“And what is this?” I saw what this was. “No,” I said. “I don’t want to take that.”
“Take gun,” said Sandra, because this (and that) was what this (and that) was (or were).
I took the gun from Sandra.
“Gary go shoot Mr Boothy,” said Sandra. “Shoot all intraterrestrials too. Gary do this.”
“I don’t want to do this,” I told Sandra. “I was a serial killer when I was alive. Now you’re asking me to be one after I’m dead.”
“Not asking,” said Sandra. “Commanding. Gary do what Gary commanded.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll do what I’m commanded.”
“Cool,” said Dave. “And while you’re at it, Sandra and I will set all this explosive down here. It will put paid to the entire complex. We’ll have to synchronize watches.”
“I don’t have a watch,” I said. “I think it probably got melted when they fried me in the electric chair.”
“The prison guard nicked it,” said Dave. “But I nicked it back off him.” And Dave gave me my wristwatch. Which was nice, but it didn’t make me hate him any the less.
“Thanks a lot,” I said.
“No problem,” said Dave. “I have five past midnight. What do you have?”
“The same,” I said.
“Well, I’ll give you until half-past. Do your stuff, then find your way to the tube station entrance. We’ll pick you up there. I’ll set the timer on the bomb for 12.31. OK?”
“Fine,” I said. “No problems at all.”
“There is a problem,” said Sandra.
“Oh yes?” I said.
Sandra smiled. “Sandra know what Gary plan,” she said.
“Plan?” I said. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do know,” said Sandra. “Gary plan to let himself get all blown up by explosion. That what Gary plan. Be dead again. That what Gary plan.”
“I was planning no such thing,” I said.
But as you no doubt guessed, I was.
“Gary not do this,” said Sandra. “Sandra command Gary not do this. Gary escape before explosion. Gary understand?”
I nodded my head. Dismally. Very dismally.
“I understand,” I said. “I will do as you command.”
“Good,” said Sandra. “Gary have much atoning for sins to do for Sandra.”
I ground my teeth. One of them fell out.
“Then, we’re all set,” said Dave. “Off you go, then, Gary.”
“I order zombie,” said Sandra.
“Sorry, Sandra,” said Dave.
“Off go then, Gary,” said Sandra. “Follow Sandra commands.”
I nodded one more dismal time and set off on my way.
“Not that way,” called Dave. “That way.”
And I set off that way.
That way led me back to the gantry and all the steps down into the vast hangar where all the ranks of flying saucers were parked. If Sandra had been really smart, she would have ordered me to be really careful, to use the utmost stealth, and go undetected. But she wasn’t really smart, so I just strolled down the stairs and whistled loudly as I strolled.
You’d have thought I was just asking to get caught and executed again. And you would have been right.
At the bottom of the staircase I encountered my first intraterrestrial, a small unassuming kind of fellow. He stared at me with his great black liquid eyes and I just knew that he’d raise the alarm and guards would appear from somewhere and capture me.
So I smiled at him.
And then I shot him dead.
“Damn!” I said, staring at my hand and the pistol. “I really didn’t want to do that.” And, believe me, I didn’t. I’ll throw the gun away, I thought. But I couldn’t. I was compelled. I had been commanded. I was helpless to resist.
It felt really horrible, I can tell you. It’s impossible to explain. I suppose its nearest equivalent would be hypnosis. And in a way that’s sort of what magic is, an altered state. It’s not a higher state; it’s just a different state. But when in that state, everything is different.
And I suppose, as I strolled across the big hangar, potting off intraterrestrials and not cursing myself for doing it because I knew they needed potting off, but cursing myself for doing it because I had no free will in the matter, I realized for the first time in (and after) my life that I was a natural magician.
I had, after all, practised magic successfully. Not just by bringing Mr Penrose and Sandra back from the dead, but in other ways also. There was the matter of my father and of Count Otto – the matter of what happened to them before they died. The sniffing of swatches of tweed in the gents’ outfitters. The outbursts of uncontrollable laughter. The Zulu king stuff and the dressing in robes befitting. And their obsession with the idea that an invisible Chinaman called Frank was driving them to distraction.
That was magic, you see. Very basic stuff, as it happens – sympathetic magic, voodoo magic, if you like. Creating an obsession in an individual. I was very good at it. I could tell you exactly how I made it happen. But I won’t, because it’s a secret.
“Stop,” said someone. “Stop now.”
My gun was up and ready. But I stopped.
“Stop!” said Mr Boothy, for it was he. “No more shooting. No more killing.”
I aimed my gun straight at his head. “Sorry,” I said.
“Wait.” Mr Boothy raised his hands. “Please wait.”
“For what?” I asked. “There’s no waiting left.”
“We should talk. You and me. Before you do this.”
I looked very hard at Mr Boothy. He stood before me, all slim and designer-stubbled, with his two dogs Wibble and Trolley Bus.
“You should at least look surprised to see me,” I said. “I am, after all, dead.”
“I can see that,” said Mr Boothy. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “But you might at least look surprised.”
“Nothing surprises me,” said Mr Boothy. “Surprises are for morons. Those in the know just know.”
I cocked my pistol. “I have to shoot you dead,” I told him. “I have no choice in the matter. I have been commanded to do so. But you do have it coming. You and your stupid boffins have been responsible for ruining my life. And not just mine. You really belong dead.”
“We should talk.” Mr Boothy smiled. And I’ll swear that his dogs smiled too.
“No,” I said. “It’s time for you to die. But don’t worry about it. Being dead is great. You’ll love it. Just don’t get in a big state when you’re dead. Go with the flow. Let yourself drift. You can fly all around the universe for ever. That’s the point of death, you see.”
“And you’re telling me that. As if I don’t know.”
“Uh?” I said. “You do know?”
“Of course I know. Here.” Mr Boothy pointed to his chest. “Put a couple of bullets here and then we’ll talk.”
“Do what?” said I.
“Shoot me. That’s what you came here for, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, it is, but—”
“Don’t but me any buts, boy. Shoot me. Go on, do it. Get it out of the way.”
“All right,” I said. And I shot him. Twice. Right in the chest.
Mr Boothy just stood there. He put his fingers into the holes and then he licked those fingers.
“There,” he said. “Now you’ve done your duty. You’ve followed your commands and got it out of the way. Shall we talk now?”
“I am perplexed,” I said.
“I’m dead,” said Mr Boothy. “Like you.”
“I’m really perplexed,” I said.