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With Needles quieted, Ghosteye was able to think about the unrest in his stomach at leisure. He cast a reluctant glance at Ramone again and the bile rose. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Blythe in her car, her brow furrowed, speeding through the night to Ramone. Everything seemed to be speeding toward some pivotal moment. The Enforcer was only minutes away—he would arrive, Ghosteye would flip the pertinent feeds to the cover he’d thrown together: Ramone retiring for the night red welts and all, Blythe diverting to a 24-hour grocery store, Elliot to a bar for a few drinks.

Suddenly the deception overwhelmed him. He gasped; sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. Nearly vomiting, he pushed away from the console and doubled over, putting his head between his knees. A few deep breaths and the wave of nausea passed. He sat up again, his hands quivering and stared at Ramone on his monitors.

“His name’s Ramone,” he whispered, remembering how Needles’ insensitivity bothered him so much. A memory flashed through his mind: the day he left the studio for a quick break and found the apartment empty. He called out for Beth. Silence answered him. He searched the rooms and found the note on the board near the kitchen. Cold wrapped its mean fingers around his heart and squeezed until only a chilling emptiness remained. The one woman he’d let into his life, his secret existence. Vanished.

What would he have if not for his work as an Editor?

Onscreen Ramone stirred, moving to his knees. Ghosteye watched. The broken man reached for his glasses. With his head bowed, hands and knees beneath him, a shuddering sob racked him and his shoulders shook.

“Ghosteye?” A voice said in his ear. It was the Enforcer, his call breaking through without requiring Ghosteye’s consent.

“Ghosteye here,” he managed, his voice cracking.

“I’ve arrived at the subject’s location. Please activate the cover.”

“Activated.” The word came out automatically, but his hands were frozen at his sides.

“Excellent. I will contact you when the mission is accomplished.” The Enforcer’s voice was emotionless, lifeless. The sound of it filled Ghosteye with ice, paralyzing him.

He knew what would happen. It would be a spark. It would change everything. The hundreds of thousands of viewers fixed on Ramone would see the truth, the pilings and beams bearing up the structure of the beloved entertainment. Hundreds of miles away, Ghosteye could do nothing. Like Blythe, like Marci, he would run to Ramone if it would help. All he could do now was watch and let the world watch and let the horror sink in.

Ghosteye felt sick and elated all at once.
Let them all know. Let me know. Let Beth know wherever she is that I picked right this time.

Onscreen, the Enforcer quietly entered Ramone’s office, his flat, cold blue eyes matching the blue of his suit jacket. “Hello Ramone. My name’s Elliot. I’m here to ask you a few questions. Do you have a minute?”

Ramone’s head jerked up. It took him only a second before he saw the toolkit in Elliot’s long fingers. Ramone’s eyes went hard, his mouth became a grim line of rebellion.

Sliding closer to his editing console, Ghosteye steeled his resolve and began editing, applying filters, manipulating the scene, accentuating the truth with songs about resistance.

Chapter 8

“What the hell are you doing?”

Ghosteye didn’t answer. It was Needles. Of course. He’d have to be blind, working on Marci’s feed, to not notice that Ghosteye wasn’t broadcasting the cover feed.

“Ghosteye? Ghosteye?” Needles demanded. “You’re going to get us killed. Put the cover up!”

Ignoring Needles, Ghosteye continued to grit his teeth and work. How long did he have before someone stopped him? Needles knew because he was working on Marci’s feed, but there was time before anyone else knew. Unless Needles notified them. Maybe it wasn’t best to ignore Needles.

Onscreen the drama unfurled in a sickening interaction between the Enforcer and Ramone. Ghosteye tried to separate himself from what was happening. As a song ended, he quickly queued another while commanding the cameras to focus on the emotionless face of the Enforcer. The contrast between their eyes was as apparent as the distinction between summer and winter. Ramone’s blue eyes maintained their brilliance, even through the painful sequences inflicted on him by Elliot. Elliot’s face, well, it was easy to see a Gorgon-like beast there, even if he was plainly human. Though they were pale green, a black vacancy seemed to swirl around the Enforcer’s eyes. Ghosteye saw it. And he wanted his audience to see it.

The pit of his stomach sank, deepening into a hollow emptiness he’d only ever felt one other time in his life: when Beth left. This was his fault. Ramone’s suffering. Ghosteye had thrown him to the wolves, betrayed him. Something had to come of it. Creation sometimes required a brilliant destruction before it could begin.

“He needs us, Needles. He needs me,” Ghosteye finally whispered, steeling himself against the image of Elliot’s unfeeling expression as he administered more painful apparatuses to Ramone. His silence had only been a few minutes. Two at the most. He hoped it wasn’t too late, hoped Needles hadn’t reported the infraction already.

“The old man?” Needles asked after a pause where he breathed obnoxiously in Ghosteye’s ear.

“He’s not an old man. Look at him. Can’t you see it?”

“See what? All I can see is you getting the shit beat out of you by that Enforcer in the near future. You’ve really screwed up, man.”

“Look at their eyes, Needles. Look at the difference. Can’t you tell there’s something different about Ramone?”

“You sound like you’ve been smoking crack. Are you on something?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that this guy hasn’t even done anything yet, but he’s been watched by top level agents for years and now he’s being questioned like this?”

“Because of you,” Needles pointed out helpfully.

Ghosteye cringed, his stomach plummeting, before saying, “He created the cameras. Did you know that?”

“No, but I don’t really care. What’s that got to do with me?”

“Why would they be afraid of him?”

“How are they afraid of him?”

“They’ve got an Enforcer at his house, torturing him. That spells it out pretty clearly.”

“Well, probably because if he’s such a genius to make the machines in the first place, he can undo what he’s done,” Needles said, finally sounding like he wasn’t a complete idiot.

“And that would scare them . . . Because?”

“Shit, man, stop patronizing me, what the hell are you getting at?”

“Never mind.” Ghosteye was trying to make someone see what he saw. The way Beth had attempted to lead him toward the understanding that his work wasn’t art. It was vile and corrupt. There was no way to open someone’s eyes and make them recognize what was placed before them, as plain as possible, even with Ramone strapped to his desk, splayed out like he was about to be drawn and quartered, and an apparently soulless creature exercising its antisocial tendencies on him.

“This is a disaster,” Needles fretted. “Someone’s going to find out. We can fix it, we can fix it. Put the cover feed up now, maybe they’ll never know.”

“I’m not putting it up,” Ghosteye answered, firmly. Swallowing hard, he forced the bile down as Elliot spread a mixture of vinegar and citric acid over the welts on Ramone’s cheeks. The questioning went on, with Ramone refusing to submit. How long could he last? How long would the Enforcer continue?

“You’re going to implicate me, Ghosteye. Don’t you get it? They’ll think I was involved.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s it? You’re ‘sorry’?”

“It’s for the best, Needles. Sorry you had to be along for this.”

“‘For the best’? You’re throwing away your career, my career, for this? It’s crazy. What’s the point? They’ll kill him. And then what? Nothing. Nothing will come of this, except that we’ll be left to rot in a prison cell somewhere and your precious new hero will be fish food.”

“I guess. I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far in advance.”

“Obviously!”

There was no way to explain to Needles what he saw in Ramone. Ghosteye wasn’t even sure he understood it. Others saw it, though. The girl Marci. Blythe, the lawyer. There was something. He wasn’t dreaming it. And now Ghosteye was changed. He felt like he’d been asleep for years, was just now shaking off the dust of immobility and had started a new motion toward something painful and scary, but…better, somehow. His course was decided by a spur of the moment reaction to something he saw clearly as an injustice. A week ago he would have seen what was happening to Ramone as right and correct, or at least, he’d have said Ramone deserved what was happening, as a threat to the status quo, and he would have been complicit in the outcome without feeling a bit of guilt.

“What are you going to do?” Ghosteye asked, quietly. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could just let Elliot destroy Ramone’s body. Blythe hadn’t moved from her vehicle out in front of Ramone’s house. She seemed paralyzed with fear. And Ghosteye hadn’t done anything with her feed, yet. He didn’t want to take the audience away from Ramone. He wanted their guts to ache like his ached. He wanted them to weep in anguish. He wanted them to awaken and step outside the voyeuristic paradigm and recognize the humanity of man. It would make them wake up. It had to.

“What the hell can I do? You got any suggestions? At some point I expect a knock at my door and then maybe a couple nice beatings before I’m taken to a high security cell somewhere. Hopefully you’ll be there and I can kick your ass.”

“So you plan to surrender?”

“Surrender? Surrender? You’re delusional, man. This is the way it is. What am I supposed to do? There’s no choice here, man. They know where I am. They know where you are. They know where that old man is. You think they’ll let a couple idiot Editors just walk away from the system?” Needles laughed bitterly and swore. “Right now I wish I’d never agreed to take this stupid feed for you. All she’s doing is crying. Can’t even tear her eyes away from the feed. That’s how effective your little stunt is. It’s just turning everyone into sadists. They’ll end up loving it. Just you watch.”

“You’re blind. At some point you’ll realize it. It will be too late then. Figure it out now, before you really have no choice,” Ghosteye said, biting his lip as he worked and hoped for Needle’s eyes to be opened.

“If I knew where you were, I’d come over there and break your neck, you know that?”

Ghosteye scoffed, but didn’t say anything. A plan was forming in his head as he worked on veritable autopilot. Could he trust Needles? He felt a responsibility to him and the weight of it surprised Ghosteye. He’d never felt responsible for anyone but himself. Even when Beth was around. He’d never felt yoked with the weight of a partnership with her. He was in it for himself, then.

He needed to act quickly. Time would be against them soon. Blythe. Ramone. Marci. They didn’t know it, but their salvation was resting on Ghosteye now. 

*****

Crying didn’t help. Once the jet was aloft, Marci took her slate into the bathroom and sat on the toilet with the lid down. She felt like wailing loudly, but knew it would attract attention. It might even frighten them into taking her into custody. The legal limit for bathroom use on passenger jets was only five minutes. After that, they’d come for her.

“Ramone, Ramone, Ramone,” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes from what the creepy bastard was doing. Why was this being broadcast? Why was this man hurting Ramone? What had he done? He had only loved another woman, but he’d done nothing, really.
He
was the one who was being hurt! The man should be questioning Sue, not Ramone!

“We’ve been watching you, Ramone. You had to know that.”

Ramone grunted, but didn’t say anything.

“I’ve broken stronger men than you. I want you to know that, so you will think of it as the pain continues to swell.” The man was cold, like a stone with a voice.

Marci hiccoughed. “Please stop,” she said, pleading with the feed.

The slate couldn’t help her. Her fingers stopped at the velvet surface of the screen, as much as she wished and longed for it to open a portal to him. Her stomach tied into knots. The evil spider-like man administered methodically, coldly to Ramone and Ramone submitted. He seemed defeated, though his face looked like granite. What was he thinking?

After dry-heaving into the toilet, Marci left the bathroom, but not before taking a supply of tissue along. For the tears.

She avoided the eyes of the other passengers, who undoubtedly saw that hers were red-rimmed. Eyebrows rose and some looked a question at her as though to ask if she was unwell. For the most part, they kept their faces fixed on their own slates. Marci scanned the first class passengers, hoping to spot someone who knew her pain. Maybe someone else was watching this feed. Someone looking around the cabin, alarmed as Marci, confused and possibly frightened.

Resuming her seat, a howl in the earphones startled her and she poised the slate before her nose without fastening her seat-belt.

Fighting the clenching muscles of her throat, she gasped. The sound came from Ramone! Had he been broken?

“You know what I’m here for, Mr. Ramone. Relinquish the plans and you can return to your normal life. To your fame. To your mundane job. To your lovers.” The man wiped a tool with a white towel and placed it back in a case. Ramone whimpered.

“I’m not a fool,” Ramone said, finally. His voice was a raspy, hoarse whisper. “I’m seen as a threat. Kill me now. Be done with it. There are no plans.”

“Tsk tsk tsk. You cannot lie to me. I’m fully versed in you and your history. ‘Brilliant Engineer Creates Link Between Nano-machine Camera and Optic Nerve!’ ‘Nano-Engineer Holds Keys to Entire Network of Linked Cameras and Instant Video Web-Feed,’” he recited mechanically like he was reading the headlines and not just recalling them. “And all the other headlines and your developments. In fact, I owe my very livelihood to you. Without you, I’d be rotting in a prison somewhere. You created my niche. I should call you father.”

“You’re insane,” Ramone spat.

“That’s not the way a father should talk to his son.”

“If you think I’d develop a counter-measure and then let the company have it, you’re insane. There are no plans,” Ramone said.

“I can let you bleed to death. Or I can staunch the flow with this,” the creepy bastard held up a hot iron.

Ramone’s cheek twitched.

Elliot,
he had said.
Who is he?
What does he have to do with Ramone?
But Marci couldn’t see the answers on the screen.

“Kill me. There’s nothing. I have nothing!” he shouted, straining against the bonds that held him strapped to the top of his desk.

Marci cried silently, but her mind made the connections. Ramone created the nanocameras. And now he was being accused of making something to counter-act the cameras. And the company wanted it. But why not just kill him? Why torture?

More than anything, Marci’s skull felt split open, her mind touched by an electrical field. Never before had the system felt oppressive. Nor had she felt trapped beneath a microscope, a prisoner watched by anyone who wished to see her. She’d felt free. And safe.

A black hand seemed to creep across her shoulder, tightening its grip like a vise, fixing her to the seat beneath her hip bones. The invisible cameras that accompanied her, which she had never seen but knew were there, became sinister and evil, tiny devils robbing her of moments of introspection and meditation. She almost looked around, wondering where they were exactly and if anyone cared to watch her.

Something was happening. It was bigger than Marci. Bigger than Ramone, though Ramone had started it. And it wasn’t something romantic or sexy. It was more profound than that, and it touched the lives of more than just Marci, sitting on a plane, flying into the unknown just to see a man who had stirred her out of numbness.

*****

Now what? Blythe hadn’t thought that far ahead. Thinking and planning ahead was her usual method. Acting without careful introspection was unfamiliar and frightening. Ramone had pulled her to him. And now she was here, but she was helpless against the man who had Ramone strapped to his desk and was doing things to him Blythe couldn’t bear to see. She watched passively on her slate, feeling stone cold and scared.