Shudder

by Harry F. Kane

  The skin below Anton’s right eye twitched once, as he exhaled more of his treasured poisonous fumes, “The other reason was that of the twenty albino children rescued from the tribe, fifteen committed suicide before reaching the age of eight.”

  “What? But why?”

  Anton shrugged, “No one can give a really convincing explanation. Anomie this, anomie that...I myself think of suicide every day, but haven’t done it so far, and probably will not do it, ever. The only other Aifaya survivor with whom I keep in touch, old Deus, he also has these thoughts and urges but also manages to keep them in check.”

  “So, you and him are the only ones left?”

  “I don’t know. Hopefully there are others too, but we just don’t keep in touch with each other.”

  The detective ran a humorous glance up and down the ruminating albino, “Why don’t you start a MyFace group to see how many will join?”

  “What a distasteful idea, Dave,” the lonely Aifa native said. “Let us pretend you did not utter it.”

  “Whatever you say, child of the Jungle.” Dave leaned back in surrender.

  Anton also leaned back in his chair. “This is the astounding tale of the child of the Jungle.”

  Dave clapped some more and gave another muted hoot of admiration, “So, to get this completely straight, neither you, nor Natalie, are really Martorino?”

  “I see you’ve grasped the main point.” Anton stood up, stretched himself with audible cracks, opened the window, and looked at the child of the concrete jungle, for whose sake he had done it. “So, mighty detective. Now that the android killer has been brought to justice, what are the more serious cases you’re working on?”

  “Ah, don’t ask. Crazy, crazy shit.”

  Anton saw that Dave really didn’t want to talk about work. At least not the unresolved work that weighted down the horizon of the near future.

  With mock precision, the albino opened the small black wooden box by the coffee table’s leg and took out a legal joint. “After we finish with this,” he said, “we can watch some Wile E. Coyote episodes.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  “Beep, beep.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Come in.” Anton said, and for the sake of politeness minimized the torrent site on which he was examining the most downloaded torrents.

  Although it was not specifically a porn torrent site, nevertheless, there were various animated commercials all over the place, which outside the world of the Internet were still in the category of ‘indecent’.

  Of course, these days even the most serious site in the web was at the most four clicks away from porn. You open the site of a respectable news agency, follow a news link to a less respectable agency, and when you follow a third gossip link, you are then confronted with a choice between ‘demented Alzheimer piss grannies’ and ‘autistic vampire Filipino she-males’.

  The door opened and Chen and Michele entered, with printed out reports in their hands. They looked at his boss and he looked at them.

  “What do you bring me, children?”

  The female child obliged first. Her black, shoulder-length hair did not sparkle fashionably and her minimalist makeup did little to hide her paleness. “I bring you the summary of the most viewed shows for this month, and Joe’s report, together with pics and a dozen small videos which he shot psych-walking.”

  Anton made a politely interested face, “Anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Not really, at least not anything I saw,” Michele reshuffled her papers and saw what she was after. She extended the paper to Anton, “On the Movie Talent Reality Show, the viewers voted for the guy who impersonated a robot. One of the weaker contestants, I myself thought.”

  “Harrumph. Okay, thanks, Michele.” Anton took Michele’s papers and placed them on his desk, with the one she had singled out as most interesting on top.

  “Chen? What have you got for me?”

  Chen would probably lose his chronic, classically Chinese cheery smile only after being cremated, and now as always he beamed at his boss as he passed over the papers. “The mayor’s office has agreed to enforce from January first the ban on music in parks, which we proposed last year.”

  “Ah, splendid. At last the citizens will have a small oasis of comparable quiet.”

  Chen pushed his spectacles in place with his forefinger and blinked at Anton. “Boss, I’ve thought about this. I rather think that if the law is really enforced, the parks will empty of everyone except seniors. No one can take to be in a place without some sort of music anymore.”

  “So. You see right through my master plan.” Anton winked at Chen and took his papers as well.

  After the junior analysts left, Anton leafed through Joe’s reports looking at the new graffiti and stills from clips of some slaphappy kids. Everything seemed to be as usual.

  He reached for his pack and fumbled with it for a full minute, without taking his eyes off the report, before it finally downed at him that he had no cigarettes.

  Ten minutes later, he was in his favorite small Lebanese shop and told the plump brown owner to give him four packs of Marlboros.

  “Will that be the red ones, Sir?”

  “Er...” Anton struggled with himself, “two reds and two whites please.”

  “Ah, a healthier lifestyle,” noted Fadi approvingly, “congratulations. Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” Anton had already developed the habit and just stood for a few seconds, but did not receive anything else with his pack. “What, no pamphlet today?” he inquired.

  Fadi nodded, “We have new rules since yesterday.”

  “Really? What now?”

  The owner smiled with exasperation, “Apparently smokers just throw away the leaflets without reading them.”

  “Surely not?”

  “Hard to believe, I know. So anyway, now I must quickly recite what will happen to you if you smoke.”

  The man smiled sheepishly, leaning on his fists on the center of authority of the small cramped shop—the wooden counter littered with bits of papers and paperclips, and small bottles lined up by a calculator.

  Anton returned the smile, “Sort of reading me my anti-rights? Go ahead.”

  The shopkeeper glanced at a small note stapled to a cupboard box by his side, no doubt to refresh his memory, and recited the text, “You knees will dissolve, your teeth will fall out, your lungs will collapse, your heart will stop, you will be impotent and your sperm will be disappear. Scientists have proven that it makes no difference if you smoke five cigarettes a day or five packs a day. They say your genes will degenerate five seconds after lighting up and an hour later you’ll probably be dead. You will also do this to everyone else if you smoke near them, or on the street. Buy Nova Rosh mood lifters and smile the blues away.”

  “Well, see you later, Fadi.”

  “Later, Mister Martorino.”

  Back in his office, Anton checked the news. How could he have missed this development? There it was, black on white: new law takes effect from such and such date, blah, blah, save lives, ease pressure, national health program, international effort.

  Anton squashed his cigarette with unnecessary ferocity on the little longship’s hull and immediately lit another one.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Natalie nodded to the driver and closed her door. The taxi veered back into the main flow of the traffic. The inside of the cab smelled of sweat, pine freshener, dusty old leather, and of the driver.

  Natalie looked at the city outside the window and felt her stomach knot more and more. All was not how it should be. She wished she could define the trouble as everything looking unreal. Unfortunately the opposite was the case. Everything was far too real.

  More real than it had any right to be.

  The s
ky looming over the buildings, the buildings looming the pavements… the nightmarishly irrefutable trees, the depressingly corporeal pedestrians, the terrifyingly substantial streetlights…the sickeningly indubitable pavements...

  Without any warning all these sensory properties had grown to vibrate with a disturbingly authentic inherent existence, a clammy nauseating realness, which for some reason pushed and strained at Natalie and made her feel like a small, helpless child.

  As if unnoticed to herself, she had managed in the years of her life to construct some sort of parallel reality, based on certain points of the world as such, but nevertheless a dream.

  Smoke and mirrors.

  An intricate fabric, which she had weaved on top of her environment, an additional layer which she had begun to believe was the world itself.

  Now, today, the world seemed bared—her lovingly weaved cloth swept off by something, an accumulation of somethings. Gone was that veil that made contrasts gentler and objects less imposing.

  The emperor was naked and was not a soothing sight.

  This was the world in high-definition.

  Natalie felt a choking sensation and realized that her own right hand was squeezing her throat. I must be terrified, she thought. What work? What responsibilities? What elections? What Natalie the genius?

  Natalie the train wreck more like it.

  I need a doctor, she informed herself, I need a pill to make this go away. I want be like I was before. I don’t want all this to be like that anymore.

  “Did you say something, lady?”

  Oh God, I must be talking aloud. “No, no... I mean yes. Yes, I was. I changed my mind. We have to go back.”

  With a shrug, the driver changed lanes, heading towards the nearest U-turn. The journey back took forever.

  The streets were teeming with machines handled by nervous drivers on the verge of being late for work.

  Natalie was desperate to not be late for home.

  As if some infernal clock was counting down the minutes before her collapse.

  What form her collapse could take was unclear, but it generally felt either like she would explode in some manner, torn apart by her internal pressure, or that she would crumple inwards, crushed by the outside world.

  Of course, at times less abstract visions flashed past: her heart stops; she swallows her tongue; her smoker’s lungs finally collapse; her brain seizes up and turns her into a vegetable; a fantastically powerful seizure wrings her out like a wet towel, crushing every bone.

  And the pedestrians...

  My God, Natalie thought, am I a creature like this too? I must remember, whatever I do, to not look at myself in the mirror once I get home. If I’m like that I simply would give up.

  Back in her bed, completely covered by her blanket, Natalie lay on her back hugging her knees. A sticky terror throbbed insidiously not only inside of her, but outside of her as well.

  The whole world pulsated with the terror and she pulsated with it.

  Before she escaped to the comparative safety below her blanket, the very walls seemed to house unspeakable loathsome things, ‘forces’ maybe. Tottering on the verges of visibility, they converged on her even as she entered her bedroom.

  In spite of these presences, she tried to read a book, a bestselling urban-paranormal-sleazepunk-romance. Instead of submerging into the story, she only saw the sentence structures and the pathetic attempts of the author to create and maintain characters.

  Five minutes was the best she could do, until finally there was no more time to lose before the unthinkable terror would arrive. She took final refuge in that safety cocoon that every child knows and uses. The mighty blanket, which now sagged from all sides, held her in a protective embrace.

  She tried to divert her attention by stroking her clitoris but it didn’t work. She couldn’t concentrate.

  She tried again, putting a finger into her mouth, then squeezed her breasts slightly. In desperation she pulled at her own hair and gave herself a little slap. Nothing.

  Nothing worked.

  Maybe nothing will work, she thought, and the tension jumped another level. Maybe nothing will ever work. Maybe I will remain like this forever.

  After another half-hour, she lifted one side of the blanket slightly and peered at the world outside. It was still cold, sinister, and completely evil in its lack of point.

  She knew she would probably lose her position with Eberstark, and maybe Blonski too. Who would tolerate a worker that keeps not showing up?

  Tight now this knowledge was insubstantial; it barely flickered on the fringes of her immediate fear.

  The left side of her chest hurt like from a dozen tiny needles.

  With a helpless whimper, Natalie massaged the hurting place.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Anton picked up the phone on his desk with a puzzled frown. It was from a number he didn’t know.

  He pressed ‘pause’ and minimized the window in which autistic vampire Filipino she-males were just about to do something disturbing with a demented Alzheimer piss granny.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, I’m looking for Anton Martorino.”

  A young man’s voice. Who? Why? Anton didn’t generally get calls from people he didn’t know.

  “Him speaking.”

  “Hi, my name is Kurt Baule. I’m calling from the election H.Q. of the National Patriots. Today Natalie should have come to work, but didn’t show up, and doesn’t pick up her phone. We have your number as a contact.”

  Anton’s stomach immediately wrapped itself into a small tight knot, “Of course, I understand, thank you for calling.”

  “Yes, we hope everything is fine with her. After all the things which have happened—”

  Some ‘things’, Anton thought, remembering Jane’s demise. “Yes, yes, thank you very much, I’ll check up her and have her call you.”

  Click.

  Anton stood up in agitation. What could have happened? A quick succession of nightmare scenarios galloped through his head, before he managed to shut them out with an effort of will.

  He dialed Natalie.

  “The number you have dialed cannot be reached at this moment.”

  Damn.

  With clumsy hands he patted himself to make sure he had everything of possible need on him, and then left the office, leaving Michele in charge.

  As he drove to his daughter, nosing his way impatiently through the thick traffic, he couldn’t listen to music or to the news. His inner voices shrieking in fear took up all his attention.

  He didn’t even remember getting out of his car. Suddenly, he was already in Natalie’s apartment building.

  In the creaking elevator Anton again told himself to calm down.

  Get a grip, hold it together. You don’t know what has happened. If anything.

  Of course something has happened, otherwise why would she— Shut up, shut up, nothing has happened.

  Anton shook his head.

  Don’t try to guess. Don’t fill your mind with possibilities. Just try to be prepared for anything and pray that she is at home.

  At long last the elevator stopped with a final lurch and Anton went out. The door of Natalie’s apartment looked all right.

  No signs of forced entry, nothing.

  Anton pressed his ear to the door. He thought he heard the faraway murmur of a switched on TV. He pushed the bell button, and a crude electronic version of a Mozart piano sonata played inside, behind the locked door.

  He knocked too, “It’s me, Anton, Natalie, open up, it’s me, Dad.”

  He heard the shuffle of footsteps coming towards the door. He heard locks unlocking and latches being unlatched. The door opened inwards slowly, as if with reluctance.

  “Dad, what are you doin
g here?”

  Natalie. Her voice was normal, but slightly on edge. She was pale, and there was something in her gaze. Fear.

  Fear barely under control.

  “No one knew where you were and they called me,” he said, instantaneously covering up his own fears. They had their time, their fifteen minutes in the spotlight of his attention, now they were edged out by his daughter.

  “I’m sorry you were bothered, Dad,” she said wearily, quietly. “I never should have given them your phone number.”

  “No bother, Natalie, but I was worried. Now invite me in, and make some coffee.”

  “Of course, of course, come in, Dad.”

  * * * *

  They were sitting in the kitchen, facing each other across the table. Anton watched the shaking hand with which his daughter held her cigarette.

  “So, what happened?” he asked. “Why didn’t you go to work? No—” He put the first question on hold with a flick of his hand. “First tell me why you switched off your phone?”

  “I don’t know,” Natalie said carefully, evenly, “I guess I felt weak. I felt I couldn’t handle a conversation with anyone, least of all—trying to explain why I didn’t show up at work.”

  “Why didn’t you show up at work?”

  Natalie shrugged her shoulders and picked at her thumb. Her breath was so shallow she seemed to be in stasis.

  Anton squared his shoulders and spoke in a deep fatherly tone, “You need a vacation, dear daughter.”

  Natalie flinched, shot him a quick glance and returned her gaze to her hands. “What? Now? Absurd, Dad,” she said a tad uncertainly or maybe just powerlessly.

  “Why is it absurd?”

  “We are in the middle of an intense campaign. Everyone is counting on me.”

  “Natalie,” Anton said sternly. “Natalie. A civilized person knows his limitations and takes breaks when they are needed in order to not break down. You are in the process of breaking down. In are in the middle of a breakdown as we speak. You are a day or two away from a hospital.”