The Green Memory of Fear

by B. A. Chepaitis

  She went to dinner with a tense Daro and even tenser Susan. Only Philip kept up the appearance of calm, and that angered her more than anything. As if he can pretend he’s above it all, she thought. As if he can avoid feeling this.

  After dinner, Daro turned his pinched face to Jaguar. “Can you read to me tonight?” he asked. Susan and Philip exchanged glances. Jaguar ignored them.

  “What’s your choice?” she asked.

  He picked the life of Jackie Robinson. Jaguar curled up at the foot of the bed and read to him until he fell asleep, and then continued reading until her own eyes closed. She supposed she fell asleep there, because the next thing she heard was Philip’s voice in the room.

  “Dr. Addams? It’s an early day tomorrow and maybe . . .”

  She shook herself awake, stumbled out the door, and took a cab back to her hotel. She knew nothing else until the morning, when she remembered where she was, and why.

  Chapter 10

  She entered the courthouse alone. Daro and his family would not be there today. The new attorney was there, clutching his briefcase like a weapon against the horror this case had become. She slid into a seat next to him and whispered, “Anything new?”

  He shook his head. “Not a damn thing.”

  Dr. Senci entered shortly after them, walked to his place and sat.

  The judges walked in, everyone stood and was seated.

  Dr. Bannur spoke.

  “The Medical Protection Board has been placed in an unfortunate position, primarily through the irresponsible behavior of the Provincial Attorney’s office.”

  The lawyer next to Jaguar stifled a groan. Dr. Bannur continued. “The material evidence in this case was unusable. The primary witness proved unreliable. And the attorney of record—” he paused, considered his word choice, “has passed away under suspicious circumstances, leaving a note which might indicate the entire case was fabricated. Therefore, this panel declares a mistrial. We abjure the Provincial Attorney’s office from bringing such dismal cases to the Board and offer our apology to Dr. Senci. Doctor, you’re free to go.”

  Gavel pounded against wood. The judges stood, and everyone else followed suit.

  Jaguar clenched her hands at her side. “You didn’t apologize to Daro,” she spit out at them.

  Three faces turned toward her and blinked.

  “I said, you didn’t apologize to the witness for the Province or whatever the hell you call a twelve year old boy who just turned himself inside out to try and do the right thing,” she repeated loudly. The lawyer clutched at her elbow and she jerked away from him.

  The judges whispered among themselves, then turned to her again.

  “Who are you?” one of them asked.

  “I’m Dr. Addams,” she said, raising her chin high. “Dr. Jaguar Addams.”

  “Dr. Addams, you’re out of order,” Dr. Bannur said. The judges turned as a body and left the courtroom.

  Jaguar continued to stand and stare as the lawyers left, murmuring something to her about telling Daro and his family. Something about the possibility of a retrial. She didn’t move after they left, or as Dr. Senci shook his lawyer’s hand.

  He seemed as far away as hope, and so close she could trace the lines in his face with her tongue. He was miles above her, circling her. His breath was on her cheek.

  When his lawyer was gone Senci walked across the room to her, stood facing her. But now he was different. He was a man in a white lab coat, and his hands were encased in surgical gloves. He held them up, showed them to her. His features shifted, became a face she knew from long ago.

  Remember, Jaguar?

  His eyes were a darkness she fell into. Her oldest fear lived in them, holding her close, and she understood at last why he was here. As she stood in bondage to his gaze, she saw the nameless horror she’d scented from the start.

  “You,” she whispered. “It was you.”

  Her childhood nightmare, her oldest enemy, facing her once more.

  You know me. You know me. You remember.

  She remembered.

  When she was a little girl he’d walked into her grandparent’s apartment, shot her grandfather and grandmother while she watched. His hands, encased in surgical gloves, tossed her across the room. His eyes stared down at her as he removed her clothes and pushed himself into her.

  This man. His hands. His gun. His evil.

  Senci, the Greenkeeper, who killed her family and raped her. He’d found her at last, as she always knew he would.

  And you never saw me again from that day until this. Until this day, Jaguar.

  Senci laughed.

  Then, he gave her his profile, and he walked out the door.

  * * * *

  Jaguar left the courtroom feeling ready for vision or death.

  Daro needs you, she told herself. Focus on Daro. Stay with him. Don’t think about Senci. Not yet.

  Don’t listen to Senci, One Bird said. He lies, Jake said. But he didn’t lie about this. She knew him at the exact moment he wanted her to, the memory stampeding through her, bringing its ancient pain.

  Leave it alone, she told herself. There’s work to do.

  Before she left the courthouse she put in a call to Alex, and this time was glad to find him not at his desk. She left a message telling him what happened in court in the driest possible terms, telling him she’d be spending time with Daro before she came back. She didn’t say what she knew of Senci. She couldn’t.

  “And you can stop the guard duty,” she added. “I won’t need it anymore.”

  She didn’t mention why that was true. That was one other thing she couldn’t think about. She turned her thoughts to Daro, and kept them there.

  The attorney went with her to give the news to Daro and his family. Sitting in their beautifully appointed living room, he explained the meaning of the mistrial as opposed to an outright not guilty. They could try him again if new evidence turned up. That was the Court’s way of telling Dr. Senci to keep his nose clean. At least they got that much.

  Nobody talked about what went wrong with the voxchip or with Daro. Nobody talked about Clara. It seemed both pointless and exquisitely painful. Susan and Philip clasped hands, shut their eyes hard, then showed stamped-on smiles to their son.

  “There,” Susan said. “It’s over. Now we can get on with our lives. Right, honey?”

  “Of course,” Philip said. He put a hand on Daro’s shoulder. “Your mother and I were talking about a long vacation. Maybe to the States. To Florida. There’s a Disneyworld there. We can stop at places along the way, see those big cats Dr. Addams told you about.”

  Daro stiffened at his father’s touch. His face worked hard, then grew still. “Sure,” he said. “That’d be great. I think I’ll go lie down.”

  He walked away from them, down the hall toward his room. Jaguar followed and stopped him as he pushed open his bedroom door.

  “Wait,” she said, groping for words he might hear, wanting to hold him but afraid he’d feel that as a violation. “Daro, it’s a mistrial. He could be tried again.”

  “We lost,” he said, his voice expressionless. “We lost, and he won.”

  She touched his shouder lightly, withdrew her touch quickly. “We lost this round. And it hurts like hell, if you ask me. But listen, you don’t have to be afraid. I can—Daro, it’ll be okay. Like I said, I can help you. I can stop him.”

  He shrugged, the gesture saying what she knew was true. She couldn’t stop him from melting the voxchip. Couldn’t stop him from getting free. “I just want to lie down, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. Of course. I’ll stay for awhile, and we can talk later.”

  Jaguar allowed him his retreat. She stared at the closed door, then went and sat in the living room with his parents.

  They could be nothing but quiet.

  The room, neat and neutral, was surreal in the bright sun that poured in, in the sounds of traffic and people passing outside, in the sound of her own heart beating. Her skin w
as light around her bones, as if it would lift from her and fly away with very little provocation. Her eyes did not know what to look at, what to see.

  She drew her lower lip through her teeth, preparatory to saying something. Anything. Just words to remind herself that she still lived.

  “I’ll stay the week,” she said. “I think I can help with Daro. He needs to know he’s safe, in spite of this.”

  “Mm,” Susan said.

  Philip patted her hand. “He’ll be fine, once we get him away for a while. A good, long vacation.”

  She wanted to scream at them to wake up, but she felt wiped out by the possibility of exerting so much energy. She heard the sound of Daro’s door opening and closing. It seemed closer than it could possibly be. As if she stood with her ear pressed against it. Then she heard him walking down the hall, away from them, out the back door.

  He was probably going to the shed, a place he’d feel safe. His own place. She heard his steps as if they were pressed into her brain, and she frowned. Why was everything so unnaturally clear?

  She tracked him with her mind, checking what signals he gave out. One Bird said stay close to him until it was over. Wasn’t it over? No. Something was happening. Something else she needed to do for him. Don’t leave him alone. Stay with him.

  He was—something important. Something that shattered in leisurely violence.

  “No,” she cried, and rose from the couch, her legs striding out against a dense wash of time that collapsed around her.

  Daro No

  She lurched across the living room, knocking her thigh into the edge of a chair and thinking she would bruise from this. She struggled with the back door, her hands fumbling for the latch, finding it, pulling it back. She ran through the yard where everything was thick green, indolent green, slippery with recent rain. She stumbled, caught herself, slipped again as she fell through recalcitrant time. She thought she would bruise from this, thought, later I will be bruised.

  Daro, don’t. Daro don’t. I won’t let him get you Daro here I’m here I can help you.

  The shed was far away, and then it wasn’t. It was in front of her and she tried to push the door open but it was locked so she kicked at it. She saw each fragment as it splayed from the frame and shot out and away.

  She stood inside the shed and saw

  No, Daro I can help you I’m here I can help please no

  Saw Daro at his worktable, holding his father’s gun.

  Time was so strange. Her vision so particular. She saw how big the gun looked in his hand and how young he was. She saw splinters of wood floating in planes of light that entered through the doorway.

  He lifted his eyes to her, young eyes, baby eyes. His mouth formed words.

  I won’t let myself become him. Won’t let myself become him.

  Did Daro say that? Daro’s mouth?

  The words echoed around her. Her hand went out, trailing sluggard flashes of light as she flung herself toward him, reaching for the gun, her hand stuck in time in time Daro no I won’t let you won’t let you do this.

  He moved deliberately, unhurriedly, knowing he had time because he’d taken all of time and left her none.

  He pressed the muzzle of the gun to his forehead, and he pulled the

  No. Daro don’t Daro please don’t

  He pulled the

  Daro no no no.

  The trigger.

  He pulled the trigger and it made a hole but only a small one, much smaller than his eyes so particular in pain, the mouth still saying I won’t become him won’t become him I won’t.

  Such a small hole surely she could close it up if she could get to him in time, in time. She reached and could not grasp as the bullet blasted through him, thousands of bright bone shards flying out like fragments of splintered doors, each piece of bone a jewel, a bird in flight away from her. She moved to him, thinking, if only I could catch the pieces, I could press them back together.

  His eyes still open looked at her. Only at her.

  Daro Daro, sweetheart. Don’t don’t don’t do this.

  She caught him as he dropped and she fell to her knees, his head cradled in her lap, her hands dipped in slippery blood and grey matter, her hands trying to hold him trying to reassemble

  Daro sweetheart don’t leave I can

  Shattered pieces of bones piercing her hands and his eyes staring at her and he was

  Stay with me Daro, please hold on

  He was slipping away, his bones too sharp, his ghost too small to hold, his death dancing in her face, a wild and strange creature that caught like bones in her throat saying I won’t

  let myself become him. I won’t become can’t become him I won’t

  She cradled him in her lap, keening out a song of release as she felt the careening of his young spirit into an unknown universe that spun around them like the fury of lightning.

  Then Susan and Philip stood in the doorway. They were yelling. They walked into the watery sea of her eyes, calling out blame. They called out blame, and Philip picked up the gun.

  She dropped her hand from the back of Daro’s skull and let it all fall down.

  Chapter 11

  When there was nothing else she could do, Jaguar left the house without anyone taking notice. The parents were sedated, the officialdom of death still there. Relatives and lawyers had arrived, so she was superfluous. More importantly, the forensic people had the gun.

  In the shed, when Philip and Susan found her holding their dead son, Philip looked like making more trouble, picking up the gun, pointing it at her, at himself, at his wife.

  Jaguar, sitting in a widening pool of Daro’s blood, was unaware that she was doing as One Bird instructed and chanting the prayer of release for his spirit, mint in her hand and death in her voice. Seeing them, she came back to real time with a shock.

  “Put the gun down, Philip,” she commanded.

  He wheeled back to her, and she held his gaze hard.

  “No,” Susan gasped. She dropped to her knees and raised a sacrificial face to him.

  “Do it,” she pleaded. “Me first. Please, Philip.”

  He began to shake all over, and he dropped to his knees to embrace her, absorbing her sobs with his trembling body. The gun clattered to the floor of the shed and lay there, still warm.

  Jaguar relinquished Daro’s body, went and picked the gun up with the tips of her fingers wrapped around the edge of her bloody shirt and brought it inside. She made the necessary calls, waited for the necessary people to arrive, and then she left. Probably more cops would want to talk to her, but she didn’t care. She had nothing of interest to say.

  Without any conscious sense of how she traveled, she got herself back to her hotel room, where she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were wild, and dark red stained her face and clothes, matted with Daro’s blood. Daro’s brains. Daro’s death. That, she thought, must’ve gotten her a gasp or two on the streets, though she had no memory of hearing any.

  She went into the bathroom, lifted her shirt over her head and let it drop into the bathtub. She pulled her pants down and checked the pockets. Mint, and there—at the bottom—Daro’s earring. The small hoop with a tiger dangling off the end of it, its mouth open in a growl. She breathed in roughly. Pain danced in her veins.

  She’d heard old people tell stories of something you could do in the days of combustion engines, if you hated someone. Put sugar in the gas tank of their car. It dissolved, made its way to the engine, and when the engine cooled it resolidified, gumming up the works. No matter what you did, it would continue to melt and resolidify in different places. There was no getting rid of it.

  She put the earring in her own ear, finished changing, packed and left the hotel. She had one more thing she needed to do in Toronto.

  * * * *

  She took a cab to Dr. Senci’s house, old and stately and large. She left her luggage in the back, told the cabbie to wait for her, and ascended his front steps.

  She didn’t
knock, but just stood at the door and waited. In very little time he opened it and stood there. She didn’t move or speak.

  He studied her. Merely studied her with his old eyes. More than a thousand years swimming there. Thousands of years of death, all his. Then he clutched her face with the tips of his fingers, holding it still.

  His grip was metallic, capable of cracking green bones. Within it she felt how old he was, how long he’d been doing his work. And she felt what he wanted next. A partner, to help him create the kingdom he desired. Someone with her particular strengths and talents to work with him. Someone he could subsume to his will in these matters. Inside her, something toxic moved from place to place, like sugar in an old car.

  He released her and they stood staring at each other. She wondered if the cabbie was watching, and what he’d make of it all.

  “You killed Clara,” she said.

  “Yes,” he replied, voice flat and cold. It wasn’t a topic that interested him.

  “Why?” she asked.

  He curled a hand toward her. “It’s what I do, Jaguar. It’s just what I do.”

  Of course. He was probably responsible for more cumulative death and destruction than nuclear weapons. An original template, one of the earliest of Greenkeepers. “But Daro—that was different, wasn’t it?”

  “That was for you. To call you back to me.”

  To call her back. A set up to get her attention, get her there. Daro’s dreams, the trial, Daro’s death. All that, just to get her here.

  “And the little girl? That was for me, too?”

  He nodded.

  “Who is she? One of your kind?”

  “Not yet. But she’s good at leaving her body. I make use of that.”

  Not a spirit child after all, Jaguar thought. Another trick. “And how do you think you’ll make use of me?”

  “It’s not use, Jaguar. It’s possession. You are mine.”

  The hands, in surgical gloves holding a gun to her head. This man. A Greenkeeper old as time, pounding himself into her, binding her to him then letting her mature like a fine wine until he was ready to drink her in full.