Dystopia

by Richard Christian Matheson

  I looked at the street sign coming up. "Evans?"

  "That's it," she said.

  We turned onto the street and followed its curves deeper up into the canyon.

  We were just above L.A., and the view, looking out over the city, was gorgeous. The lines of the buildings were sharply focused and the tinted windows returned our stares with gleaming clarity. With its smog washed briefly away, Los Angeles was striking.

  "It's a nice place when it doesn't have a blanket of muck all over it," I said.

  Annie didn't respond and reached to turn on the radio. She played with the dial until a station surfaced.

  "Up ahead we should be taking a left," she said.

  "What's the street?" I shifted into third as the road steepened. "Parkmore," she said, turning up the volume.

  "Parkmore," I repeated, as the Porsche sped around more curves.

  On either side of us were what the L.A. realtors like to call "Hillside Hideaways." They were stylishly expensive houses and apartments, built onto the side of the mountains. They all overlooked expansive and inspirational views of the city, and from where we were, the ocean. It was a thin, blue strip at ground's end, in the distance.

  "These roads remind me of Europe," I said, sliding my hands around the steering wheel. "Especially with the architecture up here. Every house looks designed."

  Annie pointed up ahead, momentarily lowering her map. "Parkmore," she said.

  I nodded, and when I got to Parkmore: "Left?"

  "Yes," she answered.

  We were heading up again. Farther and farther above the city. Annie and I didn't talk much, though. It had been that way for almost four months. Maybe more.

  Ever since she got back from the hospital. That day.

  That awful day.

  The doctor said we could try again, but Annie seemed without hope. She kept saying she felt cheated. She wanted to start again, but was afraid. And the apartment seemed to be making it worse. When she finally found a new place in the paper, I was for the idea. She needed something.

  We both did.

  "What did they tell you?" I was making conversation.

  "Not much. Two-bedroom. View. Fireplace."

  "They sound friendly?"

  "I guess. Damn, I'm losing the station."

  She began turning the knob again, and amid static, found a weak classical station. It sounded like a piece I recognized.

  "Respighi," I suggested.

  "Maybe," she said, cranking down her window. "It's hard to say."

  "Yeah," I agreed, "it is."

  "I hate classical music," she said, staring out the window.

  I raced the Porsche's engine, and we came to a rise up ahead. I couldn't see what was on the other side. I slowed down and we rose over the rise, down the other side. Ahead, was a circular dead end. Nothing had been built there. It was deserted and still.

  "Terrific," I said, stopping the Porsche.

  "You blaming me?" she said, immediately.

  "No," I said with a patient smile. "These roads are just confusing. It's easy to get fouled up. One looks like another."

  "But I was giving directions, right? So whose fault would it be?"

  "Hey, come on, that's not what I meant, babe."

  Her mouth stiffened. Her eyes looked away from mine. "It seems like recently it's always my fault," she said.

  "I don't feel that way. Let's take a look at that map."

  I slowly took the map from her hands and retraced our steps. It looked like we had done everything right. It was just that the street we were looking for was missing. It was supposed to be where the dead end was.

  "Clearsite Terrace," I said.

  "What?"

  "That's the street the house is on. Clearsite Terrace."

  "Well, where is it?" she demanded.

  "Good question."

  I was trying to see if maybe we'd taken the wrong street at the bottom of the hill. It was possible. If so, we had gotten started wrongly, and somehow managed to hit a couple of the correct streets.

  "God, haven't we had enough problems this week. And now this," said Annie, opening her purse and taking out a cigarette.

  "Don't worry. We'll find it. Let's keep looking. It's gotta be around here somewhere," I said, pushing the lighter on the dash in for her.

  As I sped back over the road, which had led to the dead end, I looked quickly over at Annie, smoking. Her expression wasn't there. It was as if Annie, the Annie I had fallen in love with and married, so long ago, had emptied out. Maybe when she lost the baby it started. All her love was in that baby, and all her love went with it, it seemed. She never even knew the baby. Never even saw it. But somehow she changed.

  Really changed.

  "You don't like it when I smoke. Why don't you just say so . . . ?"

  "Annie, if you want to smoke. . ."

  "I know you can't stand it. I know you think it isn't good for my health. Of course, it never was. Maybe that's why . . ."

  I interrupted, quickly. "Annie, that's not what I'm thinking. Please drop it. What's that street up ahead?"

  She took a drag on her cigarette and checked the map against the street name. "Ginger Lane," she said. "It's supposed to be Rossmoor, according to the map. We're getting lost."

  "No, we're not," I said. "Here, let me see the map."

  I pulled over and she handed it to me.

  Looking out at the city, I could see late afternoon fading to nightfall. I ran my finger over the street names, repeatedly, but things weren't connecting. The streets we had driven up didn't seem to be where I remembered them. I was beginning to think maybe we were lost.

  "Look, this is ridiculous," I said, "let's just go down and start over." Annie was smoking another cigarette. She took the map, opened the glove compartment, crammed it in. "What do you mean, just go down?"

  "Simple. We'll follow one of these roads back to the main canyon road. Once we're down, we'll come up and find the place more carefully."

  She said nothing, but nodded hesitant agreement. The idea seemed to at least meet her approval, though it obviously didn't please her. Her mood was changing. It had darkened. I think admitting we were lost made her feel defenseless.

  I quickly steered the Porsche down a street we'd initially travelled up. As we swerved downward, through the hushed road, branches from the overhanging trees brushed against the targa roof.

  Two or three cars passed us, going the other way, but it was hard to see the passengers inside. There was no detail to the faces. Just indistinct, staring shipments of people, peering out at us. Then, back at the road.

  I spotted something familiar ahead.

  "Evans."

  "That's where we started," said Annie.

  Now we're getting somewhere, I thought.

  At Evans, I made a left, reversing my original right. As we drove down Evans, I saw something I hadn't recalled—a rise.

  It sat, stolid and immense; a mute imposition of lifeless road, risen from asphalt. Mist nestled at its top.

  I stopped. Annie and I looked at it, then each other.

  "That wasn't there," she said.

  "No," I said, becoming upset.

  "Well, please forgive my stupid directions, darling."

  I rubbed my temples. "Annie, please," I whispered.

  "I forgot," she said, with a sharp edge in her voice, "there's only supposed to be one sensitive person in this relationship, right?"

  She blew a self-certain stream of smoke out the window and the wind caught it.

  I ignored her.

  "Let's see what's on the other side."

  I floored the Porsche, and it quickly lifted us through the mist, up and over the rise. I slowed down and brought the car to an immediate stop.

  I swallowed as I looked around.

  We had come to another dead end. Only it looked exactly like the first one. The same formations of tumbleweeds and towering, silver streetlamps. Even the four lots, empty, ready to be built on, were the same.

/>   The city, in the distance, was beginning to flicker awake with fuzzy lights. We were high up, again. Yet we'd been driving downhill for several minutes. It made no sense.

  "Does this look like the other dead end to you?" I asked, carefully.

  Annie moved uncomfortably, in her seat. "Asking my advice?"

  I sighed. I didn't want to argue.

  "All right. Yes."

  "I think whoever gave me these instructions must be playing a practical joke, or something. I don't see how we could go wrong with just a few streets."

  "Me neither . . . but we did."

  "You mean I did. . ."

  I grabbed Annie's shoulder. "Look, we're both confused and tired. There's no need to turn everything I say into an issue. Until we get home, why don't you lay off, huh?"

  "Like I said," Annie was pulling away from my hand, "only one of us is supposed to have feelings."

  "All right, you want to make things harder, go ahead. Just don't talk to me," I said, screeching the tires, as I turned from the dead end and headed back over the rise.

  On the other side, the mist seemed thicker around us. It made the feeling of gnawing disorientation worse. I squinted, pensively.

  There had to be a small street I had missed that would lead back to the main canyon.

  As I drove, I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. Her arms were crossed and she'd pulled the collar of her jacket high. It was impossible to see anything but her eyes. And though wide open, they seemed closed to everything. How could it have happened so quickly?

  So totally?

  I couldn't remember the last time we'd laughed together. Or said we loved each other. The things that were once all we needed and everything we had. Somewhere, they had just gotten lost. I don't even know why. But it made me sad.

  Terribly sad.

  God, we needed that new house. To begin again; try and forget.

  "Slow down," she demanded. "There's a couple, walking up ahead."

  As the Porsche drew closer to them, I braked, and Annie rolled down her window.

  "Excuse me," she said.

  The couple turned to face us. They looked to be in their eighties. Their faces were deeply lined, their eyes murky and curious. The mist gathered at them as they spoke.

  "What's the problem?" asked the old man, firmly planting his walking stick, and peering into the Porsche.

  "I'm afraid we're lost," I said. "We're trying to get back to the main canyon."

  The old man laughed and looked at the old woman. She smiled.

  "Lost, eh?"

  "Right," I said, leaning toward Annie's seat, so I could see him.

  "Well, I'll tell you folks, your best bet is to take that first right, down there, and follow it a mile or so, until you come to a stop sign. When you get to that sign, that's the canyon."

  The old woman breathed heavily and kneeled down a bit. Her hair was thin, teeth brown. She grinned at us.

  "You folks visiting someone up here?"

  "We're looking for a house we were interested in renting," said Annie. "It's on Clearsite Terrace."

  The couple looked at her and their mouths twitched a bit at the sides. Their smiles fell, and they nodded. The old man tapped his walking stick, once or twice, on the pavement. He licked liver-spotted lips and grabbed weakly at the Porsche's door, as he looked in one final time.

  "Well, like I said, take that first right. It'll take you right to where you're heading."

  "Right to it," repeated his wife.

  I looked at them, appreciatively.

  "Thanks," I said, with a relieved smile. "We'll be happy to get down from here, I'll tell you."

  He squinted at me knowingly, and the old woman took his arm.

  They straightened, walked away from the car, talking quietly between themselves, then disappeared down a sleepy lane, swallowed in mist.

  Annie rolled up her window, and I pulled the Porsche away from the shoulder, racing toward the street the old man indicated. The interior of the car was cold, and Annie shivered slightly, as I took the turn.

  "The heater," she said.

  I slid the heat controls on, and from beneath our legs came a comforting blast of hot air. It blew my pant legs slightly, and I tightened my grip on the wheel, as we moved quickly through the street. I reached to turn on the lights and noticed the gas gauge was almost on empty.

  The sunset was near end.

  "It's going to be dark in a few minutes," she said, accusingly. "We're just wasting our time up here. The owners of that house have probably already rented it."

  I was looking at the needle of the gas gauge. It was leaning against the E, bouncing only in response to the road. I was certain the couple had given us correct directions.

  I flipped on the headlights and clicked the high beam, brought my face to the windshield, peering ahead. The road was new. Different.

  This had to be right.

  The old man had probably lived up there for years. He and his wife seeing hundreds of lost people. Helping them.

  The road suddenly dipped down, and I shifted to second and let the clutch out to slow us. Annie stiffly grabbed the dashboard for support.

  "You're driving like a maniac," she said. "Didn't you hear what I said before? We're wasting our time up here."

  I didn't take my eyes off the road. It was curving, wrapping itself around the mountain. The mist all around us had curdled to fog.

  "I know," I said. "I'm trying to get down."

  "Well, you're doing one hell of a lousy job," she said, voice raised, cigarette about to be lit.

  I pressed my lips together.

  No point talking.

  Annie watched me as I drove. She ran a hand through her hair as I froze my eyes on the road.

  Jarringly, from out of the fog, a tiny figure jumped in front of the headlights, and I slammed on the brakes. It was a small dog and its eyes stared into the headlights, shining back at us. We had come within inches of it. I honked the horn and it stood motionless, for a second, before scurrying away.

  "God, you almost killed it!" Annie yelled.

  "I didn't see it," I said, not looking at her.

  "You're driving like you're crazy," she said. "What do you expect?"

  "I thought you were in a hurry."

  "Is your idea of hurrying getting us both killed? What the hell is the matter with you?"

  I held down the horn for several seconds, cutting her off. I released it and looked at her; seethed my words.

  "What is goddamn wrong with me is you. I am doing the best I can to get us down from this fucking labyrinth, and you're not helping. Either shut up, or get out of the car and walk."

  Annie said nothing. There was a brooding finality to her silence as she looked away.

  I put the Porsche in first and, driving the RPMs to redline, popped the clutch. The tires screamed against pavement, and I looked at the speedometer as we raced faster and faster around curves. We were going over eighty.

  But the farther we travelled, the more we got nowhere. The main canyon was nowhere in sight. Just more stretches of quiet, foggy streets and no people.

  Impatiently, I slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The engine exhaled a guttural moan and the car lurched forward. We made an acute left turn, and looming up ahead of the car, at the end of the straightaway we were on, was a rise. I clenched my teeth when I saw it, but didn't stop.

  I shoved the gear box into second, and the Porsche howled in the evening air as we ascended the rise and plummeted down its other side.

  My stomach viced at what I saw.

  The silver streetlights weren't lit and the tumbleweeds hadn't moved. The lots sat still, the chilly breeze of nightfall sweeping at them.

  "What the hell is going on?!" Annie screamed.

  "I don’t know."

  "This is the same goddamned dead end!"

  I looked out at the city, and watched as it began to glow in the blackening sky. The Porsche idled reassuringly, and Annie impulsively opened her door
and got out.

  "Is there anything you can do right?" she said, with a stabbing fury.

  She threw the door shut, and I watched as she crossed the wet beams of the headlights. She walked up the slope, on one side of the lot, closest to the car. It was becoming dark, and she was only a silhouette by the time she got to the top of the lot, looking toward the city.

  For a way down, I suppose.

  I didn't try to get out and stop her.

  It would have been no use.

  She didn't listen to me anymore. There was so little left between us. Nothing, really.

  We didn't even know each other.

  I looked up at one of the streetlight posts, and my eyes fixed on the sign which hung upon it. I hadn't smoked in months, but I took one of Annie's cigarettes from the pack she'd left on the dash.

  I lit it, and as I took the first drag, the night went suddenly quiet. The engine had stopped. Out of gas.

  I turned off the lights and sat in the leather seat, waiting for the car to get cold. It would take only minutes in the night.

  It was so cold outside.

  I shook a little and tried to warm my hands. It didn't do much good. I looked out the window and couldn't see Annie anymore up on the lot. She must have gone farther. Trying to see down.

  The cigarette burned hot in my mouth as the moon began to light the sign. In simple, black letters, against the yellow, square background, it moved a little in the stirring wind.

  It said DEAD END, and I couldn't take my eyes off it.

  The cigarette went out and I buried it in the ashtray.

  My eyes began to water and burn.

  But it wasn't tears. It was just the mountain, and the dark, and being lost and cold.

  It just felt like there was no way out for a minute or so.

  And then another minute joined it.

  And then another.

  Groupies

  Digital counter 000. Fast forward.

  Smeared VHS images; face fringed.

  024. Stop.

  Fourteen. Staring.

  Makeup; a snowy, death mask. Jewelry, provocative. Hair, shoe-black.

  Q: Why are you here?

  A: Next question.

  A maneuvering giggle. A denying glance.

  A: I deserve it, I guess. Right? Is that the answer?