The red-haired man’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “That’s a good question,” he said, and then he turned and hiked off along the shelf.
The other two men followed, and Thal trailed after them, still combing his memory for a trace of the red-haired man. For some reason, Thal had a feeling it was important he remember who the man was.
The hippo confirmed it. “I know who he i-is!” the Choker sang tauntingly.
“Who?” whispered Thal, trying to keep his voice low enough that the men couldn’t hear.
“That’s for me to know,” said the hippo, “and you to find out!”
Then, the hippo bobbed in with lips puckered and planted a sloppy kiss on Thal’s cheek. Though he knew full well that the creature was only imaginary, Thal felt the smack of the lips as if they were real. When he wiped his cheek, he could have sworn that his hand came away dripping with slimy slobber.
*****
Hours later--it seemed like hours, anyway--Thal found out who the red-haired man was...and quickly wished that he hadn’t.
He made the discovery when the four of them (five, counting the hippo) stopped for a rest in the desert foothills they were crossing. It was the first break they had taken since leaving the sewers many miles ago, and Thal was grateful for the chance to sit down, even if all he had to sit on was a boulder.
As Thal slouched in an exhausted daze on the rock, the red-haired man walked over and offered him his canteen. Thal was so parched that he couldn’t refuse.
“Still can’t quite place me, can you?” said the man as Thal took a drink. “Maybe you could use a little hint.”
Thal lowered the canteen and took another good look at the guy. “All right,” he said. “Like what?”
The red-haired man leaned closer, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “Pink hippo,” he said, lips curling in a smirk under the shaggy beard. “Does that ring a bell?”
Thal frowned, realizing that he must have known the man even better than he’d thought. If he knew about the hippo, he had to be one of a very select group.
“He’s one of the guys you screwed over,” the Choker whispered in Thal’s ear. “Talk about a blast from the past!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Thal, trying to hide his growing nervousness.
“I’ll give you another hint,” said the red-haired man. “The home run duel of 2125.”
Thal shook his head, though it had dawned on him who the guy was. Even if he hadn’t recognized the red-haired man’s features and build, he would have remembered him after that last hint. There was only one man who had battled him for the record for most runs in a season in 2125...and that man would certainly have knowledge of Thal’s pink hippo.
Because Thal had set it loose on him to ruin his chances of topping the record.
The red-haired man laughed. “You know,” he said. “I know you know who I am!”
Thal shrugged and took another drink from the canteen.
“Casey Talisman, stupid!” said the hippo.
“Casey Talisman, stupid!” said the red-haired man. “You’ve gotta remember Casey Talisman!”
Thal considered continuing to play dumb, then decided against it. The other two guides had drawn in close; he was all too aware of how vulnerable he was at that moment, genetically engineered or not.
“Long time no see, Casey,” said Thal, handing back the canteen. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Helping my fellow ex-professional athletes,” said Casey, smiling and nodding. “The ones who have to get out of town quick because they struck out or fumbled or tanked the three-pointer at the worst possible moment. I’ve helped save a lot of lives over the past two years, my friend.”
“That’s great,” said Thal.
“I guess I oughtta thank you,” said Casey. “You’ve sent a lot of business my way.”
Thal looked away and said nothing. The pink hippo danced into his line of sight, doing a jitterbug.
“He should’ve thanked both of us, Thally,” said the hippo. “You couldn’t have done it without me, after all!”
Casey gave Thal a playful punch on the arm. “You’ve been a busy guy, all right,” said Casey. “I’ll bet ninety percent of the baseball players who’ve come through here over the past two years blame you for killing their careers. They all talk about how it’s such a big coincidence that every time one of them got one up on you, this pink hippo Choker showed up to mess with their heads.”
“That’s me! That’s me!” hollered the hippo.
Thal shook his head. “They’re wrong,” he said, staring Casey in the eye. “If I was running a Choker, I wouldn’t’ve lost the World Series single-handed. I sure as hell wouldn’t be out here on the run right now.”
“You know what I think?” said Casey, sitting down on the boulder beside Thal. “I think your Choker finally backfired. I think that’s why you’ve been talking to thin air tonight when you thought we weren’t looking.”
“Thally, you dope!” said the hippo. “Some secret keeper you are!”
“I was talking to myself,” said Thal. “It’s been a long couple of days.”
“Sure, sure,” said Casey, wrapping an arm around Thal’s shoulders. “I understand. You’re in the clear. It’s all good.” Casey gave Thal’s shoulders a squeeze and patted his back. “There’s just one problem.”
Warily, Thal looked over at him.
Casey leaned close and spoke softly in his ear. “The hippo told us he was working for you.”
“Woopsie!” squealed the Choker.
“He told all of us,” said Casey. “After he made us choke, when we were running for our lives like you are right now, he told each and every one of us that you were the son of a bitch who ruined our lives.”
The hippo cleared his throat loudly. “Don’t believe a word he says! Lies, all lies!”
“And guess what?” said Casey. “The three guys you’re stuck here with right now? All three of us got screwed over because of you.”
Thal looked at the other two men standing around him. He hadn’t recognized them before, but now he realized that their faces were as familiar to him as Casey’s.
“Not that there are any hard feelings, of course,” said Casey. “Right, guys?”
“Absolutely,” said the dark-haired man with the sunken eyes.
“Definitely,” said the man with the shaved head and goatee.
“Thank God for that!” said the hippo. “They had me worried for a minute there!”
“Forgive and forget, I always say,” said Casey, right before he and the other men started pounding the hell out of Thal Simoleon.
*****
“Wow,” said the priest just before he punched Thal in the face. “I’ve never hit a god before.”
Suspended spread-eagle from the ceiling by chains, Thal stared blankly at the scrawny priest. He wasn’t the first person to enter the white chamber with the intention of striking him; he wasn’t even the first priest to do so.
In the months since Casey and the others had beaten him half to death and sold him to the man who kept him here, a seemingly endless parade of people from all walks of life had walked through the door and used him as a punching bag.
Usually, they told him why they did it. A lot of them were still angry because he’d lost the World Series for the Bio Threats. Some were fans of other teams, avenging his victories over their favorites. Some had lost money betting on games because of him...or investing in Thal Simoleon memorabilia that had become worthless the minute he missed that fateful pitch in the Series.
Some--the priests, especially--wanted to lash out at a fallen god. Some just did it for the novelty, so they could tell others and gain some minor notoriety in their circle of friends.
And some, he thought, no matter what reasons they gave, just did it because they wanted someone they could hurt with impunity. Who could complain if someone took a shot at the man who’d lost the Series for the Bio Threats...the man who’d bec
ome the equivalent of Satan himself in the eyes of the fans?
No one. Even if Thal’s torture chamber had been in the middle of Bio Threats Citydome Center for all to see instead of hidden away in a desert compound, none of his visitors would have been faulted for pummeling him.
He was meat.
“This is for betraying your flock,” said the priest, hauling off and throwing a fist hard into Thal’s belly. “And this is for letting me worship you as a false god.” The priest swung again, this time cracking Thal’s nose.
“That’s gotta hurt,” said the pink hippo, who unfortunately hadn’t left Thal’s side for a moment since the World Series debacle. “These priests sure have a lot of pent-up aggression, don’t they?”
The priest swung again, landing another punch in Thal’s gut. The chains rattled as Thal rocked back and forth from the force of the blow.
As the priest continued to pound him, Thal let his mind drift the way he always did during the worst of the beatings. Though he was genetically engineered, he wasn’t unbreakable or impervious to pain; the only way he had managed to survive so long was by distancing his thoughts as much as he could from his body.
As the priest hammered him, Thal cast himself back to his childhood in Citydome Godcrèche. He remembered days under the hothouse sun, running and throwing and hitting the ball under the watchful eyes of trainers and coaches who were the only parents he’d ever known. Back then, living among the other genetically engineered test tube children, he hadn’t even realized that there were such things as parents in the world. He had thought that his life was perfectly normal, because it was the only life that he had ever known.
He hadn’t realized that most people had parents and couldn’t run twenty-five miles an hour or throw a ball two hundred miles an hour or jump twenty feet into the air to snag a pop fly. He hadn’t realized that most people weren’t claimed at birth by sports teams, assigned a player number before they could walk, and driven every day of their lives to perfect their skills so they could someday win a World Series championship. He hadn’t realized that there was more to live than winning at any cost.
This was something he hadn’t realized until the long hours he’d spent hanging in the white chamber. The long hours with nothing to do but think.
At first, as the people came to beat him, he had felt sorry for himself and blamed himself for what was happening. If he had only been a better player, he had thought, he would have won the World Series in spite of the Choker and he wouldn’t have ended up in the white room. If only he had been smarter in choosing a Choker techie to do business with, the hippo wouldn’t have come after him in the first place. Things would have turned out differently, he had thought, if he had done better, gone further, fought harder.
As time went on, though, he had changed his mind. In each new face that entered the white room, Thal saw hatred and bitterness and weakness and craving. He saw the true faces of the fans he’d played for all those years...saw the true impact he had made on their lives. Finally, he understood what the endless dance of victory and defeat was really all about.
Before his fall from grace, he had thought he was one of the lucky few who were running the show...winning games, breaking records, raking in money, lording it over the fans who were his subjects. Now, he knew the truth about who was in charge.
He had always been a puppet and the fans the puppet masters, moving him to suit their twisted fantasies of greed and lust and power and revenge. When he had failed, they had failed, and they could never forgive him for that.
So he had to go on suffering until he died...which, unfortunately, his owner would not let happen anytime soon.
“That’s enough, Father Focus.” The voice of Mr. Montage pulled Thal back from his drifting place, forced him to reconsider the pain wracking his damaged body. As always, Montage stopped the customer before he could kill Thal...which, if left unchecked, was exactly what Thal thought the customer would do.
Father Focus threw one last punch into Thal’s groin, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. “That’s what you get for betraying the faith,” said Focus, jabbing a finger at Thal. “I only wish the other gods could see you now. Trey Heartshock and Gavin Autopsy would grant me a thousand indulgences for this holy work I’ve done in their names.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Montage, turning Focus by the shoulder and leading him toward the door. “You’re a true defender of the faith. On your way now.”
As Focus left the white room, shepherded by one of Montage’s burly aides, Montage closed the door and walked back to Thal. “How’s my main attraction holding up?” he said, scanning Thal’s injuries through narrowed eyes.
“Bring on the next contestant!” howled the pink hippo, but Thal said nothing.
“You’ve made a lot of money for me,” said Montage, squinting at a particularly nasty bruise on Thal’s stomach. “It will be a shame to see you go.”
Thal peered at Montage through blackened, swollen eyes. “Go?” he croaked, wondering if Montage had changed his mind about letting someone kill him.
Montage sighed. “We’ve had such wonderful times together, Thal,” he said, “but it’s time for you to move on. You’ve been sold.”
“Sold?” said Thal.
“To a woman,” Montage said with a wink. “An heiress. She paid a great deal for you. Claims she has always had a thing for you.”
“Whoopee!” said the hippo. “Thally and the heiress, sittin’ in a tree, kay-eye-ess-ess-eye-en-gee!” The tiny red parasol was back, and he twirled it at Thal as he sang.
“Thing?” said Thal.
“Ah, yes,” said Montage. “I believe your new posting...oh, dear, that’s funny, isn’t it, posting...I believe your new posting will prove somewhat more pleasurable than the one you are about to take leave of!”
*****
After their latest lovemaking, Paradise Whippoorwill held Thal in her arms and gently stroked his hair. He knew what she would say before she said it, just as he had known every move the beautiful blonde heiress would make in bed and exactly how long she would take to come.
He knew all this even though he had been her property for only six weeks.
“You feel better, don’t you, Thal?” she said softly. “I’m good for you, aren’t I, my love?”
Thal nodded. “Yes you are,” he said, though it wasn’t true at all. They had had the same conversation hundreds of times; he knew enough by now to say what she wanted him to say. Keeping her happy was important.
It was important because Paradise had a remote control under the skin of her left wrist. If she was unhappy, she could make the device her surgeon had implanted in Thal’s skull shoot out bolts of pain...or melt his cerebrum into clam chowder.
So happy was good.
“You know what brought us together, don’t you?” said Paradise.
“Fate,” said Thal, though the true answer was “money.”
Paradise sighed. “That’s right,” she said. “We were meant to be together. I knew it from the first time I saw you play on holovid. I could just tell you were the one for me.”
“Yes,” said Thal, wishing that she would just shut up. He had heard it all before from other women, the same
self-deluding pile of crap. He was grateful to her for rescuing him from the white room, but he was sick of hearing her dreamy professions of everlasting love.
If she had really loved him, she probably wouldn’t have put the control device in his head.
“I watched you from afar for all those years,” said Paradise. “I saw you break the home run record and the RBI record and win the playoffs and the World Series. I even met you in person and got your autograph, and you didn’t know at the time that we would be together someday.”
“I had no idea,” said Thal.
“But you had a feeling,” said Paradise. “You knew I was special.”
“Absolutely,” said Thal, though he had no memory of ever meeting her before the day she bought him from Mr. Mo
ntage.
The pink hippo, sprawled out on the big bed alongside Paradise, sniffed and pawed at a tear. “How romantic,” he said. “I’m gettin’ all choked up.”
“You had all those other women,” said Paradise, “but I was always in the back of your mind. I was always in your heart. And when you needed me most, I was there for you, wasn’t I?”
“You were there for me,” said Thal.
“In your darkest hour,” said Paradise. “And now we’re making a life together. A fresh start.”
“A fresh start,” said Thal.
“I love a happy ending!” said the hippo. “I can’t believe how much love I feel for you guys right now!”
“You’re the man of my dreams,” said Paradise. “And I’m the woman who will make your dreams come true. When you make your comeback, I’ll be right there beside you every step of the way.”
“I’m a lucky guy to have someone who loves me like you do,” said Thal, though he knew she didn’t really love him at all. Sometimes, he wished that she did, because maybe then he could have enjoyed his captivity.
But he knew better. The only thing she loved was the fantasy she expected him to play out.
He was the fallen champion who only needed the love of a good woman to regain the heights. The flaws and failings that had kept her from finding true love before were wiped away in his presence...and in turn, she would redeem him for the misstep that had laid him low in the eyes of the world.
Though he could have any woman he wanted, he would choose her. When he took to the field again, she would bask in his reflected glory, and all would know that her love was the force behind his rebirth.
He could have been hollow inside, and it would have made no difference to her. As long as he played his role as she expected, she would be happy.
Like the people who had cheered him and then come to beat him in the white room, Paradise saw him as a puppet. He existed solely to act out her fantasy.
Give the Hippo What He Wants Page 2