Moment of truth.
Through a welling of tears, Rook glanced at Fin. His face was stony. He looked down at her and saw her distress. His features immediately softened and he hugged her.
He said, “How can you blame yourself? I know Kyle. I blame him. I couldn’t possibly blame you. I understand.”
Rook wasn’t sure he did, entirely.
From there her story was easier to tell. Her handling of Marcus sounded much more masterful in retrospect than it felt at the time. By the point in her narration when Bishop left them alone in the bomb shelter, she was feeling much better, and as a consequence much hornier.
“You seemed catatonic, and I was kind of worried, so I climbed on top of you so I could look into your eyes and let you see me.” As she spoke, she straddled him again, only this time they were naked.
Fin put his hands on her hips and smiled slyly. “You’re very kinky, aren’t you?”
Rook laughed.
“You know it’s not polite to take advantage of someone in an unconscious state,” he said, trying to sound stern, but his erection belied him.
“I opened your eyelids and stared deep into your gorgeous baby-greens,” she said as they locked eyes. Maintaining eye contact, she shifted her position and eased him inside of her.
He moaned, but didn’t blink or look away.
Several minutes passed like that and Rook said, “I guess I fell asleep then.”
“You’re not going to fall asleep now, are you?”
“No worries.” She squeezed him. “I dreamed I went into your mind and helped you somehow. You had a tower I had to fix.”
“That’s rather Freudian.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Rook said with a laugh. “It didn’t seem sexual at the time. I guess it worked, because when I woke up, you were in the tub.”
“Healed by the love of a good woman and the promise of lots of sex.”
Chapter Fifteen
VAGABOND
Two weeks after the arson fire and explosion that destroyed three buildings on the 500 block of Spruce Street in downtown Webster, authorities are slow to release new information. Police Chief Harold Petroski denied the investigation had stalled, calling it ongoing. He reiterated that detectives are following lines of enquiry related to the tenant of the basement office where the blaze began, a dummy corporation called Salamander LTD.
From the Webster Daily Press, 10-12-2000
Nothing was ever easy. Kyle had power and money, but he couldn’t relax.
Shaw was lax with security measures at the factory, smugly certain Jesus had his back, and as a consequence the most important component of the program had been stolen.
Hell, it was the program. Without the spook technology hidden in that jewelry, Shaw would have been limited to the puny influence he could exert via television. Enough to make a certain type of person keep tuning in and sending checks, but not enough to really turn people around like Reverend Shaw envisioned doing once he could broadcast a hypnotic wave to millions on a closed frequency.
Kyle envisioned some remarkable uses for that carrier wave, himself.
The retaliatory strike to recover the goods would require a lot of planning, but it was going to be fun. Until the time came to wipe out the enemy, Kyle concentrated on the most important discovery among the spoils of Shaw’s brain. The New Revelations.
When he wasn’t prepping Spitz, Kyle cloistered himself to meditate on recent events, seeking to interpret them according to Shaw’s prophecy.
Kyle first saw the Revelations during Shaw’s excavations of Fin’s head, and they also appeared as part of the enormous cathedral of Shaw himself. The stained-glass windows told the story, the whole of it focused on the idea of a Divided Man.
These Revelations nagged at Kyle, demanding his attention. If he could figure out what the hell they meant, they would guide his actions. The problem was, the images he took from Shaw were in bible-speak. Shaw hadn’t needed to translate them in order to understand them. The same could not be said for Kyle. Certain things made sense, but mostly it was brimstone-tinged gibberish. After nine days he at least knew the wording by heart.
Divided Seed shall a Divided Child Beget
who shall grow into a Divided Man
The Divided Man thing referred to the Tanner boys. Shaw had been at a disadvantage, not knowing Kyle had a half-brother, but in the last seconds in Fin’s mind he’d added it up.
A hidden Plague will Dream in Men and Blind their Hearts,
and Black Dreams will descend for Twenty Years and Flood the Earth.
And utter Blackness shall prevail over the Earth
that the Hosts in Heaven not look back upon it.
This sounded like conventional End-is-Nigh crap. Except the bit about the Hosts not looking back. Were they leaving? Already gone? Shaw hadn’t thought so. He walked the talk. Why would he do that for a Celestial Host that had abandoned him? The stuff falling from the sky for twenty years, and the flood of darkness... What the hell was that about?
The Ministries’ compound was waist-deep with bibles, so Kyle paged through a few of them for clues. According to those revelations, god promised not to use a flood next time. Shaw the heretic. Unless this flood wasn’t supposed to come from god. Well, even then.
Those who go Forth in Chains will be called into the Firmament,
but fall and be Minions of the Pretender
Was Shaw the Pretender? Not according to Shaw, and why write that into your own manifesto? Kyle went to another fat book to look up ‘firmament,’ and pondered that line. Who’s calling people up into the sky? No one good, apparently.
A Completer, an Unknowing angel with Shadowed Wings,
Shall heal the Divided Man and restore Light upon the Earth
Obviously Shaw saw himself in this role. He had been waiting for the Divided Man to show up, and recognized him too late. That was pathetic.
Well, if Kyle was the Divided Man, or at least part of him, he knew who he wanted to heal him. Unfortunately, she was occupied with the other part of the Divided Man at the moment.
Their first kiss was a pleasant memory, but the second, during the assault, burned behind his eyes and in deeper places. That’s when they really connected. As foretold in the Prophecy. Whatever she might say to the contrary, she was drawn to him as well.
Of course, if he had left her in her box on his way out he would have her now. Fin too. Next time he wouldn’t leave anything to chance.
In the past Kyle and Fin competed over many things, but female affection was not one of them. If they were going to compete for a woman now, at least the outcome of the apocalypse seemed like a good reason.
*** *** ***
Without sunlight Rook’s birthday flowers soon wilted. That didn’t bode well for the freedom they were meant to symbolize. She deserved something more.
Fin climbed up to the upper bunk and propped himself against the smooth, curving metal wall with a notebook and a pen while Rook lolled in the tub reading an antique issue of National Geographic. He intended to finish her song.
Inspiration came from the dream she’d told him about. Her mention of a tower had given him a strong jolt of deja vu, which combined with all the other strange events of late made him wonder if it really was a dream. Their connection felt fundamental, nigh-elemental. Perhaps she really had journeyed inside his mind.
It was slow going and his well quickly ran dry. After doodling for fifteen minutes, he sat, staring absently at Vesuvius. The blobs of lava began behaving oddly. They became smaller and more numerous, bouncing off each other in a near-frenzy.
“’Suvius?” Fin sat forward, concerned.
Vesuvius emitted a strangled sound, like a monumental note of embarrassment. Fin swiveled his head around, searching for the source.
Rook was no longer in the tub. Fin climbed down and found her writhing nude on the lower bunk with Inflatable Sally. Sally was also nude. Rook kissed Sally enthusiastically, kneading her crinkly plastic
breast and grinding their pelvises together.
Fin was speechless. He blinked several times and cleared his throat.
“Join us, darling,” Rook murmured.
Fin stumbled to the bunk and stared down, unsure what was expected of him.
“We’re waiting,” Rook breathed. She peeked at Fin and winked.
“Rook...” Fin began, but had no idea where to go with it.
“Sally told me she missed you,” Rook sighed. “She was getting jealous just watching us.”
“But we never... I never. With Sally. Never.”
“Oooh,” Rook cooed. “A virgin!” She straddled the inflatable doll and caressed it.
Fin was still uncertain how to proceed.
Rook glanced back over her shoulder and said, “This is as close as you’re ever gonna get to a three-way, babe.” She leaned down and licked Sally’s nipple.
Fin shrugged, took a deep breath and tumbled into the midst of the sweaty, slick female forms. Rook moaned with anticipation and Sally made a sound like a happy inner-tube.
The condom-like smell of Sally and the musky, sweet saltiness of Rook blended and quickly stormed Fin’s slight hesitancy. He abandoned all remnants of prudishness and plunged ahead with enthusiasm, relishing the unique and disparate sensations of living flesh and synthetic.
There was no one else he could do something so ridiculous with and still tolerate, with or without chemical assistance. Fin congratulated himself on finding his perfect mate.
*** *** ***
Kyle sat alone in the greenroom, watching Spitz’s debut on the monitor and swigging whiskey from the bottle. His chief impression of Reverend Declan Spitz was that he had an appropriate name.
The show was going well, though. With continued support from Kyle, Spitz would win over Shaw’s audience.
After telling the Board he had ‘been shown’ who should guide the flock in praise, Kyle spent some quality time with Reverend Spitz. His goal was more challenging than controlling what the man said or altering what he knew. He needed to imbue Spitz with the old Shaw charisma. He needed to make sure people kept tuning in. And he had to do it carefully, so Spitz wouldn’t be aware and so it didn’t give him too much power. Best if it could be temporary.
He’d delivered a booster shot right before Spitz took the pulpit, and apparently it worked.
Working with Spitz, the subtlety and brevity, was a lot harder than disposing of rivals and scoring with bimbos. Kyle hoped, even let himself pray a bit, that it would get easier. He took a bigger pull on the whiskey.
In about an hour he would be downstairs to get an update on the search for Rook and Fin. Rook’s frequency settings were among the files lost during the raid. Along with reinforcing everyone’s standing orders, Kyle expanded the program a bit. There were terabytes of surveillance data and his brother and the woman would show up in it somewhere. He wanted anything within the last year or so on both of them, plus a fix on their whereabouts and present activities.
His tech-monkeys had given him some tidbits which, though tantalizing, led nowhere. The database had frustrating gaps. There was a technical limit to how many subjects could be listened to at once.
Rook and Fin weren’t in the factory when the clean-up crew arrived, and ever since there hadn’t been a recorded peep out of either one. It was like they vanished from the face of the Earth.
Kyle took another shot and tried not to slip further into melodrama. He capped the bottle, so he wouldn’t pass out and miss the briefing.
Rook and Fin were almost certainly together in some protected location that blocked the transmission. Unless they knew about the jewelry? No. The last recording pertained to Rook’s theories about the University’s involvement.
Quaint. Way off.
*** *** ***
They dressed in hippie clothes Fin left behind when he moved out. He wore baggy striped pants and a tie-dye tee. Rook looked fetching in cutoffs and an oversized hemp shirt.
Fin climbed the ladder and opened the hatch an inch. Sunlight shot in, dazzling him. So, daytime. He opened the hatch all the way and peered out. All quiet. He helped Rook up and out. After locking the hatch, Fin led Rook to the Tanners’ garage and looked in the window. No car. Brad and Melissa were probably at work, making this a weekday.
Using his key, Fin opened the back door. Not much had changed since he’d been here last, years ago. The walls were the same flat light-gray that erased all trace of shadow or depth, virtually unadorned. The dining room, seldom used, held the two pieces of artwork in the entire house — one large high-gloss square in yellow, one in purple. Not the most appetizing decorations, to be sure. The floors were endless expanses of blue-gray carpet, industrial in its stain-and wear-hiding abilities and ultra-short nap. The furniture had been upgraded, but held to Melissa’s Shaker-like beliefs in simplicity. The sort of house that might look wonderful in a magazine, but was uninviting to a resentful teenage stepson. The sole addition to the decor was a small portrait of Kyle on the mantel.
Fin led Rook into the spacious, celadon kitchen. The clock on the microwave read 10:02. Rook found a newspaper on the breakfast bar. Thursday, October 12. They’d been in the shelter for two weeks, twice as long as he’d estimated.
Old newspapers were in a stack in the garage. Fin and Rook looked through the previous weeks’ editions for mention of the factory, but found nothing. Good. It at least meant no one with actual legal authority should be looking for them.
A lot of ink was devoted to the explosion at Olaf’s. The cops and fire officials were tight-lipped about details, but it didn’t seem likely they would link anything back to Fin. The basement office was leased to a dummy company and efforts were focused in that direction.
All good news, as far as Rook and Fin were concerned.
Fin felt anxious to get out of the house. He kept expecting Kyle to walk in. Rook’s sharp intake of breath startled him. He looked around, but Rook was reading something in the paper.
“Interesting,” she said.
“What?”
“Reverend Shaw’s obituary. In last Monday’s paper. Two Mondays ago.”
Relief flooded through Fin, followed by an uneasy sensation. “What’s it say?”
Rook read: “Reverend Brian Shaw, father of Shaw Ministries, was found dead in his home yesterday of an apparent heart attack at the age of sixty-five. His body was discovered after he failed to appear as scheduled for the Sunday morning broadcast. He had been dead for several days. The future of the Ministries’ works is unclear and a successor is yet to be named.
“‘We look to the Lord in this time of sorrow and trust in Him to guide our decisions. Daily operations will continue as usual, after a brief period of mourning,’ said a spokesman for the Shaw Cathedral.
“The broadcast this Sunday is planned as a memorial to the late reverend, whose involvement in such causes as...”
Rook looked up at Fin, her blue eyes sparkling with a mad glint. “Then there’s a bunch of religious crap.” She smiled. “We’re in the clear!”
“A heart attack at home, huh?” Fin was skeptical.
“You’re not suggesting it’s not true, are you?” Rook asked in a mock-indignant voice.
“It doesn’t say anything about Kyle in there, does it?”
“Sadly, no.” Rook folded the paper and put it away. “Without the reverend to sign his paychecks, maybe he’ll go away.” She sounded hopeful.
Fin hugged her. “And I was so looking forward to all the family reunions.” He sighed wistfully. “The market for mercenaries is pretty limited in a college town. He’ll probably move to a city.”
With their relief so fresh, their celebratory kiss escalated to a life-affirming fuck against the counter.
*** *** ***
Fin and Rook bought Bishop lunch at the Vagabond to thank him for his help. The three of them sat at a large round booth in the back under a map of wartime Paris, and shared a pitcher of warm Stout and a platter of nachos. Bishop ended up sittin
g in the middle, much to his chagrin.
Fin was more centered than Bishop had ever seen him. The hard rime of prickly nihilism had been scraped away. Bishop sensed this was the real Fin, the Fin who tried for years to express himself through drug abuse, searching for the chemical combination that would allow him to be.
Rook was bright, funny and a little neurotic. Bishop thought she had depths she was afraid to explore. He liked her.
Their waiter wound his way through the stacks of sticker-festooned steamer trunks and barrels decorating the restaurant, and passed out their slices of carrot cake.
Several minutes of quiet eating passed. Fin said, “What’ll you do if Kyle comes back to the house?”
This Kyle issue was worrying for Bishop. He’d never particularly liked the guy, but hadn’t disliked him either.
“Well, I’ll get the lock changed today, and I’ll box his stuff up. I don’t think he’s coming back. Not now that his cover’s blown.” He shook his head. “Now that life resembles an espionage film.”
“Sorry, dude. We’d prefer a light romantic comedy...” Fin said.
“Or maybe an arty European thing with lots of symbolism and gratuitous nudity and subtitles.” said Rook.
*** *** ***
Bishop excused himself at the end of the meal with a nod to Fin and a kiss on the back of Rook’s hand. The couple sat and stared at each other for several minutes. Rook said, “You know, I need to file this story. Or, actually not this story. Some hastily-written piece of shit smokescreen.”
“Sounds great.”
“So I need to hastily write it first.” She took out her laptop and a freshly charged battery. “Do you mind if I tune you out for a while?”
“We need to pick up that paperwork at the courthouse by 4:30,” Fin pointed out.
Miss Brandymoon's Device: a novel of sex, nanotech, and a sentient lava lamp (Divided Man Book 1) Page 19