Night screams, p.16
Night Screams, page 16
Bingo. It was Bob.
“Tell me about small deaths,” she said.
“I told you he was dangerous, but you just—”
“You’ll get your chance to natter on,” Zoe interrupted, “but first I want to know about these small deaths.”
Silence on the line was the only reply.
“I don’t hear a dial tone,” she said, “so I know you’re still there. Talk to me.”
“I . . . Jesus,” Bob said finally.
“Small deaths,” Zoe repeated.
After another long hesitation, she heard Bob sigh. “They’re those pivotal moments in a person’s life that change it forever: a love affair gone wrong, not getting into the right post-graduate program, stealing a car on a dare and getting caught, that kind of thing. They’re the moments that some people brood on forever; right now they could have the most successful marriage or career, but they can’t stop thinking about the past, about what might have happened if things had gone differently.
“It sours their success, makes them bitter. And usually it leads to more small deaths: depression, stress, heavy drinking, or drug use, abusing their spouse or children.”
“What are you saying?” Zoe asked. “That a small death’s like disappointment?”
“More like a pain, a sorrow, an anger. It doesn’t have to be something you do to yourself. Maybe one of your parents died when you were just a kid, or you were abused as a child; that kind of a trauma changes a person forever. You can’t go through such an experience and grow up to be the same person you would have been without it.”
“It sounds like you’re just talking about life,” Zoe said. “It’s got its ups and its downs; to stay sane, you’ve got to take what it hands you. Ride the punches and maybe try to leave the place in a little better shape than it was before you got there.”
What was with this conversation? Zoe thought as she was speaking.
As the No Nuns Here cut came to an end, she queued in a version of Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” by Faster Pussycat.
“Jesus,” Bob said as the song went out over the air. “You really have a death wish, don’t you?”
“Tell me about Gordon Wolfe.”
The man’s voice echoed in her mind as she spoke his name.
I’m the bringer of small deaths.
“What’s he got to do with all of this?” she added.
Remember me the next time you die a little.
“He’s a catalyst for bad luck,” Bob said. “It’s like, being in his company—just being in proximity to him—can bring on a small death. It’s like. . . do you remember that character in the L’il Abner comic strip—the one who always had a cloud hanging over his head. What was his name?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Everywhere he went he brought bad luck.”
“What about him?” Zoe asked.
“Gordon Wolfe’s like that, except you don’t see the cloud. You don’t get any warning at all. I guess the worst thing is that his effects are completely random—unless he happens to take a dislike to you. Then it’s personal.”
“A serial killer of peoples’ hopes,” Zoe said, half-jokingly.
“Exactly.”
“Oh, give me a break.”
“I’m trying to.”
“Yeah, right,” Zoe said. “You feed me a crock of shit and then expect me to—”
“I don’t think he’s human,” Bob said then.
Zoe wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from this conversation—a confession, perhaps, or even just an apology, but it wasn’t this.
“And I don’t think you are, either,” he added.
“Oh, please.”
“Why else do you think he was so attracted to you? He recognized something in you. I’m sure of it.”
Wolfe’s voice was back in her head.
I feel like I should know you.
“I think we’ve taken this about as far as it can go,” Zoe said.
This time she was the one to cut the connection.
The phone’s on-line light immediately lit up once more. She hesitated for a long moment, then brought the handset up to her ear.
“I am not bullshitting you,” Bob said.
“Look, why don’t you take it to the tabloids—they’d eat it up.”
“You don’t think I’ve tried? I’d do anything to see him stopped.”
“Why?”
“Because the world’s tough enough without having something like him wandering through it, randomly shooting down people’s hopes. He’s the father of fear. You know what fear stands for? Fuck Everything And Run. You want a whole world to be like that? People screw up their lives enough on their own; they don’t need a. . . a thing like Wolfe to add to their grief.”
The scariest thing, Zoe realized, was that he really sounded sincere.
“So what am I, then?” she asked. “The mother of hope?”
“I don’t know. But I think you scare him.”
Zoe had to laugh. Wolfe had her so creeped out, she hadn’t even been able to go to her own apartment last night, and Bob thought she was the scary one?
“Look, could we meet somewhere?” Bob said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Somewhere public. Bring along a friend—bring a dozen friends. Face-to-face, I know I can make you understand.”
Zoe thought about it.
“It’s important,” Bob said. “Look at it this way: if I’m a nut, you’ve got nothing to lose except some time. But if I’m right, then you’d really be—how did you put it?—leaving the world in a little better shape than it was before you got there. A lot better shape.”
“Okay,” Zoe said. “Tomorrow noon. I’ll be at the main entrance of the Williamson Street Mall.”
“Great.” Zoe started to hang up, pausing when he added: “And Zoe, cool it with the on-air digs at Wolfe, would you? You don’t want to see him pissed.”
Zoe hung up.
“Your problem,” Hilary said as the two of them sat on the edge of the indoor fountain just inside the main entrance of the Williamson Street Mall, “is that you keep expecting to find a man who’s going to solve all of your problems for you.”
“Of course. Why didn’t I realize that was the problem?”
“You know,” Hilary went on, ignoring Zoe’s sarcasm. “Like who you are, where you’re going, who you want to be.”
Rupert sat on his haunches by Zoe’s knee, head leaning in toward her as she absently played with the hair on the top of his head.
“So what’re you saying?” she asked. “That I should be looking for a woman instead?”
Hilary shook her head. “You’ve got to find yourself first. Everything else’ll follow.”
“I’m not looking for a man.”
“Right.”
“Well, not actively. And besides, what’s that got to do with anything?”
“Everything. You wouldn’t be in this situation, you wouldn’t have all these weird guys coming on to you, if you didn’t exude a kind of confusion about your identity. People pick up on that kind of thing, even if the signals are just subliminal. Look at yourself: You’re a nice normal-looking woman with terrific skin and hair and great posture. The loony squad shouldn’t be hitting on you. Who’s that actor you like so much?”
“Mel Gibson.”
“Guys like him should be hitting on you. Or at least, guys like your idolized version of him. Who knows what Gibson’s really like?”
Over an early breakfast, Zoe had laid out the whole story for her Wend. Hilary had been skeptical about meeting with Bob, but when she realized that Zoe was going to keep the rendezvous, with or without her, she’d allowed herself to be talked into coming along. She’d left work early enough to return to her apartment to wake Zoe and then the two of them had taken the subway over to the mall.
“You think this is all a waste of time, don’t you?” Zoe said.
“Don’t you?”
Zoe shrugged. A young security guard walked by and eyed the three of them, his gaze lingering longest on Rupert, but he didn’t ask them to leave. Maybe he thought Rupert was a seeing-eye dog, Zoe thought. Maybe he just liked the look of Hilary. Most guys did.
Hilary glanced at her watch. “He’s five minutes late. Want to bet he’s a no-show?”
But Zoe wasn’t listening to her. Her gaze was locked on the red-haired man who had just come in off the street.
“What’s the matter?” Hilary asked.
“That’s him—the red-haired guy.”
“I thought you’d never met this Bob.”
“I haven’t,” Zoe said. “That’s Gordon Wolfe.”
Or was it? Wolfe was still decked out like a high roller on the make, but there was something subtly different about him this afternoon. His carriage, his whole body language had changed.
Zoe had a moment of frisson. A long shiver went up her spine. It started out as a low thrum and climbed into a high-pitched, almost piercing note, like Mariah Carey running through all seven of her octaves.
“Hello, Zoe,” Wolfe said as he joined them.
Zoe looked up at him, trying to find a physical difference. It was Wolfe, but it wasn’t. The voice was the same as the one on the phone, but people could change their voices; a good actor could look like an entirely different person just through the use of his body language.
Wolfe glanced at Hilary, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
“You . . . you’re Bob?” Zoe asked.
He nodded. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“You’re twins?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” His gaze flicked to Hilary again. “How much does your friend know?”
“My name’s Hilary, and Zoe’s pretty well filled me in on the whole sorry business.”
“That’s good.”
Hilary shook her head. “No, it isn’t. The whole thing sucks. Why don’t you just pack up your silly game and take it someplace else?”
Rupert stirred by Zoe’s feet. The sharpness in Hilary’s voice and Zoe’s tension brought the rumbling start of a growl to his chest.
“I didn’t start anything,” Bob said. “Keep your anger for someone who deserves it.”
“Like Wolfe,” Zoe said.
Bob nodded.
“Your twin.”
“It’s more like he’s my other half,” Bob said. “We share the same body, except he doesn’t know it. Only I’m aware of the relationship.”
“Jesus, would you give us a break,” Hilary said. “This is about as lame as that episode of—”
Zoe laid a hand on her friend’s knee. “Wait a minute,” she said. “You’re saying Wolfe’s a schizophrene?”
“I’m not sure if that’s technically correct,” Bob replied.
He sat down on the marble floor in front of them. It made for an incongruous image: an obviously well-heeled executive type sitting cross-legged on the floor like some panhandler.
“I just know that there’s two of us in here,” he added, touched a hand to his chest.
“You said you went to the tabloids with this story, didn’t you?” Zoe asked.
“I tried.”
“I can’t believe that they weren’t interested. When you think of the stuff that they do print—”
“Something . . . happened to every reporter I approached. I gave up after the third one.”
“What kind of something?” Hilary asked.
Bob sighed. He lifted a hand and began to count on his fingers. “The first one’s wife died in a freak traffic accident; the second had a miscarriage; the third lost his job in disgrace.”
“That kind of thing just happens,” Zoe said. “It’s awful, but there’s no way you or Wolfe could be to blame for any of it.”
“I’d like to believe you, but I know better.”
“Wait a sec,” Hilary said. “This happened after you talked to these reporters? What’s to stop something from happening to us?”
Zoe glanced at her. “I thought you didn’t believe any of this.”
“I don’t. Do you?”
Zoe just didn’t know anymore. The whole thing sounded preposterous, but she couldn’t shake the nagging possibility that he wasn’t lying to her. It was the complete sincerity with which he—Bob—Wolfe—whatever his name was—spoke that had her mistrusting her logic. Somehow she just couldn’t see that sincerity as being faked. She felt that she was too good a judge of character to be taken in so easily by an act, no matter how good; ludicrous as the situation was, she realized that she’d actually feel better if it was true. At least her judgment wouldn’t he in question, then.
Of course, if Bob was telling the truth, then that changed all the rules. The world could never be the same again.
“I don’t know,” she said finally.
“Yeah, well better safe than sorry,” Hilary said. She turned her attention back to Bob. “Well?” she asked. “Are we in danger?”
“Not at the moment. Zoe negates Wolfe’s abilities.”
“Whoa,” Hilary said. “I can already see where this is going. You want her to be your shadow so that the big bad Wolfe won’t hurt anybody else—right? Jesus, I’ve heard some lame pick-up lines in my time, but this beats them all, hands down.”
“That’s not it at all,” Bob said. “He can’t hurt Zoe, that’s true. And he’s already tried. He’s exerted tremendous amounts of time and energy since last night in making her life miserable and hasn’t seen any success.”
“I don’t know about that,” Zoe said. “I haven’t exactly been having a fun time since I ran into him last night.”
“What I’m worried about,” Bob said, going on as though Zoe hadn’t spoken, “is that he’s now going to turn his attention on her friends.”
“Okay,” Zoe said. “This has gone far enough. I’m going to the cops.”
“I’m not threatening you,” Bob said as she started to stand up. “I’m just warning you.”
“It sounds like a threat to me, pal.”
“I’ve spent years looking for some way to stop Wolfe,” Bob said. The desperation in his eyes held Zoe captive. “You’re the first ray of hope I’ve found in all that time. He’s scared of you.”
“Why? I’m nobody special.”
“I could give you a lecture on how we’re all unique individuals, each important in his or her own way,” Bob said, “but that’s not what we’re talking about here. What you are goes beyond that. In some ways, you and Wolfe are much the same, except where he brings pain into people’s lives, you heal.”
Zoe shook her head. “Oh, please.”
“I don’t think the world is the way we like to think it is,” Bob went on. “I don’t think its one solid world, but many, thousands upon thousands of them—as many as there are people—because each person perceives the world in his or her own way; each lives in his or her own world. Sometimes they connect, for a moment, or more rarely, for a lifetime, but mostly we are alone, each living in our own world, suffering our small deaths.”
“This is stupid,” Zoe said.
But she was still held captive by his sincerity. She heard a kind of mystical backdrop to what he was saying, a breathy sound that reminded her of an LP they had in the station’s library of R. Carlos Nakai playing a traditional Native American flute.
“I believe you’re an easy person to meet,” Bob said. “The kind of person that people are drawn to talk to—especially by those who are confused, or hurt, or lost. You give them hope. You help them heal.”
Zoe continued to shake her head. “I’m not any of that.”
“I’m not so sure he’s wrong,” Hilary said.
Zoe gave her friend a sour look.
“Well, think about it,” Hilary said. “The weird and the wacky are always drawn to you. And that show of yours. There’s no way that Nightnoise should work—it’s just too bizarre a mix. I can’t see head bangers sitting through the opera you play, classical buffs putting up with rap, but they do. It’s the most popular show in its time slot.”
“Yeah, right. Like it’s got so much competition at that hour of the night.”
“That’s just it,” Hilary said. “It does have competition, but people still tune in to you.”
“Not fifteen minutes ago, you were telling me that the reason I get all these weird people coming on to me is because I’m putting out confused vibes.”
Hilary nodded. “I think I was wrong.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“You do help people,” Hilary said. “I’ve seen some of your fan mail, and then there’s all of those people who are constantly calling in. You help them, Zoe. You really do.”
This was just too much for Zoe.
“Why are you saying all of this?” she asked Hilary. “Can’t you hear what it sounds like?”
“I know. It sounds ridiculous. But at the same time, I think it makes its own kind of sense. All those people are turning to you for help. I don’t think they expect you to solve all of their problems; they just want that touch of hope that you give them.”
“I think Wolfe’s asking for your help, too,” Bob said.
“Oh, really?” Zoe said. “And how am I supposed to do that? Find you and him a good shrink?”
“In the old days,” Hilary said, “there were people who could drive out demons just by a laying on of the hands.”
Zoe looked from Hilary to Bob and realized that they were both serious. A smart-ass remark was on the tip of her tongue, but this time she just let it die unspoken.
A surreal quality had taken hold of the afternoon, as though the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields was playing Hendrix, or Captain Beefheart was doing a duet with Tiffany. The light in the mall seemed incandescent. The air was hot on her skin, but she could feel a chill all the way down to the marrow of her bones.
I don’t want this to be real, she realized.
But she knelt down in front of Bob and reached out her hands, laying a palm on either temple.
What now? she thought. Am I supposed to reel off some gibberish to make it sound like a genuine exorcism?
She felt so dumb, she—
The change caught her completely by surprise, stunning her thoughts and the ever-playing sound track that ran through her mind into silence. A tingle like static electricity built up in her fingers.
