The Barrens & Others (40 page)

What could I say? I decided to risk everything.

"I'd like to go on record right now as being opposed to the surgery. At least at this time. I think we should explore other options first. And I'd like to call for a vote."

They all stared at me in shock. I didn't care. I had to stop the surgery – at least until I got my hands on the Whittiers. They were all I could think of. Even if I could only delay the surgery, it would give me time to convince Dina to move up our marriage so that The Joker could make good on his promised wedding gift. After that, I'd push again for the lobotomy.

But when the vote came, mine was the only hand raised in opposition.

SESSION TEN-A

That night I arranged another session with The Joker. I didn't even bother going through the motions of turning on the tape recorder.

"Did you really mean what you said about giving me the other Whittiers as a wedding gift?"

"Of course," The Joker said. "Have you set a date yet?"

I clasped my hands together to keep them from trembling. I'd always been a terrible liar.

"Yes. Tomorrow. We've decided we can't wait any longer. We're getting married before a Justice of the Peace in the morning."

"Really? Congratulations! I'm very happy for you."

"Thank you. So...I was wondering...could you tell me where you've stored those stolen Whittiers? I'll pick them up tonight, if you don't mind."

"No. Of course not. Do you know where Wrightson Street is?"

I could barely contain my excitement.

"No. But I'll find it."

"Here," The Joker said, casually freeing his hands from the restraints and picking up a pencil. "I'll draw you a map."

As he began to draw, I leaned forward. Suddenly his other hand flashed forward. I felt a sting in my neck. As I jerked back I saw the dripping syringe in his hand. I opened my mouth to shout for the guards but the words wouldn't come. A roar like a subway charging into a station filled my ears as everything faded to black.

*

A voice, faraway, calling me through the blackness. I move toward it, and come into the light.

A bizarre, twisted face, half Joker, half normal, floating before me.

"Time to wake up, Doctor Lewis," it says in The Joker's voice. "Time to rise and shine."

I try to speak. My lips feel strange as they move, and the only sounds I can make are garbled, unintelligible.

I try to move, but my hands and feet are cuffed to the chair. I can only sit and watch.

And as I watch, The Joker stares into a mirror and fits pieces of flesh-colored latex over his chin and left cheek. I only see him only in profile, but as each piece is affixed he looks less and like The Joker, and more and more like someone else. Someone I know.

"You gave me some very bad moments there, Doctor Lewis," he says. "For a full twenty-four hours you had me believing I'd misjudged you, underestimated you. Self-doubt is most unpleasant, even in a minuscule dose. I don't know how other people put up with a lifetime of it."

I try again to speak but the result is still gibberish.

"Don't bother," he says. "One of the effects of that injection is a disorganization of the speech centers of the brain. But let me get back to the story of my brief episode of inner turmoil. You see, all through these past few weeks I've been thinking that I had you, really had you. For instance, you kept the Mercedes. I mean, if you'd really wanted to show me up, you could have sold it, bought another old Toyota junker, and given the balance to charity. That would have put me in my place. Same with the engagement ring. Oh, I know I put you in a tough spot then, but if you really had the courage of your convictions, you'd have told the lovely Dina the truth. But you didn't. You were willing to let the very first step of your marriage be a false one. Oh, I was sure I had you."

He pauses as he begins brushing make-up over his latex mask, then continues:

"Then you go storming into the staff conference and drop your bombshell. I was shocked, believe me. A pre-frontal lobotomy, Doctor Lewis? How audacious! It would have worked, I'm sure. I was almost proud of you when I heard. None of the other incompetents here had the brains to think of it, or the guts to suggest it. But you charged right in and told it like it is. I like that. Reminds me of me."

I try to speak again, with the same results.

"What's that?" he says. "You're not like me? Oh, but you are. A while back you took me to task for being indifferent to the consequences of my actions, their tragic effects upon the individuals directly involved and upon society at large. And I told you, quite honestly, that I didn't care. You were so self-righteous. And then what did you go and do? When you discovered that I had something you wanted, you tried to turn the staff away from your 'definitive therapy.' Up to that moment, I'd planned simply to disappear and, as usual, leave you all wondering how. But now I see that you weren't concerned with what was best for society; you weren't concerned with the responsibilities of your position here. You were concerned only with what Doctor Harold Lewis wanted. And you weren't even honest with yourself about it."

He lifts the mirror and holds it before his made-up face as he turns toward me. Hidden behind the mirror, he says,

"See? Didn't I say you were just like me?"

And in the mirror I see the pale, distorted features of The Joker grinning back at me.

Horror rips through me. I try to scream but it's useless.

"That injection contained a non-lethal variation on my tried-and-true Joker venom," he says, staying behind the mirror. "So, besides scrambling your speech areas, it has also pulled your lips into a handsome smile. I've completed the picture by bleaching your skin and dying your hair and fingernails green."

Then he lowers the mirror.

I gasp as I see my own face on The Joker's body.

"How do I look?" he says.

I struggle frantically with the manacles, trying to pull free, trying to break the arms of the chair so I can get my hands around his throat.

"Guards!" he calls. The two uniformed men rush in and The Joker says, "The patient has become violent. I think it best to carry him back to his cell as is, chair and all. I'll order a sedative that will hold him until his surgery tomorrow morning."

The lobotomy! Please, God! Not the lobotomy!

As they drag me from the room, I hear his soft voice behind me.

"And I'll be sure to give Dina your best tonight."

foreword to "Topsy"

Gary Raisor called in October about the anthology he was editing for Dark Harvest. He'd titled it
Obsessions
and that was what it was about: Obsessions. This was his third call this year. Could I contribute?

At that time my major obsession was still
Reprisal
. I'd worked out most of the kinks in the novel and the writing was picking up momentum. I didn't want to lose it. I had no time for a story about an obsession. But Gary's such an engaging guy I told him I'd give it a shot if I found the time.

I went back to
Reprisal
, but frequently found myself distracted by thoughts of food. You see, I had started a strict low fat diet that summer in an effort to drop ten pounds. The diet was working, but I was
hungry
. Always. There were times when all I could think about was food. Eating was gradually becoming… an obsession. I started "Topsy" before the World Fantasy Convention in Seattle and finished it when I returned to Jersey.

The story is written entirely in first person vernacular. That can wear you out if it goes on too long. But "Topsy" is only three thousand words, just the right length.

(Hint: The key to clarity here is to read the words phonetically and
listen
to what you're reading.)

Topsy

I'm inna middle a chewin on dis giant lasagne noodle when Nurse Delores appears.

"Morning, Topsy!" she says as she marches inta da room in her white uniform.

Dey call me Topsy.

Don't ax why dey call me dat. My name's Bruno. But evybody here calls me Topsy.

"Oh, no!" she says. "You've been eating your sheets again!"

I look down an see she's right. My sheets is all chewed up. I guess dat weren't no giant lasagne noodle after all.

God I'm hungry.

"Ready for breakfast?" she says all bright an cheery.

Course
I'm ready for breakfast – I'm
dyin
for breakfast – but I don't say nuttin. Cause what dey call breakfast here ain't. Ain't lunch or dinner neither. Just liquid. Not even a shake. I amember when I useta eat diet shakes. Useta drink ten a dem fa breakfast. An anotha ten fa coffee break. Dey're junk. I neva lost weight on dem. Not once.

But no shakes roun here. Just dis clear glop. An here she comes wit a whole glass of it.

"Here, Topsy. Open your mouth and drink this," she says, all Mary Sunshine poikiness.

If my hands wasn't strapped to da side of da bed I'd grab her an make her drink it herself an see how much
she
likes dat shit.

She tilts da glass toward my lips but I turn away.

"Come on, Topsy," she says. "I know you don't like it, but it's this or nothing."

"No!"

"Come on, Topsy. Do it for Lenore. Don't be mad at me. The protein hydrosylate isn't my idea. It's doctor's orders. And it's working. You're down to twelve hundred and thirty pounds now."

Still I don't open.

"Come on, baby. It's this or go hungry. Open up."

Sometimes she calls me baby, but dat don't make it taste better, believe me.

I open an pretend it's a milk shake. A big double chocolate praline shake laced wit wet walnuts.

Don't help. I gag an wanna barf it all ova da place but manage to choke it down. Gotta. It's all I'll get til lunch. An dat'll only be a salad.

God I'm so hungry.

Dey don't unnerstan aroun here. Don't seemta realize dat I gotta eat. Dey say dey're helpin me by stickin needles in my arms an feedin me teeny bits of veggies an barely a moutful of whole grain sumpin-or-otha an dis liquid protein shit, but dey ain't helpin. Ain't helpin me one bit.

Guy's gotta eat.

Useta be so good when my brotha Sal an his wife Marie was takin care a me. I was happy den. Dat's cause dey unnerstood. Dey knew I hadda eat. Boy could dey cook. No limit, man. Anyting I wanted, it was dere on da bed tray soon as I said.

Dey unnerstood me, know'm sayin?

Breakfast was da best. On regula days Marie'd whip me up a coupla dozen eggs over easy wit a coupla poundsa bacon an lotsa dose spicy Jimmy Dean sausage patties.
Love
dat Jimmy Dean sausage. Den she'd make me a gigantic stack a ten-inch pancakes swimmin in butta an Vermont maple syrup. An on special days, like Satadays an Sundays, she'd go all out an add in a whole platterful a eggs Benedict.
Love
eggs Benedict. All dat Hollandaise sauce over dose poached eggs on English muffins an Canadian bacon. Heaven, man. Absolute heaven.

Mid-mornings dere'd be Entenmann's sugar crumb cake or cheeze babka or my favorite, All Butter French Crumb cake. Or sometimes lox an bagels wit cream cheese an herring in cream sauce.

Neva could tell what lunch was gonna be. Sometimes a coupla family-size buckets of da Colonel's Extra Crispy fried chicken, but most times Sal'd bring me in tree or four sausage an pepperoni pizzas or half a dozen subs from Vinnie's. Da subs were da best, man. Pepper an egg, veal parmesian, Italian delight, an da Kitchen Sink sub wit evyting on it.

Loved
lunch, man.

Mid afternoons I'd do it kinda light. Jus some coffee an a coupla packages a Oreos. Or maybe some Little Debbie Satellite bars. When it was hot, Sal'd get me a gallon a Welsh Farms peanut butter swirl ice cream. He'd mix it up wit a can of Hershey's chocolate syrup an I'd be in heaven, man.

Dinner'd start aroun five cause I couldn't wait no longer. Marie'd cut me up a nice cold antipast while Sal'd broil up a coupla dozen garlic clams oreganata. Den da pasta – a coupla poundsa Marie's super linguine wit white clam sauce, da noodles swimmin in butter an garlic, an da diced clams piled all over da top. Next da fish, usually a coupla tree- or four-pound lobsters or half a dozen pounds a shrimp done up scampi style. After dat, a meat, maybe steak or veal or a nice Krakus ham. For dessert, maybe anotha gallon a da peanut butter swirl or a nice cherry cheesecake, or a coupla peach pies al mode wit some canoli onna side.

My bedtime snack was always candy. Sal'd let me have all da Snickers bars I wanted. He'd buy dem by da case an leave a whole box right by my bed so's I could grab one anytime I got hungry. An let me tell you, I got hungry a lot durin da night. But I neva woke Sal or Marie. I knew dey needed deir sleep. I was a good guy. I hung on an starved till breakfast.