A Perfect Machine

by Brett Savory

  Henry looked up at her. “Safe?” Then he dropped his eyes again. The word was hollow, meaningless in his mouth, her ears.

  Milo felt that stomach-churning feeling of wrongness again. Knew something horrible was coming. And soon.

  Faye draped the blanket over Henry as best she could. His legs would stick out the bottom, but it wouldn’t be for long. Just a few feet – assuming, that was, Henry had mastered his new body enough to actually be able to climb into the dumpster.

  “Here we go,” Faye said, and smiled again. This time it felt more natural. Looked more at ease on her face.

  Henry just nodded, looking grim.

  She poked her head out the back, saw Steve with a small crowd of people gathered around and near him. She couldn’t hear everything he was saying, but she caught wisps of sentences: “… called here by an elderly man…” “… collapsed outside the building…” “… didn’t tell us the apartment number…” “… could’ve had a stroke, wasn’t thinking clearly, maybe crawled off to try to get some help?…”

  Everyone wore concerned looks on their faces, eager to be of help in finding this fictitious elderly stroke victim – or at least eager to appear wanting to be of help.

  It wasn’t perfect, but it was their best shot. “Now, Henry!” Faye whispered. “I’ll guide you to the edge of the dumpster, then you hop in as quick as you can.”

  When Henry’s weight left the ambulance, the shocks groaned again. Faye and Henry moved as silently as they could across the roughly ten feet of distance between the vehicle and the dumpster. Faye risked a quick glance at Steve and the crowd.

  No one looking their way.

  Henry reached the edge of the dumpster (thankfully the lid was open), reached up, felt around blindly for the lip, hoisted himself up, dropped in. He landed on a bed of snow and garbage bags. The container was nearly full of the bags, but when his full body weight hit them, he pancaked them down, and still hit the bottom – but with a muted enough sound that no one looked over.

  Faye then walked as casually as possible over to Steve and his crowd of concerned citizens. Steve saw her, and promptly wrapped up his story. “Well, I really need to get back to the hospital, but if anyone sees or hears anything about this call, please let us know. Thanks, everyone, for your concern. Keep an eye out.”

  Steve turned and walked back to the ambulance, got in, drove away.

  The crowd dispersed, muttering to each other about what a shame it was, which old man from their building it could’ve been, etc.

  Faye looked at the dumpster as she walked through the doors of her apartment building, her heart in her throat. Hoping to hell and back that today was not a pickup day.

  Across the street, Edward Palermo, hidden in shadows till now, walked slowly away.

  * * *

  That day turned out not to be a garbage pickup day, but Faye thought she was going to have a heart attack every time she heard a big truck go by or, worse yet, pull into the apartment building’s parking lot.

  The hours dragged like they were weighed down by immense anchors. Faye did everything she could think of to distract herself – watched TV, surfed the internet, played what felt like a thousand games of solitaire – but evening was slow in coming. The window of her apartment darkened by infinitesimal degrees. When night finally fell, it felt like a cool balm on her shoulders: her back and neck muscles relaxed, and she felt like she could pull in a full breath for the first time all day.

  Just a few more hours, Henry. Hang in there. Just a handful of hours, then we’re safe.

  And there was that word again. No matter how often she said it in her mind, it never felt true. What did she think was going to happen once he was inside? He’d get a job, they’d be roommates, and everything would work out just fine? Ridiculous. This was easily the stupidest thing she’d ever done, and she had no clue why she was even doing it. Sure, they’d been dating for about a year, but there was something more than that at work here. She felt it like a baseline thrum under her skin. Something compellingly, inherently strange. She didn’t understand her actions, but somehow they felt right. Was she saving him from something terrible? Probably. But what? What would actually happen to him if he was discovered?

  Thinking these thoughts, puzzling over things from every angle, she drifted off into a fitful sleep.

  * * *

  Milo had huddled inside the dumpster with Henry, waiting for darkness.

  Every once in a while, a building tenant would dump a bag of garbage or a piece of furniture on them, but other than that it was fairly silent. Just the sprinkling of snow and Henry’s strange heartbeat.

  Milo wasn’t sure if it changed, but for whatever reason he was able to hear it quite distinctly. It wasn’t the regular heartbeat he’d had (and assumed Henry had, too); this one was a triple beat: thud-thud-thud… thud-thud-thud…

  Henry nodded off a couple of times while Milo watched – each time groaning in his sleep, as if distressed by something. Milo could only imagine what weird new dreams Henry must be having. What dreams come when someone physically transforms into something else?

  Once night fell, visits to the dumpster petered out entirely, and it was just the susurration of the nearby traffic that interrupted the quiet. Even the snow had let up for the most part.

  Then, a few hours later, an engine that Milo recognized: an ambulance. He lifted himself out of the dumpster, hovered above the lip to see Steve pulling in.

  What the hell was he doing back?

  Steve got out of the vehicle, headed toward Faye’s building.

  * * *

  Faye’s breathing had steadied, and she was in a deep sleep when she heard faint knocking coming from somewhere. The knocking became more insistent as she surfaced through the thick webbing of her dreams. Suddenly, it was like the knocking was coming from inside her skull.

  She groaned, sat forward, rubbed her head, then headed toward the door, wondering who the hell it was. She was expecting no one, and she didn’t have friends who just dropped by.

  She opened the door a crack to see who it was, looked out into the hallway.

  “Steve? Why are you here?”

  Steve stood in the hallway, trying to put a look of concern on his face. It fit about as well as ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.

  What Faye didn’t know, and what Steve wasn’t about to tell her, was that he’d thought of little else but Henry all day – and that, coupled with the fact that Henry’s transforming body had actually stuck in Steve’s mind (where in his normal form, it wouldn’t have), explained his presence here now.

  “Just thought I’d see how everything went. Didja get him in yet?” He poked his head around the side of the door, trying to get a peek inside.

  “No, I was –” she glanced back to the couch where she’d fallen asleep “– just watching some TV, playing some games, then I guess I nodded off.”

  “Oh, well, you gonna get him? Want some help?”

  This from the guy who couldn’t get away fast enough earlier that day, terrified – rightly so – of losing his job, or at the very least facing a harsh reprimand. Faye wanted to ask how he’d talked his way out of the situation, but found that she barely cared. Her mind hadn’t fully awoken yet, was still swimming between sleep and the waking world, as yet undecided which it preferred.

  “What time is it?” she asked, looking around the room, trying to remember through the fog of sleep where on the wall the clocks in her living room were located.

  “Just past eleven,” Steve said, then just stood there, waiting.

  “Christ!” Faye said and opened the door wider, letting Steve in. She motioned him to the couch. “Sit down. I just wanna change. Been in this uniform all day. Be back in a second.”

  She scurried to her bedroom down the hall. Came back a few minutes later wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She carried a big blanket. Much bigger than the one from the hospital. “Alright, let’s go.”

  Steve’s odd behavior niggled a little a
t the back of Faye’s brain as they headed out into the hall. She had known Steve would help her when she asked this morning, but he’d never been the type to follow up in this manner once he’d lent a hand. He wasn’t the overly considerate type in general. Maybe his return was tied to his apparent romantic interest in her – which she’d never suspected before he’d tried to put his arm around her.

  Or maybe it was just that he was privy to an incredible secret, and was simply intensely curious now. Perhaps a combination of these factors.

  Whatever the reasons for his return, she had no time to consider them right now; they had to get Henry out of the dumpster – it was already well past the time she should’ve gone for him, and she was terrified now that she would look inside and he would no longer be there.

  * * *

  Downstairs in the dumpster, Milo’s sense of something being incredibly wrong suddenly kicked him in the chest. And it wasn’t only that Faye should have come for Henry hours ago.

  Whatever it was, he felt it coming. Soon.

  It began snowing heavily again.

  * * *

  Faye made note of how many people they passed as they walked the four flights down the stairs. Exactly one: a young guy taking his dog for a walk. That was it. But even one was too much. Too risky. She thought briefly of trying to get Henry to the elevator, then realized he probably weighed too much for that. His weight, plus hers and Steve’s would easily tip the scale, and the last thing they needed was for the elevator to break down, or worse, for the line to snap entirely. No way to get out of that one.

  No, it would have to be the stairs.

  When they reached the rear entrance, she turned to Steve, said, “Wait here. I’ll go get him. You be my eyes for this stretch of hallway. If we can get him to the stairwell, we should be OK.”

  Steve nodded, again with that weird look on his face.

  Something in Faye’s gut flipped over, settled strangely, and she wondered again why he’d bothered to come back.

  Faye walked out the doors, looked both ways, crunched her way through the fresh snow toward the dumpster. Once beside it, she whispered, “Henry, it’s Faye. I’m going to take you inside now. Don’t say anything, just stand up as best you can without being seen. I’ll toss a blanket on you, then you’ll need to climb out. As quietly as you can.”

  She heard shuffling sounds inside, one semi-loud crash as Henry’s elbow or knee connected with the side of the bin. She looked around quickly again. No one in sight. She craned her neck back – no one hanging out on balconies. Too cold and snowy for that. She thanked the universe this hadn’t all fallen at her doorstep in the middle of summer.

  She looked back to the dumpster, saw the tip of Henry’s great metal cranium peek out from the top, and whispered, “Down! Lower!”

  Henry’s head dipped a bit. She flung the blanket up and over the lip of the bin; it settled on his head, then draped him entirely. Or at least as far down as it could go before coming to rest on garbage bags and old coffee tables.

  “Climb out,” Faye said. “Do it as quickly and quietly as you can, Henry.”

  She stepped back, kept an eye out for any movement. She glanced back toward the building, imagining for a crazy moment that Steve would be gone, having panicked. She wouldn’t put it past him to have just fucked off somewhere at the very moment she needed him. But he was still there. Nervously shuffling from foot to foot, sure, but he stood right where she left him. He moved his head side to side as she watched. When he noticed her looking, he gave her a thumbs up. She returned it, feeling ludicrous.

  Henry hoisted himself up surprisingly gracefully. He knocked once more against the dumpster as he pulled himself up with his massive arms, but it was even quieter than the first time. His right foot settled on the edge of the bin, then he was over, landing – once again – more gracefully than she’d ever have thought possible.

  He crouched low, stayed as small as he could, and didn’t move a muscle until he heard her say, “I’m going to put my hand on your head and just position you in the direction of the doors. When I say ‘go,’ move forward as quickly as you can, got it?”

  A slight nod from beneath the blanket.

  She put her hand on his head, angled it slightly, as close to the center of the doors as she could, said, “Go,” then they were both moving – she, as casually as possible; he, crouched, blind, and shuffling.

  The doors seemed a mile away now, and the snow crunching underfoot sounded like it was amplified through enormous speakers aimed right at her face. Her head swiveled back and forth, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. Nothing, not even the young guy walking his dog.

  Faye reached the doors, opened them both as wide as she could, moved out of the way, whispered down to Henry, “Doorway.” In response, he made himself smaller yet.

  She moved ahead of him once he was through, got to the second set of doors, used her key on them, said again, “Doorway,” and held them as wide as possible.

  Both sets of doors cleared, she looked again toward Steve, who was more nervous than ever, but still stood his ground.

  If Faye had been thinking clearly, she would have been even more distraught than she already was. She had forgotten about the lobby security camera.

  I’ll deal with that later. Can’t worry about it now.

  “We good?” Faye said to Steve. “Nothing, no one?”

  “Not a soul, not a sound,” Steve said, walked in time with Faye as they headed down the short hallway toward the stairwell.

  Holy Jesus, we’re almost there, Faye thought, her heart hammering, palms sweating madly.

  Milo drifted in behind them, followed them into the stairwell. Henry’s dead shadow.

  Faye eased the door shut behind them. They were in the stairwell now. Four flights and one more hallway to safety.

  Safety. Christ, don’t even think the word.

  “Grab a coupla corners of the blanket and lift them, Steve. Make sure he doesn’t trip up the stairs.”

  “Got it.”

  Up they went. One floor, two, nearly three.

  Then the door to the stairwell opened on the ground floor. Faye, Steve, and Henry all froze. Heard someone talking in pet voice.

  That fucking young guy and his dog. Shit! Faye thought.

  The dog barked once, twice, then they heard it and its owner climbing the stairs. They reached the first floor, were heading for the second… which is when the second-floor stairwell door crashed open with a loud bang, and a woman and her dog burst out onto the landing.

  “Hey, Marcy, just came back from our late-nighter,” the young guy said. “Weather’s a bit shit, but not too horrific. Shouldn’t be that sludgy.”

  “Sweet,” the woman said, one of those annoying every-word-is-a-question lilts to her nasally voice. “Don’t wanna make it a long one, anyway. Just ’round the block.” She bent toward her yippy little dog, said, “Isn’t that right, my little boo-boo? Yes, it is!”

  And she was off, tromping down the stairs in what sounded like heels.

  “’Night, Marcy,” the guy called after her, but she didn’t reply. “Stupid bitch,” Faye heard him mutter as he entered the second-floor door. It slammed shut behind him.

  The ground-floor door slammed seconds afterward.

  Silence. Hearts beating hard, fast. Nearly leaping out of chests.

  “Go,” Faye said, motioning Steve ahead of her impatiently. “Go, go, go.”

  Steve bounded up the last flight of stairs, opened the door to the fourth floor, poked his head out, saw no one, held it for Faye and Henry. “Clear,” he said.

  Less than twenty feet to her apartment now. The hallway stretched ahead of them like in a nightmare. Fifteen, ten, five –

  – key frantically in lock, twisting, turning, head on a swivel, scanning the hallway –

  – then… inside.

  Faye closed the door as quietly as she could behind her. She lifted the blanket off Henry. He blinked against the sudden light, glanced around
the apartment. Stretched himself as tall as he could under the eight-foot-ceiling, which still left him hunched, but it was better than being crouched and shuffling blindly under a blanket. He smiled a little, looked at Steve, nodded, said, “Thanks” in his hewn-from-rock voice.

  Steve just looked away, then looked back, tried to hold Henry’s gaze, found he couldn’t. He managed a general nod, which was good enough for Henry.

  Once they’d had a chance to catch their breath, Faye said, “I’m gonna go make us some coffee, settle our nerves. Henry, don’t sit on any of my furniture. I don’t need any kindling right now, OK?”

  For a moment, Henry didn’t understand, but then he got it, nodded.

  “Go sit on the floor for now, till I can figure out something more comfortable for you.”

  Faye walked to the kitchen. Steve stood just inside the front door, staring at Henry. They locked eyes for a little too long just then, and Henry saw something in Steve’s eyes he recognized very well: fear. But not just fear. Fear coupled with stupidity.

  Milo hovered beside Henry, feeling the situation coming slowly to a head. That feeling of wrongness becoming nearly palpable, filling the air between them.

  Steve glanced down the hallway, back to Henry, pulled out a cell phone, flicked on the camera app. “I won’t show anyone, Henry,” he said. “I just want this so I can convince myself later that it really happened. Even though you’d think this would stick hardcore, after I left, I had trouble holding on to your image in my mind. It kept slipping away.” He lifted the phone and aimed it in Henry’s direction. “I knew I needed to come back, to prove to myself–”

  And then one of Henry’s massive hands flicked up quickly from his side, shot forward, and popped Steve’s head like a grape.

  Blood, bone, and gristle sprayed out from between Henry’s fingers, splattered the wall behind Steve. He crumpled to the ground. Bled onto the carpet and hardwood floor. Henry took three steps backward, just staring at what he’d done. A few minutes later, Faye returned from the kitchen with the coffee.