Modern Magic
Page 215
Richard looked down at his housecoat.
“You do see me!” he said. “Oh, thank God!”
Henry stuck his head slowly around the corner and caught his breath.
“I see it, too,” he whispered.
“Can you hear me? Can you hear me?”
Apparently, they couldn’t hear him.
“Martha, Henry, listen to me,” said Father Leibowitz. “You must not turn away from what you see. You must have faith in God.”
Father Leibowitz took a step toward Richard. “Demon! Your presence is revealed to us. Show yourself!”
“I’m freaking trying, OK?”
“Show yourself!” Father Leibowitz commanded once more.
Richard’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. His skin suddenly felt hot.
“Show yourself!” Leibowitz demanded.
Richard fell to his knees, staring at his hands. His flesh writhed and crawled, twisting his hands into blood-red claws with long black nails.
“Gah,” he cried, choking, as he felt his face stretching, till it seemed like it would split open.
He knelt submissively before the priest, too weak to hide his shameful, distorted body, too frightened to even try to speak.
“Pitiful wretch,” Father Leibowitz said, his voice seething with disdain as orange slime dripped from Richard’s body and slithered about the filthy linoleum.
“Look at yourself,” Father Leibowitz said. “You’re not the ghost of a man. You never were. You’re a fallen angel. You do not belong here!”
Richard squealed as he forced his misshapen jaw into action. His forked tongue flicked across his lips. “My… name… is… Richard Rogers.”
“No,” said Father Leibowitz. “We both know that isn’t the truth. Tell us your true name.”
Richard didn’t know. Richard didn’t know if anything was true anymore. Acid tears rolled down his cheeks, burning small holes in the floor where they fell.
“Be… Beelzebub,” he said, unable to think of anything else.
Before Father Leibowitz could respond, the door from the kitchen to the back porch swung open. A tall, gray-haired man in a white lab coat stepped into the room.
“You monsters,” he said, contemptuously. “Leave this man alone.”
“What kind of demonic trick is this?” Father Leibowitz asked angrily.
The gray-haired man pulled out what looked like a high-capacity water gun from his coat and pointed it in the face of Father Leibowitz.
“This won’t be painful,” he said, and pulled the trigger. A cloud of green gas engulfed Father Leibowitz who slumped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
The gray-haired man looked at Henry and Martha.
“Leave,” he said.
With hurried footsteps, they left.
Richard screamed. He was changing once more, his skin and muscles and bones sliding to new configurations. In a dozen heartbeats the transformation was complete. He was himself again.
The gray-haired man placed a hand upon Richard’s shoulder.
“Hello, Richard. I’m sorry I didn’t make it here sooner.”
“You… you see me,” said Richard, still trembling from his ordeal. “You know my name.”
“Yes. I am Doctor Nicholas Knowbokov. I’m here to help you.”
“A doctor,” said Richard, placing a hand on a chair to steady himself. “Oh God. Oh God, I’m crazy aren’t I? And you’re going to help me get better. Please help me get better.”
“Your sanity is quite intact,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “And better is a subjective term. But I’ll do what I can to help you come to terms with your new reality.”
“Not crazy. My skin was freaking melting into puddles a minute ago, but I’m not crazy? You sure you’re a psychologist?”
“Actually, I’m a theoretical physicist,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “And I’m responsible for your condition.”
Chapter Three
One Minus One
They left through the back door, cutting across the neighbor’s yard to the street beyond. A long black limousine waited. A very tall black woman got out as they approached. She was bald, with an elaborate tattoo of a dragon on her scalp. She wore a black uniform with her eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
She opened the door as Dr. Knowbokov approached.
“Thank you, Mindo,” the doctor said. He paused, and motioned for Richard to enter. “We have a guest. An invisible man.”
Mindo nodded, but said nothing.
Dr. Knowbokov followed Richard into the limousine. Richard slid across the soft leather seats, whistling as he looked around at the trappings of wealth.
“Theoretical physics must pay better than I thought,” said Richard.
“I’ve lived a fortunate life,” said Dr. Knowbokov.
“This thing have a bar?” asked Richard. “I could really use a drink.”
“Of course,” said the doctor. “Bar, open.”
With a whir, a minibar unfolded out of the wall separating the passenger compartment from the driver’s cab. Richard quickly accessed the contents. Every kind of juice he could think of (and some blends he’d never imagined, like kiwi-tomato-carrot), four different kinds of bottled water, and not a drop of booze.
“You wouldn’t be Southern Baptist by any chance?” asked Richard.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Not important,” he said, deciding to sample the banana-celery-cranberry. “You say you’re responsible for my condition. How? What’s happened to me?”
“It won’t be easy to explain,” said Dr. Knowbokov.
“Try me.”
“Two days ago, I made the maiden voyage with my time machine, and—”
“Stop,” said Richard.
The doctor stopped, smiling gently.
“Try again. You can’t expect me to believe any story that starts with a time machine.”
“Very well,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “And what, pray tell, would you accept as a reasonable explanation for your condition?”
Richard sipped on the juice. It was hideous. He took another sip, imagining it mixed with vodka. He could get used to it.
“OK,” he said. “I’ll play along. Time machine.”
“I built my time machine purely for research. I never intended to interfere with the past. I experimented carefully. My intention was to travel back to a point just after the creation of the universe to search for my enemy before he had time to conceal himself.”
“Your enemy,” said Richard. “At the creation of the universe. Is God really pissed off at you or something?”
“I was looking for the terrorist known as Rex Monday. But this detail is unimportant,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “A detail that matters, however, is that my time machine causes a rapid displacement of air when it’s used. It makes, if I may be crude, a sound rather like a loud fart.”
Richard stared at the doctor, expecting him to crack a smile. The doctor continued.
“I traveled to July 4, 1968. I chose a remote, rural location to minimize the chance of interacting with people of that time. Unfortunately, a man named William Rogers was out hiking that day, less than two hundred yards from the location I materialized in.”
“My father,” said Richard.
“Not at that time. I sensed him instantly. I knew he’d heard the noise that accompanied my arrival and was curious about it. He began to walk in my direction. Due to the roughness of the terrain, I still had several minutes. I conducted the search for the man I sought. I failed to find him. I left, with time to spare before William would have seen me.”
“Hmm,” said Richard. The insanity theory was rising high on his list of explanations again. “Didn’t even see you, huh?”
“Still, his search for the source of the sound he had heard delayed him. He returned to his car twelve minutes later than he would have had I not made my trip.”
“And this is responsible for my present condition how?”
Dr. Knowbokov shifted in his seat,
looking slightly uncomfortable. With a deep breath, he continued. “Your father visited a pharmacy that evening. He purchased a package of prophylactics. A different package than the one he would have purchased had he arrived twelve minutes earlier. And, in this package, all the prophylactics functioned properly.”
“What are you saying?”
“You were conceived as a result of a ruptured condom. With my visit to the past, I erased the time line in which you existed. You were never born.”
“Uh-huh. Right.” Richard took another sip of his juice. “And just what am I then? I’m real. I’m alive. I’m not some figment of your imagination.”
“True,” said Knowbokov. “It may be more accurate to say that you are a figment of your own imagination. Reality has a certain elasticity in response to consciousness. You were, and still are, aware of your own existence. You are apparently a man of great willpower, to continue believing in your own reality in the face of so much evidence against it. Most people would have succumbed to doubt and faded away.”
“This is pretty tough to swallow,” said Richard, glancing at the juice box.
Dr. Knowbokov didn’t catch the double entendre. “You will no doubt discover in the coming days that your own perceptions of reality fail when they conflict with the shared reality of others. This is why you are able to touch and manipulate objects only when no one is observing them.”
“But… but the priest saw the pots I was holding.”
“He expected to,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “And when he convinced Martha and Henry they would see a demon, you responded physically to this.”
“OK. OK,” said Richard. “Fine. Let’s say I believe you. You’ve erased my life with a time machine. When are you going back to fix things?”
“I’m not,” said Dr. Knowbokov.
“What? Why?”
By now they had reached an airfield on the edge of town. The limousine pulled to a stop near a mid-size jet.
“Come,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “Let’s continue our conversation aboard my plane.”
“Let’s finish it now. Why won’t you go back and fix things?”
“I have materials to show you on the plane,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “Photographs that will help me explain our dilemma.”
“Visual aids, huh?” said Richard. “Fine. I’ll play along.”
The jet was nothing like the commercial aircraft on which Richard had traveled. Instead of the normal rows of seats, the mid-part of the cabin was laid out like a living room, with two huge leather couches facing an elegant coffee table. Veronica would have loved it. On the table were several manila envelopes.
“Have a seat,” said Dr. Knowbokov.
“I feel like standing,” said Richard.
“That won’t be safe during take off.”
“Take off? Where exactly are we going?”
“The Caribbean. My estate is located on a private island.”
“Ah,” said Richard. “Of course it is. You kin to Bruce Wayne?”
Dr. Knowbokov looked slightly confused. “The Bruce Wayne that lives at 47 Stanton Street in Tulsa, Oklahoma?”
“Um. Sure.”
“No. Why do you ask?”
Richard sighed, then took a seat on the couch opposite the doctor. The plane’s engines began to roar, and the cabin lurched.
“The Caribbean, huh? I guess I’m along for the ride. Has to be better than where I was.”
“Indeed. I think you’ll like my home,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “I hope you’ll be a frequent guest. I’d like to propose a partnership between us.”
“Partnership?”
“I would find a man of your talents quite useful. You would be the perfect spy.”
“And who, may I ask, would I be spying on?”
“My enemies, of course. Perhaps even, should the need arise, my allies.”
“That sounds a little paranoid, Doc,” said Richard. “But, maybe not all that paranoid. I guess being rich enough to own your own island does involve a little crooked dealing.”
“Nothing of the sort,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “My wealth has been obtained through careful investments and numerous patents on my discoveries and inventions.”
“Oh yeah,” said Richard. “And there’s that time machine. Must make lottery picks a breeze.”
“I hadn’t contemplated that,” said the doctor. “If the acquisition of wealth were my focus, I suppose I could use the time machines for selfish purposes. But I have lived my life in service to mankind. The wealth that has resulted is quite incidental, and used mostly for philanthropy.”
“And Caribbean estates.”
“I provide what comforts I can for my family,” the doctor said, sounding apologetic.
“I had a family once,” said Richard. “And you screwed that up. Care to take a stab at explaining why you aren’t going to fix it?”
Dr. Knowbokov handed him a manila envelope.
“This file contains information about Lisa and Linda Rogers. They are, in a way, your sisters.”
“Sisters? I was an only child. Dad always joked that I was so much trouble they didn’t want another kid.”
“Lisa and Linda were born in 1970 and 1972. Your parents were more emotionally and financially secure than they were when you were born.”
Richard emptied the envelope, and looked through the photos of two bright-looking, happy women. They seemed very familiar, like relatives he should recognize, but couldn’t quite recall.
“Sisters, huh?”
“There’s more,” said Dr. Knowbokov, handing him another envelope. “Your former wife, Veronica, married before she finished college. She has two children now, a boy, age seven, and a girl, age eight.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Richard. “Veronica hated children. She viewed them as little dirt magnets. She would never have found a diaper bag that meshed with her wardrobe.”
“The girl was unplanned, but is loved,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “Look at the photographs.”
Richard fumbled with the clasp. His hands were trembling. He left the envelope closed, and said, “I don’t care.”
“What don’t you care about?”
“Any of this. Any of these people.”
“They are real people,” said Dr. Knowbokov, his voice very calm and gentle. “As real as you once were. More real than you are now. If I were to tinker with time again, even if I had the talent and wisdom to make things exactly as they once were, I would be condemning these people to non-existence.”
“I don’t care!” Richard rose, flinging the envelope across the room. It came open, sending a flurry of photos and papers drifting through the air. “You’re going to put me back!”
“No,” Dr. Knowbokov said calmly.
With a feral growl, Richard lunged forward, his hands aimed at the doctor’s throat.
Still seated, Dr. Knowbokov raised his leg high above his head and delivered a kick to Richard’s chin. Richard crashed to the coffee table, stars before his eyes. He rolled to the floor, tasting blood in his mouth.
“Any attempt at physical assault is most unwise,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “I have black belts in seven styles of martial arts.”
“Of course,” Richard said, his hands clutching his throbbing jaw. “Goddamn.”
“I understand your emotional distress,” said Dr. Knowbokov.
“Sure,” said Richard, swallowing blood. “Why wouldn’t you understand? This is your fault. You destroy my life. You tell me that my parents really did decide against kids because I was so horrible, and my wife would have welcomed the opportunity to breed, just not with me.”
He sighed, rubbing his jaw. “Sorry, DNA. Guess I let you down.”
Dr. Knowbokov laughed. “You possess a sharp wit, Richard. This is evidence of your intelligence. I have faith in your ability to adapt to your condition.”
Richard ignored him. “And to top it all off, I’ll have to eat through straws for the rest of my life. Man, it feels like my teeth are about to come out.”
“Unlikely,” said Dr. Knowbokov. “I didn’t kick you that hard.”
Richard shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. This was just too much to think about, especially with his head throbbing. So he said, “I have a headache.”
“Perhaps it would be best if you rested. I have sleeping quarters in the rear of the plane. There’s medication in the bathroom. Some anti-inflammatories will help ease your pain.”
Richard chuckled joylessly. “Any pills in there that will make me real again?”
“Richard, you are real. It’s vitally important you remember that, and believe it. I have told you these things because I believe that the truth will help you come to terms with your new circumstances, and actually reinforce your identity.”
“Yeah,” said Richard. “Self-esteem, believe in yourself, blah, blah, blah. You sure you’re not a shrink?”
“Come,” said Dr. Knowbokov, offering his hand. “Let’s get you to bed. After you rest, we can further discuss my offer of employment.”
“Spy, huh?” said Richard. “Won’t be as cool as in the movies. I’m unlikely to get the girls, being intangible and all.”
“There are rewards in life far greater than ‘getting the girl.’”
“Gee, thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Know-it-all.”
Richard took the doctor’s hand, and was pulled to his feet. The doctor led him to the next room. The sleeping quarters weren’t the cramped bunk he expected but a plush canopy bed, covered with hand-sewn quilts. The bathroom beyond was spacious, with a full-sized toilet, a bidet, and a claw-footed tub.
“Swank,” said Richard. “Doc, you may be a time-traveling, life-wrecking scumbag, but you know how to travel.”
“Here,” said the doctor, handing him some pills. “These will prevent swelling in your jaw and help you sleep.”
Richard popped the pills and swallowed them without waiting for water. He collapsed onto the bed. It was soft and warm and smelled freshly laundered. He shut his eyes and felt like he was at his grandmother’s house.
When he opened his eyes, Dr. Knowbokov was gone.
He closed his eyes again. His head felt full of static. Images flashed across his eyelids, words echoed through his skull.