Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

by Larson, B. V.

  I tried to shout, but there was no sound. I felt my throat quiver, but that was all. The next sensation I had was that of falling briefly, followed by a hard landing on unforgiving, rippled concrete—a set of stairs that came up and hit me in the ass. I tumbled forward with a series of mild pain explosions. Fortunately, I only had about three of those hard steps to roll down. At the bottom, I picked myself up and felt for newly broken bones. There were only bruises.

  I had fallen into an emergency stairwell. It was a big, echoing place, where everything was gray-painted steel tubing and stained cement. Above me a sole fluorescent tube in a wire cage illuminated the scene with harsh, blue-white light.

  A single dark object sat upon the steps. It was the .32 automatic Dr. Meng had caused to vanish from my hand before she had made me vanish after it. I snatched it up and put it into my coat pocket.

  I faced the emergency exit at the bottom of the stairs. Above me the stairs wound upward, switching back and forth into the distance. I reached out and pushed the panic bar on the emergency door and hobbled outside.

  A whining alarm sounded. It wasn’t very loud, but it was irritating. I walked away, limping as I went, and pulled my overcoat around myself to cover the surgical greens I’d stolen. The gun weighed down the right pocket, causing it to bang into my thigh as I limped along.

  I was on a sidewalk, stained and deserted. The sun had recently risen and the early morning light was diffused through clouds. I looked up and down the street, then behind me. The Sunset Sanatorium rose high, built entirely with ugly square blocks of concrete. It looked like a fortress, and the top of it was complete with a tall square tower. Free at last, I had no plans to return to this freaky place. I wanted to put some distance between me and Meng’s prison.

  I limped down the street and took the first turn I could. I didn’t look back again.

  One thing I remembered was the city. The streets of Las Vegas felt familiar; they felt like home. They called this place Sin City. Viewed from a distance in the dark, it was a glittering mass of lights that rose from the desert floor a hundred miles from everywhere. Once, it had been a lonely rest stop on highways between Los Angeles and the rest of the world, but it had grown and gathered its own followers. Most of these followers sought fame, fortune, and decadence. But my town was waning now, eclipsed by online gambling, online porn, and economic decay. It had taken a turn for the worse. For all of that, it was a unique city, and I felt at ease here.

  After I’d turned a few random corners and avoided several sets of staring eyes, I paused, leaning against a chain-link fence surrounding a boarded-up gas station. The rusty links rattled and pushed back against me like bedsprings. I felt a little off balance. I wondered how many days it had been since I’d eaten solid food.

  I took stock of things. As it stood, I was apparently destitute and not overly loved by those who knew me. I had no close relatives—no mom I could call and pester for a loan. I methodically searched the pockets of Tony’s coat. I found the pistol where I’d put it, in the right front pocket, but underneath that was a pair of sunglasses. I pulled them out and eyed them. They were black plastic and appeared to be of little value. I shoved the sunglasses away and forgot about them. I kept digging and found a set of keys next. These had far greater possibilities. I examined them closely to see what they might open. The keys had few distinguishing characteristics. There were several that could have been for any door in town, standard house keys. There was a large car key, however, and a keyless remote to go with it. I eyed the key in the dawn light until I made out a Cadillac emblem. Great, I thought. All I had to do now was roam the city parking lots, pressing the unlock button, until either a car beeped or the batteries in the remote ran out.

  I slipped the keys back into a pocket, and found something even more interesting in the inside breast pocket. A wallet. I waited until no one was staring at me before I looked inside. Eighty-three dollars and a few pieces of plastic. There was a pack of business cards describing Tony Montoro, the manager of a bar called the Pole Dance Palace. Seeing the cards made me chuckle and provided me with a brief glimpse of memory. I saw a bar built around a circular stage and a lively crowd of drunks sitting at tables. The card had an address. I committed the address to memory and slipped the wallet back out of sight. Had I been a regular there? Not knowing gave me a strange feeling.

  When I reached the boulevard, I was able to flag down a taxi. I had it haul me a few miles uptown and drop me off at an all-night diner that was close to Tony’s joint. I didn’t want to pull right up to the door, and I didn’t want to wait any longer for a meal, so a diner seemed like a good compromise.

  I ordered black boiled coffee and a plate of eggs Benedict. I knew somehow when I saw the picture on the menu that the dish was a favorite of mine after recovering from a rough night. The waitress raised one eyebrow, but took the order wordlessly and swished away. When the food came, I ate all of it. My stomach rolled slightly when I was done, but I kept it down. What I needed now was sleep, but my instincts told me this was not the time to lie down and check out.

  I washed up in the bathroom and spotted a clock on the way out. It was 8:00 a.m. I paid with a twenty and left the place feeling considerably better. I fished the pair of sunglasses out of Tony’s pockets and stepped into the growing glare outside. The desert sun was over the buildings now, and painfully bright. The streets had been populated mostly by garbage trucks when I had entered the restaurant, but now a fair number of pedestrians had appeared. I kept my coat pulled tightly over my stolen medical garb and managed to look normal enough. Still, I received a number of wary stares from passersby, which I stoically ignored.

  I reached the address on Tony’s card without incident and went around to the back. It was off the Strip by a few blocks, but it was close enough to get some of the traffic. Hanging over the alley entrance was a single security camera. I waved at it briefly, figuring Tony wouldn’t be reviewing the footage from the grave. I dug out the keys and tried each one. The third key rattled, then clicked. The door swung open a fraction with a shriek of unoiled hinges.

  “Who are you?” a voice asked.

  I whirled, knowing the action would make me look all the more guilty, but I was unable to help myself. A woman stood some twenty feet away. She was young and pretty, but she had experienced, suspicious eyes. She wore a short leather jacket and a short leather skirt—all black. I would have stared at her shapely legs on a different day, but I was in a suspicious mood. I eyed her hands for weapons—or strange little statues. Neither was apparent.

  “I’m a friend of Tony’s,” I said, looking back into her blue eyes.

  Her face changed from narrow-eyed suspicion to an expression of surprise and recognition.

  “Oh,” she said, taking a step back. “That’s his coat, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “And these are his sunglasses,” I said, pulling them off and putting them away.

  She watched my hands as I folded the arms of the sunglasses and tucked them into a pocket.

  “Are you handling his affairs?” she asked.

  “I’ve been asked to look into things here, yes.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know,” she said. “I’ll come back later then.”

  “Wait a second,” I said as she began to walk quickly away. “Do I know you?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

  I pushed the door the rest of the way open, causing it to squeak louder. The interior was dark and smelled of cigarettes and spilled beer.

  “If you want to come in and have a look around,” I said, “you’re welcome to join me.”

  She paused, clearly uncertain. I could read worry in her eyes now. Worry and indecision.

  “Why are you here?” I asked her conversationally.

  “I—I came to pick up my last check.”

  I nodded. “No one around at this time in the morning, eh? I’m not surprised. Strip joints aren’t usually known for their breakfast specials.”

 
She shrugged. “It’s been closed since the accident.”

  I nodded, thinking to myself she must want that check pretty badly. The place had been closed for days, yet she was here first thing in the morning. But I kept the thought to myself. I suspected she recognized me, and I hoped she knew some details about my situation.

  She took two hesitant steps toward me.

  “You want to come in and see if he cut your check?” I asked.

  After a moment of further soul-searching, she said, “OK.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Wildfire.”

  “No, not your stage name.”

  She flashed me a resigned look. “Holly,” she said.

  I thought about the note I’d seen on the dead flower when I’d first awakened. It had been signed Holly, and I didn’t believe in coincidences. I did, however, believe in playing my cards carefully, so I smiled at her reassuringly.

  I walked into the gloomy interior and waited. After about seven seconds, I finally heard her clacking heels. She followed me into the place and let the door groan and click behind her. I approved. It seemed she didn’t want anyone discovering us inside either.

  “Where are the light switches?” I asked.

  “I’ll just open some of the blinds,” she said quickly.

  “OK.”

  I watched as she walked deftly around the tables, each of which was circled by a huddle of pushed-in chairs. I could tell she knew the layout of the place well, which made her story about having worked here more believable. She twisted the blinds open a crack here and there. There was just enough light to see our surroundings. The sunbeams glowed with golden motes of floating dust. Clearly, she didn’t want anyone seeing us inside. I realized then that she didn’t have any more right to be in here than I did.

  I wandered around behind the bar until I found a door marked OFFICE in tiny gold letters. I tried the handle. This one was locked too. I produced the jingling set of keys again and rattled them one after another in the lock.

  Suddenly, Holly was right there, very close behind me. I could feel her body heat and her breath on my shoulder. I glanced back, mildly amused.

  “You really want that check, don’t you?”

  “Hard to pay the rent without it.”

  Our eyes met, and I could see right away she had some bad habits. She had more to pay for than rent. I turned back to the lock and worked it harder. The key seemed stuck.

  “Let me try,” she said.

  “I think I’ve got it,” I said, but another thirty seconds of jiggling proved I didn’t. I hit the door with the heel of my hand. It felt quite solid.

  “Try the sunglasses,” she said in a quiet voice, almost a whisper.

  I stared at her. “What?”

  “Put them on. Tony always did when he came back here.”

  I snorted, but thought what the hell and put them on. I jiggled the knob one more time. The door popped open at long last.

  I took off the glasses and frowned at them. There was no way they could have helped me open the door. All they did, as far as I could see, was make the gloomy bar two shades darker. I looked at her.

  “Are you trying to tell me that these sunglasses…?”

  Holly shook her head. “I’m not trying to tell you anything, Mr. Draith.”

  She pushed past me into the office before I could ask her how she knew my name. She had never asked me what it was. I noticed her attitude had changed. She seemed much more confident in my presence now. Perhaps she’d measured me and marked me down as harmless.

  I followed her into the office. The interior was acrid with stale cigar smoke. A full ashtray sat on the desktop, brimming with ashes and thick cigar stubs. The ashtray was smooth, thick glass shaped like a clamshell. The glass had a faintly green color to it, and I figured it was a refugee from the last century, when ashtrays decorated everyone’s coffee table.

  We both took a look around. I found papers, receipts, bills. No checks or cash. Nothing of any real interest.

  “The safe is down here,” Holly said, kicking away a dirty scrap of carpet with a rubber backing.

  A round metal door with a recessed combination dial was planted in the floor. The floor felt very flat even if you stepped on the dial.

  Holly sucked in her lips, and looked at me. She made a brief, hurry-up gesture in my direction.

  “What?” I asked. “I don’t know the combination.”

  She rolled her eyes and put out her hand.

  “What?” I asked again, feeling as if everyone at the party was in on some secrets—but no one had bothered to tell me anything.

  “The sunglasses,” she said, still holding out her hand.

  I stared at her, then at the safe. I knelt beside the safe, and she knelt beside me. I reached down and gave the handle a twist. It didn’t budge. I let my hand fall away. I took the sunglasses out of my pocket, but I didn’t put them on.

  “Are you telling me that if I put these things on, I’ll know the combination?” I asked.

  Holly shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know. All I know is—it will open.”

  I rubbed my chin for a moment. I took out the sunglasses and eyed them with alarm. What was I playing with? Could these plastic shades do something…strange? I recalled the way Meng’s hood ornament had tossed me out the back door of her sanatorium.

  For a moment, as I stared at them, I found the sunglasses threatening. A cold ripple ran through my nervous system. I knew it was silly. The lock on the office door had been a fluke. This woman was as crazy as the rest of them. But back at the sanatorium that pistol had vanished from my hand—and I had been transported and dropped onto a set of cement stairs.

  Sometimes, when a man’s world shifts under his feet, it causes paranoia. I had experienced these odd events stoically, if suspiciously. I’d played along up until now, assuming some logical explanation would eventually present itself. Perhaps I’d been experiencing side effects from days on heavy drugs. But now it was different, because I was being asked to actively participate in this particular impossibility.

  “This can’t be real,” I said.

  “You know it is.”

  I looked at her. “How do you know me?”

  Holly appeared incredulous. “Your picture is on your blog,” she said.

  “Blog?”

  “Draith’s Weird Stuff,” she said. “You post photos of creepy things every week. You’re an underground hit, you must know that.”

  I smiled weakly. “I didn’t realize.”

  “You should be the one explaining this crazy crap to me. I never believed in any of it until I began seeing it with my own eyes. I thought you must be trying to sell health supplements and dating sites on your blog, so you made it all up. Now, I know you were telling the truth. Don’t you believe your own stories?”

  “Um,” I said, having no recollection of having written articles about the supernatural. “I suppose it’s different when you are staring them in the face.”

  Holly nodded. “OK. I guess I can understand that. But you should at least try, don’t you think?”

  I nodded, then lifted the sunglasses to my face. I paused.

  “Open it!” she urged.

  I stared at her. “No,” I said.

  “What?”

  “You want this safe open more than I do. But I’m not going to do it. Not until you tell me your story.”

  Holly made a sound as if she were strangling. “What can I tell you that you don’t already know?”

  “Start with how you know me. Besides reading about me online.”

  “That night,” she said, looking down at her hands. “The night Tony died. You were in the accident.”

  “You remember any details?”

  “He almost ran me over with his Cadillac.”

  I took out Tony’s wallet and eyed the photograph on the driver’s license. I’d never taken the time to look at it before. Light brown hair, swept to the side. A single earring gleamed beside a crooke
d smile. So that was Tony. There was some familiarity to the tiny square headshot. I recalled liking him.

  “I don’t remember the accident,” I said. “There were head injuries.”

  “I’m not surprised about that,” she said. “I’m surprised you made it at all. I can hardly believe you are walking and talking. When I first saw you, you scared me. You were really messed up after the wreck. You were ejected and broken up. That was less than two weeks ago.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Look,” she said. “I’ll tell you all about it. I swear. But you have to open this frigging safe before we get caught in here.”

  I realized she had a point. “You promise?”

  “I said so.”

  I nodded and turned back to the round, flat door of the safe in the floor. We were both down on our knees. I had no idea what the combination was. None at all. I gave the dial an experimental spin and tugged at the handle. Then I spun it in the opposite direction and tried the handle again. It didn’t even click or rattle. It was like tugging on a lamppost. The handle didn’t even move fractionally. Nothing.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Holly hissed.

  “If this works, I want it to be a clear test. I don’t want to be telling myself afterward that it opened only because the combination had already been dialed and all I had to do was twist the handle.”

  Holly made a sound of exasperation.

  I took a deep breath and put on the sunglasses. I didn’t feel any different with them on. But the room did look darker, just as it should have. I reached down and tugged the handle.

  I hadn’t really expected that it would open right away. I had expected that I would have to give the dial a spin or two first. Maybe the dial would click itself into precisely the right spot when I spun it at random. But that wasn’t how it happened. It was easier than that. The handle twisted and I heard a clinking sound.