Countered Questions

by Brooke Kinsley

  Walking back down to the basement, I was aware of the smell. No matter how much ice I'd brought down here, it did nothing to cool the room down. It melted fast, creating puddles on the ground. I stepped into the water around Etta's coffin. It felt soothing on my feet.

  "Sweety?" I said to the box of ice.

  Water was cascading down the sides. I pushed my hand into the ice cubes and felt her hand fall into mine. It wasn't plump and soft like it used to be. There was a mushy quality to her body like a bag of bone filled soup.

  "Sweety?"

  For the most fleeting of seconds, I thought she answered me but then I realized it was just the whirring of the nearby machinery.

  "Sweety, I think I'm losing my mind," I said to her, gripping her hand even tighter. "But we have hope. A professor I know is sending us something real special, something that will bring you back to me. It creates new life from old, it is, dare I say it? A cloning accelerant. Only Professor Schiele with the genetics of his Nazi ancestors running through his veins could patent something so wonderful yet spectacularly controversial. He's used it too. He's the only person who has ever used it. He cloned a rabbit of all things. Strangely cute and childish for someone like Schiele but there we are, universities often don't have anything more human-like on offer."

  I paused, as though if I waited long enough, she would answer.

  "You're over here,"I continued, walking to the petri dish that lay beneath the pool of neon blue light. "You're in here right now and soon you will be whole again, new again, a fully grown adult just like you again but without..."

  I didn't want to think about it. She'd be without thoughts, feelings, memories. She'd look and feel just like the Etta but she wouldn't know who I was.

  "You can hear me, can't you?" I said to Etta.

  I knew she couldn't. People like me weren't allowed to believe in the afterlife that's why we toiled away down in hidden basements creating our own religion crafted from microchips and chemicals.

  With the notion of knowing I could never truly hear her thoughts again, I began to weep. Soon I would have her to hold, a fresh body with her perfect face. It was the closest thing to her I could have but it wasn't... her. Her mind was elsewhere now. I didn't know where but it was far away from me. I could only hope that, although it went against my beliefs, her spirit was somewhere nearby. Maybe it was guiding me in my work, maybe it was watching me fall to pieces, maybe it was looking at me right now thinking I had gone insane. I was just a naked man, kneeling in melting ice talking to a corpse about things no one would believe.

  "I have... to go now," I said to her. "Before my mind disappears completely."

  Thrusting both my hands into the ice, I grappled with her slippery body and pulled her to the surface. Her face now lay in front of me, blue and putrid. The skin from her cheek was beginning to slip away.

  "I love you, always," I said and kissed her forehead, my lips sinking into her flesh. "The next time I'll see you, I'll have the accelerant and then it won't be long. It won't be long at all."

  ~

  I was dressed now and clean too although there was little use in showeringas the heat made me exist in a perpetual state of perspiration. In gray slacks and a blue shirt, I sat beside the pool. As I caught sight of my reflection in the patio doors, I saw that for the first time in a long while, I looked almost okay. Except my clothes were hanging off me and my cheeks were jutting out at sharp angles.

  There was nothing else I could do though, so I took a deep breath, swallowed three caffeine pills with half a liter of water and made my way outside. I couldn't remember the last time I had left the house and it felt strange, like I was intruding on the area. A car came up behind me. Somehow it felt hostile as it slowed. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a young couple staring at me. What are they doing? I thought. Why are they just sat there, staring at me like they've seen a ghost?

  The young man, handsome with a long beard, gave me a puzzled look then mumbled to his girlfriend. I thought I heard him say my name but I couldn't be sure. She bristled at whatever his request was but leaned out the window anyway.

  "Her, mister. You're blocking the way," she said in perfect English.

  It was then that I realized I was standing in the middle of the road like an idiot. I stepped to the side and they glided past slowly, their eyes on me the whole time.

  "Sorry," I mumbled as the girl reached my side.

  "De nada," she said but her eyes were wide and afraid.

  Did I really look that bad? Was my appearance actually scaring people?

  Fuck it I thought. What does it even matter? I watched the car disappear into the distance then I carried on.

  ~

  The airstrip was deserted apart from me and a single air traffic controller who looked annoyed that he had to turn up to work. The strip was rarely used apart from by rich locals and by that I mean drug barons. A black blob in the distance lowered itself down below the clouds, its engine roaring as it descended. My beautiful Bombardier Challenger 3 was preparing to land, its wheels lowering itself out the bottom like a miniature set of testicles.

  The Tricephthial had to be on it. It just had to be. The other option was to wait and I didn't know if my mind and body could cope much longer without being able to hold my girl. I thought about her back in the basement below the ice. There was going to come a time when I lay her back in the box and would never be able to pick her back up because she was going to be nothing but bones. The Tricephthial. It was my only hope.

  The engine roared louder as the wheels hit the tarmac and a moment later, the jet was screeching to a halt with the smell of engine fuel and burning rubber stinging my eyes and throat. I coughed and found that I couldn't stop. The air traffic controller looked over at me as though he thought I was about to drop dead but he walked away anyway. I wasn't his problem.

  I was halfway up the stairs when the door opened. Stacey, my long serving hostess would be waiting for me with the case of Tricephthial and then I would be on my way but as I reached the top step and outstretched my arms for it, I saw that Stacey wasn't waiting for me, Professor Schiele was.

  "Fuck, this place is like a furnace," he said as he mopped his brow with a handkerchief. "And Jesus Christ Bosworth what happened to you?"

  I opened my mouth to speak but couldn't say a word because he carried on rambling.

  "The journey down here was magnificent. Just wonderful. Real fairytale stuff as we went over the Gulf and good grief the rain at one point. Thought we were going to die. Well, why are you standing there like that, Bosworth? Are you frozen to the spot? Are you okay?"

  He barged past me.

  "Come on let's get a drink. Cynthia's been moaning for the last half hour that she's run out of gin. Drank the minibar dry she did."

  "Your wife's here?" I gasped.

  I fucking hated Cynthia. With her powdery face and frightening, pink, plumped up mouth she had a voice like a typewriter chewing tin foil and hair as false as her feelings.

  "Aaaaaw Lincoln!" she whined as she saw me.

  She had that quintessential Manhattan squeal, the one that sounds like her vocal chords are somewhere behind her nostrils.

  "You look teeerrible," she said as she air kissed me. "Don't tell you've got the..." she dropped her voice. "Don't tell me you've got the... aids?"

  Oh my God, I thought. Could this day get any worse?

  I found myself walking behind the two of them like an obedient puppy, my eyes on the case in Schiele's hand the whole time.

  "Where's the limo?" moaned Schiele.

  "I... I didn't think you were coming," I said.

  "What! You thought I was just going to send this beautiful thing I created all the way down here and not see what you were going to do with it? Are you out of your mind? Because you certainly look as though you're out of your mind."

  "That's right, honey," said Cynthia as she rested a manicured hand on my arm. "You look unwell. When was the last time you slept?"

  I j
ust stared at her hand. It looked as though it was made of wax. I shivered as she took it away to light a cigarette. The woman repulsed me. I didn't know what was making me more nauseous, the smell of her sweet perfume or the sight of her face that had seen so many facelifts she resembled a carpet fitter's kneepad.

  "Well where's your limo?" asked Schiele, getting more annoyed by the second.

  "I got the bus."

  He stared at me as though out of everything that was taking place, this was the craziest thing to happen.

  "Why?"

  "Because I like to blend in," I said.

  "Huh... crazy as a bag of wet monkeys," chimed in Cynthia.

  "Is that... is that even a saying?" I asked, but the two of them were ignoring me as they stared out over the arid landscape.

  “I ain’t getting on no bus,” I heard Cynthia say and I laughed.

  “Hey,” I laughed and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You got any better ideas?”

  Chapter Three

  Berger

  The motel wasn't there, but a bar was. Outside, dozens of Harley Davidson's lined the parking lot. From inside, I could just about hear the heavy beat of a kick drum and heavy guitar riffs.

  "I don't really fancy this place," I said.

  "Oh, you scared?"

  "Actually, yeah. I'm pretty scared."

  She laughed and flung her hair over her shoulder.

  "Just keep your mouth shut and everything will be fine."

  "Can't we find somewhere else to chill?"

  "You see anything else around here?"

  I saw an open road and that's all I needed. For a moment, I thought about leaving her here and heading off on my own but not even an old dog like me could leave her alone. An attractive woman like her in a biker bar was going to be an easy target.

  "Okay, let's go," I said and reached for my t-shirt.

  Finally, the sun was beginning to set. The sky was turning indigo and my eyes were shielded by shade but the heat was still almost unbearable.

  "Hurry up, boy!" she laughed as she reached for the door. "I'm thirsty."

  For some reason, the sound of her calling me boy was making me hard. I adjusted my pants, took a deep breath to calm down and followed her inside. I was expecting the room to fall silent as soon as we entered. I imagined dozens of hard Mexican bikers turning to ogle the outsiders, the beautiful woman and the deathly pale American man. I just hoped that they'd never find out I was a cop. Although I was retired now, I was always going to be a cop. It was in my blood now.

  Luckily, nobody seemed to notice us enter. A few people eyed up Marcia as she sidled past but then returned their attention to their drinks. Maybe this place wasn't so bad. I got the impression it was full of transients and lost people looking for a few hours respite from the road.

  I took a booth at the back of the room and let her order. She laughed and wiggled her hips at the barman, an older guy with a graying mustache and bulging muscles. It looked like she was just a regular girl on a night out, just a gorgeous girl having the time of her life. It was hard to imagine that she'd just buried her daughter. When she joined me, her smile had dropped and she was looking dour again.

  "Here, drink up," she said and slid a beer over the table.

  "Thanks. You know that guy?" I asked, pointing at the barman. "You looked pretty cozy."

  "Jealous already, huh?"

  Her hand moved beneath the table, sliding up my thigh, then higher still.

  "Just wondering," I replied but I had to admit that there was a part of me that was a little jealous.

  "No, I don't know him," she said. "But it's nice to flirt, right?"

  With a cheeky smile, she wriggled her hips and swayed her breasts.

  "Gets you what you want, right?"

  I laughed and she slid her hand up even higher. Cupping my testicles, she licked her lower lip.

  "I'm going crazy," she said. "I mean it. I'm losing my mind. Don't know what I'm going to do from one minute to the next."

  My sanity was telling me to comfort her, to tell her that everything was going to be okay. Logic was telling me that she was a grieving mother and she needed to be handled delicately. She needed cared for, needed time to get over things. I'd dealt with a lot of people on the force during the worst time of their life. Women who had seen their husbands being murdered, women who were victims and mothers who had lost their sons to gang violence. All of these people needed to come to terms with their pain and most of all they needed to talk and channel their energy into something positive. Many of the women I'd worked with became warriors for justice. Some even became lawyers.

  Back home I would have been handing this woman a leaflet on grief and sending her to specialist services but down here, I was letting het grab my cock and drink herself stupid.

  "You don't have to do this," I said and tried to push her hand away.

  "But I want to," she insisted. "Sex is my medicine."

  I should have argued with this but I didn't. Instead I let her pull my zip down and take me in her hand. She carried on drinking as though nothing was happening. Looking out across the bar, I saw that no one was paying attention to us. No one apart from the barman. His eyes were on the table as though he could see beneath it. He leaned on the counter and twisted up his mustache, enjoying what he saw.

  His eyes met mine and he winked before blowing her a kiss.

  "He likes to watch, huh?" she smiled.

  "We shouldn't really be doing this," I said.

  A young guy in a leather jacket walked by, oblivious and made his way to the jukebox. A minute later, Roy Orbison's In Dreams began to play. I couldn't think of anything more surreal to listen to as I felt myself become slick with pre-cum.

  "I could fuck you right here, right now," she said.

  Leaning forward, she breathed on my ear and reached out her tongue.

  "You make me so wet."

  "People will see," I said.

  "Good," she breathed and licked my neck. "I want everyone to see."

  "No. You don't have to. You should-"

  "Shut up."

  She clamped a hand over my mouth and sat on my lap, pressing her breasts into me. Now people were staring to notice. Someone at the back of the room whistled.

  I'd never been harder. The pressure of her body against my cock made me feel I could come already. I was so horny it hurt. Out the corner of my eye I could see the barman approach.

  "How about a show?" he said.

  His ugly face should have been putting me off, instead I was somehow growing harder. The sensation of everyone watching was tipping me over the edge.

  "Fuck me," whispered Marcia. "In front of all of these people."

  To my surprise, some of the bikers appeared disinterested. Clearly this was something that happened here a lot. Some of the younger ones however, stood around the table, beers in hand as they watched.

  Marcia looked deep into my eyes as her deft hands tore at my belt. She freed me from my boxer shorts and stroked me hard.

  "Urgh... Not so fast."

  I was red hot and pulsing in her hand and didn't know how much longer I could last. Her wicked smile was intoxicating as she slipped me beneath her skirt. I eased inside of her as she let out a groan. There were cheers of appreciation from the spectators and the feeling of all their eyes on me was making me uneasy, but not uneasy enough to stop the impending orgasm.

  "Close your eyes," she whispered in my ear. "Don't worry about them. It's just you and me."

  She kissed me softly, the sweet taste of beer on her lips.

  "Just you and me..."

  Reaching round, she tugged at my balls and said, "I wanna feel you come inside me. Hard..."

  Just the sound of her voice, just the feeling of her body against mine and her breath on my neck was too much. I came hard, shaking violently, ejaculating so hard I was almost in tears.

  My heart hammered in my chest as the sides of my vision blurred. Now I wasn't in some random bar, I was in heaven. T
here was nothing around me, no problems, no guys standing around the table to watch us, nothing at all. Just the tightness of her pussy around me and her lips grazing my cheek. Then there was something else... A cold sensation against the side of my head.

  I opened my eyes and saw Marcia with a stormy look in her eyes.

  "Do it," came a voice.

  I looked up and saw the barman right beside her, laughing.

  "Do it!"

  It was then that I realized she was holding a gun to my head.

  "What the fuck?" was all I could say. "What the fuck is going on?"

  "Hand it all over," she demanded.

  "What?"

  "All of it."

  This couldn't be happening. This had to be some sort of joke.

  "You heard her," said the barman.

  Before I could react, he reached into my pocket and yanked out my keys, my phone and wallet, laughing the whole time. I tried to grasp for them but Marcia pushed the gun harder into my temple and cocked it.

  "Move and you're dead," she said.

  The bikers around the table were laughing. This must have been a usual occurrence around here.

  "You heard the lady," said one of them.

  Slowly, she began to move away but the gun remained pointed at my face.

  "You did know him," I said, looking at the barman. "This was planned the whole time."

  Then I remembered her words, "Who said there'll be a tomorrow?"

  Terror set in. Without my car or money I was dead out here. I looked around the room for a way to escape then scanned my eyes over the barman as he took my things and tossed them over to a heavy set guy in a leather vest. He had a scar down one side of his face and arms as thick as my waist.

  "Fucking friend of Bosworth," spat Marcia. "Scum!"

  She slapped me hard across the face.

  "I'm-I'm getting away from him too," I insisted. "He's a madman."

  She wasn't listening because she was shaking hands with the barman.

  "The cash is mine," she said. "The rest is yours."

  He nodded in response.

  "Always nice to work with you."