Jones saw me turning around, scanning the elevator’s blank interior, and chuckled. “It knows me automatically and it knows where to take us.”
“What if you wanted to visit someone else?” I asked.
“I have a remote,” he said, as if that answered everything. Maybe it did. But I felt a stab of fear, the kind a trapped animal feels.
The elevator stopped and the door opened onto a clean undecorated corridor. Jones led me down the plain but well-lit hallway to one of the unmarked doors we were passing, and when he stepped up to it, it opened.
“How’d you know which door was yours?”
“I’ve lived here a long time. And of course only this door opens for me.”
Inside his apartment things were very different. In a curious way I was reminded of Rudolph’s place. Both were full of stuff and dimly lit. Jones’s stuff was undoubtedly better and on nice built-in shelves, but it still amounted to clutter. And instead of Rudolph’s cheap fragrances, this place had a cinnamon-incense odor — pleasant, but odd.
I turned slowly around as I took in the big room, finally coming to the shelves on the wall that had been behind me as I’d walked in.
Books! Lots of books! More than I’d ever seen in one place, a whole wall of books, floor to ceiling, the shelves even running over the door, and the ceiling more than nine feet high. I saw a funny-looking ladder, its top resting on wheels that ran in a track along an upper shelf. Handy. It was hard to read any of the books’ spines in the dim light, so I couldn’t tell what they were about — but there were so many! For that moment I completely forgot Jones.
A stab of adrenaline brought me back to reality. All those books were great, but I had walked into a chrome-and-glass trap, with no way to get out on my own. I shouldn’t let myself be distracted. I slipped my hand into my pants and fingered my knife for reassurance.
It was a big, irregular room, with alcoves, heavily draped windows, and doors to other rooms, and filled with things. There was a lot of furniture — upholstered easy chairs and lounge-recliners, a big L-shaped couch that could seat half a dozen and little tables scattered between the chairs. Standing on pedestals were an ancient suit of armor that looked like it might have been worn by somebody my size, and a bigger space suit, probably a replica, but maybe real. It was white, but looked grimy, the face plate fogged.
Then I saw her. She was standing in an alcove, shadowed, and looking directly at me. She didn’t move. She was dressed as I was, her hair short and uneven, a small cowlick falling over her forehead, a sullen look on her narrow face.
I turned and stared at Jones. “That’s me.”
He grinned at me. “A hologram. I shot it when we came in.”
“Why? What’re you doing with it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
“Is that why you brought me here?”
“Of course not. It’s just a memento, something to remember you by.”
“I think it’s creepy.”
I walked over to it. It continued to stare coldly at me. I reached out to touch it, but my hand passed right through the image, like it was a ghost. Maybe it was. Maybe it was my ghost.
Jones opened a refrigerated cabinet and removed two glass bottles. “Something to drink?”
“What is it?” I asked. I couldn’t make out the labels on the bottles.
“Just water,” he said, twisting off their caps and pouring one with each hand into two tall glasses.
“It’s green,” I pointed out. “And fizzy.”
“Vitamin water,” he said. “A little flavor, a little color, and some carbon dioxide for the bubbles.” He set down the empty bottles and handed me a glass. “Cheers,” he said, and took a sip from his glass.
It was cold and didn’t have much flavor. I’d once had something called club soda, which was just carbonated water, and this wasn’t very different. I was thirsty, so I drank the glassful in several swallows, and burped.
Jones had gotten out his tab again, and I could see the first page of the IQ test on it — multiple choice, five choices per question, just touch the correct answer.
“I’m tired,” I said. “I don’t want to do that.” And I realized that I really was tired. I couldn’t smother a major yawn.
“I’m sorry,” Jones said. “It is pretty late. Sometimes I forget the time when I get into a project.” He gestured at the test. “This can wait for morning. Let me show you a room where you can sleep.”
Vague alarm spread through me, but I felt foggy with fatigue. I couldn’t stop yawning. I followed him through several doors to a small room with a single bed. He didn’t turn on any lights in the room, but I could see the bed in the light from the doorway, and I went straight for it and collapsed on it, facedown.
Sunlight on my face woke me up. I was lying on my back, under covers, in a girl’s bedroom. I knew immediately it had to be. Everything was in bright cheerful colors, and stuffed animals sat in a small easy chair across from the bed. My clothes were tossed over them. I did not remember taking them off.
The bedroom door was closed. I scrambled out of the bed and then stopped, transfixed by the sight of the sheet I’d been lying on. It was blood-smeared in one area, in the middle of the bed.
I looked and found a little dried blood on my upper inner left thigh.
I knew exactly what that meant.
I started for the door and then stopped and turned back to my clothes. I needed to get dressed first. I ached in a new place as I pulled my clothes on. They smelled, but they were all I had now.
I couldn’t help looking out the window. It faced east and the early sun. I was high up and I could look out great distances, but I couldn’t see much — just the vast city extending into the haze, the horizon indistinct. There were other tall towers nearby, and I could tell that they defined the area of the CeeZee.
The bedroom door wasn’t locked. I opened it and ventured out, not sure which way to go. But I found the next door I came to was to a bathroom, which I realized I needed. I went in and locked the door behind me.
It was spare but had all the necessities. I showered thoroughly, after which putting my clothes back on again felt disgusting. I examined myself while I sat on the toilet, but learned nothing new. Finally I wiped the steam off the mirror and stared at myself. Did I look different now? The hologram’s twin stared back at me. If I did, it wasn’t obvious.
When I opened the bathroom door I found myself face to face with Jones.
“Hi. Sleep well? Ready for breakfast?”
I just stared at him. He looked unchanged, still the Greek god, his hair a little tousled, morning-fresh, a dimpled smile for me.
“You drugged me,” I said. Start small and work up, I decided.
“Just a mildly opiated relaxant, same as I had,” he said.
“Why lie about it? We both know what you did.”
I waited for him to deny it, but he just smiled, as if dismissing my accusation, and said, “Come on. Let’s eat. Let’s get some food in you. The way you ate those burgers, I’ll bet you don’t eat well. You need to put a little flesh on your bones.” He turned and casually walked down the hall, almost sauntering, like he hadn’t a care in the world, leaving me to follow.
Put a little flesh on my bones, huh? He’d seen my scrawny body naked and didn’t care that I knew it. He exposed his back to me, I thought. He’s a fool.
Unwillingly, I followed him into his dining room. It was a relatively small room — but bigger than the bedroom I’d used — dominated by a large table in the middle. A chandelier hung over the table and cast a warm light. There were chairs along the walls and one already pulled up to the table.