Warlord: Dervish (7 page)

Jason was still sputtering water from his lungs.

“Ye—
yes
.”

“Splendid.” Dr. Kaku sat beside him. “I’m going to show you some pictures.” Jason nodded through his coughing and retching. The giant stood off on the side with the cellophane, next to a bucket. “You will no doubt be familiar with this exercise from some insipid televised psycho-drama. When I show you a picture, I want you to say the first thing that comes into your mind, hmmm?”

“Okay. Okay.”

A series of photographs began to appear on the wall behind Dr. Kaku.

“Spider. It’s some kind of spider. Big spider. Camel spider.”

Kaku nodded and watched Jason intently.

“That’s—that’s the president.”

“It is.”

A new image appeared on the wall.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“What that is…” Kaku’s tone was dissatisfied “…is beside the point. What I want to know is how you
feel
when you first view it. How does it make you feel?”

“Torn.”

“
Hmmm
. Incidentally,” Kaku gestured over his shoulder to the image, “it is Vitruvian man.”

The next picture was of a moldering corpse.

“That’s disgusting.”

Rudy appeared on the wall. The kid was all smiles.

“Where’d you—” Jason gasped, taken aback. “Why’d you—”

“Tsk-tsk-tsk, initial reactions, Jason.” A definite hint of annoyance in Kaku’s reminder.

“That’s—that’s Rudy. That’s the kid. God almighty.”

“God? God, Jason? Mmmm. Where past sages debated the number of angels that could dance on the head of a pin, today the wise puzzle over Calabi-Yau manifolds.”

“
What
?”

“God, Jason. Let me disabuse you of that conceit. Tell me,” the picture on the wall segued to that of a small boy, a child bundled up in the snow, looking up at whoever was taking the picture. “What of this?”

“That’s…it can’t be …” Tears of frustration welled up in Jason’s eyes. “That’s me. How’d you get that?”

The right hand came out of nowhere and batted Jason’s head to the side—the Gift on the MG—a black kid with a gold tooth gleaming in his mouth—Uncle Ritchie—Aspen on the beach—the sky above—stars—when the stars cleared he heard Kaku. “No questions, Jason. Have you forgotten already?”

Jason turned his head and stared at the giant stationed next to him. The man stared back at him dispassionately, cracking the knuckles of one hand in the palm of another.

“Your attention on the wall now again.”

A picture from a concentration camp.

“Horrible. Terrible.”

A computer component he didn’t recognize.

“Hi-tech.”

“And how does this picture make you feel?”

The picture on the wall was an aerial view of a checkpoint in a middle eastern city. A group of soldiers were gathered around a compact white car, steam wafting from the engine block.

Jason breathed out, biting his tongue.

“What is it you wanted to say, Jason?” Kaku leaned forward expectantly.

Jason didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“What about this one, then?”

The Diogennes Incorporated corporate logo.

“A light in the dark…” Jason whispered.

“And this?”

An interior view of the white compact car. A bloodied little girl slumped against the woman next to her. The girl’s arm hung from her shoulder by threads. Blood trickled from a single gunshot wound to her head.

“Nothing to say,
hmmm
?”

At that moment, Jason hated Dr. Kaku more than he had ever hated anyone.

“She was seven years old, by the way,” the doctor was gleeful. “Should you care to know.”

“You son of a bitch—” Jason spat the words at him. The giant rushed forward but he managed to blurt out “you too!” before the cellophane stretched taut across his face, cutting off his breathing. He felt his balance thrown off as his feet were raised above his head and the water splashed over the cellophane, across his face.

He gasped, sucking in plastic, struggling, the giant holding him tight by the sides of his head.

…a happy place…

He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t hold his breath forever. My god, they were going to kill him…

Think of a happy place

Eleven hours and twenty-four minutes.

It took eleven hours and twenty-four minutes to drive from Rochester to their town in North Carolina. Every month Jason and Jack drove down after their last Thursday class and spent the weekend with the girls.
No Rain
was still in rotation on the top-40 stations. Whatever doleful qualities Jason had attributed to lead singer Shannon Hoon’s voice and lyrics no longer bespelled him.

He met Aspen’s older sister. He met the mom and the mom’s husband.

He made slow, sweet love to her. As they moved rythmatically back and forth together, he gazed down on her, entranced. Her beauty stole his breath. When they were done he lay atop her, his weight braced on his elbows as though she were some fragile keepsake that might shatter.

She was warm under him. His leg hung over the mattress. He raised his foot indolently and lowered it, tapping his big toe, the carpet muffling the sound.

She stroked his hair where it fell across his forehead. I love you, she said to him. He touched the side of her face delicately. I love you too, he told her.

He kissed her, tapping his toe against the floor.

The sound of someone rapping their knuckles against steel bars and beat boxing roused him.

“Hey…” Jason sat up and looked around his prison. Nothing had changed. “You there?”

The voice that answered wasn’t female and it wasn’t British.

“Yeah, I’m still here, man.” The way the guy said
man
, it sounded like
main
. Sounded like a black guy.

“You—you know me?”

“What kind a question that, main?”

The stone floor under Jason’s feet was cold. He sat on the edge of the cot, forehead in hand, his arm bent, fist resting on his thigh. He sat that way for some time while the other man called out to him.

“Yo—don’t let him in your head, main.”

Jason looked up. “Don’t let who?”

“
Maaaaiiinnnn
…” the knuckle rapping stopped for a moment before resuming “…don’t make me go and say his name. You know who.”

“Dr. Kaku.”

“Dr. fuckin’
Coo coo
is who.”

Jason smiled in spite of his situation.

“Don’t let that motherfucker in your head, yo.”

“Don’t let him in my head…”

“Eggs-actly.”

“What’s going on here?”

“You were quiet for a while.” The man continued to drum a rhythm with his knuckles. “Know what I was doing?”

“No.”

“I was thinkin’. Know what I was thinkin’?”

“No.”

“
Wanna
know what I was thinkin’?”

“Go ahead.”

“One song, main.”

“One song?”

“One song can change your life. Change
my life
.”

“Change how?” Jason leaned against the bars of his cell. From the proximity of the other man’s voice it sounded like he was too. “What do you mean?”

“One song let me do shit I meanin’ to do. You get one song out there, it’ll open doors.”

“Like what? What do you want to do?”

“Oh, I ain’t gonna say that here…” Jason looked across to the blinking camera, imaging the other man doing the same as he spoke “…all I’m sayin’, I need a chance. That’s all.”

“You that good?”

“I’m good enough. You think half them niggas out there gettin’ props on what—
talent
? N’ah. Dey shit so heavily produced—these niggas can’t rhyme.”

“No?”

“Hell no. Dey got no flow. No skills.”

“But you do?”

The other man laughed like he knew something Jason didn’t.

“I gots mad skills. One song, main. We talkin’ Diddy-money. We talkin’ Rocca-money.
One song
man. All it takes. Change my life. Change the world main, you know?”

“There’s a few ways to change the world…” Jason had his arms pushed through the bars, resting them on the cold steel “…maybe you shouldn’t be putting all your eggs in that one basket, huh?”

“Don’t be a hater, main.”

“I’m not being—Look, I’m just saying.”

“Don’t deny the dream, main.”

“Hey, believe me: I hope it happens for you,
really
.” Jason stared forlornly at the rock walls in the passageway. “Change the world and everything.”

“Yeah, well…” The other man didn’t sound convinced.

“No, really, I do.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, but, you know, you gotta get out of here first.”

“I’m meanin’ to.”

Jason lowered his head and sighed, closing his eyes. He wondered if
No Rain
had changed Shannon Hoon’s life. He imagined it had landed Blind Melon on no shortage of one-hit wonders lists. He didn’t even know the names of the other guys in the band. He felt a strange pang of guilt over this.

“Jason.”

He looked up. His arms were stretched out on the table before him, shackled at the wrists. He was back in the small room.

“Jason, it is important that you pay attention to me. Focus.”

Dr. Kaku was seated across from him at the table. The looming giant stood cloaked in the dark.

“I am going to show you another photograph today.”

Jason studied the table. There were three items on it. A manila folder, a carved mahogany box, and a legal pad with a pen. No revolver. Kaku opened the manila folder and extracted a single, wallet-sized headshot, placing it on the table in front of Jason.

“You know this person?”

Jason recognized the photograph immediately.

“How long—” he was livid and saw no point in hiding it “—how long have you been watching me?”

“Perhaps you forgot our little brocard governing enquiries,
mmmm
?”

“Fuck you. Answer me.”

The giant moved forward.

“And fuck you! Come on then!”

A gesture from Kaku returned the enforcer to the shadows.

“If you would know,” the doctor folded his hands on the table, “We have been interested in you for quite some time, Jason.”

“This guy fucking with me?” Jason asked the room. “He serious?”

“Who is this, Jason?” Kaku tapped the picture.

“You are serious.” He glared at the doctor. “You know who the fuck that is, you motherfucker. That’s me. In ninth grade.”

“
Ahhh
…” Kaku smiled, rubbing his palms together. “You say that’s you when you were in ninth grade. But, Jason—think now: do you remember taking that picture?”

“What?”

“Do you remember the room you sat in? The set up of the camera and lights? Tell me, Jason: was it a man or a woman who released the shutter?”

“You…” Jason peered at Kaku, his gaze simmering.

“Do you recall what shoes you wore?”

“You’re…”

“I trust the answers are
no
,” Kaku flicked an index finger in the air, “
no
,” he flicked it again, “and
nein
.” He flicked the finger a third time, looking extremely self-satisfied.

“You’re demented.”

“I believe you misunderstand,” the doctor sounded concerned. “This is not about
my
mental well-being, Jason. And if you cannot recollect the answers to these simple questions, how then in fact do you know that
this
—” Kaku stabbed his rigid index finger on top of the photograph “—was you?”

“It’s
me
because I
know
it’s fucking me. It’s from
my
year book.”

“Do you remember sitting for the picture?”

“It’s
me
.”

“Do you remember?”

“
Yes
! No.”

“The timescape is nothing if not a slippery slope, Jason.” Kaku sat back in his chair. “Believe me, I know. I market in probabilities. Though we are aware of the passage of time, we experience our every lived moment as an eternal now…”

“But that’s
me
.”

“… as our temporality grounds us in this subjective experience of psychological time. We’ve evolved to inhabit three spatial dimensions, Jason, and there are limits inherent to that arrangement. Thus, while we are cognizant of time elapsing, who among us can recall every exact detail of a time past?
Hmmm
?”

“I don’t care what you say…”