It was a good dream. The moon was full and bloated, hanging like a dripping raindrop above the golden arches that illuminated his face and its twisted maniacal grin. His eyes glowed radiantly. His nostrils breathed in the moist smell of Big Mac’s and curly fries. He chuckled at the distorted faces of fear on the other side of the glass. They were greasy, marked by pimples and blackheads, braces and hickies. They were the faces he would lick clean when he had finished. His heart raced at the thought. Licking their faces had always been his favorite part. He closed his eyes and imagined the taste, sweet and pure, of grease and french fries on his tongue as it ran over the rough terrain of their cheeks, temples, and chins. He stepped menacingly toward them, pulling open the glass door, feeling the rush of cool air escaping the confines of the tiled foyer.
Oh to be that air. To dance and float above their heads all day. To be breathed into their bodies and scratched from their skin. To bubble and dance with the oil in the fry vats. To listen to the Muzak that issued forth from invisible speakers. To hide in the folded boxes of unused Happy Meals. That was the secret joy behind his mangling.
As he stepped inside, the cool air he so longed to join rushed against his warm skin in a last-ditch effort to flee and mingle with the air outside. The thirteen or so teenage employees stepped back, their pale and oh-so-lickable faces swollen with horror.
“That’s right, kiddies,” he chuckled. “It’s time to mangle!”
“SHUT UP, MANGLER!” growled a voice that melted his dream, washing it down the drain, replacing the pock-marked faces of the frightened youths and the cool air with darkness and the clang of a cell door being slammed shut.
The Mangler opened his eyes. His tattered cape was wrapped tightly around him. It smelled faintly of McChicken sandwiches and stale sweat. He grunted awake and rolled over to see the guard standing at his door.
“Brought ya a treat, Mangler,” the guard sneered. He looked away from the criminal and through the bars of the next cell, a cell that had been empty until two minutes before. “Go easy on him.”
The Mangler sat up, shaking away the last remnants of his dream.
“This better be good, Kurzowski,” he growled.
The guard grinned. “Oh, I think you’ll like this. I think you’ll like it a lot.” And with that, he turned and walked back down the dark hallway from which he had come.
The Mangler rubbed his eyes and peered into the darkness of the next cell. His scowl was replaced with a grin that started in the corners of his mouth and spread across the rest of his face. What he saw was a man, huddled on a cot, his knees drawn up against his chest, a ripped cape in shreds over his shoulders. The darkness was thick, but not so thick as to conceal the cuts and bruises around the man’s eyes, or the line of blood that still trickled from the corner of his mouth.
The Mangler jumped to his feet.
“Well hello! Imagine seeing you here.” He chuckled.
The figure did not respond.
“Cat got your tongue? Was it that purple cat? The one that belonged to that freak bitch friend of yours?”
Still no response.
The Mangler sat back down. He cracked his knuckles. “Still not talking, huh? Well that’s okay. We got lots of time. I have a feeling we’ll get to know each other real well. Real well indeed!”
And still, SuperCurt did not speak.
Major Abbot-Cabezal pulled the blinds on the moon and turned his attention back to the glowing computer screen. Chewing on the corner of his chapped lip, he reread the last lines he had written and rested his fingers lightly on the edge of the keyboard. Damn moon, he thought. Breaks my concentration every time.
Where had he been? Oh yes! There had been a fight that night. A good one. PoloGuy had yelled at Little Ruth again. He hadn’t heard all of it, but he had heard PoloGuy talking to Reiber afterward.
“She was upside down again, Reiber,” PoloGuy had squealed, barely containing his rage. Hidden in the air duct, the Major was able to see drops of Polo trickling down the villain’s face.
Reiber sighed. “I told you! Some things cannot be erased or blocked. There are some things that are instinctual, things that go far beyond our understanding of the brain and the way it works. They’re ingrained, as much a part of the individual as their fingers and toes.”
PoloGuy said nothing for a moment. He just stared at the captain.
“I’ve tried. And I’ve tried again. But I’m afraid that if I do much more work on her, her brain won’t be able to handle it. I’m afraid that we’ll just have to let it go. If she wants to sleep upside down, let her. What harm is it doing?”
PoloGuy erupted with rage. “ ‘Cause it’s weird, that’s why! She looks like a fucking bat! And it scares the hell out of me! It’s not natural, Reiber!”
Reiber sat down wearily. He ran his hands through his hair. “Sir, pardon me, but there’s nothing natural about any of this.”
The Major finished typing the transcript of the conversation and turned off the computer.
So, she sleeps like a bat, he thought.
A bat is nothing more than a mouse with wings, he thought.
If you clip those wings, you can step on the mouse, he thought.
Jason Stone crushed out an Old Gold and flipped off the computer. The room filled with darkness and smoke that swirled in layers amid the moonlight streaming through the open window. He leaned back in his chair and smiled to himself.
“So, she’s sleeping upside down, is she?” he said softly to the walls.
When the moon had finally completed her journey across the sky and dreams were nestled safely back in their hiding places, the sun came up with a brilliance not known since the very first set of golden arches had been lit. Not that the Mangler would have known the sun was up at all. The lights in the prison were turned on by a switch and a horn sounded the start of each new day. There were no singing birds or blossoming flowers in the depths of Arkham Asylum.
When Officer Petrechio made the first rounds of his shift, he found SuperCurt standing at the door of his cell, his fingers clutched tightly around the thick iron bars. How many criminals had he seen standing in that familiar pose, their faces lifeless and vacant, their knuckles white as bone? he wondered.
Petrechio, a pleasant man under circumstances such as family reunions and neighborhood picnics, donned his stern, “I’m-the-guard; -you’re-the-prisoner” look when he saw the fallen hero watching him. His jaw tightened and the muscles in his thick neck quivered. He flexed his biceps and pectorals once for appearances sake.
“I’d like to talk to someone,” SuperCurt said softly, the sound of defeat heavy in his voice.
“Yeah, I’m sure you would!” Petrechio slapped his Billy Club against the bars causing SuperCurt to pulls his fingers away. “And I’ve got some things I’d like to say to the Pope!”
“The Pope! Ha! The Pope! That was a good one!” The Mangler laughed hysterically from his cell.
“Shut up, Mangler!” Petrechio hissed. He stopped in front of SuperCurt’s cell and eyed the hero curiously. Yup, they had roughed him up all right. One of his eyes was badly bruised and his lip was cracked. Someone had even shredded his cape. He fought back the urge to shake his head in pity. Petrechio knew full well, better than most men, that SuperCurt could easily have dispatched the entire police force and flown off before an alarm could be have been sounded. He had witnessed the hero on several occasions, most notably the final battle with the GFH. He had admired SuperCurt for years, eventually joining the police force to serve alongside the hero. He even owned a SuperCurt spandex suit and cape his girlfriend had made him for their special nights alone together. How shocked and sad he had been yesterday (was it only yesterday, he thought. Seemed like years. He’d been glued in front of the t.v. for hours, switching channels back and forth between news of SuperCurt’s alleged crimes and the much hyped car chase of OJ Simpson) to learn that the man he most admired was the most dangerous man in Pocatello.
“What can I do for you?” he asked the hero softly. “Can I get ya anything?”
SuperCurt came forward again. He swallowed hard, suppressing the pain that came each time he breathed.
“I’d like to talk to someone.”
“Your lawyer?” Petrechio asked.
SuperCurt shook his head. “No. A lawyer can’t do anything to help me. No lawyer is that good. I want to talk to Jason Stone.”
Norman Stanishlowski hadn’t slept. He’d sat awake all night, thumbing through old photos of RuthAnne. First he had gone through their wedding album, smiling at the pictures of his bride standing beside him, Petunia her only maid of honor. The cat was sitting at her feet, a ring of lilacs fastened around her neck. In another picture, the cat was sitting on RuthAnne’s shoulder as she and Norman cut their cake. In yet another, Petunia had caught the bouquet. There was no doubting it, the cat had a thing for cameras..
Petunia had sat awake most of the night as well. For one thing, she didn’t trust that damn monkey as far as she could throw it. And besides, it smelled bad. For another thing, the moon was full. It lit up the entire valley. Norman’s home sat on a hill overlooking the city and from her vantage point on the window-sill, she could see The Source. And somewhere inside, probably sleeping upside down, she thought, was the only person in the world who loved her.
Salisbury had watched t.v. for a long time, whimpering each time the screen showed SuperCurt. Once or twice he had reached out to stroke his strangely dressed friend, but his curling fingers touched only staticky glass. Norman had tried to feed him a banana, but the monkey had rejected it. Instead, he crawled inside the cupboard under the sink, feasted on a handful of Armor All, chased it down with a swig of Windex, and fell fast asleep. Had he known Norman was giving himself small doses of ether from a tank he kept in the closet, he would have joined him.
Norman had been sniffing ether every night since RuthAnne had vanished. It was the only way he could sleep, not like he was getting enough of that anyway. He didn’t mind that it boggled his mind somewhat, or the giggles that usually overcame him. As a matter of fact, he’d giggled right through the pictures of their honeymoon in Mexico, and especially the one with Petunia wearing that sombrero RuthAnne had bought her.
He was awake but heavily gassed when the phone rang. Petunia leapt from the window sill and into his lap. Norman jumped up, spilling pictures onto the floor. The monkey chittered and burped from somewhere in the kitchen. Groggily he reached for the phone and put it to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Doctor, it’s me,” came Jason Stone’s voice from the receiver.
“What’s happened? Is there a problem?” Norman was immediately coherent.
“There’s always a problem, Doctor. You should know that by now.” Norman could hear the reporter inhaling the smoke from a cigarette. He’s probably squinting, too, Norman thought.
“Doctor, there’s been an interesting development this morning.”
Norman was frantic. “Is RuthAnne...Little Ruth...I mean, is she okay?”
“None of this is ‘okay,’ Doctor. Your wife won’t be ‘okay’ unless we can figure out what PoloGuy has done to her. But don’t worry about that. I’ve got people looking into that matter even as we speak. I called to ask you a question, Doctor. I’m hoping your answer will provide us with some information on your wife’s present condition.”
“Yes, anything! I’ll tell you anything!” he cried.
Jason Stone inhaled again. “Did your wife have any unusual sleeping habits, Doctor?”
“Unusual sleeping habits? I don’t understand!”
“Leave the understanding to me. Did you ever notice anything strange about her behavior while she slept?”
Norman racked his brain. Sleeping habits? He couldn’t think. He didn’t know what the reporter was talking about. RuthAnne had been perfectly normal in sleep. As a matter of fact, she’d slept like a rock. Once or twice she’d had nightmares, but she refused to talk about them. And on more than one occasion he’d found her hanging from the steel bar in the closet. But that was normal, wasn’t it? Didn’t everybody do that?
“Can you think of anything? Anything at all, Doctor?”
Norman panicked. “No, not a thing. Sometimes she hummed ‘Purple Haze’ in her sleep. And so what if I found her hanging in the closet a couple of times. She said it was good for her back. But no, nothing unusual, Mister Stone.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Mister Stone?”
“I’m here, Doctor. Upside down, you say? Hmmm,” he pondered while Norman waited. “That’s what I needed to know. Thank you, Doctor. I have a meeting at noon. I want you to meet me at that warehouse I took you to yesterday. Do you remember how to get there?”
“Yes, but I thought you said to forget...”
He was cut off. “That’s not important now, Doctor. Just be there at two o’clock. I may have some news for you. Good-bye.” And with that, Jason Stone hung up, leaving Norman to wonder what his wife’s sleeping habits had to do with anything.
“With one hero dead and buried and another locked behind bars, the world is left to wonder what the next step in this game of cat and mouse will be. As PoloGuy has promised to erase the horrible taste of SuperCurt from this saddened community, and replace it with the smell of wine and Polo, this slightly Hawaiian reporter must wonder, is this the end or the beginning of an era. Tedd Ahu reporting at the grave of Zephyr. Back to you, John.”
Before the screen switched from the live remote transmission back to the studio, PoloGuy threw the remote control at the television. The screen went blank. He jumped to his feet.
“Ha! Who’s the greasiest? I’m the greasiest...” he sang and danced in front of Anarchy, who was watching him from the couch where he had been playing Tetris on his Gameboy.
“Ya know, man, that Tedd Ahu guy doesn’t even look Hawaiian. He looks Mexican or something. Maybe Indian, but he ain’t no Hawaiian,” Anarchy said. “Ya think he’s Italian?”
“It doesn’t matter what he is! All that matters is that I’m winning! Ha! And Ribald once said I’d never amount to anything. Look where he is: crushed under two tons of neon titties! And I finally got SuperCurt! He’s all mine!” The villain continued to jump up and down, his cape flapping crazily back and forth.
“So what next?” Anarchy asked.
PoloGuy stopped dead in his tracks. “Next?”
Anarchy nodded. “Yeah, what’s next?”
Pologuy thought for a moment. “Next, the world witnesses the downfall of SuperCurt and the triumph of PoloGuy!” He could hardly contain the squeal that was building in his gut. He shrieked joyously and started dancing again. “Nothing can save SuperCurt. Not even the world’s greatest lawyer!”
Jason Stone struck a match and held it to the end of an Old Gold. The tobacco caught fire as a lazy line of smoke drifted up toward the ceiling. He inhaled deeply, squinting his eyes as SuperCurt was led into the visitor room. He would have stood and shook his hand if it weren’t for the thick wall of plexiglass that separated them. Small holes were cut into the glass to allow for conversation.
When the escort had left them alone, Jason Stone leaned forward and examined the hero’s battered face.
“Looks like they got you pretty good.”
SuperCurt nodded. “I feel like Rodney King without a camcorder, Mister Stone.” He managed a thin smile. “Doesn’t matter, though, I guess. Nothing matters much anymore.”
Jason Stone didn’t say anything.
“Listen, Mister Stone, you’re probably wondering why I called you here...”
The reporter inhaled and exhaled smoke. “I know why. You called me here because yesterday you trusted me enough to turn yourself in. And today you want to know what I know and what we can do to expose the real threat to this city.”
“Yeah, that too, I guess. Although I was kinda hoping you could get me an autographed picture of Connie Chung to hang in my cell. I figure I’m gonna be here awhile.”
“SuperCurt, if we act quickly, you won’t need that eight by ten glossy at all. We must work together.”
“Real shame she’s married to that Maury Povich guy, don’cha think?” he asked.
Jason Stone nodded. “She’s a fine woman, SuperCurt. But we need to hurry. I’ve heard the Attorney General wants to push this case through the courts fast. They don’t want a lot of problems from the public.”
SuperCurt nodded. He leaned forward, nearly pressing his face against the glass. God, he’s got big nostrils, thought Jason Stone.
“Mister Stone, you and I both know that none of those things were my fault. That film footage was completely fixed. I was trying to put an end to Anarchy’s drug use. I’ve never said a word to Ed Jones. I didn’t even know he had a wife and kids. I always thought he was gay. I built The Source to help the community, to bring Little Ruth back. Maybe that’s the only crime I committed. I heard a voice. It said, “Build it and she will come.” Maybe if I had left well enough alone, none of this would’ve happened. Maybe Pocatello would still be safe. Maybe PoloGuy would still be behind bars. Maybe L.R. would still be missing and the world would be a better place. Maybe the Bulls could have gone to the championships a fourth time. Maybe this whole Whitewater scandal would have blown over.”
“There are only so many maybes and so much time, SuperCurt,” Jason Stone told him. “I know what they’ve done to Little Ruth. I also know that you’ve been framed. Maybe, and this is the most important ‘maybe’ of all, just maybe, if we work together, we can get you out of this mess.”
SuperCurt frowned. “What about Little Ruth? Will we be able to save her too?”
Jason Stone sighed. “Maybe.” He watched the hero put his head down on the table.
“I’m just so tired,” SuperCurt mumbled. “So...so tired.”
And then Jason Stone remembered the question he had come to ask. “SuperCurt, this is very important. When you and Little Ruth were partners, did you ever notice anything strange about her sleeping habits?”
SuperCurt sat up. He thought for a moment. “Sleeping habits? I don’t think she chewed her nails in bed or anything. She always had such nice nails. Painted ‘em black. Took real good care of them. Is that what you mean?”
He shook his head. “No. What I mean is, when you knew her, did she sleep upside down? Did she hang from things when she slept?”
The hero scratched his head. “Come to think of it, she did.”
The song had been there last night when PoloGuy had stomped into her room screaming about the fact that she slept upside down. It ran through her head even as they argued.
“Why do you do it? You’ve got to stop! I order you to stop!” He screamed, stamping his foot on the floor, stubbing his toe in the process.
She remained calm. There was no emotion in her voice. “I don’t know why I do it.”
“It’s just so weird. Have you always done it?” He pulled his foot up to his chest, rubbing his toe.
When he looked up at her he lost his balance and fell to the floor.
“I don’t remember,” she said. She wasn’t even really listening to him. It was the song that had her attention.
“L.R., no more! I mean it! No more warnings! After all I’ve done for you! I take you in and make you something special! You’re nothing without me and I won’t tolerate this sleeping upside down in the closet thing anymore! Enough!” He was picking at a small hole that had appeared in the foot of his tights. “Shoot! These are new tights!”
What was the voice in her head? What were the words?
“all my instincts, they return”
What did that mean? The words remained after her leader had left the room, slamming the door behind him, catching his fingers in the lock. She heard him stomp down the hall, whining and crying. She had climbed into the bed, feeling her body fight itself.
When she awoke, she was upside down in the closet.
The song was still running through her head.
“I reach out from the inside”
“She did?” Scott asked. His ear was pressed against the phone. The rest of the group, along with Norman, was circled around him.
“She did? She did what?” Norman asked. He knew that Scott was speaking to Jason Stone, who had just wrapped up a meeting with SuperCurt.
“That’s just as I suspected,” Scott sat down at the computer and began typing things into it at a rapid pace. Norman leaned over his shoulder to see what was being written. Jennifer slid in front of him, blocking out his view. Norman shrugged and waited for Scott to explain.
Scott listened, occasionally nodding his head. “Yeah, sure. He’ll be here when you got here.....Nice work today, boss,” and he hung up the phone.
“What happened? What did he find out?” Norman asked frantically. “You’ve got to tell me. She’s my wife! What did SuperCurt say?”
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Get yourself on some Prozac, Doctor, and off the melodrama. It’s killing you!”
“Well,” Scott began but was interrupted by a loud laugh coming from Chank’s cubicle. They all wheeled around to see him.
“What’s so funny, guy?” Scott asked.
Chank sputtered a couple of times and then got himself under control. “News just came in on the wire. PoloGuy was trying to sew up the toe of his costume and he broke a tooth on the needle!” He laughed again. “Chipped it real bad!”
Scott smiled. “Did they feed you that or did it come on the AP wire?”
Chank typed something and nodded. “It’s on the wire.”
“You say he chipped a tooth?” Jennifer asked. A smile appeared on her face. “I guess it’s nothing, but it’s just really funny! What a moron! How could you chip your tooth on a needle?”
Scott shrugged and then spoke up. “Doctor, Stone said that SuperCurt confirms that Little Ruth...” he caught himself. “Your wife... slept upside down when he knew her. And that means...” he suddenly stopped and looked around the room. Norman was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey, where’s the little guy?”
They all turned and looked at the empty warehouse. No Norman.
“I guess he left,” Jennifer said.
Scott shook his head. “Stone isn’t gonna be happy.”
By the time Norman was outside, the plan was nothing more than a growing cloud, dense and ripe with color. He fumbled in his pocket for the keys, his hands shaking with pounding excitement. By the time he was inside and the car was started, the plan was had become solid and dense. Once out on the open road, a warm breeze blowing through his hair, the plan was a speeding bowling ball of fire on a path headed straight to The Source.
The Mangler watched SuperCurt carefully. Not once the entire day had the fallen super person talked. The silence coming from his cell was as heavy as dinner at John Candy’s. The Mangler paced. Sometimes he talked. Once he sang “Greensleeves” and tried to whistle, “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?.” The Mangler taunted. He pouted. He waxed philosophical. Eventually he gave up. It was no use. SuperCurt wasn’t speakin’.
“Hey bub,” he called. SuperCurt looked up at him. The Mangler smiled and sat on the end of his cot. “I know how ya feel. They beat me up pretty bad when I first got here.” He bit his lip nervously, thinking that for an instant, it tasted like Chicken McNuggets. “It ain’t so bad once ya get use to it,” he continued. “Kinda grows on ya. An’ the people, they’re okay. Bark is worse than their bite, if ya know what I mean. There’s one guy, a real crazy fella. Calls himself Rocko. He’s a mean one. Gotta stay away from him. You might wanna ditch that cape, too. Rocko, he don’t like capes. Me, I can wear it ‘cause they know I’m bad. Don’t call me Mangler Man for nothing, ya know. But you, you sent half these guys here in the first place. You’re not careful, they’re gonna wanna pay you a visit, and I don’t mean tea and cakes either. Maybe a knuckle san’wich.” The Mangler thought that last bit was funny and began to giggle.
When the moment ceased to be funny, he went on. He could see that SuperCurt was listening intently. “I’m just telling ya so ya can be on the look out. Don’t get no ideas that we’re friends now or nothin’. You put me here, too ya know. An’ as much as I’ve gotten use to it, nothin’ beats a little fresh air and sunshine. Nighttime ain’t so bad neither. Do some of my best work under cover of the moon.”
SuperCurt looked back down at his boots.
Rocko? he thought. Doesn’t sound good.
Norman stopped at home and grabbed a small bag he kept hidden in the back of his closet. He opened it up and spilled the contents onto the floor. There were four large dental needles, a scraper tool, a portable drill, a small mirrored instrument, and one vile of novocaine. Nodding silently to himself, he opened a drawer in his desk and searched until he found another small tube with a clear liquid inside.
“This should do the trick.” He shook the vile, watching as the liquid splashed back and forth inside the glass. “Just a little of this and PoloGuy won’t be long for this world.” He smiled gleefully and was about to leave when he remembered the ether.
He reached for the mask and placed it firmly over his mouth and nose. With a quick twist of a handle, a cool stream of ether spilled into his lungs. Tastes like mint, he thought, breathing in deeply. When he felt his ears tingle, he turned it off and went back to loading the black bag and its lethal contents.
When Jason Stone pulled into the dusty parking lot outside the warehouse, a group of his secret workers were waiting in the doorway for him. Barely had the match touched the tip of an Old Gold, hardly had his eyes begun to squint, when the group burst forward.
“We’ve got a problem boss.”
“Bad news, Chief.”
“You’re not gonna like this one, sir.”
Without saying a word, he entered the cool warehouse. His shoes hardly made a sound on the rough floor. He approached the computer center where Scott and Chank were typing furiously.
When Stone approached, they stopped and looked up at him.
God, he’s cool, thought Scott.
God, is he cool, thought Chank.
God, I’m cool, thought Jason Stone.
“What’cha got for me, Scott?” He cocked his head to one side. He inhaled deeply and exhaled.
“You really should try to cut back. Those things are gonna kill ya,” Scott said.
Jason Stone nodded. “Not if my job doesn’t first,” he replied coolly.
“Boss, the Doctor ran out on us.” Chank stepped forward with the information. He paused waiting to see the reporter’s reaction. There was none. “You see, I was monitoring the wire when something came up about PoloGuy chipping his tooth while trying to sew up his costume. Well, we all thought it was pretty funny, but the Doctor took off like he had something on his mind.” Still there was no response from Stone. Chank frowned and stepped back toward his monitor.
“Hmmm.” Jason Stone said.
“I see,” he said.
“Of course,” he said.
Finally he said, “Keep your eye on the wire. Let me know the minute something comes up on the good Doctor.”
A moment later, the phone rang. The shrill ring broke the tense silence of the nearly empty warehouse. Jennifer jumped to grab it. After a minute, she held the receiver out to her boss.
“It’s him,” she said.
“Mister Stone, it’s me, Norman,” Norman held the cellular phone against his shoulder as he drove the car toward The Source. It was late afternoon and the sun was beating down on the streets. The inside of the car felt like a sauna.
“How are you, Doctor?”
“Stone, I’ve got a plan!”
“So did I, Doctor.”
“Listen Stone, don’t talk me out of this. I may not be able to save RuthAnne...Little Ruth...I might not be able to save her, but I can get rid of PoloGuy once and for all.” His voice was shrill and high pitched with excitement. “Maybe without him around, she’ll come to her senses.”
“Or maybe she’ll destroy you and the good people of this community,” Stone offered.
“That’s a chance I’ve got to take, Mister Stone. I can’t live like this, knowing that that monster has ruined my life and the life of my wife.” Tears started to well up in his eyes. “Dammit, I’ve been sitting back like some damsel in distress, waiting for the sheriff to ride up and pull me out of the path of a speeding train. I’ve got to take charge. If the shoe was on the other foot, RuthAnne would do the same for me.”
“Are you so sure of that, Doctor?” he asked. “You must remember that your wife, RuthAnne as you knew her, is dead. Today I discovered that there may still be a small part of goodness and normalcy left inside her. Right now your wife is a creature of loyalty and instinct. She knows nothing else. But we’ve got to count on her instincts. I need your help for this, Doctor.”
There was silence for a moment. Stone could hear only the sound of the car moving toward what may be its final destination.
“Mister Stone,” Norman sobbed. “I’m sorry. But I’ve got to do it my way.” And with that, he hung up.
“He’s going to kill PoloGuy,” Jason Stone said, turning quickly toward the door. “I can’t allow that. Not yet.” Quick, like a cat in the rain, he slipped into his car and started the engine. Scott, Jennifer, and Chank had followed him outside to await their orders.
Their leader stared up at him. “I’m going to try to stop him before he brings the wrath of Little Ruth, Juggernaut, and Anarchy down on this city. If I’m not back in two hours, you know what to do. Start the back up and get out of here. Do you understand?”
They each nodded.
“Good.” He revved the engine and roared out of the parking lot, leaving a cloud of dust behind.
Norman climbed out of the car and stared up at the enormous structure. Aside from having been designed for environmental purposes, The Source was also appealing to the eye. There had been nothing ugly about it until recently. Now, what had once seemed natural and hopeful, now looked dark and despairing. He shivered as he pulled the bag off the seat. Tucking it under his arm he reminded himself that his wife was inside. He closed the door and walked across the parking lot.
His feet felt heavy, as if two giant hams had been strapped to his shoes. Or maybe that was just the ether. Good thing I brought along a little extra in that portable tank RuthAnne got me last Christmas. Thinking of her again caused his palms to sweat until he was forced to wipe them on the front of his pants.
Slowly he climbed the stairs, oblivious to the fact that there had been a platform here only yesterday. He approached a large marine standing guard at the entrance.
“Excuse me, I need to see PoloGuy.”
“Who sent you?” the marine grunted.
“No one sent me, exactly. I’m a dentist. I heard that PoloGuy chipped his tooth. I thought perhaps I might be of some assistance.” Although his heart was thudding loudly in his ears, he was surprised at the calm of his voice. He glanced across the parking lot and saw a familiar car turning into the gates.
Little Ruth walked back and forth in the gigantic control room of The Source. A hundred television screens lit the room in a strange, almost smokey light. Marines in dark green jumpsuits sat at control boards, pushing buttons, pulling levers, playing Donkey Kong. Little Ruth’s boots clicked loudly with each step she took. Her eyes, too, scanned the screens, taking in images of various locations around the plant.
She stopped suddenly in front of a television that showed the main entrance of the building. A little man was standing there, talking to Strauss, the guard on duty.
“Turn up the sound,” she said. Almost immediately, Norman’s voice could be heard.
“I’m sure he could use the help. I brought my things with me. And best of all, I won’t charge a penny. On the house. You could call it a, uh, a... a token of gratitude for exposing SuperCurt.” He grinned hard, hoping the guard would see the possible reward for letting him in. “Just think of how grateful he’ll be to you. This could mean a promotion.”
Little Ruth smiled. “Tell Strauss to let him in. I want to see this dentist myself.”
The technician picked up a phone. On the screen, Strauss turned away from Norman and picked up a phone that was built into the wall.
“Let him in.”
The speeding car was coming closer.
Norman bounced on the balls of his feet. A trickle of sweat dripped down his temple. He turned away from the parking lot and back to the guard. A second later, he hung up the phone.
“You’ve been granted permission,” he said simply. Norman sighed. From deep within the walls, came the sound of heavy machinery, like gears grinding together. The door began to slide open.
Jason Stone’s car came to a stop a few feet beyond the steps. Norman could see the glow of a cigarette inside. He could feel Stone watching him.
“Sheesh, big door ya got there. Does it always take this long to open?” His eyes never left the car. The door opened. Norman saw a shoe touch the pavement.
“We gotta be careful around here, Doc. The boss don’t like surprises. ‘Course, if there was one, Little Ruth would take of it. Sharp as a hawk, that one. Nothin’ gets past her!”
And then, thankfully, the door was open enough for Norman to squeeze through. He pushed his way inside, until he felt a tug on his arm. He wheeled around, expecting to discover Jason Stone. Instead, his little black bag had caught on something. He gave it a yank and pulled free just as the door started to slam shut.
God! Takes forever to open, but watch out when that baby closes, he thought. He turned just in time to see the outside world fading into a small crack of light and Jason Stone walking quickly up the steps.
It must have been three stories high. He looked up at the glass ceiling far above him. Flags from every nation hung down. Tall trees grew upward from large pots and neatly arranged gardens. Norman thought he could hear running water. He wasn’t surprised to see a man-made stream rushing from one end of the vast room to the other. Birds chirped from somewhere overhead.
“Nice place ya got here.” He told the guard who had met him on this side of the door.
His escort led him through a maze of corridors until they reached a closed door at the end of a long hall. The guard nodded and walked back down the corridor, leaving Norman alone.
Norman waited, trying to catch his breath and slow his pounding heart. He reached for the handle. It was cool, but slightly moist in his fingers. He drew back, smelling Polo wafting through the air. His skin crawled. A second later, he turned the knob and entered the room.
“Hey boss, we got company,” Anarchy yelled from his familiar place on the couch. He sat up long enough to fart and giggle merrily. He waved his hand back and forth under his butt and then offered it to the stranger.
Norman thought twice about shaking the boy’s hand. In the end he decided it would be better not to offend. To his shock, Anarchy had an amazingly comfortable grasp. Norman smiled, remembering the days when Anarchy had played for the good guys.
PoloGuy stepped out of the bathroom, wearing the top half of his costume and polk-a-dotted boxer shorts. Norman could see a smear of shaving cream sticking to his chin. “What’s this? Who are you?” As he stepped forward, Norman saw that the villain had cut his face in several places. Small squares of toilet paper dotted red were stuck to his chin and neck.
“Uh, sir,...PoloGuy... I heard you chipped your tooth.”
PoloGuy sneered. “I’ll kill Abbot-Cabezal if he put that out on the wire. Anarchy, go fetch the Major. We need to have a little talk about his job performance.” Anarchy leapt to his feet and went out the door. PoloGuy turned back to Norman. “Yeah, so what do you want?”
Norman swallowed. He fought back the urge to leap at the villain and kill him with his bare hands. But then another thought came.
Where was his wife? It was a rather large office. Pillars lined the walls, casting dark shadows behind them. Was she lurking there? Did she know he was here? Would she recognize him if she had seen him?
“I’ve volunteered to fix your tooth. Free of charge,” he smiled.
“Good, ‘cause I’m running short on cash.” He sat down in a chair and tilted his head back. “So get to work. I ain’t got all day. Besides, Reiber’s gotta come around and give me another pill. Keeps the smell from killing everybody.” He snorted a laugh.
Norman nodded and stepped forward. He set his black bag down on a table and opened it up. The syringes shimmered inside. He removed the small tank of ether he’d filled before leaving the house.
“I’ll give you some ether to loosen you up,” he said.
“Ooo, you got any laughing gas? I love the stuff. Can’t get enough of it! You think you could hook me up with some?”
Norman nodded again. “I’ll see what I can do.” Carefully he attached a clear plastic tube to the tank and turned a knob. He listened for the soft hiss of gas seeping toward the mask. Gently he placed it on PoloGuy’s face.
“This tastes kind of minty. I hope you don’t mind.” He let PoloGuy hold the mask while he removed a syringe and the two viles. He poked the needle into the numbing solution, filled the cartridge halfway and then poked it into the other vile. Slowly it filled up as he drew back on the needle. When it was full, he aimed it skyward and squirted it into the air.
“You might feel a slight prick,” he said, taking the mask from PoloGuy’s hand.
“Hey man, that’s great shit ya got there,” he giggled. “I gotta get me some of that!”
Norman nodded a third time. “I think you’ll like this stuff even better. Knock you right out.” He slid the needle into PoloGuy’s mouth, navigating past his lolling tongue. When he touched its tip to the gum, the skin around the needle turned white and puckered under the slight pressure.
It was then that Little Ruth came into the room. Norman froze. It was the first time he had seen his wife up close in nearly seven months. He gulped when he realized her eyes were locked on his. His hand started to shake uncontrollably. He watched her, waiting for a sign, a glimmer of recognition. None came.
“Hello, Doctor,” she said simply, managing a thin smile.
“H-hello, RuthA...Little Ruth,” he squeaked, knowing true terror for the first time in his life.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” She took a step forward.
“No, no not at all.”
She smiled again, a cunning sort of smile. “Good. Then you won’t mind if I inspect your bag before you begin.” Her eyes darted toward the open black bag on the table.
Norman didn’t know what to say. Say something, he thought. Say anything or she’ll get suspicious. Who are you kidding? Look at her eyes; she’s already suspicious.
Little Ruth strode calmly across the room toward him. His knees were shaking. As she came closer, the song returned. It caught her off guard. Clearly she heard the music in her head, she could almost imagine the words and the voice behind those words. Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head as if straining to listen.
“I see the doorway to a thousand churches
the resolution of all the fruitless searches”
Norman saw the change in her. It was quick and short-lived, but it had been there. What had caused it? What was going on in her mind? His strange relief was suddenly cut off when she asked:
“What’s in the syringe, Doctor?”
“Excuse me?” he asked, his knees almost falling out from under him. His hand started shaking again.
“The syringe,” she said, moving closer.
Oh my God, she’s close enough to touch! he thought. Maybe if reached out and grabbed her, she’d remember and this nightmare would end.
“Uh, novocaine. It’ll numb PoloGuy’s mouth while I repair his tooth,” he stammered.
At the mention of his name, PoloGut sat up, his head still tilted back.
“Oh man! I am so stoned,” he murmered. “I feel so good. L.R., is that you? You wanna get stoned? This guy has some great gas!” Looking up at the ceiling something struck him as incredibly funny and he began to laugh.
“Novocaine? Good, then you won’t mind,” she said, suddenly snatching the syringe from his hand, “if I taste it.”
For a brief second, quicker than his eyes could follow, Norman had felt her fingers brushing his hand. For an instant, he thought he heard music, far away and faint, but inside his head and very close. Close enough to touch.
And he thought, Your eyes. It’s in your eyes.
But what did that mean?
He blinked and snapped back to reality when he realized she was holding the syringe.
“Uh...” he stammered again.
“We can’t be too cautious, Doctor. There are all sorts of kooks and weirdos out there who might go to any lengths to make a statement.”
He watched wide-eyed with horror as she tilted her head back and aimed the tip of the needle at her tongue. He saw her fingers tense on the compressor.
He was about to cry out, but realized he had wet his pants instead.
