“He’s so unhappy.”
“He’s nervous. I’ve seen this many times. He’ll be fine. And you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. Now I want you to push again.”
“What if-”
“Claire. Push now.”
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and pushed.
49
I can’t feel my leg anymore. It’s gone numb.”
“That might be for the best, Walter Day.”
“Am I bleeding to death?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “But very slowly.”
“Can you stop the bleeding?”
“Now why would I do that?”
“If I die, you won’t be able to talk to me anymore.”
“But of course I will. You just won’t be able to talk back.”
“Will you take the hood off again? It’s hot and it’s hard to breathe.”
The hood was lifted off and Day felt cool air against his face.
“It really is beastly, this hood,” Jack said. “One forgets one is a man under there.”
“I thought you said you were a god, not a man.”
“I was speaking of you.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back. Where do you go?”
“I’ve had several interesting experiences today. Any experience is interesting after a year or so under that hood, and I suppose I’m only doing my best to make the most out of life.”
“Did you kill someone?”
The shape in the dark was quiet for a long moment.
“You know, I don’t think I have. Aside from that fellow in the cell next to yours, of course, but that was an accident. I got overexcited. Yes, aside from him, I’ve killed no one. That might be the most interesting thing about today. After all, it’s what I’m known for. Killing. That’s not what I call it. It’s a different thing for me. But your senses are not so refined as mine. Killing is the only reason you’ve ever heard of me and the only thing you’re aware that I’ve ever done. And yet, here I am, a free man after all this time, and I’ve been. . well, I’ve practically been an upstanding citizen, haven’t I?”
“Did you hurt anyone else?”
“Oh, well, of course. Quite a lot of hurting. But it’s not the same thing as killing, is it? Not at all.”
“Maybe you’re done killing. Maybe you won’t kill anyone again. Maybe the Karstphanomen were correct and what they did has changed you.”
Jack laughed, a deep rich baritone.
“They changed me, all right. But I don’t think they’ll appreciate their work when I’m done. And please, Walter Day, rest assured, I will most certainly kill someone. More than one. The day is not yet over.”
There was another pause in the conversation and Day could hear Jack breathing heavily, as if he had run through the tunnels and had not yet caught his breath. Day could feel the sharp end of the cufflink pressed against his palm. He hoped Jack had not noticed that Walter’s cuff was loose. The tiny pick was difficult to hold on to, and Day was having trouble maneuvering. He wished he’d been quicker and wondered if it was too late. And he was tired of wishing and wondering and he was tired of being frightened.
“Then do it,” Day said. “Get it over with. I’ve no interest in being your plaything.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. I wasn’t talking about you. You’re terribly self-absorbed, Walter Day.”
“We both know you’re not going to let me go.”
“Do you actually want me to transform you? To kill you? You seem to be goading me.”
“Of course not.”
“Good. You said you have a baby on the way, didn’t you? When we last spoke.”
“Never mind that.”
“But if I kill you now, you’ll never see your baby. I wonder, would you prefer that? A baby is a terrible responsibility.”
“What do you know about responsibility?”
“You know nothing about me, Walter Day. I assure you I’m quite familiar with the concept of responsibility. I take it very seriously indeed. But we were talking about your family. Your little family. Just you and your pregnant wife, who is transforming herself, who is creating life. She’s marginalizing you, isn’t she? And controlling you? You’re not at all ready to be a parent and you hate her for forcing you into the situation. Am I right?”
“No.”
“Yes, I am. I can see it in your black beady eyes, Walter Day.”
“Stop it.”
“I joke. Your eyes are probably lovely. It’s the lantern light that makes them look like the eyes of a rat. I should pluck one out and take it up to the sun and see how sensitive that window to your soul really is. I’m sure your wife loves your eyes. I should make her a gift of them. Put them on a silver chain for her throat. Or put them in a box for cufflinks.”
Day closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and said nothing. He tried to concentrate on his leg, tried to feel something, but there was nothing there. He turned his attention to the sharp little lockpick in his hand. Perhaps he could jam it into Jack’s eye, if Jack came close enough.
“Do you kiss her, Walter Day? Your wife, I mean. Isn’t it fascinating how all skulls are basically the same? Just under the skin, you all look so frightfully similar. Wait here, I’ll show you.”
The dark shape stood and moved away, into the tunnel. The lantern light that was reflected on the wall shimmied and flowed as the shadow passed through it. Day hung his head and bunched the muscles in his shoulders, trying to alleviate the pain there. He curled the toes of his right foot and rubbed them against the inside of his shoe. He tried the same movement with his left foot, but nothing happened. Then Jack was back, standing next to Day. He held a dirty brown skull. The jawbone had fallen off. Or perhaps Jack had removed it.
“Who do you suppose he was?” Jack said. “Or she? It’s hard to tell, isn’t it? I’m told there are people, doctors and the like, who can tell the sex of a person based on its bones, but they’re really all the same, aren’t they? Bones, I mean, not doctors. There are profound differences between doctors.”
Jack smacked his lips and turned the skull this way and that in his hands. “You’re not being a good guest right now, Walter Day. I expect livelier conversation from you. Look at this skull, so similar to yours. But then imagine some mushy pink and brown bits on top of the bone and, voilà! A person is formed. When you kiss your wife, you’re pressing against the bone, the bone is the structure, but it’s the mushy bits you really like. Yes, those are the best part. People are made up entirely of the saggy flesh they carry around on their poor tired bones. How is that? Why should that be? Why is the hard part, the strong part, of a person not the best part? It’s the soft gentle parts that make you different from your friends and neighbors. Isn’t that awfully interesting? I think about this sort of thing a great deal.”
“Is that why you cut people?”
“Well, there are so many reasons to cut people, don’t you think? Really, there are too few reasons not to, when you think about it. Everyone ought to be running about cutting everyone else.”
“There’s decency. That’s a reason not to hurt people. Do you have any of that in you? Do you have any common human decency?”
“I don’t know. Let’s cut me open and take a look round for it.” Jack laughed again. “Is decency something you learned from your father, Walter Day? Your father, the valet?”
“Yes.”
“He taught you a great deal, didn’t he? Taught you subservience and putting others before yourself. He taught you to be unhappy and unfulfilled, didn’t he? What a wonderful man he must be. And what of your mother?”
Day said nothing.
“Oh, your mother’s a touchy subject. I quite understand. Did you know her?”
“No.”
“Why not? Did you kill her, Walter Day?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I see. May I take an educated guess? You transformed your mother even as she was creating you, am I right?”
“Yes.”
“I feel very close to you right now.”
“And what about you? What did your father teach you? And what about your mother? Did your mother teach you to murder women?”