The Grand Ballast (42 page)

“
I don’t know anything
about the end of love.”

Kilroy pressed the point of
the knife harder into Bode’s skin. “Because there is no end.
Nothing can be created or destroyed. So time doesn’t move forward.
There are many worlds, and we exist in all of them, in different
permutations.

“
There
are worlds where I am always holding you, and we are always
dancing. Worlds where you are all the things that, in this world,
you have yet to be. There are worlds where you haven’t met me. But
you know I’m there. You can’t rest in those places, because every
time you try, the knowledge of me puts spurs to your
heart.
That
, I think, is love. The ability to feel that you have been
waiting for
this
moment,
this
meeting of souls, when in fact time is a web, not a line. And
your love is just infinite mummified versions of you. Cocoons
caught in the threads.” He dragged the blade lightly down Bode’s
chin and pushed the point against Bode’s throat.

“
What are you waiting for?”
Bode asked. He was trembling, but he didn’t feel afraid. “Just do
it.”

Kilroy stared, not at
Bode, but at the blade. “I have always felt small. But I can be
neither created nor destroyed, and I will always be here, mattering
quietly.
”

Bode raised a shaking hand.
Cupped Kilroy’s jaw. Kilroy stiffened but didn’t move. Just met
Bode’s gaze and held it. “I know what love is,” Bode said, putting
all of his certainty into the words. “It’s nothing like what you’re
saying.”

Kilroy’s jaw quivered.
“Then what is it?”

Bode leaned forward, moving
his head slightly so that the knife was no longer touching him. He
rested his chin on Kilroy’s shoulder and gave a shuddering sigh.
Kilroy’s arm came up, hesitantly, and wrapped around Bode’s waist.
Bode held Kilroy for a moment, the weight, the smell of him
exquisitely familiar.

“
Two bodies,” Bode murmured
into the warm skin, reaching up and grabbing the knife in a smooth,
easy movement. He pulled Kilroy hard against him and plunged the
knife into his back. “Jammed together.”

Kilroy made a barking
sound—a sharp, dark yelp. His head tipped back, his mouth falling
open. Bode struggled to hold him up. Shoved the knife deeper, then
pulled it out and let go, allowing the noose to take Kilroy’s full
weight.

Kilroy grunted,
shuddering.

A second later, he was
upright, holding Bode by the throat, and he twisted the arm that
held the knife until Bode’s fingers sprang apart like the petals of
a blossom. He snatched the blade and attempted a careless, furious
slash that just missed Bode’s temple.

Kilroy and Bode grappled.
Kilroy continued choking Bode with one hand and used the other to
force the blade steadily closer to Bode’s neck. His face was dark
with fury, the rope still wrapped around his neck. Bode clasped
Kilroy’s knife arm, trying to hold it back, but he was losing
strength.

Sibyata, always the spider,
staggered upright as if in a trance, her long legs sliding over the
coffin lip. She slipped the blade from her breast as easily as
removing an earring and crept silently to Kilroy. Bode made a soft
noise of pain as Kilroy’s fingers pulsed against his throat,
teasing him with moments of air.

Kilroy didn’t turn, but Bode thought he
knew. Sibyata gripped the rope and started to climb above Kilroy,
blood pouring down the front of her dress. She tossed her knife
into the air and caught it between the toes of her left foot.
Reached down and plucked the second blade from Kilroy’s hand,
gripping it between the toes of her right foot.

Kilroy gazed upward. Before he could turn,
Sibyata threw her legs over his shoulders, twin blades gleaning
between her toes. She straightened her knees then bent them
suddenly, slamming both blades into Kilroy’s chest.

Kilroy’s blue eyes went wide. Color
disappeared from his face, and he jerked on the end of the rope,
burbling. He kept hold of Bode, even as blood swept in bold patches
across the front of his jacket.

Sibyata let out a triumphant whoop. Then she
lifted her chin and gave a series of short cries. “C’mon!” she
shouted. “”C’mon, angel-y things!” She patted Kilroy’s head as
Kilroy clutched at the handles of the knives, blood dribbling from
his mouth.

A moment later, the steps
outside creaked and Kayak crawled into the car and crab walked
across the floor. He reached Kilroy and wrapped his contorted legs
around him from behind. Wrenched Kilroy around and pulled him down
to his knees. As Bode watched, too terrified to move, Kayak bent
nearly in half, took Kilroy’s head between his knees, and
dislocated his jaw with a loud
crack
.

Kilroy’s body twitched. Bode wanted to look
away, wanted to run, but the door to the coffin car was blocked.
Roulette entered, then the snake charmer, and they piled on,
tearing at Kilroy’s clothes. Kilroy’s head flopped to one side, his
tongue hanging slack between broken jaws.

Then Harold, the mechanical snake, slithered
in. The snake charmer held the remote control and operated it with
a wan, dreamy smile. Kilroy gasped bloodily and swatted at air as
the snake wound itself around his legs and midsection then started
to squeeze.

Look away.

Help him.

Look away.

Kilroy’s face seemed to tremble. The snake
squeezed harder, and Kilroy’s eyes bulged until the vessels burst
and the whites were flooded with red.

Bode crawled for the door. The others were
chanting, cheering. Bode collapsed down the steps of the car,
crawling on his hands and knees, trying to banish the grisly scene.
He took in gulps of the cold air, and had just reached the end of
the train when someone grabbed him around the waist and hauled him
up.

“
I don’t think so.” Mr.
Lein’s breath smelled like trash and cotton candy, and he was
wearing the milk jug cap again. His voice was almost wistful, as
though he held a prize he knew would never be as grand as he’d
hoped. “No, I don’t think so. You’ll stay with me now.”

None of the pack tearing into Kilroy in the
car noticed, even when Bode shouted.

Lein leaned forward and held Bode closer.
“I’ve been waiting too long.” He bit Bode’s earlobe and tugged.

Bode fought, but in the end, Lein dragged
Bode back onto the train.

IN THE RAT KING’S DEN

Bode knelt in a nest of trash.

Chip bags, fry cartons, grease-stained wax
paper. Ticket stubs and wadded posters. Detergent boxes. Used
tissues and a curly orange wig with half a cookie stuck in it. His
hands were bound behind him with rope. Mr. Lein stood over him,
breathing harshly. He had pink burn scars on one side of his face
and on his arm.

Bode didn’t want to move, didn’t want to
fight, didn’t want to see death ever again. He wanted to dream and
he wanted the Haze and he wanted a stage and the pleasure and power
of performing. From the coffin car next door came yips and howls.
Mr. Lein put on some smooth jazz.

Bode imagined he was underwater. Chained
underwater, and no longer struggling.

“
Ladies and gentlemen. The
Boy of the Water in his last…act…on Earth!”

He smiled. He was floating now, and Valen
was with him. Their arms were around each other as they drifted
through webs of sunlight in the clear blue water. Mr. Lein put his
hand on Bode’s head, and Bode imagined the hand was Valen’s.

“
Now we’ll get some quality
time together,” Lein whispered.

Something slammed against the car door.
Once, twice. Bode opened his eyes. Two more times and the wood
splintered and the door flew open. Valen stood there, his skin and
clothes streaked with dirt, the side of his shirt stained red, a
gun at his side. He pointed it at Lein.

“
Let him go.”

Mr. Lein shook his head.
“No.” He ran a hand down Bode’s cheek, loving and possessive, as
though Bode were the fender of a fine car. “No, this
always
happens to
m—”

Valen shot his milk jug cap off.

Lein took a step back. Valen approached and
brought the butt of the gun down hard on Lein’s head. Lein swayed
for a second then dropped into a mountain of tissues. Valen shot
him in the head.

Bode jumped, stifling a cry.

Valen went to Bode and cut the ropes with a
small blade. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

Bode couldn’t answer. He stared at Lein’s
body.

Valen helped him to his feet and half
dragged, half carried him out of the car and down the steps. Bode’s
legs buckled. Valen caught him and eased him to the grass. Bode
looked up, trying to focus on Valen, trying to breathe around the
sharp pain in his chest. “You’re…are you really here?”

“
Yes.” Valen looked down at
Bode with the expression Bode had always longed to see from
audiences when he danced. Like the world too much and not enough at
once. “Did you think I’d let you go? You think I’ll ever let you go
again, you fucking bastard?”

Bode gazed blankly at him, and Valen brushed
the hair from Bode’s eyes. Bode glanced toward the coffin car.
Kilroy’s blood flowed through the doorway, dripping off the
steps.

Valen followed his gaze then turned back to
Bode. “No. Don’t you waste another thought on him. You’re going to
be okay.”

Outside a strange bird called, a sound like
a dry chuckle. Bode squeezed Valen’s wrist until pain shot through
his own body. “I—I—” His cheeks were suddenly slick with tears. “I
want my mom.” His voice broke, and then he was sobbing so hard his
whole body hurt with it. He clung to Valen, his tears mixing with
the grit on Valen’s skin. “I j-just want my m-mom.”

“
It’s going to be okay,”
Valen promised. “You need to be strong just a little longer. All
right?”

I never
was
.

“
Bode,” Valen whispered.
“Please?”

Bode caught his breath. He let Valen help
him to his feet.

“
Dee’s waiting with a car.
We followed you as soon as we could, but we lost you for a little
while. I’m so sorry we didn’t get here sooner.”

Bode let Valen lead him across the gravel
and out into open space. They walked until they came to a road. A
pair of headlights waited for them.

Bode wondered where the others had gone when
they’d finished with Kilroy. He pictured them—loud, broken animals
scuffling across the plain. Curled up together later in a den like
foxes, blood on their muzzles, their breath gentle and
coppery-smelling against one another’s faces.

They drove for a long time. Valen sat in the
backseat and looked after him. Touched him without fear, soothing
each wound and sitting guard all night, no matter that their danger
was dead.

9.

THE FORGIVEN
LIFE

They didn’t go back to Harkville, and they
never found out what had become of Horse Leg or Hedda or any of the
others. Bode wanted it that way. Wished to forget, or to never have
known, or to remember differently.

Valen and Bode stayed with members of the
network for a little while before settling in a quiet neighborhood
in the center of the country—no desert, plenty of sun, and mild
winters. Valen let Bode be in charge of picking out a house. Two
stories, yellow brick with white shutters. The number in gold on
the porch railing.

The backyard was small and craggy with mole
tunnels, and the garden hadn’t been tended in a long while. Bode
worried that Valen hated the place. That someone like Valen would
want a lair in a dangerous, colorful city. Or else would want to
sleep beneath the stars. That this home, this gentle place, would
feel like a cage to him.

Bode saw in the news that there were new
regulations in place for X-shows. Belvedere Farm, Kilroy Ballast’s
grisly death at the hands of his own performers—no mention of
Bode—and a couple of other “liberations” had called more attention
to the brutal conditions under which many X-show performers lived
and worked. The riots had kept on until the government completed a
swift intervention. Bode showed Valen the article, but neither of
them said much about it. Nobody ever came to question Bode about
his role in the fire, or in Kilroy’s death.

Some nights they fucked clumsily, and some
nights they were in tune, their pleasure intense and unstoppable.
Some nights they listened to storms, and some days seemed lived by
their ghosts while they watched. Bode wondered if it would be so
bad to exist as his parents had—placid and peaceful and bored by
every flower, every star, every dream. Watching colors spin inside
glass, or clicking needles together. Passing time through
repetition.

Instead he and Valen were
restless. They had nightmares, and they laughed at the wrong
things. They were both startled by loud sounds and persistent
shadows. But those were the moments they felt closest, when they
noticed each other’s confusion and fear and recognized it as their
own. When Bode reached shyly for Valen and they clung, or kissed
each other to sleep. When Bode felt Valen’s anger and offered a
promise to counter that fury.
I will be
good to you. No matter what
.

They mattered together. They mattered when
they fucked, when they ate sitting across from each other with
their knees touching under the table. When one of them imitated the
howling wind until they both laughed. Bode wanted a quiet home, but
he didn’t want to disappear. Sometimes, when he walked outside, he
felt people staring. Wondered if they’d seen him in the ring, his
body jerked into broken angles as it became everybody’s gift, night
after night.