Hark! the Herald Angels Scream

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Hark! the Herald Angels Scream Page 9

by Hark! the Herald Angels Scream (retail) (epub)


  Amira was waiting for him in the doorway when he climbed out of the car, Teddy in her arms. The dog looked as innocent as always.

  “What’s the problem?”

  He’d barely finished speaking when Teddy blurted, in his cutesy kid’s voice: “Teddy wants a walky, Amira Khan. Teddy wants a walky now, you motherfucking piece of shit.”

  Jake barked a laugh. He couldn’t help it.

  “It’s not funny, Jake. It’s been hacked again. They think it’s PETA this time.”

  Teddy stared straight at Jake, raised an ear, and said, “Your mother sucks cocks in hell, Jake Tillman.”

  “Jesus.”

  Amira bundled the dog into his arms. “That’s nothing. You should hear what it’s been saying to the kids. I want it out of here now.”

  “But…I can’t afford to get it fixed again.”

  “Not my problem.”

  She slammed the door in his face.

  * * *

  —

  Christmas came around again. Amira had decided to take the kids to her parents, so he was alone. Alone except for his foul-mouthed, four-legged companion. Teddy’s verbal diarrhea was no longer even vaguely amusing. Still, it could be worse. There were reports of far more insidious hacks—Gens turning on their owners, nipping at them, trying to smother small children, or having explosive digestive problems. But he needed to get rid of it. The last woman he’d “invited” over had left after twenty minutes, tiring of Teddy’s nonstop abuse. He’d put Teddy on eBay, but there were more than a million Genpet ads on the site—pages and pages of cute baby animals that would never grow up and no one wanted—and some of the owners were even offering to pay people to take their Gens. A pet shelter was out of the question. They were overflowing with the traditional pets people had dumped when they’d upgraded their “household pet experience.” Jake slumped on the couch and cracked a can of lager. Next to him Teddy wagged his tail and chirped, “Want food, cunt-face. Want food now.”

  Did he have it in him to stave in its head with a brick? No. Teddy might talk like a pissed-up sailor, but it still resembled a puppy. He couldn’t do it.

  There was only one option. It was time to set himself—and Teddy—free. “Teddy want a walky?”

  The dog jumped onto his lap and danced in a circle. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, you cum-sucking whoremaster! Teddy wants a motherfucking walk!”

  Jake put Teddy on the front seat of the car, then ran back up to his apartment to retrieve his mountain bike and bike rack. It was sleeting when he pulled out onto the motorway, the sky a moody gray. The temperature had dropped.

  After two hours of navigating slippery main roads, Jake took the old familiar exit and weaved down country byways riddled with potholes. Next to him, Teddy was silent and still. It was updating again. At least the dog was quiet.

  As Jake drove up the rutted track that led to the forestry area, a sleek 4x4 barreled toward him, forcing him to swerve into the tree line. The driver waved apologetically. He looked as guilty as Jake felt. Jake checked the time. Three p.m. An hour or so before it got dark. The woodland’s parking lot had an aura of neglect, and there was a wisp of what looked like police tape tied to a tree, as well as a couple of signs warning hikers and mountain bikers to keep to the trails. Odd. It had been months since he’d been here. He used to spend hours exploring the trails on his mountain bike—the one he’d downgraded to pay for the Genpet. He hoped it was far enough from home to confuse Teddy’s tracking system.

  He put Teddy in his backpack (“it’s fucking dark in here, Jake Tillman!”), strapped it onto his back, and got moving. Within minutes his thighs were burning. He ducked off the path and headed deeper into the woods, crisscrossing an old logging road. His spirits lifted as the endorphins kicked in, only to dip again as a splash of red in the sleet-covered ground caught his eye. A frozen deer carcass, ribs protruding, lay curled at the base of a tree. He shuddered as he whipped by it—foxes must have eviscerated it.

  He went on a bit farther, but the shadows were growing, the pine trees around him sucking up the remaining daylight. Here would have to do. He stopped, propped the bike against a tree, and tipped Teddy out of the bag.

  Teddy swore, woofed, and trotted to the nearest stump to sniff around it.

  “Bye, Ted,” Jake whispered. He jumped on his bike and pedaled away. He peered behind him. Teddy was running after him, its little legs going like pistons. “Jake Tillman! Fucking wait!”

  Shit. He pedaled faster.

  He didn’t see the tree root. There was a thunk as the front wheel caught it at an awkward angle, the handlebars skewed out of his hands, and then came a kaleidoscope of images: trees, his knees, the ground, and then, nothing.

  When he came to, it was fully dark. He sat up carefully and vomited. Gingerly, he touched his limbs. His face was wet, and he could taste blood. Phone, he needed his phone. There was no pain. He had the cold to thank for that.

  He sensed, rather than saw, movement around him. He blinked frantically, and gradually his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The shadows around him shifted, and he smelled something—a fetid feral odor—over the low hum of the pine. The shadows shifted again. Something was moving toward him. Several somethings. And now he could hear a low grumbling sound. A primeval fear woke in his gut. He dug in his jacket pocket again for his phone, finding it this time. He jabbed at it, the screen lit up, and he waved it in front of him, catching the gleam of several pairs of eyes. And then he knew. The things approaching him weren’t foxes or badgers. They weren’t Genpets. These were the fully grown dogs that had been dumped after Gens came on the market. The feral dogs like the one he’d seen on the poster in the vet’s waiting room. Adrenaline surged, but his body didn’t seem to want to work properly. This was bad. This was very, very bad. An old slogan from his youth came wafting into his head: “A dog is for life, not just for Christmas.”

  They were closing in. “Nice doggy,” he said lamely. The phone slipped out of his hand.

  Then: “Hey! Cunt-Face! Where the fuck you been? Tired, Jake Tillman. Teddy’s fucking knackered.”

  A flicker of hope flared. “Teddy! Go get help!”

  But Teddy wasn’t engineered for reconnaissance or protection, and Jake didn’t stand a chance. As the first one came for him, he thought he heard a sound he’d never heard from a Genpet before. Teddy was laughing.

  TENETS

  JOSH MALERMAN

  Christine and David argued as they pulled into the Chamberses’ drive and Christine said that all couples argue on the holidays so could they please just end it and get over it and put a smile on as they entered the party? David said yes, of course, we will, we always do, but it’s a damn strange thing to suddenly get over, a damn strange thing, indeed. Then the argument started all over again, right there in the circle drive, with Christine saying they don’t know one thing about this Michael guy who Adam had invited and could they, Christine and David, please either give the guy a chance or ignore him entirely? The last thing she wanted to be thinking about at a holiday party reunion was cults and cult leaders and what all that means and how sad it was if you really broke it down. But David continued to break it down. A cult means lies, he kept saying, and lies mean brainwashing and so Adam had invited a kind of monster to the Chamberses’ holiday party and what in the world was Adam thinking? What kind of mood would this set? Christine took the opportunity to touch up her face and hair. She lowered the passenger side visor and made small adjustments to her eyes as David went on about this Michael and how he wasn’t just once the leader of a cult, he was a “failed cult leader.” Christine bristled at the words (even though she’d heard them a dozen times on the drive), and in the mirror she saw her eyes as the kind of eyes that could be fooled into believing something impossible. She had to turn away from her reflection. And while the moment had chilled her, she really just wanted David to stop talking about it. To stop
worrying about the “vibe” this mystery Michael was “guaranteed” to project.

  But of course David went on.

  What kind of cult was it? How big was it? Had anybody…died?

  And the whole thing about Anne and Hank Chambers not knowing that Adam was bringing him, that was too much to think about right now, too. Why hadn’t Adam told them? David didn’t know. Hadn’t asked. Christine almost said, Well, what’s the difference? All religions are cults anyway. But it felt wrong to say something like that at this time of year. Like she’d be tying their arms behind their backs before sending them into a party of old friends, university alums, a bright and energetic set that was difficult enough to keep up with on an average night. No need to make things more difficult.

  In the end it didn’t matter what Christine did or didn’t say about religion. David said it anyway. He said: On one level I guess it’s not that big a deal, but I worry that I’ve talked myself into that. Then Christine said: Well, you’re certainly talking. She closed the visor and turned to face him, David, her college sweetheart, her Merrick University beau, who had gained some weight and gone a bit gray at the temples but was still cute as Patrick Dempsey to her.

  Ready? she asked, tightening her scarf.

  Beyond the car window, snow fell. A snow so white it warmed Christine’s heart and told her, yes, yes, despite the crazy idea of Adam inviting a…a criminal?…to the holiday party, it was winter, pomp and glory, time for drinks with old friends.

  And wasn’t it just like the old Merrick set to somehow involve a philosophical dilemma at a seasonal soiree?

  David turned the car off, got out, and went and opened Christine’s door for her.

  They walked the stone path to the Chamberses’ front porch, holding hands, their black coats collecting the soothing, uncluttered flakes.

  * * *

  —

  Anne and Hank Chambers were very good at hosting. Especially with the set they’d invited this evening. Ten years ago the sprouting, opinionated lovers were the mutual hub of the intellectual wheel at Merrick University, and neither had been willing to relinquish that power in the decade following. One way of maintaining was to host. But never to over-host. It was a challenge they both enjoyed, one of the many things they had in common.

  As Anne uncorked white wine in the kitchen, Hank came through the swivel door to tell her that someone was ringing the bell. Must be Jane and John, Anne said, silently acknowledging how aware she was of her guests and their behavioral patterns. The invites said the party started at seven o’clock, but of course nobody was there quite at seven. Kevin Bloom showed shortly after, as expected, usually, if not always, the first to arrive. After Kevin came the Younts, Darla and Berry, as flatly conservative as ever in their gray pantsuit and mauve turtleneck, respectively. Anne was certainly keen enough to note that, at these reunions, most of the old gang wore clothes they might have back at Merrick, as if proving to the rest that they hadn’t quite lost their university charm. Not old yet, Hank called it. NOY. But some had lost a particle of that magic dust. Christine and David, for example. Always bickering and then adoring, bickering and adoring. Sustaining that level of energy would be enough to add paunch and wrinkles to just about anybody. But the fact that they were consistently an hour later than party invitations stated told Anne that they were more regulated than even they knew. And here they were already in the living room, eight sharp, a mix of concern and eagerness in their eyes.

  Perhaps they were keeping a secret? Anne didn’t mind if they were. Everybody had secrets, but the way David avoided Anne’s eyes suggested the secret had something to do with her.

  Jane and John, Hank said, sticking his head into the kitchen. He smiled and Anne winked and then she followed him out of the kitchen and into the foyer to greet the two. By the time the hosts reached the new arrivals their hands were extended and the handshakes became hugs. Pop music from ten years gone came from the living room record player and Anne winced a bit inside, preferring modern music always to that of the past. We’ve got to move on, she often told Hank, whether we want to or not. But she kept her mouth shut. Best to host, never to over-host, and besides, there was hardly ever an element to a party of her own that Anne Chambers wasn’t easily able to predict.

  * * *

  —

  Did you hear about this Michael guy? John asked Kerry by the speakers in the living room. This guy Adam invited? I did, Kerry said, running a hand through his thinning fair hair. The look on his face told John enough; Kerry had indeed heard about the cult stuff. What do you know? John asked. Well, Kerry said, I heard he ran a…group…out in Michigan’s thumb…he was in charge…a number of young girls. Young girls? John asked, incredulous. Someone’s gotta warn Hank and Anne, right? But Kerry only shrugged. I don’t know. A side of me rather likes it, he said. Then he winked and John had a glimpse of the long-ago Kerry, the university prankster, the young man who snuck into the classrooms the night before and wrote things like DON’T TRUST MISTER OLIN’S OPINION ON MAILER on the blackboard. What I wanna know, Kerry said, is why Adam felt the need to invite someone outside of the old gang? John held up a finger like he always did when he was about to make a point. Jane didn’t go to school with us, either, he said. Kerry understood. The old gang was always bringing new boyfriends and girlfriends to these reunions. This was common stuff. Kerry said: Remember that one fella Marcia brought? The one who brought his own bottle of Early Times whiskey and drank the entire thing and didn’t seem drunk at all? John said yeah, he remembered that guy. Then Kerry said: But this is different, of course. The guy presumably has a pretty big past. John nodded and Kerry could tell John was holding back a little more information, a nugget, something Kerry didn’t know.

  What is it? Kerry asked. What do you know?

  John looked over his shoulder, saw Jane coming from across the room, then whispered to Kerry: Adam said the guy could really use a friend right now.

  A friend? Kerry laughed. Shouldn’t he know how to make those…whether they want to be his friend or not?

  When Jane caught up to them she asked what they were giggling about and John said, aw nothing. Old times.

  * * *

  —

  That’s the doorbell again, Anne said to Hank. And though he couldn’t hear her over the lively chatter in the living room (the party was proving to be energized; ever a validation, ever a relief to the hosts), it was clear what she was saying. So Hank excused himself from a good conversation with David and made his way through the dozen or so friends, who all seemed to have needed this very thing, this night out, this holiday party at the Chamberses’. Marcus and Wendy certainly needed it (their little boy was asleep at home), and yet they were a little piqued (first time hiring a sitter, first time out without the little one). Hank smiled at them as he passed, then had to duck some tinsel hanging from the ceiling (but not too much decoration; never over-host). He stepped around the “holiday tree,” which did its best to represent all the holidays without being tacky about it. Marcy Ryan and Ryan Mills were cheers-ing in the foyer and Hank made a mental note that the two singles made an interesting-looking pair. Who’d have thought it? But oh how things changed over the years, oh how things looked different.

  At the door, Hank switched his whiskey from his right hand to his left and turned the knob. He saw Adam and another guy, a guy Hank didn’t know, standing on the welcome mat, both with their shoulders covered in thick white snow. The stranger had a deep, distant stare, an observation Hank didn’t feel particularly proud to have made, as the man’s depression would have been obvious to a toddler.

  Adam, Hank said, reaching out and pulling his old friend into the house. Despite Adam being the most liberal of the liberal gang, often proposing juvenile theories, Hank had long had a soft spot for him.

  And who is this? Hank asked, extending a hand to the stranger. But the stranger only half nodded and looked at
Hank’s hand as if it were made of something he wasn’t allowed to touch. DAMAGED was the word Hank silently used to describe the stranger because there could be no doubt that the slumped posture, the short but unkempt hair, and the obvious unease spoke of depressed depths and probable regrets that Hank had only read about in nonfiction essays.

  This is Michael, Adam said. A friend of mine. He was alone tonight, so I said, come on, are you kidding, you’re coming with me, you’ll love the old gang.

  Hank closely watched Michael’s reaction to Adam’s brief introduction. He noted that Michael seemed to endure it.

  Adam’s right, Hank said. Come on in. We won’t bite. And while we’re intellectuals with strong opinions, he parodied, fear not, we’re easily persuaded.

  * * *

  —

  Anne spotted the stranger straightaway, caught his name from Kerry, and made a point of introducing herself. It was unexpected, to be sure, Adam hadn’t told her he was bringing a guest. She didn’t mind at all. Maybe it was a date? You never knew exactly where Adam stood philosophically, politically, even sexually, which was partially the reason she and everybody else enjoyed him as much as they did.

  You’re Michael? Anne said, extending a hand. You look thirsty.

  Michael avoided eye contact and sheepishly shook his head no. No thank you. Anne had a sudden vision of a puppy. Or, perhaps it was a dog, yes, full grown. An animal who felt tremendous guilt for what it had done.

  How do you know Adam? Anne asked, but Adam answered for him.

  Michael and I met at a prisoner rehabilitation meeting in the Ontario Room at the Hyatt on Third.

  Ah, Anne said, so you fancy yourself a reformer like our dear Adam does?

  Michael looked particularly distraught by this comment and Anne had no choice but to look to Adam questioningly. Sometimes a host had no choice. Adam smiled but Anne detected some of the other Adam in there; the run-down, possibly binged-out, exhausted Adam whose eyes didn’t quite sparkle the way they had at Merrick U.

 

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