CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Chaz:
There werena€?t many times when Russ asked for my opinion, when he even thought that I might have some idea worth listening to. Ia€?m not sure when our a€?great dividea€? took place, when we drifted off into our separate universes and became more like rivals than friends. It was probably around the time our father died, although I think it had been brewing below the surface for a few years. You cana€?t always put your finger right on the spot that hurts.
But there was one time, when I was about thirteen and he must have been fifteen, when Russ needed my help. I was someplace else in the plant when the accident happened, so I only heard stories that trickled down, whispers spoken when no one thought I was listening.
Dad was training Russ to perform the jumps, showing him how our satellites would transport the dead bodies, how wea€?d get the pre-ordered clones out of storage, then sort through the memories so the Stringers could keep the ones they wanted. But no matter how much we planned ahead, we always struggled with a nebulous potpourri of a€?what-ifs.a€? Things that could go monstrously wrong: what if the memories got mixed up; what if we used the wrong clone; what if the Stringer got lost somewhere in transit?
On this day, there was an unexpected Edgar Allan Poeesque what-if.
What if the Stringer wasna€?t all the way dead when we started the jump?
Somebody along the way, some doctor or lab technician, made a wrong diagnosis, and this Stringer was still alive. Just barely. So when Russ started the download, it caused a horrible ripping inside the jumper. He flopped like a fish on the gurney, sparked back to a half-alive state, although most of the important stuff was already gone. He screamed and tried to break free. We didna€?t use restraints on the dead bodies, never needed them, so when he lunged forward he yanked off the connector wires and broke off the implanta€”a long, tube-like needle that we insert deep into the braina€”that is, if the Stringer still has a brain.
Dad and some of his techno-wizards dashed into the room and tried to calm him, to hook him back up. Apparently everybody knew that this guy wasna€?t going to live, no way, no matter how valiantly he tried to fight death. I dona€?t know all the medical details here, but hea€?d done some serious damage to his current body that couldna€?t be repaired. The bottom line is, Death was coming down the hallway and looking for this guya€?s room.
Meanwhile, Russ waited at the controls, like hea€?d been told. From where he stood, he could see this guya€?s clone, hooked up and already partially downloaded; he watched the clone move, saw it lift an arm at the same time as the Stringer. Saw it turn its head in the same direction.
But then the Stringer suddenly collapsed. Dead. Really dead this time.
At that same moment, the clone jumped off its gurney in the other room. It went through all the same movements that the Stringer had done just a few minutes earlier, until finally it fell to the floor, silent.
All the guya€?s memories got fried in the process. And the soula€”the Stringera€?s fragile, almost indefinable essencea€”escaped.
There was nothing left but an empty carcass and a damaged clone.
Dad tried to tell Russ that it wasna€?t his fault, but my brother didna€?t believe it. He went through an inner turmoil, quiet and self-destructive.
Over the following months, I saw darkness and fear rise to the surface in my brothera€?s eyes at strange times, when he thought no one would notice. Until one night when I walked into his bedroom and found him alone at his desk, pretending to work on his journal.
One sleeve was rolled up and I saw a series of cuts on his arm. Self-inflicted and precise. As soon as he heard me behind him, he hid his arm.
He looked sick, like he had the flu.
a€?Whaddya want?a€? he asked, forcing a teen bravado that failed. He tried to mask the scared look in his eyes, but he was a second too late. Ia€?d already seen it.
I dona€?t remember why I went into his room. I probably had a question about my homework, but it vanished the moment I saw his arm.
I sat on his bed. Hoped he would say something. He didna€?t.
a€?It wasna€?t your fault,a€? I said, wishing I could make the pain go away.
He laughed, a sardonic, twisted noise that sounded more like a sob. a€?Of course it wasna€?t. Wea€?re life-givers, not takers. I was just doina€? my job.a€?
But I knew it wasna€?t that simple. I knew that there was something else going on, deep inside. I waited, quiet, hoping that he would tell me what it was. I never really expected him to open up the way he did. A hush fell over the room, thick as swamp water and just as dangerous. I imagined reptilian beasts hidden below the surface, waiting to bite, to pull one of us under. There came a point when I realized that I didna€?t want him to talk. I didna€?t want to know what was driving him mad anymore. I just wanted to leave and forget about it.
That was when he looked at me with hollow eyes. That was when he started to talk.
a€?I justa€|I just dona€?t know how I can keep doing this crap,a€? he confessed. a€?I feel like my soul got sucked out when that Stringer died.a€? He stared at the floor, as if he could see invisible monsters swimming in black water. a€?I know ita€?s not my fault, but I feel like I killed him. Like I pulled the switch too soon, or I hooked up the clone wrong. Or maybe I shoulda seen somethina€? on his chart, some red flag, some misdiagnosisa€|a€?
Just then I saw a shadow move on the wall, like a long alligator snout raised above bayou water, ready to strike. I think that we both saw it, that we both knew something had always been there, just below the surface, stalking us. Hungry. Insatiable.
a€?I feel like I swallowed a rock,a€? he said, a€?like my heart is missing and I got this damned rock in its place.a€?
Russ had never opened up like this to me before. I didna€?t know what to say.
His eyes searched the room, as if the answer would be written on the walls and he would find a window of escape. a€?What should I do, Chaz? I dona€?t know how to get rid of this rock, or this darkness that surrounds me. I dona€?t know how to live when somebody else died because of me.a€?
I didna€?t know the answer. And I didna€?t have the power to save him. I only had a vague memory of hope, something Ia€?d heard over and over but never really put into practice.
a€?This thing, this guilta€?a€”I paused, uncertain how to express what was in my heart, especially when I knew that a black monster was swimming through the rooma€”a€?it isna€?t between you and that dead guy. Not really.a€? I thought I heard the swish of a reptilian tail. a€?Ita€?s between you and God. Hea€?s the one that you need to talk to.a€?
a€?Do you think I havena€?t tried?a€? There were tears on his face now, glimmering in the darkened room. His own personal river of pain. a€?I feel like He hung up the phone on me. Like He isna€?t taking my calls anymore.a€?
a€?Then leta€?s call Him together,a€? I ventured. I expected him to laugh and tell me to leave, to go back to my pretty little childhood while he drifted off into dark, unfamiliar streets. I expected the black water to swell, to come to life, to swallow him whole right in front of me.
But that wasna€?t what happened.
Instead Russ lowered his head and wept. Then he got off his chair and knelt on the floor. I suddenly forgot about the monsters and knelt beside him.
For the first and only time in our lives, my brother and I prayed together.
My life changed after that. From that point on I knew God in a different way. It isna€?t something I can easily put into words and I dona€?t even try very often. For the first time I realized that heaven was real and I wanted to go there. And I wanted to make sure I never saw that swimming black monster again.
I dona€?t know what happened inside Russ. Because we never talked about it. A few days later he went back to work in the plant. But he never performed a jump again. Not even after he took over Fresh Start.
After we prayed together, the darkness that had surrounded him disappeared.
Until that day I stood in the cemetery and watched all those kids put to rest in the dirt.
And this time I had a feeling that it was after me.