The Trilogy of the Void: The Complete Boxed Set

by Peter Meredith

  Chapter 10

  Talitha Meets Jim

  "Lisa."

  It was a whisper in his dreams.

  "Lisa."

  Jim cracked an eye and saw that the girl was awake. He blinked rapidly, feeling the grit and the exhaustion. For some reason Talitha refused to look at him and she went silent with the slightest apprehension on her face as he stirred. He scowled slightly at her, not liking to be ignored, but she ignored that too.

  Their silence drew out and he eyed her closely. She wasn't much to look at, despite the fact that she had slept more than anyone in the house, if indeed a coma was actually sleep. Her dress, the same one that she had worn to church the previous day was stained with hard dried blood. Her hair was tangled and stiff, again with blood and he didn't envy her trying to get it all out.

  The girls hands, still tied to the bed posts were a repulsive purple and Jim suffered a slight pang of guilt at the sight, but since the restraints were a necessity he tried to look past them. Her face held relatively little of the red/brown smears and she looked healthy and well rested despite the gunshot wound to the back of her head.

  She was the only one in the house who could make any claim to being well rested. The night had been easily the worst night Jim could remember and he rubbed hard at his eyes trying to clear the sleep from them. When he looked back at the girl, she still wasn't looking at him though at least had turned to face him slightly.

  What a peach, he thought testily and before he could stop himself, he yawned in a great opened mouth gape, forgetting to cover his mouth until he was nearly done. She ignored that as well, staring off at the wall to his right. He figured he was seeing the good Talitha, since this one had a different, almost vacant look to her eyes, while the bad Talitha had always eyed him with such unsettling perception. The other one had been quite the talker as well; this good one, just sat their mutely.

  The silence stretched from seconds to minutes, until the usually taciturn man felt an odd need to say something. It was odd in that he was uncomfortable instigating any type of conversation, especially with a pretty girl. They were generally insensitive, if not outright cruel. However, even the average person could be difficult for him to talk to since he had found out a long time ago that his opinions were basically not wanted.

  Jim appeared to be a big stupid oaf and almost no one beside Father Alba ever looked past his exterior. This was true even in school where he was passed along every year with no expectations placed on him whatsoever, except to play football. College was no different. He got into Syracuse on a football scholarship, and the moment he blew out his knee it was understood that he should give up the remains of his scholarship and move on. Even though he still had a right to it, he left school; he wasn't going to stay where he wasn't wanted.

  He made an exception that morning—Talitha clearly didn't want him around. When nearly fifteen minutes had passed, Jim couldn't take the silence anymore.

  "Are those ropes too tight? They look painful."

  She said nothing to this; she simply continued to stare at the wall; however her lips pursed the smallest amount and Jim realized how stupid his question sounded. Embarrassment reddened his ears and he looked down feeling like an idiot.

  Talitha must have seen his discomfort. "They're properly tight...you don't want them any looser." Her head inclined toward him. "You were at the church weren't you? I could smell the Irish Spring on you; my brother uses that brand of soap as well."

  "Yeah, I was there." He hoped his discomfort didn't show. He'd been told that she suffered from schizophrenia and it was strange to have to re-introduce himself to her. "My name is, uh, Jim Anderson and..." He trailed off wondering if he was he going to have to repeat the entire conversation he'd shared with her other self.

  She paused only the slightest before saying, "You probably already know this, my name is Talitha Jern. It's nice to meet you Jim. I noticed there was the slightest hesitation when you said your last name...is that your real last name?"

  Her brother seemingly had a magic power to see the future and Talitha's other self had read his thought with such accuracy he wondered if she was indeed a mind reader. Perhaps this Talitha would be more truthful.

  "Can you tell what I'm thinking or something?" He felt stupid for asking, but she smiled sweetly in that slightly unfocused way.

  "No, I'm just perceptive. What is your real last name?"

  He told her that he didn't have one and then he told her a great many things about himself that he had rarely, if ever, told anyone. For him it was a bizarre conversation, in that it flowed easily and naturally from topic to topic, as if they were best friends. This was a first for Jim and he figured it was due to the girl's perception. Though she claimed it wasn't, it sure seemed like mind reading to him and for the first time in his life, he opened up to a woman.

  There seemed no logical reason to hold back since she could tell a lie from a mile away. Moreover, unlike many people and her evil twin in particular, she didn't stare at his ugly features and this diminished his self-consciousness considerably.

  When he glanced at his watch he was amazed that an hour had passed during their talk. "Wow, we've talked for just over an hour...or should I say, I've talked for an hour." She had steered the conversation away from herself at every opportunity, which he hadn't even noticed until now. "Lisa tells me you program computers or some such, do you like doing that?"

  "Yes I do...I like your voice," she said with a distant smile. "It's so deep, that I can feel it on my skin when you talk. It's like the foghorn on an island I used to live on."

  "BEEE-OOOHH!" He mimicked a foghorn, his voice coming out in the deepest bass. "The kids at the orphanage like it when I do that."

  "An orphanage...that's nice of you. Tell me, is it only a place for unwanted children? Or are there, uh, adults there?"

  "Oh yeah, there are three nuns on staff, and then there's Sean and I, we're counselors for the kids." Jim said, suddenly proud of his work.

  "Oh...I see. Tell me about the orphanage. The sound of your voice makes it seem like home."

  "It sure is, but first you need to talk about you. There was a question about computers that you dodged...is it really boring, I ask because it looks boring."

  "I don't want to talk about myself," she replied with a half frown. She continued her practice of not looking him in the eyes, but was staring at his stomach so much that he involuntarily looked down to see if he had spilled some food. There was nothing there.

  Jim sucked in his stomach a little. "I had heard that talking about things was supposed to be good for you."

  Her frown deepened. "There's nothing about me that I want to talk about. Let's talk about something else or let's not talk at all."

  He smiled inwardly; her little threat had stung him more than he would've thought possible. "Sure, we can talk about something else," he agreed amiably. "Programming computers can't be anything but boring anyways."

  "Don't make assumptions, Jim. It can lead to trouble," she said this with a small smile and it lightened Jim's heart to see it.

  "You don't make assumptions...ever?" he asked cocking his head to catch her eye. But just then, she looked down at her bedding and gave a little shake of her head.

  "I won't say never," she answered. "But I try only to judge things for what they are, in the context, in which they were meant to be interpreted."

  "Me too," he said, suddenly self-conscious for the first time during their conversation. She was clearly far smarter than he was. "But even though I try...I still do it, uh make assumptions that is."

  "Well that's good, Jim. It's good that you can admit to it. It's not often you find someone who's so willing to admit to a character flaw."

  "Do I say thank you to that?" he spoke with a smirk and she smiled as well. "Do you have any character flaws that you'd confess to?"

  He had meant for it to be just a light joke, but her face froze in mid-smile and then as she turned away it went into a blank looking star
e. "You've seen me already, Jim. You know my flaws."

  He couldn't believe how ridiculously insensitive he'd just been and his mind flailed around searching for something to say that would show what he had truly meant.

  "I...I only meant this side of you...uh, I kinda assumed that since your other self is so, uh bad, that you," he pointed at her for emphasis, but she ignored him completely. "The good you, would be all good...you know what I mean?"

  "What did I say about assuming? Jim? Can you do me a little favor? Can you please look at my head? It feels big...almost like a pumpkin." Her smile froze on her face, and her eyes held a trace of nervousness.

  Talitha tilted her head away and he leaned forward in his chair, inspecting the bandaged wound. There didn't appear to be any swelling that he could see from around the bandages. It was hard to see through her hair, which was thick and matted with blood. He wondered briefly, how they were going to bathe her and an image of him washing her popped into his mind and he hung onto the image a touch too long.

  "Is it ok, Jim?"

  He jumped a little. "Oh yeah, uh, no swelling. You look ok back here...well actually it looks gross." He started sweeping away the dried blood from her pillow, but more of it rained down from her head and he stopped.

  "I hope you don't find me rude but I'm just going to face this way for a bit, it was becoming uncomfortable facing that direction for so long," she said and Jim couldn't image how anything was going to relieve her discomfort short of cutting her loose.

  "Sure, that's no big deal, here." Picking up his chair, he walked it over to the other side of the bed, and plunked it down quietly. He didn't want to wake Lisa or Will; their night had been even worse than his own. When he'd sat back down, he said evenly, "Now you know, you dodged another question. Does your good side have any flaws?"

  The girl sat quiet for a moment. "Did Lisa tell you what she was going to name the baby?"

  Jim laughed quietly. "You won't answer, will you?"

  "No."

  "Then you're practically forcing me to make assumptions."

  "You have free will, Jim. Use it." She was cool to him but at least she was still talking, which he took to be a good sign.

  "How about this? Since you won't talk about you, how bout you tell me...what about you, is not true, but everyone thinks is true? That's not talking about you. It's talking about what others think of you."

  "Tricky, tricky, but it won't work. I don't know anyone that doesn't already know all about me. Except you of course and we already discovered your silly assumption." She gave him a faint smile, which he returned broadly.

  "Ok, how bout before? Before all this happened to you?" He was happily surprised that she was obviously thinking about his question.

  "Some people thought that I could dance, when I never could." She said it quietly, as if it was a secret shame that he shouldn't share with anyone.

  "That's funny. When I was a kid, I thought all girls had beautiful penmanship and that they could all naturally sing and dance well."

  The indistinct smile on her face firmed up at this. "My handwriting is pretty good, but I can't sing or dance."

  "That doesn't seem too bad. Did it bother you? You know people thinking a good thing about you?"

  She saddened and her eyes dropped to the bed. "No, it was just that I was disappointed with myself. I thought I was going to be a natural dancer...like my mom, but it never happened. And despite secretly practicing, I was terrible."

  "I'd bet I'm worse than you, but who knows?" He'd never danced before. Not a single time. He looked down with a tired melancholy, glad for the moment that she didn't like to look at him. He didn't want her reading his face just then, but when he looked up she was staring not at him, but through him it seemed.

  "Why wouldn't you know?" she asked. "A person has to know if he can dance or not. Are you saying you've never been in a dance contest?"

  "Nope. Never been in one, but you're changing the subject again. We were talking about your dancing." In truth, he wanted the subject changed badly.

  She shrugged as best as she was able with her hands outstretched, tied to the posts. "What is there more to say? I can't dance. You know...part of my problem was they kept changing the dances. I would learn the Hustle only to find out everyone was on to a completely new dance. They were like month long dance fads and I couldn't keep up. Do they still do that?"

  Jim didn't follow dancing at all. "I don't think so...there was this song a few years back, Thriller by Michael Jackson and there was some sort of dance that went with it."

  "Michael Jackson? The boy from the Jackson 5?" she asked. She looked up at him for the answer, their eyes met briefly, and his heart felt suddenly bigger in his chest.

  "Uh...no, I mean yeah. He does his own songs now. I saw Thriller at this bar once, I didn't get what the big deal was."

  "You saw it? Were you at a discotheque?" She smiled prettily at his loud guffawing. "What is it?"

  "No, it was on video. You're like a time capsule. By the way, disco is dead...long gone," he said. She kept smiling at him and he had trouble looking at her. He wouldn't have thought it possible but he realized that he liked Talitha and he was afraid that she would see it in his eyes.

  "I for one am glad it's gone," she replied. "I was definitely not a fan...chamber music is more my style."

  He felt like a moron but said, "I don't know what that is...I-I've never heard of it."

  "You have heard of classical music of course. Chamber music is actually like that but on a smaller scale, thus the term chamber suggesting it can be played in a small room," she answered and looked a little bashful doing it. "It's no wonder I can't disco-dance right?"

  He chuckled. "Disco-dance...it's been such a long time since I heard that phrase. But you can dance to chamber. I went to the ballet once with some kids from the orphanage and it was all chamber." His voice had risen from its normal base into a baritone and he realized he'd just got excited. Despite the girl's reluctance to look at him, he composed his face into a stony block of neutralism.

  That he loved the ballet was not something he was going to tell Talitha. She'd laugh at him and he knew that it would be painful coming from her, especially now.

  That one time at the ballet, with him stuffed into his best suit, sweating the fact that the seams were threatening to let go at the slightest cough, had been all it took for him to fall in love with it. But it was a secret love and an unfulfilled one.

  The slight lithe bodies of the woman and the strong but agile bodies of the men had enraptured him. There movements, so fluid yet still so exact, had him mesmerized and dreaming, wishing that he could look that way, dance that way. It was all so fantastic to him, yet he'd never gone back and never would. It was just another place where he wasn't wanted. And not just by the unfortunate people seated behind him, whose view consisted solely of his massive shoulders, it was everyone.

  He'd been openly gaped at, and laughed at, and whispered about. It might have been all in his head, but the eyes darting away from him, followed by mocking laughter cut him to the bone. He knew how he looked next to all the fine people in their expensive clothes—like an ogre, and they stared and stared.

  The suit he wore was his only one and it had been let out so much, there was nothing left to let out. He had gone to the restroom and was startled by his own appearance, not just by the cheap suit, but also by his face, which was an unhealthy red. His shirt had taken him ten minutes to button at the collar and choked him terribly, but he didn't feel he could undo the button. There were men in tuxedos and ladies in beautiful gowns and his clothes looked already like a beggar's compared to them. Ducking his head in shame, he had returned to his seat, knowing he would never go back to the ballet and he hadn't.

  Talitha was frowning slightly, staring at his mouth, which he realized was hanging open. He shut it with a snap and her smile returned abruptly, she said, "Ballet? I'm the worst at ballet. You have to be graceful and smooth...I'm not a klutz or anything
, I'm just not ballet material." Jim pictured the memory of her dropping down into a spin, sweeping her brother's legs out from beneath him and then flowing back up, only to leap forward.

  "Your other self is pretty agile, maybe you are too. Have you tried to uh, dance since, uh...since?"

  "No, dancing isn't on my mind much. I just read my books and write code. You asked if programming is boring. It is, but in a good way. I can focus on it and it keeps me from thinking of...stuff." Her face was growing cloudy and despondent.

  He saw that going down the road of discussing computers was a dead end, so he shifted back to dancing, "Uh, your mom was a dancer? What kind?"

  Talitha smiled her finest smile yet and Jim couldn't help but smile too. He liked it when she was happy, it lit up her face and made her eyes come alive. But for some reason those sparkling eyes never would look into his for very long. It was as if she wouldn't or couldn't stand to look at his eyes for more than a second. It was a little depressing for him, but it was also more than any other woman had given him in a long time.

  "My, mom? She was a ballerina, supposedly the finest ballerina in all of Omaha. Maybe in all of Nebraska since there is not that much outside of Omaha."

  "That sounds nice. Is the ballet big in Nebraska?" he asked.

  Her smile had drifted off of him, but when he spoke, it shifted back and he looked to catch her eyes, but she stared past him perhaps thinking of Nebraska. He felt the keen edge of foolish disappointment when she refused to look at him and he tried to reign in his feelings, which had been growing with every second he spoke with her.

  "No, Nebraska is not the place for a dancer. When my mom she saved up enough money she moved to New York."

  "Is that where she met your dad?" he asked with genuine interest.