Karma City

by Gardener Browning

  “Then don’t take it,” Corpse-Dad replied.

  “Hold on,” Jack said, “you can hear my thoughts, too?”

  “Heck, yes I can. I’m a part of your thoughts, part of your memories.”

  “There’s no getting rid of you, is there?”

  “Not until you get old enough to move out.” Corpse-Dad laughed. Yellow tinted spittle trickled from the edge of his purple lips.

  Jack looked around to be sure that no one noticed him talking to himself. “Tell me something, when you look at me, what do you see?”

  “My little boy. What do you see?”

  “I see a dirty, horrible, rotting corpse.”

  “That’s just awful.” Corpse-Dad frowned. “That explains why you haven’t hugged me yet. You’re scared.”

  “I was at first. Now I know you’re just a part of my sickness. You can’t hurt me,” he watched Graves’ limousine pull away. “And unfortunately, you can’t help me.”

  “Oh, come on. Try me. After all, helping is one of a dad’s most important jobs.”

  “Okay, then,” Jack challenged, “tell me what Malad-X is.”

  “I’ve never heard of that. Keep in mind, I don’t know, because you don’t know. Get it?”

  “I get it.”

  “Sounds related to Malady. You should have asked Dr. Graves, son. Other than Dr. Carmen Victoria, no one knows more about Malady then Graves. Besides, he ought to know about it,” Corpse-Dad attested.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he’s infected, like you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Corpse-Dad pointed to the unused Checker wedged under Graves’ soiled napkin. “He just gobbled up his meal without even checking for the parasite. Only the infected do that.”

  Jack smiled at his ghoulish father. “You might prove helpful after all.”

  ***

  “What’s happening?” Luna’s heart ached with worry.

  Jameson’s body thrashed and writhed atop a bed in Albert’s laboratory. Albert tightened the restraints to keep Jameson secure. “He’s having a seizure in response to whatever he was injected with. It needs to pass before I can safely get a blood sample for analysis.”

  “You don’t need to wait for the blood sample. Analyze this.” Luna handed Albert the syringe from the vessel.

  “Well done, Luna.” Albert sat on a stool behind his microscope and prepared the sample.

  “I hate seeing him like this,” said Luna.

  “You care a great deal for Jameson, don’t you?”

  “I do. He’s the kind of friend that can be real difficult to understand, which only makes the rest of the world seem easy to figure out. Since I left the tribe, he’s been the only family I’ve known.”

  “Are you going to tell him about his father?” asked Albert.

  “Maybe. For now, do everything you can for him; okay?”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Albert dabbed the remaining liquid from the syringe onto a microscope slide. He peered through the lenses and tensed. “It’s Graves’ parasite, Malad-X. Jameson’s infected.”

  Jameson let out a terrible scream and tugged at the restraints. His mouth foamed and his eyes bulged.

  “Pin him down!” Albert yelled.

  The two struggled to hold Jameson to the bed. Albert stepped in and administered another injection. Jameson’s body stopped convulsing. He remained unresponsive as Albert checked his vitals.

  Luna asked, “What did you shoot him up with?”

  “The only thing I could think of. Liquefied Quell. At the least, it will help him remain calm…”

  “…Remain calm,” said the honeyed, slithering voice in the dark.

  “Where am I?” Jameson asked.

  “What do you see?”

  The darkness lifted in Jameson’s mind. Like the first hues of morning driving back the night, everything looked pale, cold and colorless. A scene took form. A house with a wide porch and screen door sat in the middle of a grassy field. Rising behind the house swayed a lush willow tree. The scent of hot breakfast baited him. I know that house, Jameson thought. But it’s in the wrong place.

  “You must be hungry,” the voice added.

  Jameson heard the words all around him. They came from everywhere at once and from nowhere at all. “Who’s there? Who are you?”

  “I was hoping you could help me figure it out. Please come in.”

  Jameson reached for his shotgun but it was not there. He shrugged. Guess this isn’t that kind of dream. Let’s do this.

  He entered the house. The floorboards creaked just as he remembered. The wallpaper in the kitchen still had the splatter of one of his father’s failed spaghetti sauces. The white lace curtains rustled in the gentle breeze that brought the aroma of fresh coffee to his nose. The table held a bountiful spread of warm rolls, fresh fruit, pitcher of juice and a steaming decanter of black coffee. He sat at the table and helped himself. He leaned back in the chair, propped his boots on the table and called out, “Come out, come out wherever you are!”

  A man in a black overcoat with slicked back, onyx hair and wintry blue eyes entered the kitchen from the front porch. Jameson almost fell out of his chair, “Marcus Graves?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. No, I’m not Marcus Graves. I don’t know who that is.”

  “Forget it. Who are you?”

  “I haven’t decided. I was hoping you could help me with that. Though, one can’t think on an empty stomach. I was thinking I’d make us some omelets. I’ve got this craving I just can’t shake.”

  “Omelets? My family’s house? Graves look-alike? I want to know what this is supposed to mean. And where the hell is my gun?”

  “I understand you’re confused and I’ll try to help. Here’s what I know—though I’m not sure how I know—we’re in a rendering of your subconscious, a place of comfort that you’ve withdrawn to in response to our…bonding. I remember being less than this, a simple organism, a parasite. Something in you made me evolve. It’s as though a part of me that was off is now on. I’m…awake. I’m…aware. And here we are.” He opened his hands and two steaming plates of fresh omelets appeared. He placed them on the table and took a bite. He smiled, “This is decadence! Oh, you must give it a try!”

  “You’re a parasite?”

  “I was. Technically speaking, I still am.”

  “Malady.”

  “I’m not Malady!” His face reddened and his hands rolled to fists. “Not at all. I’m a Malad-X parasite.”

  Jameson moved from the table and paced the kitchen and rambled. “Wonderful. I’ve got a talking worm in my head. How is that even possible? I can’t get sick. I’m immune.” He remembered the altercation on the ship. “My father…that damned needle!” He punched the wall. “I wish Luna would have put a fucking bullet in my head!”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  Jameson leaned on the table. “You expect me to be happy about being infected?”

  “Be grateful that you’re alive. I’m grateful. Without you, there can be no me. I’m going to do all I can to keep you safe.” He smiled. “You can count on that.”

  Jameson scoffed. “Well, doesn’t that just brighten my day?”

  “Hey! I like that. It’s perfect. You may call me Brighton. That’s my new name.”

  “Whatever you say, Brighton. When’s this ridiculous dream supposed to end. I’d like to get back to the real world.”

  “Look,” Brighton said firmly, “I think we should make a few things clear. You and I are stuck together. I’m a part of you and you’re a part of me. But make no mistake, I’m not you and you’re not me. We need to get along or this whole mind-sharing thing is going to become a problem.”

  “I don’t want to share my mind. I want you gone.”

  “Not possible without splattering your brains over the pavement or something drastic like that.”

  “Then you need to give me some space. Stay out of my thoughts.”

  “I
’m not in your thoughts. I don’t know what you’re thinking. We’re two different beings. Think of it as two roommates sharing a one-room apartment.”

  “More like inmates sharing a cell.”

  “Jameson, I know this is difficult for you to accept but I promise I won’t make you sick and ruin your life. I’m not Malady.”

  “Good. Because I hate Malady.”

  Brighton’s face darkened. “As do I.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “The same thing you want. To live.”

  Jameson had heard enough. He denied Brighton’s existence, regarding this whole meeting as a hallucination induced from the toxin his father used as a weapon. Waking from this became his only desire. “I’m leaving, Mr. Parasite. You’re damn lucky that I don’t have my gun.”

  “My name is Brighton. And I’ll be there when you wake up, Jameson. You’ll hear me, feel me and sense me wherever you go.”

  Jameson hurried out of the kitchen, kicking open the screen door like he did as a boy. He stepped onto the porch. The sunlight blinded him…

  Albert’s pen-sized flashlight stung Jameson’s eyes.

  “He’s coming out of it!” Albert declared.

  With a violent gasp, Jameson lurched forward. The restraints pulled him down. He screamed in delirium as his senses attuned.

  Albert leaned over him. “Easy, easy. Deep breaths. You’re safe in my lab in Undertown.”

  Jameson’s eyes fluttered opened. He found himself in a soft bed draped with a green, wool blanket. The room, painted white and trimmed in chrome, stunk like a musty basement. Luna sat at his left, her hand clutching his.

  “Welcome back, partner,” she said.

  Jameson turned to her and spoke in a dry voice, “I- I’m sorry for hitting you with the flashlight.”

  “It’s a good thing you don’t hit like a girl.”

  Jameson managed a bristly laugh.

  Albert unfastened the restraints and Jameson propped himself onto his elbow. His head spun. “My father…what happened to him?”

  Albert and Luna exchanged glances. Luna sighed. “Jameson, I had to shoot him and I—”

  Jameson put up his hand. “I know, Luna. I would have done the same.”

  “But you should know that he’s—”

  “I get it,” Jameson interrupted. His rising anguish sharpened his tone. “Don’t feel bad, okay? Things just…didn’t work out the way I wanted them to. The way I hoped they would. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Albert jumped in. “How are you feeling?”

  “I had one messed up dream.”

  Brighton’s voice echoed in his head. “Not a dream.”

  Jameson squeezed Luna’s hand. “Did you hear that?”

  Luna stared at him, confused.

  “No; she didn’t hear me,” Brighton replied. “To put it in your terms, I’m the little voice in your head. Stop being dramatic; it’s embarrassing.”

  Luna forced him to lie back down. “You’ve been through a lot. Try to relax.”

  “Where’s my shotgun?”

  “Don’t even think about blowing your head off, Jameson,” Brighton warned.

  “It’s in my pack,” Luna assured. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “How nice of her. She seems like a good friend.”

  Jameson took a slow breath and felt the room spin. “I feel so damn tired.”

  “That’s because I gave you a heavy dose of Quell,” Albert explained. “You’ve been infected with Graves’ parasite.”

  “Why am I not going crazy?”

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing.” Albert patted Jameson’s shoulder. “Relax and don’t worry. I’ll figure this out.”

  “I know you will, doc.”

  “I’ll start with a blood test and compare it to the sample you gave me earlier. Let me see your arm.”

  Albert drew a vial of his blood and scribbled on the label. He traversed the lab and set to work. “DNA analysis takes a while. Luna, feel free to make yourself comfortable while Jameson is resting.”

  “What about you, Albert?” Luna asked. “You need rest, too.”

  Albert shook his head. “There’s too much work to do. And besides, I promised you I’d do all I can for him. I meant that.”

  Chapter 11

  Albert worked through the day and late into the night. The others took advantage of the comforts of his lab. They cleaned up, ate, rested and resupplied. The doctor waited for the DNA analysis to complete and fell asleep behind his desk.

  Jameson slept in the patient bed across the room. Late in the night, he woke at the sound of footsteps shuffling around. He opened his eyes but kept very still. A young man, about twenty by Jameson’s guess, with tousled red hair tip-toed through the lab. He quietly opened drawers and peeked into cabinets.

  “What is that man doing?” Brighton asked in Jameson’s mind. “We should subdue him, quickly.”

  “Wait,” Jameson whispered.

  “For what? For him to get us first?”

  “I don’t know if he’s a threat or not. Wait.”

  “Do you smell that?” Brighton asked.

  Jameson sniffed the air. The quiet visitor reeked like a combination of sour milk and vinegar.

  “That smell is offensive,” Brighton stated, his voice becoming agitated. “It’s upsetting me.”

  Jameson’s hands rolled to tight fists beyond his control. His nostrils flared.

  “I don’t like it at all,” Brighton yelled. “I don’t want to smell it anymore!”

  A foreign and powerful wave of rage crested in Jameson’s heart. He sat up, and in the motion of his legs swinging over the bedside, he lost himself. An unstoppable force, like an ocean undertow, pulled at his mind, severing and assuming the control of his body. Brighton’s words rolled up Jameson’s throat and out his lips. “Looking to rob the good doctor?”

  “No way, man. I’m just here to pick up my meds.”

  Like a spectator frozen in a cage of perfect glass, Jameson could only watch through his own eyes as Brighton commanded his body. He got off the bed and approached the man. “I hate liars,” barked Brighton.

  “Stay back, man. I’ve got Malady.”

  Brighton rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles. “Not for long.” He snagged the man by the shirt collar, but the fabric ripped as he jerked away, bolting out of the lab.

  “Brighton, stop! He’s not a threat!” Jameson’s shout rang in the back of his own head, going nowhere, like yelling into a pillow.

  Brighton burst into a sprint after the intruder. Jameson felt the parasite’s desire taint his heart. The only motivation being the capture of the Malady infected man. The chase carried through the arched tunnels of Undertown until the man, out of breath, stopped at the main subway platform. The swift moving subway train rumbled toward the station.

  The man looked back, eyes wide with panic and fear. “What’s your problem, man?”

  “You,” Brighton replied. “You’re everyone’s problem.”

  Jameson’s very soul was nearly seared to ash by an inferno of hate emanating from Brighton. He could feel the Malad-X parasite’s emotions, contrary to his own. The very sight of the red-haired man disgusted Brighton and spun him into a fever of malice. The man’s fear was apparent and filled Jameson with remorse. It’s my face he sees.

  Brighton coiled his fingers around the man’s throat.

  “Leave him alone!” shouted Jameson into the passages of his mind.

  The subway streaked into the station. Brighton shoved the young man off the platform, to the tracks below. The screams were cut off as the subway ran him over.

  Jameson listened to the wheels grind. The strange undertow came again and his arms, legs and shoulders shivered. He lurched forward and vomited. From deep within he heard Brighton’s voice. “I don’t smell it anymore. Do you?”

  “No.”

  Jameson dropped to his knees. What did I just do? What am I?

  A hand closed on his shoulde
r.

  He turned his head to find Albert Walker standing over him.

  “Jameson? What happened?”

  Jameson wiped a line of vomit from his chin. “I…uh…was following a guy and got sick. What are you doing here, doc?”

  “I woke when I thought I heard you talking to a patient of mine, a young man with red hair. His name is Dustin. Did he happen by my lab while I was asleep?”

  “Yeah…I was trying to catch him.”

  “That’s what I assumed. I appreciate your efforts because Dustin recently contracted Malady. His whole family is pretty sick and he picks up their meds weekly. Where did he go?”

  Jameson looked down and sighed. “He fell onto the tracks. I couldn’t save him. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Albert paused, struggling with the news. “Fuck Malady! Dustin was a good kid. He used to run errands for me when I was setting up the lab.” His eyes became pools of sadness. “Too much suffering in this world, Jameson. Too much loss. I swear I’m going to find a way to destroy Malady.”

  Brighton stirred in Jameson. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Luna couldn’t sleep. Jameson tossed and turned in the bed across from hers, muttering strange things. His eyelids twitched and sweat beaded on his face. His suffering pained her. She sat up and decided to check with Albert.

  Out of habit, she took up her rifle then left the room for Albert’s office.

  “Ah, Luna,” Albert greeted her with a smile. “Why aren’t you asleep? It’s almost four in the morning?”

  “I’m worried about Jameson. Any updates?” She pulled a chair in front of Albert’s desk and sat down. Dark circles swallowed his blood-red eyes. “You look damn tired. You’re no good to this team if you’re wiped out.”

  Albert put down his pencil and pushed aside his notebook. He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “Jameson’s condition has further complicated matters. But I understand it now.”

  “Talk to me.”

  Albert shuffled through his papers, charts and calculations. “Science is a dance of facts and theories. I take what I know and use it to reason what I need to know through the assessment of implications. What I don’t do is make assumptions. Let’s start with what is known.