Mortal Fear m-1

by Greg Iles

  ERIN› Yes. How did you know?

  There was a brief silence. Then three new lines of text appeared, and the voice I’d selected for Brahma said:

  MAXWELL› I’m quite familiar with such systems. You’re the first person I’ve seen using one on EROS. Where did you come by it? Quality systems are prohibitively expensive.

  Miles had given me good ammunition for this question.

  ERIN› My husband is a physician. He’s using a new system that was designed for medical dictation. A friend of his works for the company that designed it. He put a version on our computer so we could try it out. I like it. I like having my hands free.

  MAXWELL› Yes. What company does this friend work for?

  ERIN› Sorry. It’s proprietary technology, still in the testing stage. He’d go ballistic if I talked about it. Mostly because of the company’s stock price.

  MAXWELL› I see. Would you like to join me in the Blue Room?

  My heart thudded against my breastbone. After saying yes, I sent a rude kiss-off to “Billy Pilgrim,” then clicked my way into digital privacy with a man who had killed at least eight people, and probably more.

  Brahma was waiting when I arrived.

  MAXWELL› I’ve been watching you. You spurn attention as though it burns you. What are you looking for?

  I paused to compose myself. During the long days of waiting, I’d given much thought to how I would approach Brahma. In the end, I knew, I would have to fly purely on instinct. But as with any new relationship, my opening was critical.

  ERIN› Something that doesn’t exist.

  MAXWELL› What could that be?

  ERIN› A man with the soul of a woman.

  MAXWELL› There are many of those.

  ERIN› A man who has the soul of a woman but remains a man.

  MAXWELL› Ah. This is rarer. Why do you seek this?

  ERIN› I’m unfulfilled, obviously.

  MAXWELL› Man desires all things, thus he is eternally unfulfilled.

  ERIN› But woman can be fulfilled.

  MAXWELL› I speak of Man in the collective sense.

  ERIN› There is no collective sense that includes both man and woman. They are poles of existence.

  MAXWELL› You speak wisely. You have much experience?

  ERIN› Is that a nice way of asking how old I am?

  MAXWELL› Take it as you will.

  ERIN› I just passed my thirtieth birthday.

  MAXWELL› You are married?

  ERIN› Yes.

  MAXWELL› Your only marriage?

  ERIN› Yes.

  MAXWELL› You have children?

  ERIN› A son.

  MAXWELL› There are problems?

  ERIN› Not the usual sort.

  MAXWELL› You are sexually content?

  ERIN› No. I’ve lost my passion for the physical.

  MAXWELL› But you once enjoyed it?

  ERIN› I lived by it.

  The speakers fell silent. Then Maxwell resumed his questioning.

  MAXWELL› Why do you seek a man with the soul of a woman?

  ERIN› Men don’t understand me.

  MAXWELL› A common female complaint.

  ERIN› My problem is different from most. Men can’t see me as I am.

  MAXWELL› How so?

  ERIN› I have the curse for which no one feels sympathy.

  MAXWELL› You are rich.

  ERIN› I’m not speaking of that. I was speaking of beauty.

  MAXWELL› You are beautiful?

  ERIN› Yes.

  MAXWELL› Many say that here, in this faceless environment. They rub balm into their insecurities by playing at characters they are not.

  ERIN› My fantasies have nothing to do with appearance.

  MAXWELL› Then perhaps you are what you say you are.

  ERIN› You don’t believe me. You resist the idea that a physically beautiful woman has the intelligence to step outside herself long enough to analyze herself.

  MAXWELL› You assume too much. I can accept that. But it seems to me you share the problem of the wealthy woman-no one ever looks past her money.

  ERIN› It’s not the same at all.

  MAXWELL› Why not?

  ERIN› Because physically beautiful people can become rich, but most rich people can never become beautiful. Not with all the plastic surgery in the world.

  MAXWELL› I appreciate that distinction. I understand it too well.

  ERIN› Are you rich and unattractive?

  MAXWELL› You don’t use much tact, do you?

  ERIN› I don’t have time for games.

  MAXWELL› Nor do I. I am rich in material things, but I’m not at all unattractive.

  ERIN› Is that your opinion?

  MAXWELL› One long confirmed by others. But I

  understand your problem better than you might think.

  ERIN› How so?

  MAXWELL› I was born a genius.

  ERIN› Really.

  MAXWELL› Yes.

  ERIN› Can you prove it?

  MAXWELL› Can you prove you are beautiful?

  ERIN› I see what you mean.

  MAXWELL› Actually, I could prove my genius in this environment much easier than you could prove your beauty. But what would be the point? Anything I wrote at that level, you would not understand.

  ERIN› All right, all right, I believe you.

  MAXWELL› Would you mind telling me whether you are fair-skinned or dark?

  ERIN› I guess not. In winter I’m fair. In summer I’m brown.

  MAXWELL› Your ancestry?

  ERIN› My _ancestry_? French and English. Why?

  MAXWELL› Mixed on both sides?

  ERIN› Father Scots-English blood, mother Cajun French.

  MAXWELL› Ah. An interesting roux.

  ERIN› Interesting home life, anyway.

  MAXWELL› What appeals to you about the female soul, as you called it?

  ERIN› Women understand that the past can be left behind. Men don’t. Men are haunted by the past.

  MAXWELL› Are you speaking of one’s own past or the past of a mate?

  ERIN› Either.

  MAXWELL› Your husband does not allow you to forget your past?

  ERIN› Correct.

  MAXWELL› You had many adventures?

  ERIN› Many lovers.

  MAXWELL› From a young age?

  ERIN› Fourteen.

  MAXWELL› The first was a man or a woman?

  ERIN› A man. I’ve never felt drawn to women’s bodies, regrettably.

  MAXWELL› You enjoyed these many lovers? Or merely allowed them to take pleasure from you?

  ERIN› I learned to take my own pleasure early. And to give it. I felt no inhibition. I shocked men, made them afraid. Men fantasize about wanton women, but when they meet one, they’re paralyzed by fear.

  MAXWELL› Can you elaborate?

  ERIN› Men like easy women so long as they can mentally classify them as sluts or whores. But a highly sexual woman who is beautiful, who has her pick of males, doesn’t fit that puritanical equation. And if she has intelligence as well, she is feared, and thus hated.

  MAXWELL› Your point of view intrigues me.

  ERIN› The bitter fruit of experience.

  MAXWELL› You never found a man who gave you the understanding you needed?

  ERIN› I thought I had, once. But I was wrong.

  MAXWELL› Who was he?

  ERIN› I don’t have time to tell that story now. In fact, it’s later than I thought. I need to log off. I enjoyed our conversation. Good-bye.

  MAXWELL› Please wait. Would you answer one question before you go?

  ERIN› If it’s quick.

  MAXWELL› You said you descended from French and English blood. Also that you tan in the summer. From this I deduce that you are more dark than fair. Does the English trait show up elsewhere in your family? Very fair skin, I mean?

  Brahma’s interest in skin
was starting to sound pathological. I was about to answer based on Erin’s dark complexion when something stopped me. All of Brahma’s victims but one-the Indian woman-were Caucasian.

  ERIN› What an odd question. As a matter of fact, I’m not more dark than fair. I have a sister with a peaches and cream complexion, and I’m only a shade darker. It’s just that I tan in the summer rather than burn. It’s a nice bonus.

  MAXWELL› Thank you.

  ERIN› Good-bye.

  MAXWELL› Au revoir.

  “You played that just right,” Miles said from behind me. The synthesized voices had drawn him from his throne in the den. “Make an impression, then vanish like the Cheshire cat. You should give Lenz lessons.”

  “Time will tell.”

  “Where did you get that ‘female soul’ stuff?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to put myself inside Erin’s head. When he asked what I was looking for, that seemed right.”

  “It was. Perfect.”

  Miles picked up the printouts and scanned them. “What’s this? You’re ripping off hair color ads now?” In a terrible French accent he cooed, “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

  “Think about Erin. One thing overrides everything else. Her beauty. It’s the central fact of her life. It shaped her whole character. But to her-inside-it must be nothing, you know? I mean, nothing and yet everything. At the same time. Just like you being smart.”

  Miles ran a hand over his flattop. “I was right about one thing, anyway.”

  “What?”

  “You can do this. You’ve got him going.”

  “One conversation is nothing, and you know it.”

  “Oh, it’s something. He likes you.”

  “You mean he likes Erin.”

  He gave me a sidelong glance. “If you say so.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you can think what you want, but Erin Anderson-I mean Graham-couldn’t have written that conversation if her life depended on it. I mean, she might feel those things, but she could never express them. Just like you said. She couldn’t step outside herself and analyze her own feelings.”

  “You don’t know her that well, Miles. She’s a lot brighter than anyone ever gave her credit for.”

  “I know her better than you think.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He put down the printouts and looked away. “Nothing. I’m talking out of my ass.”

  I grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t try to crawfish on that line. You said you saw her in New York. Is this something to do with that?”

  He studied the floor for several moments. Then he looked up, his blue eyes flat with defiance. “Look, I fucked her, okay?”

  My train of thought momentarily derailed. I knew Erin had been promiscuous, but this was a shock. “When was this? In New York?”

  “Yeah. Let go of my arm.”

  He tried to pull away, but I squeezed tighter, at the same time recalling what Lenz said about Miles battering some guy outside a gay bar with martial arts. But the rigidity went out of him, and he broke eye contact again.

  “It was just one time, okay? Erin showed up at this party I was at in the Village. She was with this singer, a real asshole. She was high, but he was almost comatose. She said hello to me, then walked away. About an hour later she came back and asked if I could give her a ride. She didn’t want to go back to their hotel. We ended up at my place.”

  “And?”

  “And what, man? You want gory details?”

  “Yes.”

  He took a deep breath, then blew it out in one hard rush. “We talked for a long time. She told me she’d always thought I was gay.”

  I was sorry I’d asked the question, but too late. Miles was reliving the moment.

  “If anyone else from home had suggested that, I’d have flipped out, brained them. But not her. She was so frank about it. She wasn’t judgmental at all, just interested. We talked about it for a while, and then… she made love to me. It was unbelievable. Harper, she was everything I’d ever longed for in a woman and had never found.”

  “Miles-”

  “No, let me finish. I think… she sensed the pain I was in at that time, and she was trying to heal me. Isn’t that funny? Because she was twice as screwed up as I was. Her whole life has been a tragedy, if you ask me. But that was her nature, I could tell. She was whatever people needed. As if through her, they could move to some better place. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “God knows what kind of degrading crap she put up with from assholes like that singer.”

  “And she just left you after that?”

  “The next morning she woke up looking like an angel that had crash-landed in my apartment by mistake. She called a cab, kissed me on the forehead, and disappeared from my life forever.”

  I shook my head in wonder.

  “That’s why I knew that female soul stuff was right on. That’s her, man. That’s what she needs.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Not in those words. Like I said, she was… I don’t know, emotionally farsighted, maybe. She could see other people’s problems clearly but couldn’t focus on her own.”

  “That’s her, all right.”

  He smiled with compassion. “I won’t ask where you got your insights.”

  “It was different with us, but not too different. It’s like a dream sequence in the middle of my life.”

  “And it never goes away.”

  “Not completely, no.”

  “That’s why you picked her, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because she’s haunting. Tragic. She has this unresolvable tension. She pulls men like a force of gravity.”

  After this strange moment of communion, Miles picked up the transcripts and shuffled through them. “Printer’s low on toner,” he said, holding up a sheet with letters so faint I could barely read them. “Got another cartridge?”

  “No.”

  “We can take the cartridge from the printer on your Gateway. Good thing they’re both LaserJets.”

  “We don’t have to,” I told him, glad to be able to hide my awkwardness in a mechanical task. I walked to a shelf and took down a tall white plastic bottle.

  “What’s that?” he asked. “Toner?”

  “Yep.”

  “You refill your own cartridges?”

  “Out here in the boonies, it’s the only way to fly.”

  “Isn’t it a pain?”

  I shook my head. With Miles staring in rapt attention, I removed and partially disassembled the wedge-shaped toner cartridge from the Hewlett-Packard printer with a tool called a screw-starter. Then, so as not to end up looking like a coal miner after a cave-in, I very carefully removed the plug from the toner reservoir and refilled the empty space with the ultrafine black powder that constitutes the “ink” of a laser printer.

  “That’s it?” Miles asked.

  I replugged the reservoir and replaced the cartridge cover. “Ready to go.”

  As I reloaded the cartridge into the printer, he pretended to write a note on his palm and said, “A new job for my assistants.”

  But the fallout from his earlier revelation still hung in the air, like ozone after a lightning strike. I walked over to my minifridge and took out a Tab.

  “Why don’t you scan for Brahma?” he suggested.

  “I doubt he’s still on.”

  “You’re the one who broke contact. No reason to think he’s closed up shop.”

  Using Miles’s search program, it took less than a minute to locate “Maxwell” in another private room. There, true to his habits of the past three days, he was conversing with “Lilith.” Again the voices confirmed my suspicion: there was a lot more information flowing from Dr. Lenz to Brahma than the other way around.

  “Lenz’s plan isn’t working,” I said over my shoulder.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he�
��s not learning a damn thing about Brahma.”

  “He’s not supposed to, is he? He’s just laying out bait, hoping to provoke Brahma to come after him.”

  “But he is trying to find out things. In between his neo-Gothic revelations, anyway. Listen to him. The stuff he spews out makes Deliverance look like a Disney film.”

  Miles shrugged as if to say, “What can I do about it?”

  I half listened to “Lilith” for a minute, but my mind was elsewhere. “How’s your Trojan Horse coming?”

  “It’s got tendinitis,” Miles said sullenly.

  “What?”

  “I’ll get there.”

  “You going to tell me how it works?”

  “Until you get Brahma heated up, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  I was about to tell him to kiss off when he sighed an apology. “Look, it’ll work or it won’t, okay? Let’s take a break.”

  I held up my hands for a truce. In the background, Lilith’s voice droned on, dredging up dark sexual secrets from “her” past and clumsily-to my ear, at least-pressing “Maxwell” to respond in kind. Brahma tolerated the probes with uncharacteristic docility, but he refused to be drawn out. As the conversation progressed, I could not escape the feeling that Dr. Lenz was greedily reeling in not valuable information but rope.

  Just enough to hang himself.

  CHAPTER 29

  Last night I dreamed of Erin making love to Miles. My memory is a traitor that way. The images I’d most like to wipe away cling to life with the tenacity of weeds, while those I want to treasure fade like the blush on a rose.

  This morning Drewe left before I woke up. I fought to stay asleep while Miles fixed himself an omelette and commandeered the television in the den, but it was no use. He had me checking windows and trolling EROS before I could even get a bowl of cereal.

  Brahma logged on as “Maxwell” early, but when “Lilith” started into one of her long monologues, he cut the conversation short and logged off. Miles wandered in and did some coding at his laptop, then drifted back to the TV. After watching CNN for a while, I walked into the backyard to verify that the tomatoes in our garden were as scorched as they’d been last week. They were. Then I walked around front and stared up the highway long enough to make sure Deputy Billy was at his post. He was.

  About ten-thirty, I logged back onto EROS as SYSOP. I didn’t expect much. Morning traffic is mostly Level One stuff, medical questions or lonely hearts looking for a shoulder to cry on. A quick cruise through Level Two also showed what I expected: soft-core exchanges involving roguish dukes and hard-won ladies (which I knew from long experience were frequently two women taking opposite sides of a romantic fantasy).