Forecast is being serialised semiweekly across 42 websites. For a full list of participants and links to live chapters, please visit the author’s website. Read chapter 41 at Lisp Service.
Chapter 42
“Do we know you?” asked a woman whose face was obscured by the screen.
The light behind her cast a shadow over her face, and I squinted to make her out.
“Uh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m here to see, I mean, is Jack home?” I thought for a moment that I’d gotten the wrong house, and began to panic at the thought of an EFP. But the woman continued.
“You’re here for Jack?” she said. “May I ask to what this is in regards to?”
I should have recognized her voice the first time she spoke, but it was the awkward grammar that gave her away. It was Joan.
“I’m here to ask a few questions about Helen,” I said, even though I didn’t really have any questions. Had she moved in already?
“Helen?” said Joan. “Helen who?”
Though this kind of thing usually drove me nuts, it relaxed me a little just then. It was almost like a homecoming. Good old Joan.
“You know,” I said, playfully. “Jack’s wife.”
“Hmmm,” she said, considering.
I saw some movement in the house behind Joan, and I jumped at my chance. “Jack!” I called out. “Jack, are you in there?”
“Just a second, guy!” he called out. “Joan, ask him what he wants!”
“He’s here about some wife of yours named Helen,” she responded.
“Helen, huh?” A moment later Jack was at the door. He stood beside Joan, tucking in his shirt, and flipped on the porch light so I could see both their faces. Joan’s wore an expression half puzzled, half concerned. Jack was smiling. “She’s out right now,” he said. “Can I tell her who stopped by?”
So that’s how it was going to be.
“Jack, I’m an old friend of Helen’s,” I said. “And I know she’s, you know, gone.”
Joan turned around and walked back into the house. “Well,” she said, “I’ll let you two catch up.” A moment later she was walking past me out the door. “I should go put my new kids to bed.”
I watched her begin to walk across the street, then turned back to Jack. Both doors were open, but Jack was no longer there.
“Jack?”
“I’m in here,” he called. “You want anything to drink?”
I heard the kitchen come alive, the whirr of a blender drowning out the hollow thud of closing cabinet doors. I walked in.
“No thanks,” I said.
Ahead to my left, past a dining room table which, though never used, was for some reason set, and an island countertop with a sink and a stove piled high with pots and pans in various stages of use, Jack was rummaging through a drawer. To my right was the living room, unlit, where I saw the TV workstation where Helen had spent so much time in the months before she left. At the time, of course, I’d been bored stiff. Watching people who themselves are watching things isn’t the most adventuresome way to spend your time. But standing there in her living room brought those days back to me in all their banal beauty, and I found myself missing them. I missed the small, quiet movements Helen made through her empty house. I missed the way she minded Rocket, the way she unsubtly made fun of Joan. Looking back on it, I realized that I could have gone on like that forever and been perfectly happy.
“Happy hour!”
I turned to see Jack standing with two tall, brightly colored drinks raised to head level. He shook them back and forth like marimbas. What the hell am I doing here, I thought. Far from admitting anything to me, Jack was miles from admitting that Helen was gone even to himself. Had I stopped to think about it even for a moment I would have known this, and saved myself the humiliation. No doubt the office, at least the CS assigned to my case, was having a laugh over it. But it was true: my little errand had been a stupid idea. The pleasure I’d just taken in remembering Helen quickly drained away. The fact was that I’d probably never see her again, that I might not even be accepted back in the capacity of Citizen Surveillant, and that obviously, certainly, nothing would ever be the same. I waved and shook my head, apologetically.
“Look, Jack, I’m sorry I bothered you. I should really just go.”
“Oh no you don’t, pal!” Jack said. He wiggled the glasses again. “Helen oughtta be back any minute! Don’t you even wanna say hello?”
“Seriously,” I said. This was breaking my heart. “I’m sorry.” I began walking to the door.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “I’m sure Blain’ll have one with me.”
I stopped in mid-stride.
“What did you just say?”
“I said I’m sure—”
But Jack was interrupted by a loud voice from another room. “God damn it!” the voice said. “Jack, you fucking idiot!”
I turned around just as a door down the hall past the kitchen blew open, and a large, lumbering figure started barreling toward the front of the house. It was Busy. He ran up and stood before Jack, bristling with anger.
“Do you want something to drink?” he yelled in Jack’s face. “Happy hour?”
Jack remained calm. “Whoa there, Busy,” he said. “I was just trying to be nice.”
“I told you this was a bad idea,” said another voice from down the hall, and within moments Blain emerged from the same room Busy had been in, and walked, at normal speed, out into the kitchen.
Then they all turned toward me.
“You must be Max,” Blain said. He walked up to me, picked up my limp hand and shook it. “The Professor says you’re a good egg. Nice to finally meet you.”
I looked at Blain, then down at my hand, which he still held. I couldn’t speak.
“A good egg indeed,” said an old, gravelly voice I knew all too well. “I should have known there’d be no hiding from him.”
The Professor walked slowly down the hallway toward me, and Blain stepped aside. A moment later I found myself at the center of a big, warm embrace. A moment after that I was crying.
“I’m sorry,” I said, without really knowing why. “I’m sorry.”
“There there, Maxwell,” the old man said, patting my back. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” He pulled back and, still gripping my shoulders, looked me in the eyes. “In fact, it’s I who owe you an apology.”
Tears were streaming down my face. I looked over the Professor’s shoulder at Busy and Jack, who were looking on solemnly, drinks in hand. They nodded. Blain was avoiding eye contact, and looked embarrassed.
“I… I just don’t understand,” I said.
“Of course you don’t, my boy,” the Professor said. He finally let go of me and gestured toward the living room. “Why don’t you sit down. You look rather shaken.” I walked slowly toward the living room, the Professor at my side. “Jack,” he said. “How about giving us some light.”
“Sure thing, Teach,” Jack said, and the living room grew bright.
“Thank you,” the Professor said, sitting down. “And Maxwell, when you’re ready, I think I can shed a little light of my own.”
I sat down stiffly. “I’ll take you up on that drink after all, if you don’t mind,” I said to Jack.
The Professor chuckled. “I suppose you have some questions,” he said.
So here it was. I was about to be told the truth. Or was I? I was too overwhelmed to completely process what was happening, but I knew that, however much I wanted to believe what I’d hear, I couldn’t. At least, I shouldn’t. They’d lied to me before. Why tell me the truth now? Still, I’d been so obsessed with having lost Helen that I hadn’t, until right then, realized how much I’d missed the Professor. Sitting across from him, even with the surrealism of that familiar yet completely alien environment, was unbelievably comforting. Instead of asking questions right away, I savored the moment for a while. I felt almost peaceful. The only sounds were the blender blending drinks, and the scuffle of Jack’s feet on the kitchen’s fake tile floor. Busy and Blain had moved to the dining room table and were sitting patiently, looking out the window at the bucking, billowing trees.
Then Marshall marched into the room.
“Is dinner ready?” he asked, completely oblivious to my presence.
“Marshall,” the Professor said calmly, “we have a guest.”
Marshall looked over at me, squinted as though trying to place my face, and then flinched when he realized who I was.
“Oh!” he said. “How interesting!” He looked over at Busy and Blain, then at Jack. “I take it things are under control,” he said.
“Want a drink, Mr. K?” Jack asked.
Marshall looked over at me and the Professor. “On an empty stomach?” He put on a look of concern. “Well… I suppose it’s a special occasion,” he said. “Is there any Brandy in the house?” He walked into the kitchen and began opening random cupboards.
I watched Helen’s father for a bit, marveling at how amazingly awkward the man was – even more so than he seemed on screen. He bumped into Jack more than once, and everything he touched seemed to rebel from his fingers. It was as though his body was a long distance from his brain, and received its commands long after the signal had deteriorated, become corrupt by ambient noise. I tried to imagine him on the Long Walk, but couldn’t picture him in any environment that didn’t meet him at least halfway. How had he managed? Though they hadn’t met until the final stretch, no doubt Jennifer helped a great deal.
“Where’s Helen’s mother?” I said suddenly. I don’t know why I chose this, of all things, as my first question. Was I actually interested, or was it just a neutral question to get me going? My voice sounded strange.
“Jennifer is out picking up some things from the store,” answered the Professor. “She’s with Zara.”
Just when I thought I’d pulled myself together, the mere mention of that name turned me into a quivering mess. I choked back a sob, leaned forward and tried to collect myself, head in hands.
“So…” I could barely get the words out. My voice was weak, high pitched. I still didn’t sound like myself. “So she’s… okay?”
The Professor understood the state I was in, and put his hand on my knee. “Of course she’s okay, Maxwell,” he said softly. “Of course she is.”
I took a deep breath.
“Here you go,” Jack said, and walked over to hand me a drink. “Looks like you could use this.”
I reached up and took the bizarre concoction. Jack smiled down at me in a way I read suddenly as more sincere than I thought him capable of.
“I told you she’d be back soon,” he said, and winked.
“Yeah, good work on that, genius,” muttered Busy from the table.
I was reminded that this was not, of course, a planned event. They hadn’t wanted to be found, after all.
“I have to hand it to you,” I said, trying to recover my sense of humor. “Hiding in plain sight was a great idea.”
“Technically,” Marshall said, having found the Brandy and presently pouring himself a glass, “it should have worked. Jack was all too happy to participate.”
“Yeah well it looks like you forgot that just because he’s in denial doesn’t make him smart,” Busy added.
I looked at Jack, who simply shrugged, and walked back to the kitchen.
“I’m just happy you guys could all come to my party,” he said. “I know it was late notice.”
“Why did you come?” Marshall asked me. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t sure I had a good answer, but more than that, I wasn’t sure they deserved one. I was still confused, so instead of answering, I responded with my own question.
“Was there ever actually a warrant out for Helen’s arrest?”
I looked around the room, but no one would meet my eyes. One after the other they looked to the Professor. I followed suit.
“Was there?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said. “There was a warrant, and because I think I know your next question, yes to that too. Asseem was responsible for it. Or someone working for him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I felt a surge of anger rush through me. “You’re all working for him!”
“No, Max,” the Professor answered. He looked me directly in the eye. “That is precisely not what we’re doing.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit!” I was getting flustered. I hoped Helen would get back soon. I thought she’d be able to tell me the truth. “I saw you all. I saw Jennifer in the underground lab!”
The room went silent.
A buzzer rang.
Nobody moved.
“I assume that’s the pot roast,” Marshall said. “Does anyone know how to work an oven?”
“Maxwell, listen,” said the Professor. “Yes we’ve been participating in the experiments, but only to make sure they were being conducted with some degree of humanity. Countless lives are being manipulated, and since we couldn’t stop it, we could at least—”
“But it is stopped! The whole thing is now under investigation.”
“Oh dear no,” Marshall interjected. “A few labs were exposed and someone took the fall. The operation will continue to go on as long as people are producing their own energy.”
I took a sip of my horribly sweet drink. My head was swimming, and I thought maybe the booze would numb me enough to make sense of it all.
“So they needed Helen because…,” I began.
“Well for Asseem it was personal, of course,” Marshall said. “But—”
“But anyone who can’t produce Buzz will always be in danger,” the Professor continued. “For the simple reason that they don’t understand it, and don’t like what they can’t understand. The important thing was to protect her. To get Zara away from…” He paused, and for the first time, the Professor averted his eyes from me.
“From who?” I said. “This is bullshit. She was already being protected! I was protecting her!”
The Professor looked back at me with sadness in his eyes, but said nothing.
“Oh come on,” Busy finally said from the table. “Who do you think, Max.”
“Of course we had to get Zara away from Asseem and the entire REMO equation,” the Professor continued. “But that meant getting her out of sight entirely. Even, Maxwell, from you.”
“C’mon man, think about it,” Blain chimed in roughly. “With you watching every move she makes, they’d always be able to get to her.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I didn’t know what to say.
“But they’re watching us all right now!” I shouted.
I stood up and walked around the living room for a second before breaking into a run down the hallway. I heaved myself against the bedroom door, half expecting it to be blocked, and instead it burst right open, sending me stumbling into an empty room.
“Jennifer!” I cried out. “Helen?”
Nothing. The bed was made. The nightstand was cleared of everything but an alarm clock. The television was turned off. I leapt to the closet and threw open the slatted door. Helen’s clothes swayed a bit on their hangers. I thrust my right hand through them until I felt the wall and swung my arm back and forth, hoping to hit a warm body. I was determined to find them, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was being invasive. I withdrew my hand and took a step back.
“Will you stay for dinner, or are you leaving too?”
Startled, I turned to see Jack standing in the door.
“I’m… what? Leaving?”
“Oh no! You’re leaving? How about just one more drink?”
I ran past him and back down the hallway. The living room was empty. The kitchen was empty. The dining room was empty. The door was open. I went outside. It was snowing, though the wind had died down, and I was halfway across the yard before I realized that my car was gone. Tire tracks that led back the way I’d come were still visible in the new snow.
“Hey,” Jack said from behind me. “Maybe they’re just running an errand!”
I looked down the street and then up, straight up past the spotty clouds dropping snow and into the darkness beyond them. With the touch of a button I could have this whole neighborhood sealed, I realized. I could have them all brought in for questioning and clear my name at the same time. I could put this whole thing behind me. I looked across the street and saw Rocket wandering around in Joan’s yard. He looked over at me and barked, wagging his tail.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said, and walked back to the house and up the steps. “That pot roast smells pretty good.”
“Sure does,” Jack said. “Oh, hey, before I forget. They gave me something to give you.”
He dipped his hand down into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He held it out to me and waited as I looked at it, then at him, then back at the note. He wagged it a little, encouraging me to take it. I slowly reached out, took the paper, and unfolded it. It was from the Professor.
Maxwell, my boy. I know you’ll understand why we had to leave you again. I wish you the best of luck. You have made me proud.
Though it wasn’t signed, it was written in his large, shaky script. I read it a couple times, and knew right then I wouldn’t turn them in. I just didn’t have it in me. Helen may or may not be safer with them then she was with me, but it wasn’t my place to judge any more. It was out of my hands.
I began walking into Helen’s house and was about to fold the note back up, but something at the bottom caught my eye. Something I hadn’t seen at first. There was a sentence written there, I realized. It was short, and the handwriting was different. Much smaller. Lighter. In fact, I had to hold the paper close to my face to make it out.
Shya Scanlon's "Forecast 42 Project" serialized his slipstream novel Forecast across 42 different Web sites, including small presses, literary journals and blogs. One of the participants, Flatmancrooked, will be publishing a different version of Forecast in 2010. Shya Scanlon's poetry collection, In This Alone Impulse, will be published by Noemi Press this month. Shya received his MFA from Brown University, where he was awarded the John Hawkes Prize in Fiction.