Resurrection (Eden Book 3) (8 page)

“Nobody minds,” Billy assured her. “Thanks Troi.”

Without another word, Troi turned and walked to the end of the hall and the nurses’ station there. The indistinct conversation of nurses floated to them.

“Okay, now remember,” warned Evan, “these guys are pretty out there. The doctors think the one guy, in the bed, has the worst case of plague anyone has ever seen.
Ever
. And, honestly, I think they’re right.”

“We’ve seen plague, Ev,” said Riley.

“Not like this you haven’t. The other guy, well, he’s autistic. But the two of them, they’re friends okay?”

“Okay,” the brother and sister answered in tandem.

“All right then.” Evan led the way into the room. His description of the man and his state had been horrific, and yet it was still not been enough to prepare Anthony and Riley for what they saw when they entered the hospital room and looked past the autistic man in the chair and the white-gowned doctor standing by the bed.

“Oh…” Anthony put a hand over his mouth. He turned from the figure in the bed and walked out of the room.

Riley followed him into the hall a few moments later.

“You gonna be okay, Ant?”

The man in there, Riley thought, he was bad off, but she had seen worse. When Riley was training in the Defense Forces, there had been an accident—a malfunction—and a helicopter had crashed into a crowd. Body parts and machine components were scattered all over the place. Riley and her squad had been the first responders to the scene.

So she had seen the raw ugliness of death and dying up close. The carnage of that helicopter accident—
that
had been the most horrible thing she had ever seen firsthand. But Riley had to admit that the man in the bed…well, he was a close second.

“Ant. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” Anthony looked at his sister. There was a look on his face like he was disappointed in himself. “You know.”

“I know.” She did. “You don’t have to go back in there if you don’t want to.”

“No, no.” Anthony was resolved. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

He thought about why he was even here in the first place. He thought Evan had better have a damned good reason to want to show him this. Evan wasn’t the type of friend, or even the type of guy, who would have invited Anthony along solely because he had back stage passes to this freak show.

He steeled himself and walked past his sister, back into the room. He focused on all the other details of the place, except for the bed and the thing in it. He thought if he did so, he could zone out and ignore the obvious horror lying there—the man oozing fluids into a blanket of gauze.

Evan stood off to the side, near the doctor. He clutched a small pad of paper and a pen. He was watching Anthony and, Anthony saw, his friend was also watching Riley. It registered then for Anthony that maybe his friend had feelings for his sister. He wondered if this were true, and how he had never noticed it before.

The autistic man was at the bedside, just as Evan had described. The man sat in his chair with his legs drawn up, knees to his chest. He had a hand up close to his face, and looked like he was picking invisible hairs off his knuckles as he rocked back and forth to a rhythm only he was aware of.

A movie played on the telescreen on the wall. “He’s with us till he shows us he’s against us,” Colin Keith-Johnston’s Tunstall was saying of Paul Newman’s William Bonney.

The doctor considered Anthony, then remarked to Evan. “You were right.” The comment was lost on Anthony, who found himself the object of the doctor’s following question. “I’m Dr. Rheem. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Is he…”

“He comes and goes.” Doctor Rheem apprised the man’s conscious state for the two newcomers.

“Doesn’t look like he’s here now,” Riley said.

“Mickey?” Evan called out to the man. “Can you hear me?”

Anthony agreed with her. “How can he live like
that
?”

“This man’s condition,” offered Doctor Rheem, “is what some of my colleagues would call a medical miracle.”

“A medical miracle?” Riley scoffed. “Damn.”

Anthony noticed the array of tubes plugged into the man’s bare limbs, his arms and legs largely denuded of flesh. What wasn’t raw and watery was blistery and folded in on itself. Various equipment around the bed hummed, and lights flashed intermittently.

The autistic guy murmured something.

“What’s he saying?” Riley asked the doctor.

“Something about numbers.”

“…eight-two-nine-six. Six and two is eight, and eight is one less than nine, and what’s between six and eight, seven. Nine minus two is seven and eight minus two is six, two sixes, there are two sixes…”

Anthony and Riley both looked at the doctor, but Rheem had no answer. Evan scribbled in his note pad. “I’ve been writing down what he says.” He offered by way of explanation. “There has to be a pattern—something.”

“What is this?” Riley indicated the movie on the telescreen.

“We don’t know,” said Evan. “Something called
The Left Handed Gun
. They came in with it. He—” Evan indicated the autistic man “—had it.”

“Oh, Mortimer…” The man on the bed spoke. “We have visitors…”

Anthony almost took a step back, but forced himself to stand there, staring down at Mickey. The guy’s eyes were unfocused and milky. They looked like they were swimming around in his head.

“Mortimer—is that his name?” Riley asked Doctor Rheem about the autistic man.

“No, that’s not my name.” The man did not look up as he plucked another hair from his knuckles. “I’m Gary. You know, like the Gary Shandling Show.”

“Then who’s Mortimer?” Anthony wondered aloud.

“Die for the people, Mortimer!” Mickey cried out. Then he whispered, as though confidentially, “He’s an expert on death scenes, you know.”

“What’s he talking about?”

“He just does that sometimes.” Rheem looked sad. “He’s mostly quiet, but then he’ll blurt out something incoherent.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” said Evan.

Gary hummed a tune.

“It makes sense to him.” Anthony nodded as Mickey continued his harangue.

“Mortimer…Mickey’s rival.” The rotting man sounded amused. “
Oh my
. Who would Minnie choose? Who do they always choose? Best ask Breathed, or maybe Opus to consider his Magnum. Oh Mortimer, your ear…who bit you? Ask Opus…Opus will know. Live is life?” He posed this last as a question. “Well, then certainly…na-na, na-na-na.
Ack
. That damned cat…” Mickey continued to babble incoherently.

“Wait—that part there, that’s from a song.” Riley turned to Evan. “You writing this down?”

“As fast as I can.”

“What am I humming?” Gary asked, but no one answered him. “This is the theme to Gary’s show, the opening theme to Gary’s show…”

“And I think he was talking about Mickey and Minnie Mouse there,” suggested Anthony. “That whole Disney thing.”

“So maybe its not just random patter?” said Rheem. “Maybe whatever he’s saying refers to actual things? Real things?”

“Things that
were
real,” said Evan, as he scribbled furiously to get it all down.

Riley looked sadly upon the man in the bed. “Real to him.”

“How old is this guy?” Anthony asked Rheem.

“Hard to tell. The plague…we’ve never seen anyone like this. Ever. The amount of skin he’s lost, he shouldn’t be here.”

“Come on.” Evan admonished, looking up from his notepad. “Don’t talk that way in front of him.”

Anthony looked down on the man and felt despondent. “What has he been through?”

“What has he seen?” Riley leaned down towards him. “What have you seen, mister?” She forced herself to breath through her mouth. They had cleaned the guy up as best they could, but he still stunk like rotting meat.

Mickey’s eyes locked on her. “I have seen things none of you would believe…attack ships ablaze off Orion…I’ve watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the …all those moments to be lost in time, like tears…”

“He’s quoting something again, isn’t he?” Riley looked from the doctor to Evan. She asked Mickey directly, “Are you quoting something?”

Mickey laughed, the effort sending extra pus oozing out of his skin.

“Proud of yourself, little woman? This is for Phil. Crack.
Ouch
!” The man feigned pain as it played out in his mind—some scene known only to himself.

“He’s quoting
Blade Runner
.” Anthony shook his head in disbelief. “I show that movie in class.”

Riley looked at him for an explanation.

“We read Philip Dick’s book and watch the movie.”

Riley looked at the doctor. “So he is quoting movies. Is everything this guy says from a movie?”

Rheem spoke to Evan. “Try showing him the picture.”

Evan placed his notebook and pen on top of one of the pieces of medical equipment, then opened the notebook and pulled a photograph from it.

“Hey, that’s ours.” Gary stopped rocking and eyed the photograph in Evan’s hand. “Where’d you get that?”

“You gave it to me. Remember?”

“You know…” Gary remarked to Anthony without making eye contact. “You look like that guy. Are you that guy? That’s silly. How could you be that guy? That’s silly, right?”

Evan handed the picture to Anthony. Riley stood next to her brother, looking over his shoulder. They both stared at the man and woman in the picture.

“That’s right,” agreed Evan. “Silly.”

“That’s you, little brother.”

Anthony didn’t understand it. The man in the picture did look like him.
Just
like him. It was uncanny.

“Evan, where…”

Evan indicated the man on the bed.

Anthony looked at Mickey warily before taking a step closer to his bedside and holding the snapshot up. “Who was this guy?”

“Smokey, my friend…” Mickey shifted his eyes to the picture Anthony held and focused. “You are entering a world of pain…”

Anthony leaned in closer, his face above the picture. “Where did you get this?”

“Harris…” Mickey uttered as a look of recognition swept across the exposed muscle and sinew of his face.

“Harris?” Riley asked aloud.

“Who’s Harris?”

“Oh, Harris, it is you…” Mickey quivered. “I never thought I’d see you again, but here you are—here we are.” He whispered to Anthony, “
Where
are we Harris?”

“He thinks he knows him,” Evan whispered to Riley.

“Who is the man in this picture?” Anthony asked again.

“Harris. It’s Harris. My god—you’re Harris.”

“My name isn’t Harris, mister. It’s Anthony.”

“Anthony. Silly-silly-bo-billy, banana-fanna-go-filly, me-my-mo-Anthony—” Mickey paused before expelling this last word of his apparent song: “
Anthony
! No. That doesn’t work.”

“Who is Harris, mister? Mister?”

“He thinks
you’re
Harris.” Gary reached up and rubbed the sides of his curly head briskly before returning to the imaginary hairs on his knuckles.

“Harris was the best of us,” said Mickey. “Harris was pure.”

“Sounds like Harris isn’t around anymore.” Evan said to Riley.

Doctor Rheem excused himself, promising to return momentarily.

“Listen!” hissed Mickey. “He made a mistake…it was a mistake!”

“Who made a mistake?” Anthony furrowed his brow, trying to understand. “Did Harris make a mistake?”

“Ask Bear, ask Bear!”

“Bear?” Anthony queried.

“Ask the bear?” Evan wondered.

“Ask Bear!”

“Write that down,” Riley told Evan.

“Already did.”

“Was Yogi Bear that much smarter than the average bear?” Gary rocked back and forth at the waist again. “I mean, how could you tell?”

“Do you know this
Bear
?” Riley asked Gary.

“Of course I know Bear. He was smarter than Yogi. Boo Boo too.”

Riley squatted down next to Gary. She reached out to touch his shoulder, and he jerked himself back. She pulled her hand away, only then remembering what she knew about autistic people—that many of them did not like being touched.

“I’m sorry. Gary? Who is this guy Bear?”

“Heavens to Murgatroyd!” Mickey blurted.

“Gotta watch out for Mergatroid…” Gary warned, never once looking Riley in the face. “You don’t want to meet Mergatroid. What is it about Mergatroid?” Gary seemed to turn his attention to Mickey. “Yeah, well Peter Potamus has been everywhere, flying through the air—”

Mickey interrupted his friend with, “Over hill and under hill the banana buggies go-go-go!”

“They’re talking to each other?” Riley stood up.

“They do this sometimes,” said Evan.

“What are they talking about?” Anthony wondered aloud.

“Who knows…” Riley had to admit the whole thing with the photo was a bit unsettling. She thought it’d be best if she got herself and Anthony out of this room pretty soon.

“They obviously do.” Evan wasn’t writing in his pad any longer.

“I hate you meeces to pieces.” Gary had a mischievous look on his face.

“Muttley, you snickering, floppy-eared hound—stop that pigeon!”

Gary looked upset. “Daws Butler didn’t voice Dick Dastardly!”

“These guys…” This was madness, thought Riley.

“I wonder what’s going on in there.” Anthony pointed to his head.

Mickey saw him do it. “The man is clear in his mind…” he quoted, “but his soul is mad…”

“Is he talking about himself?” Riley wondered.

“Where is Bear, mister?” Anthony thought he’d give it one more shot.

“Do you know where Bear is?” Riley turned to Gary.

“Do I know where Bear is? Of course I know where Bear is. Why wouldn’t I know where Bear is?”

“Where is he?”

“He’s where Bear is. That’s where Bear is.”

“Where’s Bear?” Anthony asked Mickey.

“Wait,” said Mickey. “Listen.”

Everyone stopped and listened.

There was the steady hum of the medical equipment, and whatever was being said on the telescreen.

“What are they going to say about him?” Mickey recited from memory. “That he was a
kind
man? Man, he wasn’t a kind man…”

“Bear?” Riley mouthed the word to her brother and Anthony shrugged.

“…that he was a
wise
man? That he had
plans
, man? That he had moxie? Brio? That’s bullshit, man…”