CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Neville:
My boss stood bathed in his own circle of light in the center of the room. As always, he wore one of those vintage virtual reality suits, the kind that masks your face and garbles your voice. A couple of gutter punks lay on the floor, feet twitching like they were having puppy dreams. The room was littered with empty bottles that once had held a homemade concoction of bliss and jive-sweet and black-market rum. Strips of century-old wallpaper sagged in the corners of the room, revealing water-stained battle wounds from a war this shotgun cottage fought and lost, long ago.
I waited for the argument I knew was coming. I didna€?t have to wait long.
a€?This isna€?t going to work,a€? my boss said.
I grinned. a€?Trusts me,a€? I said. a€?This here will works just fine. All pretty-pretty, likes I told ya.a€?
a€?No, it wona€?t, you idiot. Russell Domingue is dead! I told you not to kill anybodya€”a€?
a€?I didna€?t kills nobody, that Domingue was pumped up with spikesa€”a€?
a€?Then how are you going to get the serum now?a€?
a€?I works magic, I always does. I gots voodoo in my blooda€”a€?
a€?Youa€?re high.a€? The VR image fluttered and sizzled, transmission fuzzy.
a€?Still, I knows what to do.a€?
a€?What? Tell me, how are you going to fix this mess?a€?
I picked up a tray filled with jars of cosmetics: powder, rouge, lipstick. I balanced it in one hand and gestured with the other. a€?Ia€?s gonna paints the little girl. Just like I plans all along. Gets her ready for the flyina€? horses.a€?
a€?But her fathera€?s dead and hea€?s the one who knew where thea€”a€?
a€?The unclea€?s the one we wants now. Him and his Newbie. Theya€?ll gets us the stuff.a€?
a€?How can you be so sure you can manipulate the uncle as easily as the father?a€?
I set down the tray, then flicked on a VR screen on the far wall. a€?Remember them surveillance tapes from the night we breaks into their house? Just watch and youa€?ll sees.a€?
Like a vintage film noir, a gritty sequence of images flashed across the screen. It was a copy of a copy and all the color had been washed out. Black-and-white digital photography had been shot in the little girla€?s bedroom, the sound muffled. According to the digital clock readout in the lower right corner, it started when three people walked into the bedroom at 5:56 P.M. Isabelle, Chaz, and the Newbie. The Newbie sat in a corner, silent, looking almost like a mannequin. Chaz played with his niece, talked to her, helped her decide what to wear.
I glanced at my boss. He wasna€?t convinced. Yet.
The video jumped ahead to 7:08 P.M. A blinding flash washed out the screen and erased everything. The liquid light. The tape had been tampered with, a scene removeda€”the scene that showed me breaking through the window, tossing in a ball that rolled across the floor, then ignited. The light faded.
The room was now filled with blackened bodies, all children.
My boss looked away for a moment.
Ia€?s not afraids to look. Ia€?s never afraids of what comes next. I stands with open eyes and I waits, always I waits for what needs to happena€|
a€?Watch it!a€? I commanded.
He turned back, VR head facing the screen.
Chaz was in the room now, frantic. Looking for something, weaving his way through the puzzle of dead children. Then he turned toward the bathroom door. a€?Isabelle!a€? he cried, his voice echoing on the recording, a€?Isabelle, are you in there?a€?
a€?Uncle Chaza€”a€? The little girla€?s voice was almost lost beneath the roar of the crackling fire.
a€?Watch his face,a€? I said.
The video skipped again. To the part where the broken door was peeled away. Russell and Chaz glanced at each other for a brief moment.
Here the video had been enhanced to show a close-up.
Something blazed in Chaza€?s eyes, settled on his brow, almost as if he thought about pushing his brother aside, going in and rescuing the little girl himself. Then Russell shouldered his way through the door and picked the child up, carried her out to safety.
I paused the video.
And there, frozen on the screen, was a close-up of Chaza€?s face. He could no longer hold it in, tears spilled down his cheeks, revealing the secret he had tried for years to conceal.
a€?Do ya sees it?a€? I asked.
My boss nodded.
a€?Then tells me, what does ya see?a€?
a€?The uncle, Chaz, hea€|a€? He paused for a moment, stared into the black-and-white face as if he recognized the emotion, as if he could relate to the hidden longing. a€?He wishes that the little girl was his.a€?
a€?Exactly.a€?
I is the silver wind that rushes through the night trees, the invisible river that changes the course of life and death. I is the bright star that burns forever.
I is the one that brings immortality to the gutter.
Where it belongs.