He didn’t answer.
“You look—oh, I’d say, mid-period Stones, maybe. Except, well. Talentless.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know incompetence.” I dropped the cables, stood up straight. I looked him in the eye. “I know amateur. I know bad work.”
His mouth opened. I didn’t give him chance to speak.
“You walk out on the street here, you can see it. Spilling over everywhere. You did containment? Honestly? It’s like a fucking sieve.”
His fingers traced the patterns on the wall.
“Still—what do I know? You’re the one dressed like a rock star. Making your money, living large. That the plan? Well,” I said, “if you’re going to fail, fail big, that’s what I always say.”
“You’ve no idea.”
“No. Listen.” I was angry now. I’d planned on staying calm, but it got me anyway. “You’re the one with no idea. And let me tell you: the way things are right now, I am the only person here who might, just possibly, be able to get you out. To get you home. You understand?”
He didn’t answer. I said, “Something in the wallpaper?”
Silence. And then, “Words.”
He moved his fingers back and forth across the wall.
“Like braille?” I said.
He shook his head.
“My words,” he whispered. “Written here.”
But there was nothing written there, nothing at all.
“You’ve lost,” he told me. “All of you. All you people. Whatever you do, you’ve lost.”
“OK . . .” I let him see me nod. “Tell me what I’ve lost, exactly.”
“The world.”
“World’s still here.” I spread my hands, looked right and left.
“You’re wrong.”
“Explain.”
“You can’t see it yet. It looks normal to you, I bet. The way it always did.”
I felt a little shiver of uncertainty. A sense I should have had this conversation somewhere else, away from any gods.
I’d thought I’d be OK, but I was getting spooked.
I told him, “You’re an amateur. Don’t try and frighten me. Every bloody job you’ve done, you’ve botched. And I’m the guy who’s got to clean up after you.”
I went on with my work, but watched him from the corner of my eye.
He just stood there by the wall. He didn’t move.
“You’re not control.”
“Well. First prize for that.”
“You don’t know what I’ve done. What I’ve achieved.”
I pretended to be concentrating, laying out the cable. He didn’t like that—that I’d stopped paying attention. The need to boast caught hold of him. I let him talk. He sounded cocky, pompous, but he couldn’t get the whine out of his voice.
I wondered who’d upset him as a kid to make him such a chippy little shit. Or maybe he was like that anyway. Nature or nurture?
I emptied out the reel, linked up the next one. Acted like I wasn’t listening.
“It’s in the name, see? Johnny Appleseed.” I heard him pull a breath, waiting for an answer that I wouldn’t give. “Scattering the seeds, see? Seeds like bombs, to blow a little hole in everything. That’s what I do. To break the locks and doors, tear the walls down. No more guilt. No more bad.” His hands moved on the wallpaper like he was reading all of this. “It’s happened, see? It’s already happened. And you can’t tell. You think it’s how it always was. Only it’s not.”
“Almost done here now,” I said.
“You still think you’re in charge. You think the gods all bow to you.” He waved a hand, sweeping away everything—the rooms, the corridor, the city itself. “The world’s already gone. The gods are free. This thing you’re looking at—it’s props. Stage flats. And I’m the one who did it. I’m the one who let them out. They’re here. Directing everything. Their hands, their voices. What you’re seeing—your world—is just a memory. To them, it ended years ago—”
He was breathing hard. His hands were pressed against the wall, lungs gulping the air. He made a weird, ratcheting sound in his throat.
“I don’t know who’s more crazy,” I said, “you or Ballington.”
I packed the gear away.
“Come on,” I told him. “Get yourself downstairs. Get a drink, for God’s sake. Whatever.” Over my shoulder, I said, “For all I know, the world came to an end ten years back. Who cares? I’ve still got work to do.”
Chapter 63
Thirteen