Undead - One Foot In The Grave Part 46

I awoke to a new dream: the voice of my wife, calling to me.

Outside the sun was setting again. I could feel that another day had pa.s.sed.I looked up and there she was.

Jennifer sat above me, lotus fashion, floating in midair. Darling, she said, it's time for you to go.

"I'm already gone," I mumbled, unwilling to invest myself in one more hurtful illusion.

You mustn't think that way.

"How do you know what I've been thinking?" I asked awkwardly. Dimly I registered that I could hear her voice clearly while my own words were still a bit m.u.f.fled.

Chris, I've always been able to tell what you've been thinking. She smiled-a little wistfully, I thought.

I'm worried about you.

"About me? You're dead."

And you're not. She shook her finger at me. Not yet. And there's no need for you to hurry the process.

She glowed with a faint, bluish white light: cold and fluorescent, not the red-orange-yellow spectrum of body heat and life force. And I could not only see the details of her face but the details of the brick spill behind it.

I picked up the Sabrelight, but my thumb hesitated on the switch: I feared she would dissolve like so much gossamer if I switched it on.

Still- "You're not real," I said sadly.

What is real? she asked rhetorically.

"There's no such things as ghosts."

Nor vampires, nor werewolves. . . .

"That's an easy argument that you could use to justify anything. But I know you're not real."

What is real? she asked again.

I shook my head, felt my ears pop as I worked my jaw. "I was warned early on: the virus that creates the vampiric condition also affects the brain-eventually causes madness. You are nothing more than a hallucination."

An undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, she retorted, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato.

"A clever comeback, but you make my point. You never did have a head for quotations-even something as mainstream as d.i.c.kens. You are merely an early warning system for full-blown dementia."

You silver-tongued charmer; you always did know how to sweet-talk a lady.

"You're not there."

Okay. She unfolded her lotus and floated down to sit by me. If I'm a manifestation of your own mind, then make me disappear.

"Disappear?" I was surprised, wondering why I hadn't thought of that. But then, according to my theory, I just had. . . .

She reached around to place her hands on my shoulders. I could almost feel her ma.s.saging the tension out of my stiffened muscles. You don't want me to go, she crooned. After all this time, now that the barrier is finally down: I show up for real and you want to send me back to oblivion?

"You're not real," I whispered.

What is real? she asked again.

"Jennifer-what happened to Kirsten?"

She went into the Light, Chris. She went a long time ago.

I felt tears gathering. "Why didn't you?"I've been worried about you. I couldn't leave until I knew you'd be all right. Let me help you focus.

"You're not real!" I yelled. "Go away!"

She began to cry. It's hard enough being dead! I don't need you yelling at me and saying I'm not real on top of everything else!

I found myself stammering an apology. "I-I'm sorry, Jen. I-I'm having a rough time, myself, right now."

Poor baby. She wiped at ectoplasmic tears with noncorporeal fingers. I came here to help and all I did was get you all distracted. She tried to touch my face and her thumb went through my nose. You must concentrate.

"What?"

Chris, your only way out is to travel the dreampath. And you can't do that unless you focus your mind completely.

"I don't know how."

I'll help you.

"How?"

Close your eyes.

I closed them.

Now, press the heels of your palms against your eyelids. Push.

"A blot of mustard," I muttered.

None of that. Now, as soon as you begin to feel a pleasant buzz, I want you to expand the feeling outward so that it fills the s.p.a.ce around you.

"A pleasant buzz?"

Wait for it.

"Turn on, tune in, drop out?"

In a sense. When it comes, you want to imagine everything around you as being fuzzy, losing its form. We're going to disconnect you from this reality before we try to focus on your destination.

"Sounds dangerous."

I'll be with you every step of the way.

"Not the most rea.s.suring line seeing as how you're dead."

At least you're not accusing me of being unreal.

"Don't know what's real anymore: everything is starting to get fuzzy."

Good. Embrace the nothingness. Push everything else away.

"I'm pushing."

Push harder.

"Pushing. I'm pushing!"

And breathe! Don't forget to breathe!

"What is this, the Lamaze approach to teleportation?"

You never listened to me when I was alive and now you won't listen to me when I'm dead! Her voice was growing fainter.

"Wait a minute; come back here!"

Don't open your eyes. "Well, don't leave me here."

How can I leave you if I'm not real? If I'm only a projection of your own subconscious?

"This is just the sort of argument I would have with myself."

Fine! Have it with yourself: I am leaving!

"No, you're not! You're my occipital delusion and you're not leaving until I'm ready to imagine it!"

Make me, fang-boy.

I lunged for her. Felt my ears pop. And then my head.

Felt a cool breeze stirring my hair, brushing my face and hands.

Opened my eyes.

I was outside. A mound of rubble some forty yards away marked the collapse of the old hospital.

Flashing yellow lights atop highway barriers strobed the darkness, marking the perimeter of the tumbled ruin.

I looked around. "Jennifer?"

She was gone. As if she had never been in the first place. Of course.

Now what?

Walk back to the motel?

Find a phone and call the Doman to come and get me?

Stick out my thumb and try to hitchhike before the sun came up and after me?

As if in answer, a pair of headlights at the other end of the field flashed on and then off again.

Red-in-violet parking lights blinked back on and an engine growled to life. Darkness moved within darkness and a vague shape gleamed in starlight. Then a wink of chrome as an automobile took form. A 1950 Mercury Club Coupe-younger sibling to the '49 model James Dean drove in Rebel Without A Cause-rolled toward me. Long, low, incredibly sleek, it had a chopped roofline, narrow windows, and frenched headlights. Darker than black, it was the color of a tar pit at midnight. Only the running lights and a silver chasing of chrome gave it any definable form in the darkness.

I forgot to breathe until it stopped a scant three feet away.

A tinted window slid down. Victor Wren looked out and up at me. "He said you would get out."

I looked at him. "Where is he?"

"Busy. Making sure you-and he-both get a head start. When the time is right and the coast is clear, he'll find you."

I nodded. "What about Suki?"

"She'll make it. She's already on the road to recovery." He opened the door and stepped out.

"And the others?"

"Also gone. Half the town came running when the building blew. It'll take weeks and heavy equipment to excavate down to the bas.e.m.e.nt-if that's what the town fathers eventually decide to do.

The consensus has both of you dead. Smirl didn't mention the second set of charges, so I don't know what he really thinks. Pagelovitch called his people home. Smirl flew back to Chicago. They let me keep the Duesenberg."

"Where's Ba.s.sarab?"

He smiled. "Waiting in the shadows somewhere. We figure someone's going to be watching me for awhile."

"Where will you go?"

"Home." He smiled and handed the ignition keys to me. "A little present from the boss."

"It's beautiful."He nodded appreciatively. "Not all of it's vintage antique. You'll find out when you open her up out on the highway." He kicked a tire. "It should get you home."

"Home?"

"Wherever you choose. As long as you stay away from the enclaves. Papers are in the glove compartment. Along with an atlas showing all the known demesnes, marked and labeled. Also an envelope with new ident.i.ty papers, doc.u.ments, letters of introduction, credit cards, bank accounts. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind?"

"The name. New ident.i.ty, new name. We were in a hurry and the boss seems to have developed a sense of humor of late." He smiled. "Serves you right for shooting me with that dart gun. I hear it made Lupe toss her cookies."

"Her dart was loaded with something a little stronger than sterile water. By the way: nice acting job."