The Anathema tc-2

by Zachary Rawlins

  He meant it as a joke, but Alex just nodded resignedly, as if that scenario was yet another grim possibility for him. While Alex had never been the most upbeat person in the world, since the attack on the Academy, he seemed more inclined to be gloomy, more likely to fall into one of his bad moods and isolate himself from everyone and stop talking. Vivik wasn’t sure why, and he didn’t plan to ask him about it. It wasn’t any of his business, and anyway, he didn’t feel bad for Alex, despite the circumstances. He was still painfully aware that, whatever other problems he might have, Alex could walk up to Emily’s door tonight and he probably wouldn’t be turned away. Whatever else was wrong in Alex’s life, Vivik still would have traded with him for that privilege.

  “How long have Anastasia and Emily been friends, anyway?”

  “I don't remember them not getting along, exactly,” Vivik said, thinking back. “They could be catty with each other, but I never got the feeling that they particularly disliked each other. I guess they started hanging out not long after you showed up.”

  Alex turned away.

  “Yeah, I figured,” he said moodily. “You have no idea how tired I am of hearing that.”

  Michael broke up four fights in the afternoon class, two involving Steve. Miraculously, one of them hadn’t even been Steve’s fault. Eventually, he gave up on anything other than running, and they spent the session out on the track. Alex didn’t show, but he didn’t have time to worry about his absence, not today.

  He had six disciplinary sessions in the early afternoon, and he barely made it back for the late conditioning session. He took one look at the surly faces of the class and didn’t even bother with his planned training routine. Instead, he spent two hours running them into the ground, working every kid he could get his hands on until they were exhausted, in the hope that they would be too tired to act out later. He ran with all of them, miles more than his norm. It took his mind off it, at least.

  He hardly ever thought about what it was he was running from.

  Mitsuru didn’t have to be so cautious, with Rebecca unresponsive in a hospital bed, but she was anyway, out of long habit. She’d changed into jeans and a black top she thought was cute, and she’d washed her hair and then let it hang down, an unfamiliar, ticklish presence on the back of her shoulders. It wasn’t what she would have chosen to wear, but she couldn’t afford the attention that her little black dress would draw, either. She had excuses planned if anyone stopped her on the way to the upper story of Operations, where he maintained a small apartment, but no one wanted to question anything she did, not now. They just assumed that she knew what she was doing and left it at that, eager to avoid any unnecessary contact with the Audits Department. No one would dare challenge an Auditor.

  No one, of course, but her best friend, whose limp hand she had been holding, sometimes in tears, all afternoon.

  Still, she checked to make sure the hallway was clear before hurrying along it, stopping at a door near the middle and knocking, softly but firmly. She heard him call out sleepily, and then there was a short delay before he opened the door, just a crack, so that all she could see of him was one eye, which widened in surprise at seeing her. Then he opened the door wide and ushered her inside, checking behind her to make sure that no one saw.

  “Mitzi,” he said, reviewing her with obvious concern. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay? It’s really late…”

  “No,” she said firmly. “Nothing is okay. And you know why I’m here.”

  Alistair backed away slowly, retreating to the kitchen where he made an unnecessary production out of opening a bottle of bourbon and pouring a slug for each of them into two thick blue glasses, handing one to her and draining the other in one motion. He was still wearing the worn brown t-shirt and khakis that he had been wearing earlier in the office, and he still smelled like the stale cigarette smoke that permeated Operations. She sipped hers once for politeness sake, then set it aside on a handy counter while he went back for a refill.

  “Mitzi,” he said softly, turning back to face her with a full glass and obvious reluctance. “You know you shouldn’t be here.”

  She felt the tears trying to force their way out before they happened, and turned away so that he wouldn’t see them. She hadn’t cried since the night she’d brought Alex Warner back to the Academy, and that had been out of frustration; but since the attack, since her last conversation with Rebecca, she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

  “I know what I did was wrong, and I was punished,” she said, her voice shaking more than she would have cared for it to. “Does that mean I’m kicked out of your bed forever?”

  She could hear him swear, though it was under his breath. Afraid to open her eyes, she listened to him finish his drink, and the clatter of the glass as he set it down in the sink. She couldn’t hear him as he walked across the room that separated them, and for a long, unhappy moment, she thought that he wouldn’t be able to answer her at all. Then she felt his hands at her waist and she melted in relief, leaning back against his chest, pulling his arms tight around her until she couldn’t feel anything else. Eventually, he let her go, and she turned around to face him.

  She could tell by his face that he wanted to say something, but she put her fingers on his lips, hushing him, staring patiently into his eyes. There was only a moment of hesitation, a flash of something that looked a lot like guilt, before he took her hand gently and led her back to the bedroom.

  “You are being weird.”

  “That is so not true,” Alex objected. “I was just being normal, right that second, right when you said that. If things are weird now, then it’s your fault for saying weird things.”

  Eerie looked at him skeptically with her dilated eyes.

  “I don’t think so,” she said gravely. “I do that a lot, so I know what that’s like, and this isn’t that. It’s different.”

  “Huh?”

  Eerie sighed and released his hand, stopping in the path and looking at him forlornly.

  “You suck. Stop lying. Just tell me what it is. Is it because you are going away? Because I am going to Central for field study?”

  Alex stopped too, and swore. He couldn’t look at her while he said it.

  “I just keep wondering about that thing with Edward, or whatever it was. You did some shit to me, back there to my protocol, right? And then he said some stuff, and it kinda bugged me,” he said defensively, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

  “He said some stuff…” Eerie repeated doubtfully, clearly not understanding. Then, slowly, it dawned on her, and her expression changed, to something he hadn’t seen before. “Oh. And it bugged you?”

  “Yeah,” Alex admitted.

  “Why do you care? Why does it matter what happened? We helped each other, and Edward’s gone now, anyway. I never even talked to him when he was… you know. Alive. Why would he know anything about me?”

  Alex looked away, and nodded, not exactly sure what he was agreeing to, or admitting too. The moment the words had left his mouth, he had known that this was a bad, self-punishing idea, and he wished that he hadn’t started at all. Nevertheless, the words seemed like they had been festering inside him for a long time, fermenting in his suspicions, and then, at the worst possible moment, before three weeks of separation and temptation, it all came boiling out of him.

  “It’s just… how did you do that thing? When you made my protocol work so easily. I’ve never been able to do that, myself.”

  “I don’t know,” Eerie said, shrugging and looking away nervously.

  “Okay, but Edward was saying some stuff about… about how you were like him,” Alex said, frustrated, and not sure why.

  “Dead?”

  “No… like, maybe, there was something about you that you weren’t telling me.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Eerie said. She looked hurt, which was much, much worse than her being angry. “You’ve never asked me anything about myself. Is it my fault that you don’t kno
w anything about me? I didn’t think that you were interested.”

  “Oh, fuck, Eerie, that isn’t it all…” Alex said, turning toward her, realizing she was right.

  “Why do I have to explain myself to you, anyway?” Eerie demanded. “You are going on vacation with a girl who likes you. A girl you sit next to in class. A girl you hold hands with. And do I ever give you a hard time about it?”

  “No, no you don’t, and I didn’t mean to…” Alex said, reaching out his hands to try to hold her.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be touching me, Alex,” Eerie said, slapping his hand away. “Since you aren’t sure that you can trust me.”

  “Eerie, please, you have to let me — look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. I wish I hadn’t said anything at all…”

  “How long have you been thinking about this anyway?” Eerie said, abruptly tearful. “Have you been suspicious of me this entire time? Is that why you are always so weird when I try to be nice to you? I hear all the names they call me, you know. All the things they say about me. I didn’t think that you would be like that.”

  Alex tried to object, but she turned away, and he didn’t blame her. She was right, and he knew it, sick to his stomach and sick through his heart, he knew it. He also knew that he had nothing to offer to fix it but it lies and flattery, and that both would fall short. He wasn’t surprised when she started to walk away, or that he didn’t do anything to stop her.

  “Have a nice trip, Alex,” Eerie said, not looking back at him.

  He just stood there, hoping the earth would open up and swallow him, hoping that he could stop his heart from beating just by thinking about it. Nothing of the kind happened. The world remained as before, the girl continued to walk away. He just stood there and watched her go, knowing that if he did nothing, that there would be nothing left between them for him to come back to. Yet all he did was watch her leave.

  When Xia felt like this, the only thing to do was clean. He started at the middle of the room, using disinfectant that he made himself. The soap he used left a particular sheen that allowed him to see where he had cleaned already, so he could be precise. He did the floors with a rag, by hand, just to be sure. Then he did the walls. Then he cleaned everything in the kitchen, which was just a half-dozen dishes and a freezer full of bagged, frozen meats and vegetables that he had selected, prepared and vacuum-sealed himself. Then he did the bathroom and the futon he slept on, even though he’d done it the day before. Then he showered, changed clothes, and brushed his teeth.

  It didn’t make him feel all that much better.

  He put out a package of frozen broccoli and a chicken breast, each in its individual wrapper, to thaw, before he boiled and baked them, respectively. He took one look at the finished product, then put it back in the refrigerator, and had a sip from a sealed bottle of water instead.

  Then he went to go change the tape that sealed the cracks in the door.

  “Tell me,” Alice suggested playfully, “do you know what your favorite food is?”

  The prisoner looked at her warily, blinking to get rid of the water that kept dripping from his hair into his eyes. He was too out-of-breath to respond immediately, but Alice was feeling generous, so she gave him time.

  “What?”

  His shaky voice belied his gruff tone. Alice’s grin widened another notch.

  “Well, honestly, I’ve forgotten mine,” Alice continued brightly. “I thought you could relate, since you have all those cognitive blocks and anti-interrogation routines restricting your memory. It’s more complicated than you would think. I had a turkey with Swiss the other day, and it was okay, but for all I know, that’s my favorite sandwich, right?”

  Alice stopped while she leaned over to the side, picking up the industrial sized cattle prod that sat next to her chair, moving it slowly enough that the man could watch her double check the batteries, the power, the weight of the thing. His chest heaved in panic. The whole front of his body was soaked.

  “Then the next day, I have roast beef, and I’m like, okay, this has got to be it, right here… it was Robert Fisher, right? Anyway, Robert, I order a roast beef on rye and it’s mind-blowing, and I think maybe I’ve found it, and then that night I go out for Italian food, and it all goes right out the window when I have that pasta with cream sauce and shrimp. It could be that one day I’m going to eat some plain yogurt or whole-wheat crackers or some shit and discover that’s my favorite food. It’s nerve-wracking. What if macaroni and cheese is my favorite food and I keep skipping it in the cafeteria every afternoon? What if I like the donuts with jam inside them best, but pass them up ‘cause they look weird?”

  Robert Fisher’s eyes crept up to the man above him, the man with his hands placed on his neck and one shoulder, almost in a friendly way. He was a hard man, and he looked it, all bulky muscle and obvious bad intentions. Then they returned to Alice Gallow, leaning across the chair back and smiling at him, happy as a cat with a mouse.

  “What the hell are you-?”

  He made it that far and then the man behind him drove his head down, into the bucket that he knelt in front of, cued by the slightest nod from Alice. He struggled and thrashed feebly, but he never managed to dislodge the man’s grip or upend the bucket. Alice started to giggle the moment his head hit the water with a gurgling, choking noise, and the man joined her a moment later.

  “This shit never gets any less funny,” Alice said, leaning over the chair to watch.

  “Are you ever going to ask him any questions?” The man asked, apparently untroubled by his victim’s rather minor struggles. “I’m starting to feel sort of bad for him.”

  Alice snorted.

  “Taking a page out of Alistair’s book, are we, Mark? You telepaths are all alike. Softheaded bleeding-heart pansies. What is the point of having all you mind-readers around if we still have to ask people goddamn questions?”

  They both laughed again.

  “Uh, should I let him up?” Mark asked uncertainly.

  “Is he thinking about anything interesting yet?”

  “Nope,” Mark said, shaking his massive, stubbly head. “Same nursery rhyme he’s been thinking the whole time, same counter-interrogation telepathic routine. Taos did a good job on the memory locks and the cutouts on their people. Quality psychic engineering.”

  Alice swore and looked at the ceiling for a moment.

  “Okay,” she said, sighing as Robert Fisher’s head came back into view, breaching the water with a hideous, shuddering gasp followed by coughing and spitting water. Mark dumped him unceremoniously on the concrete, where he writhed and shuddered.

  “Now, what I was trying to point out is this,” Alice said, leaning close to the wet man, though not so close that his writhing splashed her. “I have forgotten my favorite food. Other things too, but this is the one that bothers me the most, for some reason. Unless luck or research intervenes, I may die never knowing.”

  “Bitch,” Robert Fisher spat, “fuck your — ”

  Alice made a disappointed sound and then activated the cattle prod, pushing it firmly to his chest. There was sparking, a loud noise, and then a great deal of screaming and twitching, and some steam coming off his wet shirt where the prod touched. She kept it on for ten seconds.

  “Don’t be impatient,” Alice scolded. “I am trying to make a point. My point is that I will die without ever being able to remember what I have forgotten. There is nothing I can do about it. You, however, can have all of your precious memories back, just by wanting them. All you have to do is trigger that psychic safety word they implanted in your mind, where my friend Mark can’t get at it, and it will all come flooding back to you. I am envious.”

  He didn’t seem to be up to talking yet, but the look in Robert Fisher’s eyes made it abundantly clear that he doubted her sincerity.

  “I’m serious,” Alice protested, pausing to zap him again, and then waiting until he stopped moaning and flaying before continuing. “Do you know what it’s like to suspe
ct that you could be walking right by your favorite food, your dream house, the perfect lover, even ignoring your own birthday, all because you can’t remember? You should be grateful for what you have. You’re lucky to have the two of us here to assist you, working hard to try and help jog that memory for you.”

  Robert Fisher straightened partway up and looked her hard in the eye. There was a faint crackle of power, a minor fluctuation in the Ether. Alice stared back hard for a moment, and then she laughed, and jammed the cattle prod into his crotch, activating it while the big man behind him recoiled in laughter and sympathetic pain. Again, Alice politely waited until Robert had stopped thrashing about on the floor.

  “You are probably wondering why it is that you cannot use your magic brains to kill us,” Alice said crisply. “I should have pointed this out earlier, but I tend to lose my train of thought when I am having fun. My friend Mark Costas probably isn’t familiar to you, but he should be, if there was any justice in the world. You see, Bobby, you might be something of a telepath, but Mark here is a very special kind of telepath; really, he’s a rare and utterly unique talent.”

  “You are too kind,” Mark rumbled.

  In fact, he was too kind to point out that he heard this speech a number of times over the years, almost verbatim, and that he knew that it came from her diaries rather than any direct memory of him. However, since he actually was her friend, he kept quiet about this, the same way he kept quiet about the fact that he was also her former student, because he wasn’t sure whether she’d read about that yet. She’d actually been the one who had overseen his transformation from a chubby, awkward little Salvadorian kid from New Mexico to the tattooed enforcer that he was today. Still, no matter what she had forgotten, he was heartened to see Alice being Alice, and it showed in the genuineness of his smile.

  “Don’t get me wrong, he can do all the normal shit too. That isn't what makes him unique, though. You see, Mark has a protocol that operates entirely on your autonomic nervous system. I’m sure you know all about that — maybe you’re even good enough to do a little of that sort of thing; making people stop breathing, say, or putting them down for a little nap. Mark, though, he’s fucking surgical when it comes to tampering with the actual workings of your nervous system. When Mark decides that you aren’t going to be able to use your protocols, well, I’m afraid you just can’t access that part of your brain. When Mark decides that you’re going to struggle about as effectively as a prom date after a couple wine coolers, well, then that’s what happens. Are you starting to understand? You, my friend, are going to die, face down in a fucking bucket.”