Revolution, p.14
(R)Evolution, page 14
“What’s going on?” she asked Donelly standing by the camera.
“You’re taking up a new role,” the other woman said.
Victoria, thoroughly confused, opened her mouth to ask what the hell the woman was talking about. One of the men came around behind her and taped her mouth shut. Then he taped up her free arm and her legs to the wheelchair.
Donelly stepped up to Victoria and looked down into her eyes. Victoria saw the joy and superiority in them. For the first time in a long time, she felt fear for her body and mind.
“Ready to play the victim?” Donelly asked.
Chapter 31
Hughes made good on his promise. He checked out employment at the Nursery and found a job opening. Oddly, it was in sanitation.
“There might be other openings in the future, something more like you were looking for,” Hughes said, “but this was the best I could find. Plus, you have experience.”
“No, no,” Richard said. “This is great. I want to help.”
The supervisor of his division in the Nursery found Richard to be helpful. Not only did he have to keep the rooms and halls sterilized but also clean up after baby accidents. Puke, pee, poop. He saw it all. He took it gently. He never got mad. Richard was so happy surrounded by the babies and the sensitive Killiman and human staff.
Over time, he helped out in other ways. The nurses trusted him to be alone with the babies and they appreciated his experience with the breathing devices he gained during the caravans. They asked him to hold the little souls as they changed the sheets in their cribs. A job he never turned down. A rapture continued to thrust through his heart as he cradled the babies but he learned to stop sobbing.
When he went on the next caravan, the weather was drier and he prepared the babies for transport with little supervision. He understood and manipulated the equipment for the babies perfectly. He felt like a pro.
While walking down Park Avenue back to the Nursery, Rbrt caught up to Richard pushing an equipment cart and patted his human friend on the back.
“I hear you are doing well at your new job,” Rbrt said into his head.
“Yeah,” Richard said, smiling. “It’s great. I like it a lot better than the previous one.”
“Good. You and Goldman are great workers.”
“How’s he doing over there at your place?”
“Well. I don’t have much bartering for him so I trained him on making the breathing devices.”
“Is he a mechanical genius?” Richard asked.
“He just might be. The man has latent talents.”
Richard smiled hard, proud of his friend.
They walked on in silence a moment until Rbrt said, “Richard, I can’t help to sense the sadness in you. Is it your son?”
The word sparked the feeling in Richard. It was true. Since his meeting with Hughes where they observed the adoption interview, he hid a depression. Even though he trusted that his son was cared for, he still missed him and needed to see him.
“Yeah,” Richard said. “I guess it is.”
“As a father, I understand.”
“Do you?” Richard asked, curious.
“Crrl and I had a third child. Between Ptr and Jly.”
“I’m sorry, Rbrt. What happened?”
“She died in its sixth month. Not a day goes by that I wonder about her soul. I hope that she returned in another Killiman or human and she is experiencing happiness. I hope that she is loved. But I ache for the future that was stolen from us. I am confident that I can do better than where she is now.”
“You’re a good father, Rbrt. Your two children love you.”
“Thank you, Richard,” he said.
Another pause.
“I know where your son is,” Rbrt said.
Richard stopped pushing the cart and glared at his friend. Rbrt urged him to keep moving. Richard pushed on.
“What do you mean?” Richard asked.
“I know where he is living with his family. His new family.”
“Is he healthy? Did you see him?”
“No. I did not see him. I know the parents. They used to live in the same apartment building before we moved into the one above my shop. They own a market on the Westside. The mother cares for him and operates a greenhouse where she raises carrots and corn.”
“I’m glad you told me this but I’m also confused,” Richard said. “Hughes told me that there are privacy agreements. The parents are not to be revealed in case the blood parent does something desperate.”
“Yes,” Rbrt said. “I recall a time when one woman from above found out that the child she birthed in prison was here and, in a moment of desperation, she kidnapped it. The baby was safe and returned to the family. There was no violence. Only tears. You see, the agreement also protects the birth parent.”
“So why are you telling me this,” Richard asked. “I already feel tortured. Telling me makes the wound even deeper.”
“I would like to show you your son.”
“You can take me to him?”
“Yes. As one father to another who has suffered a loss. But you have to promise me one thing. You have to promise that you will not reveal who you truly are. You have to promise that you will never approach them or make any kind of contact with them after I show you. I only do this to help you heal and to move on knowing that your son is fine. Do you understand me?”
Richard nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “I understand. I promise.”
Chapter 32
Rbrt and Richard walked across town on a Saturday night. Humans and Killiman filled the streets, stopping into the few stores that were open or crowding around a cart to gather food and supplies. When they turned onto residential blocks, the crowds thinned out and people hung out on their stoops to socialize. A few stoops had musicians playing wind instruments and drums, gaining the attention of many who enjoyed their talent. Children played in the street, occupying their active brains with ball games and chasing each other. This was a standard Saturday night.
They stopped at a black gated park on 20th Street surrounded by brownstones. At one time residents needed a key to open the gate but not anymore. Anyone could use it. And they did. The smaller children wobbled and screamed joyfully as they chased each other or played in the jungle gyms. Fathers and mothers pushed babies and infants on swings. It all made Richard want to cry and mourn the future he was robbed of.
Rbrt tilted his head at his human friend and asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. They were dry. Good. No tears yet. “Um, where is he?”
“You are sure you can do this, my friend,” Rbrt asked. “I do not want to make a mistake.”
Richard nodded, assuring Rbrt that he would fulfill the terms of the agreement. He would not make a scene. He would not swoop in and take his son home.
“Fine,” Rbrt said. “This way.”
They entered the park and blended with the families. Rbrt led them to an empty metal and wood bench.
“Is he here?” Richard asked.
Rbrt held up his finger. His head was still and his eyes were wide and straight. He could be scanning around, the orbs could be moving, but they were so black and glossy Richard couldn’t tell if they were.
“Yes, there they are. On the swings. The second from the left.”
A Killiman father in shorts and an old Ocean Pacific t-shirt gently pushed a child on a swing. The plastic seat was made for a baby, complete with high back support and straps. The toddler, also in shorts and a t, held the chain with one hand as the other flapped in excitement. So many voices were in his head. Parents talking and children playing. He ached to hear his son express himself.
Richard stood. Rbrt grabbed his forearm.
“No,” the Killiman said.
“I only want a closer look,” Richard said, looking into his friend’s black eyes. “I promise.”
Rbrt released his arm but did not return his hand to his lap right away. It took him a moment to decide if he trusted him.
Richard placed his hands into his pockets and pretended to wander around the park. He hoped to appear like he belonged there and not a creep who was after children. Then again, they didn’t have that kind of problem down here. Pedophiles were automatically exiled from below. Everyone was safe.
He circled the swings, keeping a large gap, and peeked at his son and his new father. Yes, the toddler was having fun on the swing. Richard heard his joy in his head, heard the child try to form words to express how happy he was to move through the air. He also saw the mix of orange and yellow scales. His almond-shaped black eyes. The clear plastic mask covered his little mouth but he knew he was smiling. Even though he had no resemblance to Richard and Amelia, he found his son perfect.
A choking feeling caused him to rush back to the bench.
“Are you okay?” Rbrt asked.
“Yes. Just...overwhelmed.”
“Should we leave?”
“Can we stay? A little longer?”
“Yes,” Rbrt said. “We can.”
The father took Richard’s son out of the swing and gave a human toddler and their Killiman mother a chance. He wobbled ahead of his father. With his arms out, his little legs were able to balance his weight and the small water tank on his back. A few times it seemed like the little Killiman was going to fall. His adoptive father behind him jerked forward to scoop him up, prevent him from crashing on the foam surface. But the little boy was a master at walking. He seemed determined.
He also seemed attracted to something. The toddler made his way to the bench. To Rbrt and Richard.
“Be calm,” Rbrt said.
Richard took deep breaths as he held still. Richard’s son stopped between the two men, one hand on each of their knees to support himself. He looked up at Richard. Richard met his blank stare and smiled, trying not to cry.
“I am so sorry,” the father said, chasing after them. “Oh, Rbrt. It’s you. Wow. I haven’t seen you in years.”
“Hello, Sml,” Rbrt said. “Yes, it has been a long time. Is this your son?”
“Yes,” Sml said. “This is Stvn.”
“Hello, Stvn,” Rbrt said.
The toddler ignored him, more interested in Richard.
“This is my good friend Richard,” Rbrt said.
Richard shook the Killiman’s offered hand and told him how nice it was to meet him. Richard said the same.
The two Killiman caught up on family and business, congratulating each others’ success and happiness. All the while, Richard smiled at Stvn and made silly faces. The toddler brought both hands to Richard’s knee for support and jiggled as if laughing. His little mouth slightly stretched into a smile behind the clear mask. Stvn spoke undefinable words. Richard heard the happiness behind them.
“He has taken to you,” Sml said. “He is not usually this friendly with strangers.”
“Oh?” Richard asked.
“We have good instincts,” Rbrt said. “Especially about humans.”
“Yes,” Sml said. “He is developing well. Very healthy and happy. Drives us crazy sometimes but that’s his curiosity. We do our best to feed it. We love him so.”
Richard heard the affection in Sml’s voice. He didn’t doubt it. His son, his beautiful boy, was safe and loved. He trusted this man. He would give Stvn everything he needed. The mother probably would, too. Maybe even more than what Richard could give on his own.
“You are one lucky man,” Richard told Sml, his eyes on Stvn’s.
Sml tilted his head to the side and said, “Thank you, Richard.”
“Um, we should go, Rbrt,” Richard said.
Sml took Stvn’s hand so Richard could stand with Rbrt.
“Yes,” Rbrt said. “It was so good to see you again, Sml.”
“Nice to meet you, Sml,” Richard said.
“We hope to see you again,” Sml said.
Richard nodded, wanting to tell the Killiman that it would never happen, and looked down at Stvn.
“Goodbye, Stvn,” he said.
“G-by,” a little voice said in his head.
Sml laughed.
“Oh! Did he just say Goodbye?”
“I think he did,” Rbrt said.
Sml knelt and took Stvn in his arms.
“You smart little boy,” Sml said. “Was that your first words? I think it was.”
The choking sensation was too intense for Richard. He waved and walked to the park gate. Rbrt followed him. When their feet hit the concrete sidewalk, Richard finally released his tears.
Chapter 33
Mayor Kaufman was peeved. He sat in his chair behind his grand desk. When he arrived that morning, Denise told him that he had meetings and deadlines for his signature today. It was not going to be a good one. But then at 10:12, Denise and Milo Schaper, the young deputy mayor who used to be a famous pop star before Victoria Channel knocked him off the charts, stormed into the office.
Kaufman glared at them, pen in hand, from the piles of laws and contracts he needed to sign in.
“What is this?” Kaufman asked. “Is the intercom broken?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” Schaper said. “But something has come up and it needs your attention.”
Kaufman dropped his pen on the desk, sighed, and leaned back.
“What did those protesters do now?”
Denise, who stood next to Schaper, bit her lip and wrung her manicured hands in worry.
“I don’t think this has anything to do with the protesters or RTL,” Schaper said.
Confusion filled Kaufman’s face. Nothing to do with the thorn in his side? What could be worse than RTL, protesters, and Jane Herz’s bid for mayor?
“Go on,” Kaufman said. “Speak.”
Schaper held up a slab of black plastic shaped like a rectangle and a little bit bigger than his hand.
“We received this in the mail yesterday,” he said. “It was addressed to you and it went through the usual screening procedure. After the first phase was able to view it, they sent it straight up to me.”
“I don’t understand. What the hell is it?”
“It’s a VHS tape.”
“What the hell is a VHS tape?”
“Many generations ago it was used in mass quantity to hold films and other visual mediums on a magnetic tape.”
“So they sent me a movie?”
“Correct, sir.”
“Okay. What’s on it?”
“That’s what I have to show you, sir.”
“Do we even have a VHS player? Just tell me what is on it? Do you even know what is on it?”
“Yes, sir,” Schaper said. “The mailroom borrowed a VCR and television from an antique store last night, curious of what could be on it. We still have the equipment to show you.”
“For Christ’s sake, Schaper. Show me the damn thing. I have so much to do today.”
Schaper nodded and asked Denise to bring in the VCR. She pushed a tall cart in from the other room. The top shelf held an old television that was heavy and huge for the projecting tube inside. On the middle shelf was the VCR, a skinny metal and plastic square with a flapping door for the cassette to enter and operating buttons in the front. The bottom shelf held a battery since none of the office outlets accepted the three prongs the equipment used.
“Ready, sir?” Schaper asked.
“Yes, yes,” Kaufman said.
Schaper pushed the cassette into the VCR and turned on the television. A video played on the screen. Kaufman’s eyes widened in disgust as a voice aggravated his ears and a visual tainted his eyes.
“My God,” Kaufman said when the video ended. “My God.”
Chapter 34
Dick Rocco was exhausted. He stretched out on his bed in his new uptown mansion in Brooklyn. No, he wasn’t able to afford one with a balcony like the one Victoria Channel fell from long ago. And, he wasn’t stupid. He knew how dangerous those things were despite being the badge of wealth and status. No way he was going to take that kind of chance.
Since inheriting Victoria Channel’s money and intellectual property, Rocco led a boring life that craved excitement. He tried every kind of drug, every kind of human and animal orifice, and every kind of scenario to gain those items. At first, his penis and mind were blown. After a few months, he grew numb and wallowed in aching pain afterward.
He also traveled to exotic locations. Many hot spots had domes to block out the real world and the past’s sins against nature. He went to hot island locations in Omaha, ski resorts in Nebraska, and even tried an underground bunker that recreated the nuclear survivalist craze from fifty years ago. Again, the locations were interesting at first but then grew boring.
There in his bedroom, laying on the double-king bed, staring at the blank screen of the television, and listening to the fake exotic birds that chirped and squawked from the speakers, Rocco contemplated suicide as the next step in excitement. No, he wouldn’t die or do it himself. Services offered controlled suicide so that the customer quickly returned to health and life. He discovered one of their spam emails and check out their site. Death-Gasm promised the potential customer that they would perform a suicide of their choice as long as it wasn’t too extreme. If you wanted your head blown off with a shotgun, you had to do it yourself but there was no promise you could come back and tell your friends about the experience. No, the company offered strangulation, artery slicing, suffocation, and other noninvasive, self-afflicting deaths. For a few million more, he could include a sex act that guaranteed orgasm at the moment of death. It was all so tempting.
The gonging of the doorbell broke his concentration. Rocco made no move to rise and answer it. What could be so important that they needed him? A delivery? A district evacuation? Screw them.
The bell rang again.
Now he wished he had servants in the house. He really needed to hire some. The house was huge with classic replicas of old furniture that collected dust instead of butts inside fifty rooms. That reminded him. He needed to have a party. A house warming party. But who could he invite? Former clients from before he only represented Victoria Channel? Or maybe he should invite random people. All of the rich and famous that he ran into during his life. A little get-to-know-you party with a few hundred people. Something small, quaint, and intimate.
