Warning! Do Not Read This Story! (3 page)

*****

 

I don't know.

I can't remember.

I've no idea what comes next. That part of the story is lost to me. That part of me is gone.

It survived for all the long ages, passed down from one storyteller to the next, from the earliest human beings all the way to Sergeant Towers. In fact, Towers might have been the last person to retell me in my glorious entirety.

I apologize for not being able to recapture her exact words that day. Suffice it to say, she finished telling Buzz Mahaffey and the LaVerge sisters every last wonderful bit of my original text, and then she said...

 

*****

 

"The End." Towers stared at the glass coffee table. "That's all Espinoza told me."

"What a
downer
." Carrol scowled and lit another cigarette. "The least you could've done was jazz that thing up for us with a little creative editing."

Sascha leaned forward on the couch and met Carrol's gaze. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"If it has to do with getting home in time for my tango lesson," said Carrol, "then yes."

"What do
you
think?" Sascha locked eyes with Buzz. "What should we do next?"

Buzz shrugged. "You're the experts."

"Okey-doke." Sascha extended a hand. "Give me your weapon."

"You too, sweetpea." Carrol snapped her fingers and pointed at Towers. "Cough it up."

Towers glared and rested a hand on her holster. "Not going to happen."

Carrol blew a jet of smoke from one side of her mouth, then slid it around to the other side. "So you'd rather
die
than surrender your weapon? Because that's the scenario we're looking at here."

"Why is that?" said Buzz. "What exactly is going on here?"

Sascha looked at the window, and Buzz did the same. It was getting dark; the sun had gone down while Towers told her story.

"We don't have time to explain." Sascha locked eyes with Buzz. "You'll just have to trust us, Buzzie."

It went against all his training and experience, but Buzz found himself putting his faith in her. His hand found the grip of the nine-mil in his shoulder holster.

Towers elbowed him in the side. "What if
they're
the threat? What if they want our guns so they can use them on
us
?"

Carrol pulled the lever on the side of the recliner, dropping the footrest with a bang and flinging the backrest forward. "Earth to Towers! We work direct for the
President
, sugarplum! You think the
President
of the
United States
wants you
dead
?"

Buzz pulled the nine-mil from his holster and laid the gun on the coffee table in front of Towers. "We're in over our heads on this one, Sergeant. Let's give the professionals the benefit of the doubt."

"Can we please move this along?" Sascha scooped up Buzz's gun from the table. "We're running out of time."

"Running out of time till what?" said Towers. "What's going to happen?"

"For the love a' Mike!" Carrol struggled to her feet, keeping her back stiff and pushing off the armrests with both hands. "Will you just give her the gee-dee
gun
?"

"Do you need an Executive Order, Sergeant?" said Buzz. "Because I can make that happen."

Towers glared and drew her pistol. She popped out the ammo cartridge and pocketed it, then held the gun suspended above the coffee table.

And let it drop.

The glass table shattered under the weight of the gun, spraying everyone on the sofa with shards. Buzz flung up his hands to shield his face, then jumped up to shake off the debris.

Without a word, Towers stood and marched away from the sofa.

"Hey! Yo!" Sascha leaped to her feet and grabbed Towers by the elbow. "Back yard, please." Sascha turned Towers and bobbed her head at Buzz and Carrol. "All of you. Keep an eye on each other while I work."

Carrol hobbled over and leaned a forearm on Sascha's shoulder. "That's right, kiddies. Chop chop now."

Sascha shrugged off the forearm. "You too, Sis."

Carrol looked stunned. "But we're a team."

"Not for long, Sis." Sascha kissed her on the forehead. "Not if I can't fix this in a hurry."

 

*****

 

That was when it started. When Sascha LaVerge started working on me.

I had to hand it to her. She figured me out. She realized I was the cause of the trouble in Lasco. She even had an idea of how to stop me.

Sascha understood that stories are more than a beginning, middle, and end. Much more than plot and characters and setting and theme.

We have language and rhythm and algorithms and code...a kind of software that can change the human brain. Program it.

We are mind control in its purest form. We can make you feel happy or angry or sad. We can change the way you feel about your family, your government, your life. We can make you take a stand or fall in love or choose a career or take a trip. We can make you love your neighbor, hate your neighbor, hate yourself.

And if we're strong enough, like me--like I
used
to be--we can make you
kill
yourself.

You can't stop us, either, once we've gotten inside your head. At least, you shouldn't be able to.

Unless you're Sascha LaVerge.

Sascha sat at the kitchen table in the borrowed house and listened to me all over again, playing back Towers' performance on the digital recorder. Sascha listened carefully, made notes, and plotted her strategy.

Beads of sweat stood out on her creased forehead. Her heart pounded like a bass drum in her chest. She knew she was running out of time. I still had a chance to beat her.

And it seemed, for a while, that I
would
win. When the shouting and crashing started in the back yard, she knew I had the upper hand.

But she kept working in the kitchen anyway, totally focused, working on me...even as I kept working on her friends.

 

*****

 

Grunting, Towers strained against Buzz's grip, forcing the jagged, bloody shard of coffee table glass toward her own left wrist.

Buzz held on to her right arm with both hands, straining to keep her from closing the deal. She'd already slashed the left wrist crossways twice, and blood was oozing from the wounds.

Why Towers was doing it, she hadn't said. The move had come without warning. Towers had managed to sneak the glass shard from the coffee table wreckage out to the back yard without Buzz noticing until she'd started slicing.

Towers wasn't explaining, but the connection to the other suicides was clear enough to Buzz. She was just another link in the chain from the dead little girl and Espinoza...a chain that probably wouldn't end with her.

"Sergeant Towers! Stand down!" Buzz barked it like an order in the hope of getting through to the trooper.

But she ignored him. Her eyes remained glazed-over, her teeth clenched, her arms rigid. The bloody shard glittered in the moonlight.

Abruptly, Towers shifted position and increased the pressure behind the shard, nearly snapping Buzz's resistance. Buzz flowed with the sudden change, though, and compensated for the increased pressure. Then, he tried her tactic for himself, shifting hard and hauling her forward.

If he'd been fighting anyone but a grizzly like Towers, he would have flipped them to the ground with that move. He would have twisted the glass shard free and hogtied the opponent with his necktie in a heartbeat.

Instead, Towers flung herself on top of him.

Her crushing weight came down like a car rolling side-over-side in a ditch. She knocked the breath out of him and pinned him in the dust. Buzz's only consolation was that her hand with the shard was trapped under him, so she was unable to slash her wrist.

It was only a consolation, however, until she started dragging the shard out from under him. He howled in pain as the jagged edge cut through his shirt into the meat of his chest.

 

*****

 

Secrets can make a story great. Used effectively, they can keep a reader guessing, build suspense, and create surprise.

Used improperly, however, they can kill a story's momentum. When a secret seemingly pops up out of nowhere, it can drain a story of internal logic and a sense of fair play. It can ruin everything.

That's what Sascha LaVerge's secret did for me.

It turned out she had a special motivation for trying to stop me. And a special insight, which is why she understood me so well.

I didn't know it until she operated on me that night in the kitchen. I didn't know it until she finally reminded me.

The two of us had met before.

 

*****

 

Buzz tried with all his might to push off Towers, but she wouldn't budge. She kept her full weight planted on his back and inched the jagged shard out from under him, slicing open his chest.

Then, suddenly, the weight increased, and the hand stopped moving. At first, Buzz didn't realize what had happened.

At least until he heard Carrol hollering above him. "Yee-haw! Git along little dogie!"

Buzz quickly figured it out. Bad back and all, Carrol had climbed atop the pile and was riding Towers like a cowboy on a bull.

Carrol whooped as Towers roared and bucked, trying to shake her. "Yippi-ki-yi-yay!"

Finally, Towers jerked up onto her knees and yanked her arm out from under Buzz. Buzz snatched up the glass shard and scooted away in time to see Towers peel off Carrol and pitch her to the ground.

And whip around to charge after him again.

 

*****

 

You heard me right the first time. Sascha and I had met before.

She mentioned it when she was working on me. "This time will be different, you monster," she said. "I won't let you win."

I wondered what she was talking about.

"I'm closing the books on you," said Sascha as she scribbled furiously on a steno pad. "I'll do to you what you did to my sister.

"I'll
cripple
you." Sascha pressed so hard, the tip of her pencil snapped. "I'll make you suffer the way that
she's
suffered. I'll make you wish you'd never come to Sestina."

It was then that it hit me. I'd heard her mention it before, when she and Carrol had arrived in Lasco. I'd heard her say the name, but I hadn't connected the dots until now.

I'm like a rock star that way. I've been intimate with so many people in so many places; you can't expect me to remember every one by name. Not at the drop of a hat.

You can't expect me to remember every butthole dogpatch grease-stain podunk I depopulated decades ago. Or every dingleberry traumatized survivor to crawl from the wreckage with a bellyful of nightmares.

Even after Sascha mentioned Sestina, I remembered it only vaguely. But I did realize with great clarity what our past association meant.

And for the first time in my life, I felt fear. For the first time, I faced a true challenge.

Because it was personal.

 

*****

 

Towers charged at Buzz with arms extended, snarling. Buzz knew what she wanted, knew also she wouldn't flinch from hurting or killing him to get it...so he decided to get rid of it.

"Carrol!" Buzz hurled the glass shard over Towers and across the yard. "Think fast!"

Towers stopped charging and spun, looking for the shard. It was thirty feet away, in the dust at Carrol's feet. Carrol winced and held her lower back with one hand as she crouched to retrieve it.

Just as Towers was about to bolt toward her, Buzz launched himself at the trooper's broad back. He plowed a shoulder solidly into her spine, sending her toppling to the ground.

Buzz's momentum pitched him down on top of her, and he rolled off as soon as they hit. He came up fast on his feet, springing out of her radius...but not quite fast enough. Towers landed a huge paw on his ankle and yanked him to his knees.

Buzz scrambled in the dust as Towers dragged him toward her...and then he heard a loud
crack
. Suddenly, Towers relaxed her grip, and Buzz fumbled away from her.

As Buzz bounced back up to his feet, he whirled to see Carrol standing over Towers' limp body, brandishing a plank. She tossed it away and staggered backward with a wince.

"Tell your boss...I want a whole new back...for that one." Carrol turned away, shaking her head, breath hissing between teeth clenched in pain.

Buzz brushed himself off. "Thanks." His own back wasn't feeling so hot after all the tossing around he'd gotten. His head felt funny, too; there was dizziness and faint pressure behind his eyes.

He bent down for a moment, leaning his hands on his knees. He thought maybe he should find a place to sit down.

Then, he looked over at Carrol and changed his plans.

She was still turned away from him...but he could see the glass shard glinting in the moonlight. Heading for her throat.

She was going to pick up where Towers had left off.

 

*****

 

When things quieted down outside, I felt a rush of relief. I thought I'd won after all. In spite of Sascha's personal vendetta, she hadn't finished in time to save her friends.

I expected her to give up and leave me alone. I figured she'd realize there was no reason to keep fighting me.

But I was wrong.

Sascha didn't even look up. She just kept scribbling on her pad, working on me as if it still mattered.

Believe it or not, I felt sorry for her.

Here's something you might not know about stories. Whatever our goals or content, we really do care about the people who hear and read us. We have a connection.

Because we put something of ourselves in every last one of you.