The Silver Ring (9 page)

It was summer and the temperature was stifling and for the past week after work I’d been stopping in for a slushie. The movie theater where I worked was having a promotion with this chain of stores: bring in your ticket stub for a free sixteen ounce soda or slushie. The theater floors always littered with stubs, I figured what the hey and stocked up on ticket stubs.

So I was standing there, a Cherry Coke slushie in one hand and reading a recent headline about Tom Cruise, when the man who’d been in line before me finished his purchase and turned away. The two girls stepped up and threw candy bars down on the counter.

The cashier—a woman named Dorothy, who never seemed to have a night off because I always saw her in here—gave me a look, as if asking,
You mind?

I shrugged, took a sip of my slushie, and reached into my pocket for a ticket stub. I pulled the ticket stub out, rubbed my thumb over the print, and then stepped aside when the two girls shouted “Thank you!” and turned away.

Neither one of them bumped into me as they hurried toward the entrance, an electronic buzzer going
ding-dong
when it opened and closed.

I stepped up to the counter and handed Dorothy my ticket stub.

As she punched some buttons on her screen she asked, “Did you enjoy the movie?”

“It was okay.”

“I’ve been meaning to see it. I’m a huge fan of his.”

“Me too,” I said, trying to remember what movie had been printed on the ticket stub.

“I loved him in that other movie. You know, the one about World War Two?”

I made a face, like I was trying to remember, and then shrugged. “I can’t think of it.”

“Oh well, no big deal. You have a good night now, okay?”

“Thanks. You too.”

That electronic buzzer went
ding-dong
when I left the store and then I just stood there on the curb sipping my slushie.

For the most part the city was quiet. I could hear a siren off in the distance. A few cars passed back and forth on the street.

And across the street, pacing back and forth, was a Hispanic man in a baggy gray hoodie. He kept looking at me, taking nervous drags on his cigarette.

I kept standing there, sipping my slushie. More than once I had the crazy notion of lifting my hand and waving. Maybe I’d yell something like, “Hey, Irving, how’s it hanging?” but maybe not.

Yes, I remembered his name. I remembered everything. That was the silver ring’s deal. I could go back but would be forced to remember all the events of the previous twenty-four hours. The silver ring didn’t seem to care that I would remember. After all, who would believe my story anyway?

Irving didn’t leave his spot across the street. He kept smoking, kept pacing, until a few minutes went by and the police cruiser pulled into the parking lot.

By then I had already finished my slushie. There was a little left in the bottom and I slurped it too fast, causing brain freeze.

The two cops got out of the cruiser. They headed for the entrance. As they walked I glanced across the street and saw Irving already hightailing it down the sidewalk.

“Evening, officers,” I said, opening the door for them.

Officer Titus walked by me without even a glance. Officer Mallory did what was expected and nodded at me and said thanks.

I let the door shut and just stood there for another minute or so. I took a deep breath and let it out. Then I tossed the empty cup in the trashcan and started for home.

30

Dad was standing outside our brownstone. He was talking on his BlackBerry, and when he saw me he turned away and said a few quick words before finishing his call, turning the phone off and slipping it into his pocket.

“Hey there, chief, how’s it going?”

I hadn’t realized it but as I walked down the sidewalk my hands had begun to clench into fists. I’d been thinking about this the entire way here—my dad’s continued infidelity even though he’d promised us he was done and would never do it again.

“Who were you just talking to?”

“Huh?”

“On your BlackBerry”—gesturing toward his pocket—“you were talking to someone when I walked up.”

“Oh, that. That was just business.”

I closed my eyes, took a breath, and unclenched my fists.

“Really? Well that’s good. I mean, as long as it’s just business, me and Mom and Emma have nothing to worry about. It’s not like you would ever … well, you know. I mean, you did promise us it would never happen again. Right?”

He stared back at me, just stared for the longest time. Finally he nodded and said in a very soft voice, “Yeah, that’s right.”

The streetlamps along the block flickered. It was just a small thing, something hardly anybody would notice, but still I glanced around me, then up at the sky, before settling my gaze back on my dad.

“Good,” I said, and started up the steps.

Like before, he didn’t follow me and just stood there, staring down the block.

I let myself in and closed the door behind me.

My mom wheeled herself into the hallway. “Welcome home, honey.”

I leaned down, gave her a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, David. Where’s your father?”

“Still outside on the phone. You know, business.”

“Yes,” she sighed.

Frantic footsteps pattered into the hallway, Emma shouting, “David’s home, David’s home!”

Mom said, “Little Miss Hyper here is ready for bed. Wanna tuck her in for me?”

“Of course.” I turned to my sister and grinned. “I’ll race you to the top.”

She was already turning away and scrambling up the stairs. I waited a few seconds and then hurried after, Mom laughing in that singsong way of hers as she watched us go.

“I win, I win, I win,” Emma cried when she reached the top, jumping up and down.

Of course she did; I always let her win.

Afterword

In 2000, I wrote a 22,000-word novella called 
The Silver Ring
. I was eighteen. I submitted it to a major science fiction and fantasy magazine (I’m sure you can guess which one) and it was rightly rejected. In the rejection letter the editor said it was “ambitious.” He was being too kind. What was ambitious about it was the length. At the time it was the longest thing I had ever written. But it needed work, and I knew it, and so I put it away and didn’t think of it again until the spring of 2009 where I took it back out and rewrote the entire thing. Keeping the main storyline the same, I managed to cut out 4,000 words while adding in almost three times the amount of action.

Thank you for reading
The Silver Ring
. To show my gratitude, I have included a bonus short story: “Blind Insight,” which was published in 2000, the same year I originally wrote this novella. To mark the differences in my writing, I have kept the story the same as it was published, word for word. Enjoy.

BLIND INSIGHT

SUDDENLY
HE AWAKENED
, and found himself in a darkness he never thought could exist. He was lying down and could feel the cold metal of the ship pressing against his body. There was something in his mouth, too, a pair of rather small balls which seemed to be shoved back in his throat. He tried to get up, tried to say something, but those balls denied him the action. He attempted to cough them up, to get rid of them, but they seemed stuck, not moving. With effort, he managed to sit up, and in doing so coughed, swallowing the two balls.

His mouth now clear, he called, “Hello?”

There was no answer, only silence.

Now standing, he reached out in front of him to feel if there was anything in his way. Slowly, he began moving his arms around his body, stretched out as far as he could, hoping to touch a wall, a table, something that might give him an idea of his position.

Carefully, he began walking forward, one slow step in front of the other. His arms were raised before him, and for a moment the idea entered his mind that he might look like a zombie in one of those old horror movies his parents never wanted him to watch when he was a kid. He would stay up late, though, when his parents weren’t home, and watch those classic B movies. Horror movies had always been entertaining, but science fiction was what had directed his life. If it hadn’t been for sci-fi, he never would have wanted to fly in space, and wouldn’t be here now.

But where was here, and when was now?

He couldn’t remember anything. Only that he had been on another mission, just the usual exploration. They had landed this time on a new planet, a rock about the size of Earth’s only moon. Then … well, he couldn’t remember what had happened next. But now here he was, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, blinded by this deep darkness.

It took only a few moments before he finally felt the cold surface of the wall. He began to walk beside it, following it the best he could. The button to turn on the lights was located beside the door somewhere in this room. All the rooms were the same. It seemed that his was the only ship that hadn’t been upgraded with voice-activated lights.

He continued to make his way to the right, both hands flat on the wall. He began to wonder which room he was in, why everything was so silent and still, when his foot struck something on the ground.

“Whoa,” he said, catching his balance. He slowly reached down to feel what he had almost tripped over. It felt as if someone had misplaced their zero gravity suit. The material was the same—at least it felt the same—but there was more to it than just the suit. It seemed to have substance, too.

He leaned a little closer, moving his hand upward. It was definitely someone’s zero gravity suit, but …

“Jesus Christ!” he said suddenly, as he felt the body. This wasn’t just a suit left forgotten on the floor. There was someone in it.

He was breathing quickly now, his breath rigid from the scare. Without thinking, he nudged the person, hoping to awaken them. But he knew it was no good even before he realized there would be no movement or answer. Whoever this was—Mark, Eric, Wayne, or Jenny—they were no longer in the world of the living.

He let out a deep sigh of regret and thought about what he should do—nothing like this had ever happened to him before—and decided it would be a good idea to close the person’s eyes if they weren’t already. Sure, why not? He had seen it done plenty of times in movies after someone had died with a blank stare. The eyes were always closed by someone else, to leave them in peace.

I should do that, too, he thought briefly, as he slowly moved his hand over the cold, still face. He could feel the chin, the rough feel of stubble, and quickly decided this body was anyone’s but Jenny’s. She was one of the pilots, along with Eric. Mark was the navigator, and Wayne was everything else—expect captain; that was his job.

“Poor soul,” he whispered. His hand traced over the man’s nose, then up to his eyes. Feeling for the eyelids, he moved his hand slowly … and realized with sudden terror that this man had no eyes. The sockets were hollow, and for just an instant his own fingers probed, sliding easily back toward what was left of the dead man’s brain.

He gasped, took a step back, his mouth open in a silent scream. He could feel his heart racing, beating like it never had before, and suddenly he wanted to sit down and be alone, just wanted to forget about everything. How easy it would be for him to simply do that, but he knew he couldn’t. Obviously something had happened when they landed on this planet, something that wasn’t good. He thought again about calling out for someone but decided against it.

Doing so might lead whatever had taken this dead man’s eyes to him, and he did not want that. Instead, he made his way blindly around the body, feeling for the wall, and moved again to the right, in search of the button for the lights.

As he moved he thought about the dead body, about how it would feel to die himself. He didn’t think he would feel much pain if it happened. Ever since that one mission a few years ago when he had gotten his central nervous system damaged he could no longer feel pain. He was able to push himself harder than almost anyone—or anything else. Sometimes it was a blessing, but it did have its drawbacks. Luckily for him he was rarely aware of what they were.

Finally, after about a minute, his hand came in contact with a familiar button which turned on the lights. For a moment he did not see who was dead behind him. He was afraid to look into the face, into the face of a now dead friend, and see both eyes missing. In addition, his imagination began to play, to speculate what else might be missing from the body. If the eyes were gone, what else might possibly have been taken?