Control (43 page)

“
They died of nightmare. Terror induced by nightmare. Well, little Karen here, when she hears something like that, she suspects the government
’
s involved in some experiments. No proof. Just a hunch, we
’
ll have to wait and see.
”
She looked at
her brother then.
“
Why do
you
think it
’
s the government?
”

“
Just a hunch, we
’
ll have to wait and see. But a crazy monster comes to town. Frank and I go after him, Frank dies, I grab the guy—then a limousine appears and guys in blue suits—really experts—they club me and kidnap the killer. And not only don
’
t the cops care, they cover it up—they
deny
Frank the funeral he should have had. Only one group I know has that kind of power, and that
’
s Washington. Then I get a tip—the killer used to visit a fortune-teller—
”

“
—oh-oh,
”
Karen said.
“
Sounds like the government.
”

“
I go down there, she
’
s gone, I assume dead, because her Seeing Eye dog is sliced up and dying and you would have to be really expert to handle that, because he was no puppy. I find this killer
’
s. name on a piece of paper and Mazursky
’
s name. I visit some people, and this brain invasion idea crops up. Which I am dumb enough to believe. Now why did you say
‘
sounds like the government
’
?
”

“‘
Cause a
real Moonshot Mentality has taken over down there.
”

“
Meaning?
”

“
Remember when Kennedy said we were going to go to the moon because it was this glorious challenge? One of my ex-boyfriends was in the room when that decision was made and it was all cosmetic. Kennedy said he was sick and tired of losing and he wanted something he could be guaranteed a victory over the Russki
e
s. Well, they had no interest in going
to
the moon. There was no reason for sending anyone
to
the moon.
Around
the moon, take pictures—just like we did on Saturn. But the Russians had no equipment on the drawing boards for landing there, so we
had
to beat them. The whole moon program, all those billions, was all bullshit. We wanted to beat the Russians then and now it
’
s taken over again—they
’
ll do anything to get ahead. Psychic investigation is this year
’
s fad. I am sure we have plenty of fortune-tellers on our payroll.
”

“
Such as?
”

“
Well, believe this—we can now take pictures of an empty room and have pretty good success telling who
was
in the room before it was empty. Hell, you and I have been doing thought transference on each other since the cradle. Think of a number.
”

Eric thought of six.

“
Nine,
”
Karen said. Then she said,
“
No, not
nine, six.
”
She looked at him.
“
Right?
”
Eric nodded.
“
Need I mention they
’
re also doing a lot of experimentation with twins?
”

“
What about my happy lady painter killing herself?
”

“
I can ask questions if you
’
d like. I know a lot of people doing a lot of hush-hush stuff they love talking about. They
’
re into bioenergy and precognition and telepathy and telekinesis and there was one shithead professor when I was at Harvard who claimed the wave of the future was controlling reincarnation.
”

“
Then I
’
m not necessarily crazy.
”

“
No, Little—you
are
necessarily crazy, you
’
re just not necessarily wrong
…
”

The sun was threatening to rise when Eric left the Foundation, taxied home. He was bone chilled and bleary when he reached his apartment, unlocked it.

The two men in blue suits were seated quietly, waiting while the third man stared out at the view. Lovely Chagalls, he said, his back to Eric, and Eric waited for the man to turn before agreeing. Now, as he studied the man who looked like Kissinger, as he stared into the blue eyes of Leo Trude, Eric was struck with the absolute conviction that death was going to strike before another dawn.

One of us or both, Eric wondered? If both, it didn
’
t matter much; if one, he wondered which
…

As the nurse with the light brown hair brought him his tray of food, an alarm sounded sharply. Billy Boy watched as the guy in the blue suit standing in the doorway gestured with his gun toward the nurse.
“
That means move it,
”
he said.

The nurse, anxious not to spill the food, continued toward the bed where Billy Boy lay.

“
Move!
”
from the blue suit and the nurse, stung, put the tray down fast, damn near spilled the whole shebang, and turned, hurrying away, and when she was gone and the alarm louder than ever the blue suit closed the door.

But in the activity, Billy Boy didn
’
t hear it lock.

The nurse ran off, the blue suit ran off, the alarm was pulsing now—something was fucked up somewhere in the hospital—and Billy Boy stared at the door. He almost was afraid to test it, afraid to get up and walk across and put his hand on the knob and turn.

Because if it turned, he could be long gone, and that was the only way he
’
d ever get out of this room. This place was different from the one he
’
d wrecked—it was all reenforced and everything was bolted to the ceiling or the walls.

The goddam alarm wouldn
’
t quit.

If he was ever going to make the move, though, it hadda be soon, with all the running outside and the noise, nobody knowing diddledee-shit about what was happening. But if he made the try, if he turned the knob and it was locked, it would mean his bad luck streak was still on. If he just stayed where he was and didn
’
t try, he wouldn
’
t know, and sometimes not knowing was the best.

Still the alarm.

Fuck it. They weren
’
t making a chicken out of him. He shoved
the tray aside, got up, dressed fast, went to the door, took a breath, put his hand on the knob, turned it—

—it opened—

—and the alarm stopped.

What
’
d that mean, what
’
d that mean, did it mean they knew, did it mean they
’
d be after him fast, the guys with the blue suits and the guns, he
’
d get them someday, when he was ready he
’
d get them but this wasn
’
t a good time for him, not a lucky time, and he didn
’
t want to take them on, not now, not until maybe the Duchess had given him a talk, told him he was back on the track again, the world his apple, the Apple his baby and—

—and where to go, where to go, down the hall was good, down the hall, how could you fuck up by going down the hall—?

—it was a long hall though, and a long hall took time, and what if they started coming back?

He risked it, tried this door, locked, that door, locked, ail the goddam doors in the goddam corridor were locked and suddenly he saw the stairs to the roof and that was heaven, this was a top floor, you hit the roof and went across and there had to be a ladder down and heights were no big deal, not for him, he wasn
’
t afraid —
they
’
d never make a chicken out of him
—

—he turned the knob that opened the door that led to the stairs that led to the roof and threw the door open, stopped dead.

It had started to snow.

But that wasn
’
t what stopped him. Hell, a little snow or a lot of snow, he
’
d seen blizzards back home where houses disappeared, where there was just a roof slanting and you knew there had to be something beneath it, a house had to be beneath it, you just couldn
’
t see it, couldn
’
t tell a thing because of the snow. So it wasn
’
t the weather that brought him to a halt. It wasn
’
t the weather that made his fingers twitch.

It was going out on a roof again.

Because the last time,
the last time,
was a downer. The last time he
’
d almost got killed, almost got beat to death by the cop with the blue eyes. He wasn
’
t human was why he could do it, nobody else alive could stand up and take it when he made his hand into a fist and his arm into a club—

—but the blue-eyed cop had taken it, had kept on coming, had almost killed him.

Couldn
’
t be human. Couldn
’
t be real. Must have been something else, a bad dream somehow living, somehow beating him to death on that rooftop.

Billy Boy stared out through the snow. Get rid of those thoughts, bad thoughts can haunt you, can bring you close to crazy, give you nightmares—

—Billy Boy hated it when he got like this, when the heebie-jeebies came, it was all luck, luck would make him fine again, make him brave again—

—not
“
again
”
—

—bullshit to
“
again
”
—

—he was brave
now.

He stepped out onto the roof, looked around. The usual crap, the turret where the elevator went; far across, a ladder, a metal ladder curving over the side and down. Billy Boy let the door close behind him and started for the curving ladder, for the steps down, for a run through the snow, for a talk with the Duchess
…

… now he sensed something. Nobody else would have but he did. Nothing moved, no sound, but he knew, all right, he knew. Slowly he turned toward the turret.

The one with the blue eyes was standing there.

Holding a gun.

Billy Boy stared across toward the ladder, back toward the door and the ladder was freedom, but to get to the ladder he had to go close to the turret and the door was behind him, right behind him, just a quick step behind him. Billy Boy went for the quick step, grabbed the knob.

Locked.

He whirled.

It was a nightmare, it was a nightmare, the cop was coming toward him now, silent in the snow, coming step by quiet step.

And there was murder in his eyes.

Billy Boy tried to run, stopped fast—

—because now the gun was raised. Raised and pointing dead at him. And now the blue eyes were narrowing. Billy Boy could see the tension starting in the trigger finger and he screamed
“
Shit
—
shit don
’
t—don
’
t fucking do it
shiiiiit
!!
”
But
what good did screaming do when it wasn
’
t human, when what was after you was something else, something different, something that if you made your hand into a fist and your arm into a club, it didn
’
t care—

Just then Trude burst through the door hollering,
“
You put that goddam thing down!
”

“
Get away from him. —He
’
s my prisoner—
”

“
—-you get away, he
’
s my patient—
”

“
—this is police business—
”

“
—and this is
government
business, now put that down!—
”

Pause. Then, slowly, as Billy Boy watched, the arm holding the gun went down.

Trude turned.
“
Are you all right?
”

Billy Boy nodded.

The blue suits were on the roof now and Trude was storming at them—
“
—one of you must have left his door unlocked—he could have gotten out no other way—I
’
ll deal with that later, now take him back and calm him, give him food, make him warm—
”
then a wild look of exasperation came over him.
“
Never mind, I will tend him, no one can do anything correct here but me—
”
and he took Billy Boy by the arm, turning back to the cop saying,
“
You go to my office and you stay till I come, you are in a lot of trouble, I promise you.
”
Then he said,
“
Come along, William,
”
and they went back to the room.

“
Why did you try and escape?
”
Trude asked quietly, when they were alone.
“
Because you didn
’
t want to go back anymore?
”

Billy Boy nodded.

“
Well, I
’
m your friend, William, I always have been, but I would never make you suffer pain. I can only protect you if you are my patient. If you don
’
t want to be my patient, you have done bad things, William, people have died. I can handle the police as long as you are mine, but if you want that ended, consider it ended. I
’
ll send the one from the roof here to take you.
”

‘
Ton
keep him away!
”

“
Are you sure? Don
’
t make a hasty decis—
”

“
—the fuck away!
”

“
Whatever you want, William, I
’
ll go deal with him now. You must rest, you must relax. In a few hours, I will need you.
”

Trude
watched as Billy Boy lay back down. Then he left the room, listened as the door locked, went to his office and said,
“
It could hardly have gone better, don
’
t you agree?
”

“
I don
’
t frankly give a shit how it went,
”
Eric said.
“
You got what you wanted, now it
’
s my turn. I want to know what you did to Edith Mazursky.
”

“
What we
tried
to do would be a more accurate way of putting it. We tried an experiment, but we failed.
”

“
I don
’
t think you failed,
”
Eric said.

“
What you think,
”
Leo
Trude
replied,
“
is of titanically little consequence to me. Back at your apartment I told you the gist of what I
’
m doing. William Winslow can reach Theo Duncan. We had hopes of reaching Edith Mazursky.
”

“
With Rosa Gonzales.
”

Trude nodded.
“
An insanely difficult little child. Most of the ultrasensitive we find are children, either chronologically or mentally. And they are impossibly difficult to locate. Most are frauds or insane. You have to take what you can get.
”

“
And you took Rosa Gonzales and tried to get her to control Edith Mazursky.
”

“
That was our intention, but, of course, we never made contact.
”

“
You keep indicating that. Personally, I
’
m kind of titanically sure you
’
re bullshitting me.
”

Trude whirled away, poured himself some coffee, sipped from the steaming cup. Then he said,
“
You
’
re a very arrogant young man.
”

“
Oh boy, is that praise from Caesar.
”

“
You want answers—answers you
’
ll get—but you
’
ll get them only once from me so you
’
d best listen to your elders!
”

Eric listened.

“
Rosa Gonzales
’
s mother went to a fortune teller. She brought Rosa along. The fortune-teller was a lookout for me. She recognized the child
’
s potential sensitivity. The child was brought here and we tried to make contact with the Mazursky woman. Mazursky was of no special interest to us—we had no notions of having her do anything once we controlled her—she was simply the person the Gonzales child connected with, as Billy Boy connects with Duncan. We were just using her, to see what would happen, to see if we could really do what we thought we could. But as I said, nothing worked, we failed, and there is no point to talking any more about Rosa Gonzales, she was a psychotic, dead now, and of no loss to anyone.
”