“Jaysus, what’s he got now? Measles? Scarlet fever?” Pat inspected James’ face, and noticed some blood seeping from the corner of his eye.
“Havard, have a look at this.”
“Hmmm, yes, yes. This is appearing like a filoviridae. I have seen this several times, in Africa, of course.”
“Ebola? You have to be fekkin’ joking! Where the hell would he get that from?”
Bob, who had been peering over their shoulders, stepped back a few paces, then quietly left the room.
Havard scratched his mustache through his mask and asked, “Has he been to Africa recently?”
“Not ever, as far as I know.”
“Are there any research facilities on the campus that would have such a thing on hand?”
“Not a one.”
Blood began to stream from James’ eyes and ears.
“Where the hell are these things coming from, kid?” Pat murmured.
~* * *~
The pieces of the puzzle fell into place—organ on bone, cell on organelle, molecule on atom—an endless stained-glass universe. A mosaic of life that rivaled the heavens themselves in complexity and intensity. Never, not anywhere, had knowledge been so physically beautiful. A library of life and all of its workings, and James felt quite complete.
The bands of germs surrounding the dancers lit on their hosts, then sank through the veneer of their chests. The pair backed into the wall and were absorbed into the relief. The lone figure remained with James. His eyes, milky-white in their scarlet sockets, smiled.
“It is done, young James. The process you have just undergone is better done at a much younger age, but I think you will do well. In any case, digesting this will take time.”
“Yes, I think I understand.”
“Good. We will speak again. Rest well.” With that, the figure also returned to his place on the wall, and James fell into deep, dreamless sleep.
~* * *~
It was on Karen’s watch that James’ vitals returned to normal. His damaged tissue repaired itself within hours.
Fifty-eight hours after he’d been admitted, he awoke and found an orderly mopping the floor at the foot of his bed. Joseph Albright stopped and leaned on the mop-pole, smiling. “Are you feeling better, my brother?”
James squinted and asked, “Who are you?”
“I am a helper. I will get the doctor for you.”
James blinked his eyes clear. His already vivid view of the living world had exploded. Every microbe, every virus, every tiny living thing within range was within his ken. They didn’t scream at him, or even concern him; he was merely aware of them and of their place in the world.
After a minute, Pat ran in. “Jimmy! How are you doing, man? You scared the hell out of us!”
“Um, I’m fine, Pat. A little groggy.”
“You’re not going to believe what happened while you were under.”
“Actually, I think I probably would.”
~* * *~
Peggy lay across James’ chest. He held her and stroked her hair. Her tears trickled onto his bare chest, and journeyed from one chest hair to another until they formed in a pool near his navel.
“Don’t worry, I promise,” James said softly. He kissed the crown of her head.
Peggy craned her head up, and looked into his eyes in the searching way that tearful women do. “What was all of that, anyhow? Why didn’t you tell me all of that stuff about your genes and your mito-thingies and all that?”
“I didn’t want to worry you, and anyhow, what difference would it make?”
“None, I suppose,” she said quietly.
James held her up to kiss her, then searched her eyes. Through those sky-blue windows, he saw his child. He saw the moment of the boy’s conception. The temptation to say something was strong, but he held his tongue.
Karen cracked open the door and then stepped back out of sight, in order to allow the couple their moment.
“Are you going to keep going with this whole ‘doctor’ thing?” Peggy said.
“I haven’t thought about it yet. I’m not sure.”
“Why don’t you just come back to New York?”
“Shh. Plenty of time to talk about that later.”
Karen left them to talk. When she returned, James was on his feet, staring out the window.
“James! Get back in that bed this instant.”
“I’m okay, Mom. Do you think someone could get me my clothes?”
“You’re not going anywhere, mister.” Karen pointed a candy-apple fingernail at the bed.
“I don’t need to rest. I’m fine, really.”
Karen pointed again and said, “Bed.”
James reluctantly crawled into bed. “Okay, but just for a few hours. Do you think you could get me some clothes, though?”
Karen grimaced, then nodded. She sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know what that was all about, but I am so glad it’s over.”
“Well, me too. It was interesting, though.”
“I do not want to know,” she said.
“I learned a lot, Mom. You wouldn’t believe—”
“I don’t care; it’s not worth it.” Karen paused a moment, then asked, “This isn’t something you did deliberately, is it?”
“No, no, it wasn’t.”
“Well, just don’t do it again.”
“Promise.”
Pat marched in, unshaven, his lab coat flapping loosely around him. “Well, how’s the boy?”
“I’m fine, Pat. Never felt better.”
In fact, James was lying. Uncomfortable was what he felt. Large, as if he stood head and shoulders above everyone. Not as though they were inferior, though. More like they were all his children, the entire world. The lion’s share of the discomfort came from a feeling that the volumes he had digested over the previous few days were written all over him for the world to see.
Pat shook his head, produced his stupidest grin, the one he reserved for special occasions, and said, “Well, that was some education for me, Jimmy. You went through the catalogue from A to Z there.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You were aware of all of that?”
“Yes, in fact, I was,” James said matter-of-factly.
“That must have been awful, boy!”
“It wasn’t as bad as you think. It was interesting.”
“Haw! I’ll bet it was. You had more diseases run through you in two days than some small countries get in a generation. I think I saw the plague go through at one point.”
“You probably did.”
“You can remember every disease that went through you?”
“After a fashion, Pat, but I’d rather not talk about it right now if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, Jimmy, no problemo. We can debrief when you’re ready.”
“Thanks for understanding, Pat.”
Pat walked away. He turned as he opened the door and looked at his young protégé. James was no longer Pat’s student, nor anyone else’s.
Thirty-five
“I’m afraid I’ve run out of reasons for keeping this kid prisoner,” Pat pronounced flatly.
“Good,” said James, “I need to move around a little.”
Karen bit her lip. “Okay, but promise me you’ll take it easy, and no motorcycle!”
James kissed her forehead, and promised he would call her every day for the next few days. “Look after Peggy, will you?”
“I have a suggestion, Kiddo,” said Pat. “Why don’t you go out and try getting yourself bladdered?”
James laughed as he buttoned his shirt. “You never know, Pat. I might.”
Karen smacked Pat on the shoulder and glared at him. “Don’t you dare,” she said.
James took a cab home. It was just possibly the dirtiest cab in the Western world, but it didn’t bother him. Horror shows like this, which James had learned to merely tolerate, had become more like Festival in Rio: colorful and joyous. The whole world was like that now. A place for
every living thing, and every living thing in its place.
He rolled out the Honda, and crossed the Ben Franklin into South Jersey. He rode through farmland, then the Pine Barrens, to the shoreline. The roads were straight and unchallenging, but that suited him that day. The buzz of the motor and the solitude of the ride encouraged clarity, and he needed that above all else. He rode the Parkway south to Ocean City, then headed to the south end of the island and the state park. The day was cool, and the beach empty. James parked and sat on the edge of a dune as the saw grass fluttered in the fickle breezes, and gazed at the slit that separated the sky and the Atlantic. He sat there until long after the air grew chilly, and wasn’t bothered. The stars rose, and he knew them—not the constellations’ specific names, but these were the same stars Zozimus would have seen rise over the Aegean. Most had witnessed the first scraps of life billions of years before. The heavens, the ocean, the earth under him, and all life they contained fit the mosaic the visitors had left like a hand in a glove. It was all one.
James stayed late into the night, then hopped onto the bike and headed for home. He spotted a shack of a bar in the Pine Barrens, and stopped for a cup of coffee.
Buzz’s Lounge had nothing but bottled beer, so he accepted Pat’s challenge and ordered the first drink of his life. The place had only one customer and two staff—a bartender and a pole-dancer—as well as several trillion other guests invisible to the naked eye. James idly considered what a health inspector would make of the place. The dancer was scrawny, and her skin wasn’t good. James paid no more attention to her than he paid to any other living thing in the room, but no less either. He spotted his reflection in the mirror, between the dusty Galliano and Crème de Menthe bottles, and stared at himself until he was awakened from his reverie by the customer, a small man in a checked shirt and baseball cap.
“Hey, buddy, you got a problem?”
James turned and faced the man. “A few. Why?”
“Well, you’re not even lookin’ at my girlfriend there. You don’t think she’s pretty enough for you?”
“I’m not his girlfriend.” The dancer abandoned her artful interpretation of “More Than A Feeling”, and stomped off the stage to the bar. She smiled at James, revealing some very poor dental work.
“Shut up, Katelyn!” The man turned back to James, his thumbs tucked into his belt. “So what’s your problem, buddy?”
James swiveled on the bar stool and looked the man in the eyes. Katelyn’s non-boyfriend wasn’t much heavier than the girl, but he was wiry. As if he were speaking to a confessor, James said, “I do have a few problems, but I’m not sure you would understand.”
“Oh, yeah? You callin’ me stupid?” The man scratched at the ground with his sneaker, like a cock at a fight.
“No, not at all. You, well, you’d just have to have been there.” James paused for a moment, then turned back and locked eyes with himself in the mirror. “It’s like this: I had this problem a few months ago. A sort of medical problem, you know?” The man relaxed his stance and backed up a half step. “And it kind of got me looking at myself and the world around me.”
“Uh, yeah, I know how that goes.” The man clenched and unclenched his fists in short sharp snatches.
“So I made some changes in my life. I won’t bore you with the details, but they led to some profound discoveries about myself.”
“Uh, yeah. Well that can happen, I guess.” The man began to turn away, to escape, but James continued. He froze and looked back over his shoulder.
“I found I had been floating, without any direction. You know, just kind of living for nothing.”
Katelyn leaned across the bar towards James, her bare breasts buoyed on the edge of the counter. “Buy you a drink, mister?”
“No, I better not. This is my first one, and I’m not used to it.”
“What, they ain’t got Miller where you come from?” she said.
“Oh sure, I’m just not used to it is all. Anyhow, I’m driving, but thank you.”
“Okay, suit yourself.” Katelyn gave him the glad eye, her head tipped jauntily.
James cleared his throat with a swallow of beer, squinted thoughtfully, and said, “So all of a sudden I see there’s something, and I knew all along it was the thing that really mattered, you know?”
Katelyn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure, everyone knows that, mister. Don’t you watch television?”
“Not a lot, if I tell the truth.”
She poked him playfully on the shoulder. “You should. There’s some smart ones on there. Dr. Phil, like.”
“Okay, I’ll try and catch him sometime.” James winked. “The thing is, what matters seems to change all the time, you know? And I came to think that nothing really matters as long as you were an island, living for yourself. For your self.”
The man in the flannel shirt was on it. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean, man. One day you’re just gettin’ by and wondering where your next meal is coming from, and then you get sick or something and you forget about all that and you see the grim reaper comin’ at you with, like, an axe in his hand.” He slipped onto the barstool next to James, and gestured for a beer.
“You got it.” James tipped the long neck of his beer bottle towards the man in salute. “But at the end of the day, I have come to recognize the really important thing in myself. And that is: what I am here for.”
“And what’s that, hon?” Katelyn asked. “What are you here for?” She rolled her tongue in her cheek and chuckled, slack-jawed, at her own innuendo.
“I came to see a mind as some sort of beautiful machine; I mean, I used to think of it like that. Maybe the most beautiful machine that ever existed, but that that was not really what was important.”
The man flipped the bill of his hat up. “Sheesh, man, what else? Lots more important things than just bein’ smart!”
James furrowed his brow and nodded. “Good point. I’m afraid I’ve been foolish like that.”
“Hey! Nobody’s perfect, man. Don’t beat yourself up.”
“Thanks.” James smiled broadly. “I appreciate that. Anyhow, the point I was trying to make is, I’ve had this perfect machine hidden away, and I just kept it there to myself. I keep telling myself I didn’t know, but I think I did, deep down.”
“Well, that seems kinda silly, mister. Why would you do that?” the pole-dancing Dr. Phil fan asked, apparently uncertain if “deep down” was innuendo or not.
“I don’t know. Just stupid, I guess. But I need to make my mind my own. Set it to its proper purpose.”
The small man cranked his head back. “Who the hell owns your mind? I sure as hell own mine. The guv’mint ain’t took it yet!”
“Well, there is someone who insists it doesn’t belong to me, but I feel that my heart is the rightful owner,” James said. He felt fire in his nostrils as he said it.
“Hey, man, that’s heavy.” He looked at James suspiciously. “You on ’shrooms or something?”
“’Shrooms? No. I just woke up is all.”
James finished his beer, and said good night to his first-ever drinking companions. Katelyn pouted her thin lips and told him, “You come back anytime, mister.”
“Yeah, you take care, man,” the man said, and plugged his bottle between his lips.
At the door, James paused, turned to the bartender, and said, “See a dentist about that abscess before it turns septic.”
~* * *~
Up the Black Horse pike, James was the only thing on the road for miles. After a while he noticed some headlights, well behind. A biker on the road at that hour was bound to attract the attention of small-town cops, so he kept his speed at a steady fifty. He rode north through Camden and the car stayed with him, trailing by about a quarter mile. Crossing the bridge, it was still there—so probably not police, just someone pacing themselves on him.
James stopped to pay the toll, and the car, an ancient Ford, pulled into a booth to his left. It moved off as James did, then it continued fo
llowing him, closer now, until it was along his left side. Two black men were in the front seat. James caught a glimpse of the passenger raising his hand, and realized in utter disbelief that the hand held a pistol. James snatched on the brakes, spoiling the shooter’s aim, and the gun sprayed two shots just in front of his face. The car braked hard and slewed right. James flicked left, twisted the throttle, and charged ahead, easily outpacing his pursuers down into an area of road works. As they twisted through the maze of barriers, the car caught up and thumped James’ rear wheel with its bumper. The bike wobbled fiercely, James’ legs slapping against the tank sides, until he recovered and accelerated hard out of the final bend. The car slipped on a metal plate, sending the Ford crashing into a concrete barrier.
When he saw his mirrors were clear, James ducked left on Sixth Street, then the wrong way down Chestnut until he was sure he was safe.
~* * *~
The driver was conscious, but badly injured. “Take it easy, buddy.” The cop kept his revolver steadied and one eye on Hyacinth’s hands as he carefully reached in and picked up the gun. “Ambulance is on the way, okay? You just stay still there.”
A second officer looked in at the injured man. “Fuckin’ dealers, more’n likely.” He walked back towards the patrol car and shouted, “I’ll put out an APB for the other guy.”
Hyacinth spluttered and crackled, then slumped over the wheel.
“Jesus, Fred, look at this!” The second cop returned to the wreck, and saw the flesh on Hyacinth’s face shrink from his eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Blood poured from every orifice.
Thirty-six
Havard cherished his time with Pat. The Irishman was always able to make him laugh. But he was also clearly in awe of Pat’s brilliance.
On his last day in Pat’s lab, Pat said to him, “Havard, lookie here. Wanna see something cool?” An electron ’scope slide displayed some of Pat’s pets. There was nothing unusual in that. The paisley-like creatures glided across their two-dimensional world in their carefree T. gondii way. Some were in their active state, but most were dormant, indicating that they had recently been exposed to an assault from their host’s immune system—the tiny organism’s way of keeping cover, so as not to incite a deluge of antibodies from the host. “Now, watch this.” Pat’s thumb plunged a syringe down, and the plate was flooded with a purple liquid. As the compound seeped through the field, the parasites all perked up.
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