuvering more carefully through the grass. He held out his hands as if to say, “See, I’m not such a bad guy.”

  Of course he wasn’t. That was the problem. This guy had absolutely nothing to do with her, Mom, or the ASI people. But she doubted that the county sheriff would put up much of a fight if someone from the federal government came to remove a fugitive from another state.

  Allison felt paralyzed, desperately trying to think of some non-lethal way to resist.

  As he climbed, he asked, “You’re Allison Boyle, right?”

  Allison nodded.

  “You know, running’s never solved anything.” He spoke with a slow, almost hypnotic, drawl.

  What could she do without hurting him?

  The cop kept tal
king as he advanced. Her frozen state seemed to encourage him. She wondered where Macy was. Was she somewhere watching this, or was she still running?

  “That’s your mom’s car?” He was halfway up the hill now, and Allison was beginning to panic.

  Think!

  “Where is your mom? People are looking for her, too.”

  Allison felt tears soaking her cheeks. Not now. I can’t break down now. If I don’t think of something it’s all over—

  Maybe she wanted it to be over.

  The cop closed. The cop reassured her, telling her to stop running before she did something seriously wrong—

  She looked at his gun belt. She hadn’t thought of that before, because of what she’d done to Chuck. It brought awful memories. But that had been an instinctive act, something that had never been in her control. Allison thought that the cop was moving slow enough, and she had enough control, to do something that was merely immobilizing.

  The cop was within six feet of her when she thought her teek around the gun belt and thought it, gently and firmly, down.

  The cop kept talking for a few seconds, only looking vaguely uncomfortable. He tried to pull the belt up, but it kept riding down his legs. He had to stop walking. “What the?”

  The man had the thighs of a marathon runner, and that’s where the belt stopped. It had wedged itself there— incidentally trapping the fingers of the cop’s right hand underneath it. The cop froze there, an uncomprehending look on his face as he began fumbling with the buckle with his off-hand.

  “Officer?” Allison said.

  The man looked up at her, and she could see the terrible embarrassment in his face.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” Allison said. She still had her teek wrapped around the belt. With it, she gently pushed the belt backwards. With his legs wrapped together and only one hand free, he had no real way to regain his balance. He tipped over, covering his face with his left arm. He hit the ground and started rolling down the shallow slope.

  Allison ran away to a chorus of curses overlaid by rustling foliage.