Mind of My Mind (3 page)

worth the things he did to people.

It was his casually murderous attitude that finally caused her to tire of him, about two

centuries into their relationship. She had turned away from him in disgust when he

murdered a young woman who had borne him the three children he had demanded of her.

For Emma, it had finally been too much.

But, by then, Doro had been a part of her life for too long, had become too important

to her. She could not simply walk away from him, even if he had been willing to let her.

She needed him, but she no longer wanted him. And she no longer wanted to be one of

his people, supporting his butchery. There was only one escape, and she began preparing

herself to take it. She began preparing herself to die.

And Doro, startled, alarmed, began to mend his ways somewhat. He gave her his

word that he would no longer kill breeders who became useless to him. Then he asked

her to live. He came to her, finally, as one human being to another, and asked her not to

leave him. She hadn't left him. He had never commanded her again.

"Will you take the mother and child, Em?"

"Yes. You know I will. Poor things."

"Not so poor if I'm successful."

She made a sound of disgust.

He smiled. "I'll be seeing you more often, too, with the girl living next door."

"Well, that's something." She reached out and took one of Doro's hands between her

own, observing the contrast. His was smooth and soft. The hand of a young man who had

clearly never done any manual labor. Her hands were claws, hard, skinny, with veins and

tendons prominent. She began to fill her hands out, smooth them, straighten the long

fingers until the hands were those of a young woman, attractive in themselves but

incongruous on the ends of withered, ancient arms.

"I wish the child were a boy instead of a girl," she said. "I'm afraid she isn't going to

like me much for a while. At least not until she's old enough to see you clearly."

"I didn't want a boy," he said. "I've had trouble with boys in . . . in the special role I

want her to fill."

"Oh." She wondered how many boy children he had slaughtered as a result of his

trouble.

"I wanted a girl, and I wanted her to be one of the youngest of her generation of

actives. Both those factors will help keep her in line. She'll be less likely to rebel against

my plans for her."

"I think you underestimate young girls," said Emma. She had filled out her arms,

rounding them, making them slender rather than skinny. Now she raised a hand to her

face. She passed her fingers over her forehead and down her cheek. The flesh became

smooth and flawless as she went on speaking. "Although, for this girl's own sake, I hope

you're not underestimating her."

Doro watched her with the interest he had always shown when she reshaped herself.

"I can't understand why you spend so much of your time as an old woman," he said.

She cleared her throat. "I am an old woman." She spoke now in a quiet, youthful

contralto. "And most people are only too glad to leave an ugly old woman alone."

He touched the newly smooth skin of her face, his expression concerned. "You need

this project, Em. Even though you don't want it. I've left you alone too long."

"Not really." She smiled. "I've finally written the trilogy of novels that I was planning

when we lived together last. History. My story. The critics marveled at my realism. My

work is powerful, compelling. I'm a born storyteller."

He laughed. "Hurry and finish reshaping yourself and I'll give you some more

material."

PART ONE

Chapter One

MARY

I was in my bedroom reading a novel when somebody came banging on the door

really loud, like the police. I thought it was the police until I got up, looked out the

window, and saw one of Rina's johns standing there. I wouldn't have bothered to answer,

but the fool was kicking at the door like he wanted to break it in. I went to the kitchen

and got one of our small cast-iron skillets—the size just big enough to hold two eggs.

Then I went to the door. The stupid bastard was drunk.

"Hey," he mumbled. "Where's Rina? Tell Rina I wanna see her."

"Rina's not here, man. Come back around five this evening."

He swayed a little, stared down at me. "I said tell Rina I wanna see her."

"And I said she's not here!" I would have shut the door in his face, but I knew he'd

just start kicking it again unless he managed to understand what I was saying.

"Not here?"

"You got it."

"Well." He narrowed his eyes a little and sort of peered at me. "How about you?"

"Not me, man." I started to shut the door. I hate these scenes, really. The idiot shoved

me and the door out of his way and came on in. That's what I get for being short and

skinny. Ninety-eight pounds. At nineteen, I looked thirteen. Guys got the wrong idea.

"Man, you better get out of here," I warned him. "Come back at five. Rina's the

whore, not me."

"Maybe it's time for you to learn." He stared at me. "What's that you got in your

hand?"

I didn't say anything else. I had done my bit for nonviolence.

"I said what the hell you got in your—"

He lunged toward me. I side-stepped him and bashed his stupid head in. I left him

lying where he fell, got my purse, and went out. Let Rina or Emma see to him.

I didn't know where I was going. I just wanted to get away from the house. I had a

headache, and every now and then I would hear voices—a word, a scream, somebody

crying. Hear them inside my head. Doro said that meant I was close to my change, my

transition. Doro said that was good. I wished I could give him some of the pain and the

craziness of it and let him see how good it was. I felt like hell all the time, and he came

around grinning.

I walked over to Maple Avenue and there was a bus coming. A Los Angeles bus. On

impulse, I got on. Not that there was anything for me in L.A. There wasn't anything for

me anywhere except maybe wherever Doro was. If I was lucky, when Rina and Emma

found that idiot lying in our living room, they would call Doro. They called him

whenever they thought I was about to blow. The way things were now, I was always

about to blow.

I got off the bus in downtown L.A. and went to a drugstore. I didn't remember until I

was inside that the only money I had was bus fare. So I slipped a bottle of aspirin into my

purse and walked out with it. Doro told me a few years ago that he'd beat the hell out of

me if I ever got picked up for stealing. I had been stealing since I was seven years old,

and I had never been caught. I used to steal presents for Rina back when I was still trying

to pretend it meant something that she was my mother. Anyway, now I knew what I was

going to do in L.A. I was going "shopping."

I didn't try very hard, but I got a few things. Got a nice little Sony portable radio—

one of the tiny ones. I just walked out of a discount store with it while the salesman who

had been showing it to me went to stop some kid from pulling down a display of plastic

dishes. Got some perfume. I didn't like the way it smelled though, so I threw it away. I

took four aspirins and my headache kind of dulled down a little. I got a blouse and a

halter and some junky costume jewelry. I threw the jewelry away, too, after I got a better

look at it. Trash. And I got a couple of paperbacks. Always some books. If I didn't have

anything to read, I'd really go crazy.

On my way back to Forsyth, somebody screamed bloody murder inside my head.

Along with that, I felt like I was being hit in the face. Sometimes I got things mixed up. I

couldn't tell what was really happening to me and what I was picking up accidentally

from other people's minds. This time, I was getting onto a bus when it happened, and I

just froze. I had enough control to hold myself there, to not scream or fall on the ground

from the beating I felt like I was taking. But you don't stop half on and half off a bus at

Seventh and Broadway at five in the evening. You could get killed.

I wasn't exactly trampled. I just kept getting shoved out of the way. Somebody

shoved me away from the door of the bus. Other people pushed me out of their way. I

couldn't react. All I could do was hang on, wait it out.

And then it was over. I was barely able to get on the bus before it pulled away. I had

to stand up all the way to Forsyth. I did my best to knock a couple of people down when I

got off.

I didn't want to go home. Even if Rina and Emma had called Doro, he couldn't have

gotten there yet. I didn't want to hear Rina's mouth. But then I started to wonder about the

john—how bad I had hurt him, if maybe he was dead. I decided to go home to see.

There was nothing else to do, anyway. Forsyth is a dead town. Rich people, old

people, mostly white people. Even the southwest side, where we lived, wasn't a ghetto—

or at least not a racial ghetto. It was full of poor bastards from any race you want to

name—all working like hell to get out of there. Except us. Rina had been out, Doro told

me, but she had come back. I never have thought my mother was very bright.

We lived in a corner house—Dell Street and Forsyth Avenue—so I walked home on

the side of Dell Street opposite our house. I wanted to see if there were any police cars

around the corner before I went in. If there had been any, I would have kept going. Doro

would have gotten me out of any trouble I got into, I knew. But then he would have half

killed me. It wasn't worth it.

Rina and Emma were waiting for me. I wasn't surprised. There was this little drama

we had to go through.

Rina: Do you realize you could have killed that man! Do you want us to go to prison!

Emma: Can't you think for once in your life? Why'd you leave him here? Why didn't