eFiction Magazine September 2010

September 2010 1

e f i c t i o n

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

Issue No. 006

Contents Blood Binds: The Caste Of Blood

Page 4

Episode 6 Tonya R. Moore

Jersey Surf: The List Episode 6 Glen Binger

Apophis Aaron M. Wilson

You Can’t Do Anything Without Me Christina Hoag

Tin Man

Page 10

Page 19 Page 28 Page 32

Harris Tobias

And It’s Weird Because Eugene Fleming B. Kari Moore

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Page 35

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

Letter from the Editor

Dear Reader,

This is issue number six of eFiction. Unofficially, it is the back-to-school issue. Yes, September is here. Summer is winding down and school will be starting soon, if it hasn’t already. Yellow busses will once again be rolling through your neighborhood en masse. The aroma of pencils, rubber erasers, textbooks, and fresh ink will fill noses of countless hordes of little monsters heading back to their winter asylum. College campuses will flood with swarms of nervous, sweaty freshmen.

Whether or not you are a student, please enjoy the two short school related stories this month, “And It’s Weird Because Eugene Fleming” written by B. Kari Moore and “Apophis” written by Aaron Wilson. One takes place in grade school, the other university. Guess right now which is which. Read them to find out if you’re right.

Also in this issue, a new episode of Tonya Moore’s fantasy epic, Blood Binds. Glen Binger’s, never-ending party, Jersey Surf, continues this month with a new episode. “Tin Man”, Harris Tobias’ short science fiction story is told from a fresh perspective. Christina Hoag presents us with “You Can’t Do Anything Without Me”, an engrossing snapshot of a passionate relationship gone wrong.

Check out these stories and the amazing authors who wrote them. Let us know in the comments, on twitter, or facebook what you thought and which story stood out above the rest.

Happy reading,

3

DougLance

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

Blood Binds Tonya R. Moore Episode 6

The Caste of Blood Part 1

Kyle knew he needed to do what his captor said. He was already losing blood, too much and too quickly. He watched the way the woman obediently lowered her head, like some magically mechanical doll. A vampire forcing this kind of behavior wasn’t unusual but this whole setup felt so wrong. She didn’t seem to be held in thrall. Why would anyone in full possession of their faculties do this willingly?

He sunk his teeth in and recoiled immediately, tasting something unsavory. His stomach rebelled even though his hunger raged. He turned his head away.

“Can’t...” he wheezed. He drew back, lurching sideways unsteadily.

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He heard an impatient snarl. The bastard shot Kyle again.

It didn’t hurt any less than the first five times. That it should be Stefan’s double doing the deadly deed--the irony of it all stuck in

his craw. Had he really come all this way to end up right where he’d started? Had it really been so impossible, escaping his own demise? If that was the case, he may as well have just stayed there waiting for the dawn on the blood soaked ground where Hel found him, all those years ago.

A strangled sound filled the cavernous space around them.

It took Kyle an eternity to realize that was his own voice. There was something else this time around though. Whatever these rounds contained rapidly streamed through his veins. It burned like acid in his blood. Everything slowly went blurry before going dark.

Kyle hurtled into wakefulness, subconsciously alarmed by the nostalgic sensation of a persistent warmth pouring down. He opened his eyes to a room awash in brilliance. The heat and light that enveloped him was the actually the sun.

“Holy...”

Panic set in but for only a split second. If there was any danger of immolation, he’d be dead already. The walls and ceiling were made of some kind of transparent material. Was that the reason for this rare gift of daylight? Was he even still in Belinda?

At any rate, it seemed he wouldn’t be dying just yet. Relief warred with that odd disappointment that sets in when the worst doesn’t happen after you’ve already resigned yourself to your doom.

He’d been laid out on some sort of blanketed dais. Otherwise, the room was unfurnished. At a closer look, the curvature of the walls made him realize that he housed was in some sort of sphere. When he looked outside, he saw more of these spheres in clusters fanning outward. Though he couldn’t make them out clearly, he could tell that there were people inside most of them,

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

moving around. This was what lay at the center of Belinda, an eerily peaceful city of glass that shone under the sun.

he could count on one hand. It was far more reassuring to figure that Hel’s overly generous nature was at fault and leave it at that.

It had been nightfall when they’d snuck into the library.

The sun now was high in the sky. What about the others? He wondered. Worry was beginning to gnaw at him. At first he’d figured that they’d gotten away. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Even here, alone in a strange room where no one could be privy to his thoughts, he skirted around the subject of the companion who was uppermost in his mind. The moment he first laid eyes on Tallow, something inside had ignited, filling him with a staggering degree of presque vu.

It was so weird, having people to worry about in the first place. Pretty much a throw-away misfit, his best friend had in fact been his only friend. After Stefan’s death, he’d lived in isolation for years, hiding from Stefan’s maker and the knowledge of what he was. He’d been traveling with these three for barely a year and he’d developed the sort of attachment he wouldn’t thought was possible, especially being what he was.

Hel had been his savior. He pretty much hero-worshiped her. He was well aware of how embarrassingly childish it was but she’d gone to such lengths to keep him alive, back then. Giving him her own blood. Cradling him against her as he slowly healed in that cave pocketed beneath the earth. How harrowing that must have been for her but she never hesitated or gave him a chance to protest.

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Even Charls, shady as he was--Kyle was certain that Charls had actually tried to kill him twice already. He could breathe a little easier these days because the sorcerer seemed to have shelved the killing intent for the time being. He’d even actively helped Kyle more times than he’d tried to do him harm. That counted for something. Maybe --hope beyond all hopes, it had finally gotten through to his thick skull that all night-walkers weren’t created equal. Still, Kyle supposed the man was exactly what a dark wizard should be. The fact that Hel could love someone like that--on one hand it was hair-raising. On the other hand, it made Kyle think that in spite of everything, maybe the taciturn man had a few redeeming qualities. Though he sincerely doubted more than

Maybe because of her, he’d been thinking about Stefan more than usual lately. Something about her reminded him of his friend. The way it made his heart tremble, her laughter and the sound of her breath when she slept. Maybe it was just that reckless streak, the way she wielded her power so carelessly, seemingly without any inkling of what she really was or the damage that she could really do. She always seemed to be teetering on the edge of something deep and dark, that he could never hope to fathom, even in a million years. It filled him with elation and dread all at once.

This messy mix of circumstances and even mystery of the blood grudge, he wasn’t ready to give them up. It was the first time since he’d been Made that Kyle felt so alive. That wasn’t a feeling he’d relinquish so easily. He looked up into the ceiling at the wavering disc in the sky. It was so bright, it made his eyes ache and water. It was enough to drag him back to there here and now, back to his current predicament.

He tried to get up. It took more effort than it should. They’d taken his ruined clothes, dressed him in something that looked a lot like white medical scrubs. The fabric was featherlight to the touch but somehow it felt like he was wearing a ton of lead.

They’d kept him alive but apparently, didn’t want him moving about freely. There were some mean looking bruises making a dotted line on each arm. Needle marks? So they took his blood.

What the hell for? No. He was in a weak state but his wounds

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

were healed. They must have given him just enough blood to keep him alive that way. He managed to get to his feet, swaying as dizziness swamped him. He sat back down abruptly.

A shadow fell over the threshold. Time hadn’t erased the familiarity of that presence. He turned without thinking.

Cardinal didn’t seem to like that answer but if he wanted to respond with violence, something stopped him. His fists were curled into balls at his side.

“My mistress wishes to meet you,” he said evenly. He spun and strode away without waiting to see if Kyle followed.

“Stefa--” Stefan’s doppelganger crossed the threshold. The vampire took a step forward. He frowned at Kyle pointedly. “Cardinal.

Remember it.”

“Is that a name or a title?” Kyle asked, not really caring one way or another.

“Both.” Cardinal fiddled with a band on his wrist and the walls went dark. “Start talking.”

Kyle met his icy stare evenly. “Be more specific.”

“I know you,” His eyes bored down into Kyle’s. “I don’t know how. Why do you have my blood?”

He’d shucked the drab--Kyle was guessing--military gear.

He wore black, an elegant suit with no buttons or zippers anywhere to be seen. It clung to his limbs in a manner that was just a hair’s breadth from obscene. The cream colored lace at his collar and cuffs of his sleeves ran along the lines of Stefan’s taste. Cardinal’s manner though, was different to a blood curdling degree.

The way he breathed, the way he watched Kyle ever so quietly it was all similar enough to make him bitter with regret but there was a certain taint below the surface that confirmed what Kyle already knew. This man was absolutely not his friend.

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one who made me, he’s dead and long forgotten by most. It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“Another life, another time.” Kyle answered lowly. “The

The weight on Kyle’s shoulder lessened immediately. He was able to stand and walk with ease. It was better than being weighed down by a yolk he couldn’t even see, so he followed.

In all honestly he was scared right down to his toes. The mistress. Olivia. He hadn’t forgotten. Not that he could. He couldn’t ever forget. She was the waking nightmare that followed him into dreaming everyday. Would she be the same? He wondered.

Would she have the same wild, black hair and cruel green eyes?

Down to the tiny mole below her right eye?

His mind was racing with the fervor of a babbling idiot who couldn’t refrain from littering the air with his every inane thought.

The doorway was an opening in the floor that revealed a staircase, curling downward into a network of underground corridors. These were obviously what allowed the undead denizens of Belinda--unbound by the limits of day and night--to move about freely from one bubble to the other. It was an impressive setup. No doubt if the vampires on earth had something like this, they’d openly rule the world. Which is what Kyle supposed, exactly what was happening here.

As they walked, the sounds of vampires reached Kyle.

Their many whispers and turbulent thoughts gathered and became a chorus in his head. It was maddening! He didn’t want to

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

hear this--didn’t want any part of it. It did make one thing clear.

Even the gift of daylight didn’t make the undead any less creepy.

If anything, it just made being around them even more unnerving.

They passed many humans on the way. Most of them nodded at Cardinal with deference. Kyle, they either ignored or regarded with suspicion. Again, they all seemed like perfectly normal humans, going about their own business and acting according to their own will. The courtesy that they extended seemed to have more to do with Cardinal’s rank than any vampiric magic that might be keeping them under the thumb of the immortals.

This was confirmed when they crossed paths with a few vampires who reacted in exactly the same way. What a weird city, Belinda was.

He blinked. Astonishment kept him rooted to the spot.

Cardinal’s mistress was not the cruel queen bitch, Olivia, after all. The dusky empress was perched on an elaborate chair, which seemed to have been fashioned after a throne. She regarded Kyle with with a mix of avarice and suspicion. She was dark--nubile Nigerian dark. The flecks of her irises were like faceted jewels.

When she spoke, her voice was unexpectedly thick, rough around the edges.

“I’m Oma, matriarch of this domain. Who are you?”

“Kyle Watson,” he replied without hesitation.

Her head tilted, in the manner of a bird contemplating a worm. “Is that your name or designation?”

He took his cue from Cardinal and answered. “Both.”

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teeth. He didn’t even know why. He just got the sense that the last thing he wanted to do was be completely honest with the creature sitting before him.

“And your purpose?” She pressed.

He smiled genially. “The pursuit of Knowledge.”

She eyed him dubiously. “About what?”

“A certain star.”

Oma moved. One moment she was on the edge of her seat.

In the next, she was standing before him. She was as thin as a willow and stood at leads two heads taller than Kyle. Her long, graceful fingers tangled in the curls of his hair. She smelled of earth and something sickeningly sweet.

“A reasonable answer. Of course I must suspect that trickery is afoot.” She bent slightly.

Her thick braids, smelled of water and salt. Her hair was still damp from wherever she’d been before deigning to grant him an audience. “When you...” Oma inhaled deeply. Slowly. A low growl escaped her throat. “You smell like one of my children.”

The steely tips of her fangs glittered. Kyle was trembling like a leaf. That old terror bowled him over again. The certainty that he was about to die, in most painful manner got stuck in his throat. He was paralyzed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. He shuddered violently when her sharp teeth sank into the flesh of his neck.

“You even taste like--” She flinched. She lashed out with a vexed snarl.

The only difference was that he was lying through his eFiction Magazine - September 2010

In his weakened state, it was enough to send him hurling across the room and crashing into something that shattered when it fell. He watched her spit and wipe her mouth ineffectively with the back of her hand.

“Witch blood!” She growled. “You are a witch’s plaything?”

“What?” The blank look he gave her was not pretense.

“Hey, I’m not anyone’s plaything.” But then Tallow came to mind and whatever her blood had done to him made his system go all screwy. Did that count? He sobered. “I mean...”

He almost missed the moment Oma’s playfulness fled.

Though she was still smiling, she turned to Cardinal with barely a whisper. “What did you bring into my house?”

He felt her being sliding over him like a coat. It was an invasive and oppressive sensation, entirely unpleasant. His body moved, according to Tallow’s will. Power whipped out of him stopping Cardinal in his tracks. The next blow flattened him.

Kyle’s throat constricted, clogged. The words that came out of his mouth weren’t his own.

“Sincere apologies for the intrusion. I wasn’t aware that Belinda had become a principality of the Caste of Blood.”

She backhanded him. He staggered backward. It didn’t look like much but Cardinal’s maker was a hoary beast. Blood dripped from the back of her hand. Kyle was sure he heard bones crack. A lesser man would have died from that. Hell, Kyle was sure he’d have died from that. Cardinal didn’t say anything. He wiped at his bloody mouth, messying the delicate lace of his cuff.

It was stupid but Kyle couldn’t help crowing inwardly. Spoiling a good shirt like that, that’s something Stefan definitely would never have done!

Oma stared at Kyle oddly. What was she seeing? He wondered. Was she seeing Tallow or the awkward marionette that he’d become? He saw something else in her eyes that he never expected. Fear, a tiny shadow of it crept back into hiding as soon as it had slipped out.

Where else would Cardinal turn his angry glare but on Kyle? This was the Stefan that Olivia would have wanted. This was the animal, the spoiled and wicked thing. Oma--calculating and indulgent held the reins but loosely. Cardinal advanced toward Kyle. Fangs on.

Tallow chuckled. “I have no desire for anything as low brow as that.” It made Kyle shudder. Did she know what she was saying or was she just bluffing? Her manner steeled. “I will leave as soon as you release Kyle Watson.”

“KYLE!”

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sound of Tallow’s voice sliding into his skin. He was starting to be able to tell the difference now, between when she was projecting from nearby and from a great distance away. Right now, she way safely far and away. Thanks whatever gods there were! She was working some kind of magic, scrying... and crying. He could feel that too. It made his marrow hum, his knees watery.

“Nevertheless,” Oma retorted coolly. “Your kind is not welcome here. Leave immediately. Before this becomes a territorial dispute.”

“Why should I do that?” Oma demanded testily. “I think I’ll have the weakling remain here. I could teach him a thing or two about what it really means to be a night-walker.”

Kyle jolted at the sudden rush of breath in the air, the eFiction Magazine - September 2010

“He is not one of you.” Tallow’s anger swirled, making the charged air around them crackle. “He is my friend.”

“Don’t you mean familiar?” Oma demanded archly.

There was a jolt. Kyle felt Tallow squirm in a small way.

“Yes, of course.” she said quietly. “He is that now. Isn’t he?”

It was bitter. It made his heart ache but it was enough to make her waver. It took all of his will but he pushed back against her mind. “Tallow, stop this!” He ground out. “I don’t like it.”

Two days? That bit of news gave him quite a jolt but he was more concerned about the fact that Belinda’s central city had gone completely silent. This wasn’t the same eerie calm that had unsettled him earlier. The air was tense, even the scent of it had changed. They were already being hunted.

“I have a feeling this place is going to be harder to escape than the repository.”

Tallow snorted. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

To his surprise, she acquiesced. In the next instant, she was actually beside him. Chest heaving from the effort of jumping. She clung to Kyle trembling. Her eyes, gone sightless and milky white--even to the irises--bored into Oma. “I’m not your enemy,” she whispered fiercely. “But I will be if I must.”

She jumped again, taking Kyle with her before Oma could react. They didn’t get very far. Still within the compound but in a secluded area, she sank to the ground trembling. Frantic, Kyle palmed her cheeks.

“Tallow! What the hell happened to your eyes?”

“Don’t worry, it’s temporary. I hope.” She batted his hands away impatiently. “Stop looking at me like that!”

Kyle sank down beside her, caught between relief and amusement. “Said the blind woman.”

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“I can see just fine,” she grumbled. “This is your fault, I’ll have you know. This is the unfortunate result of scrying for you for two whole days!” eFiction Magazine - September 2010

Jersey Surf

just outside his window, he removed a triple folded slice of notebook paper from a folder behind the headboard. It had seemed to begin to turn yellow with its seemingly new enriched age, at least in the light. It looked like this:

Glen Binger Episode 6

The List Zach’s list of priorities altered themselves immensely that night; and probably for the better. Being a father meant he didn’t come first anymore, and thus, things had to change. Except for the growing-abeard thing; no way in hell was he shaving. Natalie kissed his fuzzy cheek and got up to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, walking down the front steps.

“Get some sleep.”

He didn’t respond but kept a gaze focused on her butt, flowing down the porch steps then flexing as she got onto her beach cruiser.

“Cheer up, brah!” she yelled, ringing the bell on her handlebars and riding off into the darkness just beyond the streetlamp.

His lips curved, uncontrollably and even something inside of his chest felt as if it were smiling. And right then, he knew he had to make everything right. For the sake of his life goals. For the list on the folded paper behind his bed’s headboard. For his sanity. It was only fair.

Upstairs, in the combined glow of his laptop and the streetlight

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eFiction Magazine - September 2010

The worn, stringy fibers of the paper felt comforting against the flesh of his fingertips. It reminded him of younger times back in college, when he first began compiling the list.

It all started out as a To Do Before I Die list, he remembered and laughed. I wonder if Mitch kept his. For a moment, he was in the sweaty dorm room, sitting at his desk, Mitch on the couch that took up too much floor space. Both hunched over a notebook while guzzling and sucking on microbrewery beer bottles.

to wake up early for work in the morning. He also told her to avoid the third step up on the staircase because it has creaked as long as he and his roommates have occupied the house. At the time, Courtney was intoxicated and thought nothing of it. She pictured three mid-twentysomething bartending bros living in a big house with lots of framed pictures on every wall.

But in the morning when the two of them came down the stairs to two plates of breakfast (bacon and eggs) and a note that looks like:

“Dude, this list is going to be the death of me,” Zach laughed, not turning to face Mitch. “Listen to this one: ‘Number five – have sex with someone famous.’”

Mitch laughed, “Nice! How bout this one: ‘Number six – drop a penny off the Empire State building.’ I wonder if that shit actually kills someone.”

Back in his room, under the dim lights, Zach scratched the inside of his nose with his index finger and began thinking about a new list. It made him depressed so he stopped compiling ideas. He stopped after three. It gutted him deep and he wanted to do nothing but sleep and drool and make it go away. Maybe dream about unicorns being burned or an old man dancing in his underwear in the snow. Anything to get the idea of having a child out of his head; it was ruining his ambition to live. Acidic stomach fluids bubbled in the back of his throat, signaling the end of an era.

He gulped. “I’m gonna need to find a roommate.”

Around the same time Zach was moping in the solitude of his darkened bedroom, Pete was explaining to a twenty-one year old woman named Courtney that his roommates were asleep and that his roommates didn’t like to be woken up late at night because they need

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Courtney quickly decided it was time to leave. And, as Pete realized this, he also decided it was the last straw. He needed to move

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out. “Call me,” he coughed out between laughs as Courtney slammed the front door behind her, muttering something under her breath that wasn’t audible to Pete’s inattentive ears. From past experiences though, it was probably something regarding his sexual orientation or handicapped living arrangements.

The following morning Zach kept trying to create an excuse not to call Kim. But After calling himself a pussy a few times, he finally picked up the phone.

“Hey, it’s me. You got a minute?” He paused. “Can we talk?”

He wondered if she could hear the panic in his voice.

“Yeah,” her groggy voice answered. “I was actually gonna call you when I woke up.”

Zach glanced over at his muted television. The corner of the SportsCenter screen said it was 5:27am Pacific Time; which meant it was 9:27am Eastern. up?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you wanna just call me back when you get

“Hey,” she began. “Sorry I was exhausted. Had to catch up on some Z’s.” She giggled.

Zach forced a chuckle, repulsed by the sound of her laugh. “So I was wondering when we could talk.”

“That’s why I called,” she laughed again. “Can we meet up maybe?

Get some coffee or brunch or something?”

Zach winced but shook off the cackle. “Yeah that sounds great.

Any suggestions?”

“Wanna go to that new place on Main Street? I forget the name.

You know what I’m talking about.”

Right?”

He could hear her smile. “Oh right, uh, Main Grille. I think.

“Yeah! That’s it!”

“Okay, cool. You want me to pick you up?”

She paused to realize how awkward the car ride home was going to be. “Uhh, nah. I’ll meet you there. I gotta shower first so I’ll just see you there in a half hour.”

“Yeah,” she rasped.

“Okay, talk to you in a few.”

She hung up without saying goodbye. It made Zach paranoid, but then realized he was being crazy and tried to get his mind off it by unmuting the TV. When Kim finally called back Zach’s beard felt as if it grew over an inch or so. It didn’t because it had only been an hour but within that period of time Zach cleaned the kitchen, bathroom, and living room. He also reorganized his closet and bedroom. And took a dump.

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“Good morning sleepyhead,” he answered the phone.

“Sounds good. See you in a few.”

“Okay, bye,” she said.

“Bye.” He felt a wave of relief as she hung up the phone. Though no one could see it, he smiled wide and teethy, paranoia gone.

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

After his morning routine work-out and jog along the beach boardwalk, Pete decided to call Derek to see if he wanted to chill.

“Hello?” Derek answered.

“Yo, you wanna go surf or something?”

“I don’t surf,” Derek laughed. “Well… I can’t surf.”

“So body board.”

“I don’t have a board.” Derek began to feel guilty.

“You’re killin’ me smalls!” Pete couldn’t help but laugh. “I got a few, you can borrow one. No worries.”

“Okay, thanks.”

the fence and picked up the body board. “You okay now?”

“Yeah, but the waves look shitty,” he said, gazing out at the lakelike shoreline between sets. Every thirty seconds, or so, a set of kneehigh waves would stroll in.

“Look,” Derek pointed at the water, “at least there are some. Good call on the long board.”

“Fuckin’ Jersey blows. Always.” He laughed. “I don’t know why I even bother.”

The two walked past the badge checker, nodding to signal their level of local status. She nodded back but then smiled as she caught Pete quite obviously checking her out and studying her physical appearance.

Then they kept walking towards the water.

“How do you do it?” Derek asked.

“Aight, I’ll meet you up at inlet in fifteen?”

Pete smiled. “Do what?”

“Sounds good.”

Thirty minutes later, Pete rolled up on his beach cruiser, struggling to carry his long board and a body board. Derek saw him and decided to laugh as he fell off the bike into the sand, instead of helping.

“You okay?” He asked, pacing over to him.

“Yeah. Ass. Thanks for helping.”

“You know. Girls. How do you get so damn lucky?”

“What do you mean?”

Derek shook his head. “The girl. The badge checker. She was hot.

She caught you staring at her tits and, for some reason, she smiled. She didn’t care.”

Derek laughed. “No problem.” He grabbed the bike, trying to pull it out of the sand as soon as Pete crawled out from beneath it.

“Ah, look, dick. My board is dinged now.” Pete rubbed his hand along the side rail of the surf board. The ding was minimal but he wanted to embellish it, as usual.

“Relax, vagina. It’s barely noticeable.” Derek leaned the bike on

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“It’s a gift, really,” he laughed. teeth.”

“Dude. Seriously. If I did that she’d probably punch me in the “Well I highly doubt that.”

Derek chuckled. “But really. What’s the secret? Are you a

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

Pete drifted over the crest of a small wave. “Girls are crazy, man.”

magician? Do you have a rabbit up your ass?”

Pete walked straight into the water up to his knees then strapped the leash of his board to his ankle. Derek was slow to follow, still adjusting to the water temperature.

He laughed, somewhat confused. “You really want to know?”

Zach locked his bike to the single blooming tree outside of the café. Kim smiled at him through the front window.

“Hey,” she said as he took a seat across from her.

“Well, hello, lady. Sorry I’m late. I almost got hit by a fuckin’ Benny on the way here!”

“What?! Are you okay?”

Zach laughed, sarcastically studying his hands. “Yeah.” He raised his eyes back up to hers, smiled, and continued. “The douche didn’t stop when I was crossing Ocean Ave. I was in the crosswalk!”

“Damn,” she giggled. “You were this close to being rich.” She pinched her index finger and thumb together, holding them above the table.

“Yeah,” he smiled.

Just then a young guy walked by on the sidewalk outside. He was pushing a stroller and couldn’t have been more than twenty-six. From the corner of his eye, Zach noticed and suddenly remembered why he was here.

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“Yeah, I don’t understand them, either. But apparently you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“That’s the thing,” he laughed. “I don’t. I really don’t. I just get lucky. Every single time.”

In the distance, a swell grew and several waves formed in the path heading towards the two.

Derek tried to catch it, but missed because he had started paddling too late. He turned around and floated back to Pete. “Well you certainly got everyone fooled, then.”

“That’s the game, though.” Pete swung his arms, dipping and digging them deeper into the water. He caught a wave and rode it through the white wash and hopped off before he hit the shoreline. Two minutes later, he paddled back up to Derek. “You know what I mean? Confidence is everything.”

Zach’s jaw felt heavy and he had trouble keeping it taunt, but he managed to avoid letting it hang open. As he waited for Kim’s response – which seemed as if it was never coming – the room around him began to pulsate. He could feel the thick air pressing against his clammy skin.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. The paintings of the beach chairs on the wall grew and shrank, in and out, back and forth. Zach took the deepest breath he had taken since surfing in the hurricane last summer. He let it out slow, through his nose, barely audible. Then, finally relieving him, Kim answered in the most beautiful tone of voice Zach has ever heard.

Ever.

“I’m getting an abortion.” She looked down at the table and studied the scratches in its laminated surface to avoid making eye contact with him.

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

“Cool.” He answered quicker than he would have liked to. “I mean,” he paused. “You know what I mean, right?”

She looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, Zach.” She reached for his hand. “I know. It’s cool relax.”

“Okay.” The room kept pulsating. Thump. Zach wondered why it hadn’t stopped. Thump. Even Kim’s pretty face had started to grow and shrink and throb. Thump.

As he resurfaced, Derek said, “That is ridiculous. But I guess I can see it.”

“Yeah.” He climbed back onto his board and sat up. “But,” he looked straight into Derek’s eyes, “and this is big, but don’t be an asshole to the girl you’re trying to actually date. If you like her you need to find that equal balance between the nice guy and the asshole.”

“The nice ass.” Derek squinted. “What? That makes absolutely no sense.” He laughed.

“I know. Believe me. I know.”

“Are you okay?” She noticed him abnormally blinking his eyes.

“Yeah,” he took his hand back and pressed both into the sockets of his face. Thump. “It’s just this migraine.”

“I have some Advil, or Excedrin, I think.” She reached below the table, pulled up her bag, and dove into it, pulling out a green bottle of pills.

He waved his hand quickly in front of his chest. Thump. “No, I’m okay.

Thanks though.” His confidence remained intact.

“The other thing you need to try to do,” Pete paused, floating over another small crest, “is to, and I know this sounds ridiculous, is to be a complete asshole.”

“What?”

Bubba sprinkled some parsley across the top of the two entrees.

“Don’t get what, Miss Nat?” “Zach.” She leaned against the wall. “Sometimes he’s such an asshole. But other times I just want to,” she paused, “hug him forever.”

She laughed.

Bubba’s chuckle echoed against the walls, vibrations splicing down Natalie’s spine. “Well, what do you think? I mean, put yourself in his boots.”

She leaned forward, off the wall, and listened closer.

“Yeah. I know. It’s ridiculous. I don’t get it either. But girls, for some reason, love an asshole. Be a dick.” He stood up on his surf board and jumped off, diving into the water.

15

“I don’t get it, Bubba,” Natalie bitched in the kitchen. She had to work midday and took off that night for a dinner with her parents.

It worked out better for her; it wouldn’t be awkward instructing Kim then attempting not to stare at Zach’s perfect jaw structure.

“I mean, from the sounds of it, he doesn’t seem to wanna be with her. He wants you. By pushing him away you’d be makin’ the situation more difficult than needs be.” He picked up the plates and placed them on the counter, beneath the heat lamps. “And you don’t really want that,

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

do you?” Bubba’s crossed arms leaned on the counter behind the entrees.

“No,” Natalie picked up the plates and smiled, “I guess not. Thanks Bubba. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bubba’s massive cheeks tinted. “Aw now stop. You’re makin’ me blush.” The chuckle throbbed in the humid kitchen air.

“And the other thing is that you just gotta go with the flow, you know? Float with the tide.” Pete was sitting on his longboard, talking with his hands. Derek felt the ego radiating off his face and hands, both shape-shifting gestures with each fluctuation of tone. He just didn’t stop talking. “Go with your gut. Instinct is always right. Always. Say the first thing that comes to mind.”

“But that makes zero sense.” Derek had finally decided not to take any of Pete’s advice. But he sure did enjoy fueling the fire just floating there on his stomach in the ocean.

“I know, I know. But it works.”

“What about thinking before you speak? Aren’t there any repercussions?” He laughed.

Pete lowered his hands and shrugged. “Eh, not really. But that comes with the territory.”

you?”

“So,” Zach shook his head, “do you want me to split the cost with

“I was kinda hoping you would.” Kim’s eyes fluttered similar to the way they did the night the predicament was conceived.

16

“Yeah, definitely.” He closed his eyes tightly, again. Thump. Zach decided the throbbing seemed to be trying to tell him something. So he opened his eyes and listened to his guts. “How much is it? When can you do it?”

His tone switched from friendly to somewhat more productive, as if he had to get this done as soon as possible. Kim didn’t like it; it was cold. “What?”

Zach immediately realized how it sounded. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to come off like that. I just… I dunno. I’m not quite sure how to react. This has never happened to me before.” The movement inside of his gut stopped but not the throbbing in his head. There, He thought as Kim’s face turned back around, good save.

“It’s okay. That’s understandable. I was going to make an appointment or walk in or whatever next week. And I’m thinkin’ it’s probably going to be around four hundred dollars. So probably like two hundo split.” She tried to smile but it came off awkwardly.

“I can do that.”

“Okay.” Kim took a sip of her water. “So are you ready to order?”

“Yeah,” he scratched the stubble along his face. “I’m gonna have the grilled chicken. I heard it’s good.”

Derek sat on the body board in the sand as Pete caught one last wave before heading in to get ready for work. He certainly wasn’t sure what to think about all of Pete’s “advice.” But apparently it worked for him, so why not take it with a grain of salt?

“Yo man,” Pete said, laying his board down in the sand. “I gotta go back and get ready for work. You barbackin’ tonight?”

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“Yeah, all through up ‘til closing.” bitch.”

“Awesome. I’ll snag you up at the main bar so you can be my Derek laughed. “Sounds good, but I don’t fuck on the first date.”

“That’s okay,” Pete laughed. “You’re not my type anyway.”

As the two gathered their wave-riding equipment and laughed at each other’s expense, a sense of bro-hood overcame. Maybe I could try to rent a house with Derek, Pete wondered. He seems alright. It was in his best interest to move out and it didn’t matter with whom; he just needed to get out.

Later that night, Zach pulled Natalie aside in the kitchen’s offshot freezer room. “Hey,” he said, “I just wanted to let you know that Kim and I worked things out.”

“That’s good.” Natalie shifted her weight to one foot.

“Yeah.” He leaned in close to whisper. “She’s getting an abortion.”

She tilted her head, now feeling completely uncomfortable. This was exactly the kind of information she did not wish to know. In fact, her life would have probably gone on just fine without such knowledge.

“And we’re not going to be weird around each other. We decided its best that we stay friends.”

“Oh, cool!” A wave crashed through Natalie’s mind, mostly relieving her from the discomfort. “That’s good then.”

“Yeah. I just wanted to tell you. We’ll talk more later.”

17

Natalie smiled the way she did for all of her high school yearbook photos; but unlike those, this one wasn’t fake. It just felt fake. Behind it she actually did feel happy. She could finally let her relationship with Zach evolve. Then, just as she was about to respond by kissing his fuzzy cheek, Pete barged in.

“Dude!” He yelled and pointed his index finger right in Zach’s face. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you… oh. Hey Natalie. What’s up?” The level of awkward in his fake smile reminded Natalie of her senior year portrait.

“Relax man, she knows.” Zach cut in.

“Oh, good then.” He nodded at Natalie. “Listen, bro, me and Derek are gonna start lookin’ for a house. You’re gonna live with us, too.

That cool?”

“Really?” Zach paused and smiled. “You couldn’t wait until I was back at the bar to ask me that?”

“I could have but then that would mean that I was thinking before speaking. And we both know that’s not how I roll.”

They laughed and Natalie put her hand to the bridge of her nose as if to say “Oh my god.”

“Right okay. Well yes that sounds good but can you leave now?

I’ll talk to you at the bar in a second.”

“Right.” Pete made the shape of a gun with his hand and clicked it at Natalie. “See you later, you crazy kids.” Then he left just as abruptly as his entrance.

“I’m sorry he’s an idiot,” Zach broke the silence. “His ego weighs down his intelligence.”

“It’s no problem.” Natalie laughed.

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too bro for you.”

“So are we good?”

She brushed her chin with the palm of her left hand and batted her eyelashes. “Hmmm. I think so. It depends, I am pretty awesome and I need someone who can keep up.”

Zach smiled. “Well that should be easy for me, being that I’m ten times more awesome than you’ll ever be.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tomatoe, Tomahtoe. Bromo sexual , homo sexual.

Same thing.” Pete laughed and leaned forward to help a cougar dressed in a white track suit.

Zach went back to his side of the bar, still chuckling to himself, and began to mentally rearrange his list again. This time, though, he put a number zero: always bring a condom.

“Whoa, ouch,” she chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

Derek slapped Pete’s ass as he walked by to get more ice. “You feel firm, you been working out?” He looked around to see if any of the bar-goers heard him, which none did. He left, disappointed with his performance. Zach shook his head. “So Derek’s gonna move in with us too?”

“Yeah, he’s cool. I’ve decided. We surfed all day so I should know.”

He laughed.

“That’s cool. Where are we lookin’ for a house?”

“I’m thinkin’ around here, it’ll be good for work.”

“Yeah, I was gonna say.”

“Also,” Pete cut in, “When is the lease on your house now up?”

“Next month, actually.” Zach laughed. “I gotta let Mitch and Brad know I’m out.”

“Eh, so what. They’re butt-buddies anyway.”

Zach laughed. “Hey man, they’re cool. Sometimes they just get

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eFiction Magazine - September 2010

Apophis Aaron M. Wilson

“More bars should be dimly lit and smoky.” Halley sat on the corner of the pool table, her pose suggestive. She held two fingers up to her lips.

Then with an overdramatic flip of her long chestnut curls, she pretended to exhale smoky tendrils giving the men in the room time to take in her long neck accented with large white hoop earrings and the plunging neckline of her tight blue sweater. “Don’t you think?”

Janus racked nine balls. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and ran his fingers through his short gray hair. Once the balls were properly aligned, the one-ball on the apex of the table, Janus removed the diamond shaped rack. “Your break.” He replaced the rack under the table and collected his chalk and cue. He held the cue at eye level; it curved down and off to the left. “I understand your attraction to pool, but why this bar again?”

Halley pushed off from the table to collect her cue. She placed the cue ball in the bulk area within the D-line. Seemingly ignoring Janus’ last comment, Halley quipped, “Everyone else in the bar is watching me…” She flipped her hair again and leaned over the table marking her angle. She stuck the cue ball, which squarely struck the one ball.

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Following the laws of physics and mathematics, each of the nine balls traveled set paths that could be precisely predicted – that is if one was so inclined to prophesize such things. “…except you.” Not a single ball dropped.

“You miscalculated.” Janus smiled. “You never miss.” He made his way around the table to the cue ball. “But you did put me behind the four and three balls. I don’t have a shot.” Janus put his hands up his up in surrender. “This must be the last bar that still allows…” He paused and looked around. A few patrons, a couple of tables over, were intently watching him.

“Then it’s my ball in hand.” As Halley picked up the cue ball, she patted Janus on the cheek, letting her hand slowly drift down his baby smooth face. “You ever thought about a beard, one of those short notfive-o’clock but not full-on caveman ones.” She set the cue-ball down within the D-line.

Janus touched his cheek where Halley’s hand had been. “Too much gray, my on-lookers already think that I’m robbing the cradle.”

He looked into the mirror behind the bar and rubbed his chin. “What would you think of a mustache?”

“What kind?”

He touched his upper lip. “Einstein, Groucho Marx, or Zappa.”

“Not Groucho Marx, but Einstein or Zappa would suit you.” She put her index finger between her lower lip and point of her strong chin.

“I could see a soul-patch.”

Janus chuckled and slumped onto a stool. He looked at the table and whispered, “Nine balls. Nine planets. What if…”

Halley lined up the one-ball, “One, rail, far corner pocket.” She took the shot: the cue struck the one-ball, and the one-ball followed her predicted path into the pocket, while the cue slowly rolled into the center of the felt. Moving around the table for her next shot, she asked, “What’d you say?”

“Thinking about Apophis.”

“I brought you here to relax and forget about that 200 billion ton mass of iron and indium.” She lined up the two, “Two, rail, my-side

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20

pocket.” She taped the cue ball, which lightly struck the two-ball that obeyed her every word dropping into the pocket. “Is it the game?”

“What?”

“Pool: billiards.”

“The game.” Janus rolled his head to the side. “Yes, sorry. I think that you’ve helped me, but not in the way you intended.” He put the cuestick down on the table. He moved the three-ball to the foot-marker.

“This is earth…”

“Can you give it a rest? You don’t have to convince me. The proofs are mine: a 1 in 450 chance that Apophis will collide with one of our 40,000-plus satellites.” She jumped back up to sit on the corner of the table and crossed her legs. She leaned back pointing her heels into the air. “You were going to loose.”

“You always beat me.” Janus finished moving the balls around the table. “Watch.” He lined up the cue ball so that it would just miss the three-ball, Earth, but clip the seven positioned just off to the side.

He struck the cue ball, which clipped the seven-ball pushing it out of orbit and into the corner pocket. The cue ball continued on its path, altered from impact with seven-ball hitting the rail to bounce back out into space. On its return trip, after hitting another two rails, the cue ball lightly taped into the three-ball. “Ha!”

“What’s your point? The math is sound: it’s all just a matter of applied physics and geometry.” Halley kept swing her feet under the table and back up like a bored child. “And not a one of our satellites is equal in mass to Apophis. Your little demonstration is not exact, a weak fear inducing metaphor at best. You should leave that kind of nonsense to journalists.”

“I want to look at the numbers again.” He pulled on his coat. “I think that we need to account for the gravity of both the Sun and Jupiter.”

“We haven’t even eaten.” She hung her head so that her curls bounced in front of her face obscuring her sour expression. “Besides, my numbers accounted for both the orbital pull from both the sun and all the other planets, including Jupiter. I even accounted for Apophis’

passing by the cluster of planetoids beyond Pluto.” Her tone changed from sweet and seductive into something monstrously terse, “It’s covered.”

He removed keys from his pocket. “I want to rerun the numbers.”

Janus started for the door. “I don’t think that you missed anything, but I have a bad feeling that Apophis’ orbit could alter several times not just once.” He looked up from his keys. “Besides, you’re my student. If I allow you to turn in a substandard thesis to the committee, it degrades my credibility.”

“Fuck you and your credibility.” Halley shook her head. “I want to get something to eat.” She flipped her hair out of her eyes. “Now, take me to that Jewish deli with the corn beef and sauerkraut sandwiches that you like so much.” She jumped off the table.

“You know how genius works.” He cocked his head to the side like a chicken hunting grasshoppers. “It’s why I love you.”

“Yes, yes; the work always comes first.” She put on her coat. The fur-lined hood gave her a fuzzy plunging halo that turned even more heads than the sweater. “(Genius) = (Action) + (the Ability to Act).”

“And…”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry; I was doing it again: lecturing you.” Janus pulled out his wallet. “Okay, let me settle up and then we’ll get something to eat.”

Halley watched him walk over to bar. She zipped up her coat and walked over to the far wall beyond the pool tables and big screen TVs to look at strange painting on the wall. It was poster made to look like a painting of Goya’s Cronus Devouring His Children. Bellow the painting was a display case of t-shits, beer mugs, and coasters with “Cronus” printed in purple block letters.

A brunet wearing a Cronus t-shirt and shorts that were shorter than her mid thigh apron quietly asked, “Get something for you?”

“A new thesis advisor.” Halley reached inside her coat and adjusted her braw strap.

The waitress smiled. “You might not think he’s into you, but he listened when you were talking. He seems to really care about your

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21

opinion.” She looked out over the pool tables at the bar. “You’re lucky.”

“Lucky for now, until some new brain with bigger tits and a tighter ass comes along.” Halley looked over her shoulder. “I know more than my fair share of ‘smart men,’ and they’re only interested in you as long as your ideas are valid. God forbid,” She looked up, “I…ah, I mean your calculations are inaccurate or proven false, or some other graduate student beats you to publication.”

“I’m sure it’s not like that. He…”

“I’ll take one of those T’s.” She looked up at the picture. “Do you know why I like this bar over every other pool hall in town?” She continued with out waiting. “I like the idea of Cronus eating his children: academics, like Janus, are very much like Cronus. They eat their graduate students and spit them out. They’re all just a bunch of elite cannibals that feed off their intellectual children.” She handed over a twenty and a five. “What’s really sad is that they have an unlimited supply of eager students seeking to become just like them.” She whispered, “Me included.”

“I hope that you enjoy your new shirt and that we see you around here again.” She shut the drawer and walked in the back.

Halley looked at the shirt in her hand and the up at the painting.

“Shit. So, then why do we play their game? Why do we let our ideas be eaten?”

Janus walked up behind her. “Because you can’t resist Cronus’ gray hair and good looks; besides, where else are you going to find a man that can truly appreciate your brilliance?” From behind, he wrapped his arms around her waist. He groped her ass with one hand and her left breast with the other. “Other men will only see your unquestionably desirable…umm, assets and be repelled by your intellect.”

Halley pulled his arms tighter around her waist. “Fuck you.” She spun in his arms to face him. She pulled his head to hers and kissed him hard on the mouth, and then pushed him away, leaving two red crescents on his lips. “Do you always have to go there?”

“Look. You’re smart. You’re in the top one percent. It sucks at the top of every mountain because there is nowhere left to go. So, what

do we, the truly brilliant, do? We study Computational Astrophysics.”

Janus shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve doomed yourself to relationships with older men and cats.”

“Cats?” Halley laughed.

“One day you’ll wake up and have to ask yourself where all the damn cats came from, trust me.” He put his elbow out for Halley to put her arm through. “You said you were hungry for corned beef?”

Halley took his arm. “Let’s split the difference.”

At the same time, they said, “Take out,” and laughed leaning into each other. Lock-stepped, they walked through the sea of pool tables stopping occasionally to avoid drawn pool-cues like oars lifted from dark Mediterranean waters, intent on their coming action: a quick stroke converting human energy and innovation into directional motion.

“I’m more a dog person,” said Halley.

“Lucky for me.”

Halley squeezed Janus’ arm. “You know what I hate about you.

I hate that you’re right about me. I’ve tried dating other guys: meaty, sweaty ones that play sports and worry about missing “The Game” on Sunday; the ones that want to know why I can’t go to the club with them on Friday night, why I chose a lunar event over being his arm candy.”

She paused. “I want both worlds. I want a hunky guy that can benchpress his own weight and solve the mysteries of the universe with...”

“I do like this place.” Janus interrupted and turned his head as he held the door for Halley to exit the pool hall.

“I know.” Halley put a gloved hand to his cheek. “We’ll come back again. Trust me.” She took Janus’ hand. “Let’s go. I’m hungry, remember.”

Outside, Halley pulled her coat tightly around herself. Her stilettos clicked on the frozen asphalt parking lot. A light dusting of snow that drifted with each gust of the north wind obscured the white lines that usually guide cars into orderly stalls to maximize space. A few flakes swirled around Halley’s head and landed on her cheeks and nose, in response she said, “Oooo! That’s cold.”

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“You know you don’t have to,” Janus waved his gloved hand up and down as if he were Vanna White presenting consonants on ‘Wheel of Fortune,’ “You know…all that for me. I mean really, it’s…”

“Stop.” Halley stood next to the passenger’s side door with her hands on her his and her feet planted as is she were going to charge him as if he were a bullfighter. “A girl has to dress up once in a while. Those white lab coats do nothing for my figure, and I want to show it off while I still have it.”

Janus opened the door for her and stepped quickly out of her way.

“It’s not like you and I will be a thing forever. Enjoy what I have while I’m in your orbit because someday I’ll slingshot right out of your galaxy.” As she ducked into the car, she continued, “Think of me as your little comet: here today, gone tomorrow.” She shut the door.

Janus made his way around the back of the car. He reached down to brush the snow off the taillights. He fumbled in his coat pocket, removed a small black velvet covered box, and held it in his hands.

“You’re wrong,” he whispered. “You’re my sun.” He put the box back into his coat pocket and started to brush the snow off the windows with his gloved hand.

They drove in silence. The roads back into town were clogged with drivers too cautious to go more than the posted minimum. An eighteen-wheeler in the lane over turned on its blinker indicating that it wanted to merge into their lane. The blinkers running along side the cab and trailer illuminated the snow-covered road like unwanted paparazzi flashbulbs exposing some lurid indecency. Janus eased up on the gas pedal. When the truck was out in front, Janus dimed his lights then turned them back on. The truck pulled over in their lane.

Breaking the silence, Halley read aloud the interjection written on the back of the truck, “Explosively Crisp!” She crossed her arms, but a smile crept into her face, and she relaxed her shoulders, slumping into her seat. “I wonder what’s in the truck,” she asked.

Janus kept his focus on the road. “Honeycrisp Apples.” He turned on his blinker and took the exit for 11th into downtown. The

road curved, and he took 5th deeper into the towering wood of skyscrapers.

“Okay. I give up.”

Janus’ tone was flat with a hint of disappointed terseness. “As the truck pulled by, I saw the logo.” He pulled over to the curb and put the car in park at a fifteen-minute meter. “Damn good apples.”

“Okay Sherlock,” Halley didn’t move to unbuckle her seatbelt, “deduct what I want for dinner.” Her pouting lips, fierce eyes, and tone spoke volumes.

Janus opened his door and step out of the car. He shut the car door with a purposeful soft click.

Halley slapped her hands on the dash. She opened her purse pulled out her cell phone. “Call Lab.” She waited while the line rang.

“U of M, LCSE. How may I direct your call?”

“It’s Halley Lutsen. Are the phones down again?” She bit down on her French tipped index finger.

“Yes. It is a scheduled event. The servers are being used to finish up an experiment.”

She looked at her watch. It read 8 o’clock. “When will they be back up again?” She turned to look out her foggy window at the restaurant.

“Not until morning. Wait. Says here, not until 5am, and there is a note: ‘I booked the full lab three months ago. So, fuck off! Sincerely, Dr. Steinborg.’”

“Thanks.” Halley hung up. She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car, and headed into the restaurant. She opened the door and walked purposefully over to where Janus was still waiting, hands folded in his lap, sitting next to the cashier.

Janus looked up. “I’m sorry. Here are the keys.” He held out his keys. “I should have left the heat on for you.”

“Dr. Steinborg reserved the entire lab until morning.”

Janus put his keys back into his coat pocket. “Do you want to get a table?” He looked around the restaurant. “I’m sure we can get one.”

Halley looked over her shoulder. “Sure.” She unzipped her coat,

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dumped it in his lap, and walked off toward the washrooms.

Janus picked took up her coat, walked over to the maître d’, and asked, “Can I change my to-go order to eat here?”

The maître d’ scanned his list. “This way please.” He led Janus to a small table in back, near the door to the back-of-house. A buser hurried by with a blue tub of dishes reeking of garlic and sauerkraut, he brushed shoulders with Janus as he passed by. “Sorry, Sir. This is all we have at the moment.”

23

Janus took his coat off and hung it on the back of the chair closet to the isle. “Thank you. This will do.” He sat and pulled up to the table. “Can I see a wine list?”

“Of course.” He hurried off.

Janus fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out the small satin box and his cell phone. He flipped it open and dialed. He put the phone to his ear and waited.

“Janus, I booked the lab. Fuck off.”

Janus’ phone went silent. He put the small box back into his coat pocket and re-dilled. “Wait, wait. Please don’t hang up.”

“What? I’m in the middle of triangulating the…”

“I just need ten minutes.”

“No.”

“I’ll take on one of your candidates.”

“What? Why?”

“I just want ten minutes in the dome.”

“Ten minutes and you’ll take on one of my students, any student?”

Janus looked up at the ceiling. “I’ll even take on that SETI freak.

What’s his name?”

“Erickson.”

“Yeah, Erickson.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Janus rolled his eyes and put a hand to his forehead.

“For Erickson.”

“Yes. Hang on…” A waiter placed the wine list on the table in front of Janus and waited. Janus flipped it open and pointed at a $50.00 bottle of merlot. The waiter nodded and retreated. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Yes, well, you called me. So, when, and how much of the server will you need?”

“When I get there. Maybe an hour or so from now. I won’t need much, a gig maybe.”

“Are you joking? Only a gig. What are you up to?”

“I need a couple of files that I been working on. I want to use the projector and…”

“Spare me the details. You have a deal. Just call me when you need me to free up the processing power.”

Janus clicked his phone shut and put it back in his pocket. He smiled and played with the satin box in his coat pocket turn it around and around in his hand.

The waiter returned with the bottle of wine, presented it, opened it, and poured a tasting glass for Janus. Jan took the glass and swirled it around his nose and sipped. He nodded his head. The waiter left the bottle and two glasses.

Janus stood as Halley waked toward the table. He offered to take her coat, but she hung it on the back of her chair before sitting.

“Really, you don’t have to take my coat and open doors for me.

My father raised an independent woman.”

“Spirited.”

“No independent.” Halley reached for the bottle of wine and poured a full glass, gulped half in single swallow, and wiped her lips with the back of her had.

“Are you alright?”

Halley straightened her back and adjusted her breasts suggestively. “What are we doing tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“After dinner, what are our plans?” She leaned in, putting her elbows on the table, hands out stretched to Janus.

Janus took her hands in his. “I’ve talked down Steinborg down

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off the cliff. He agreed to let me use the observatory dome.”

Halley took her hands backs. She crossed her arms over her body, tucking her hands under her arms, wilting like a night blooming at dawn.

“Don’t.” Janus reached for her hands. “It’s not what you think.”

“You really think my numbers are off, don’t you?” She stood and reached for her coat. She held Janus’ in a death gaze. “And…” “Please.”

Halley leaded over. “See these.” She pulled open the V of her sweater. “They wanted you tonight. They wanted you even after you ruined our game of pool, even after we left the bar.” She straightened up and snorted. “They were even willing after they accepted they were going to be hidden behind a white lab coat.”

Janus’ eyes were wide. He looked like a beagle being sent to its kennel. He said nothing.

“I just don’t understand you.” She paused. “No, I understand you just fine. You.” She shook her finger. “You are only concerned about your reputation.” She stopped waving her hand when she saw the waiter arrive with their food. She looked around. Other guests were watching.

She took her coat off, put it back on to her chair, and sat down.

The waiter said, “Your corned beef and carrots.” He turned to Janus. “Sir, your fish and chips.” After setting down the plates, he hurried off.

Halley picked up the sandwich, dunked it in horseradish, and took a bite. Between chewing, “You’re a lucky man.”

“I know.” Janus cut into the fish.

After finishing half her sandwich, she inspected Janus’ plate.

“What? We come here of all places, because you like corned beef, and you order fish.”

“You like corned beef.” Janus said lightly, putting down his fork, and dabbing at his lips with his napkin. “You are always transferring your likes on to me.” He swallowed, and then quickly added, “Which is very endearing. It is one of the reasons I love you. If you didn’t think that I liked so many things, I’d never leave the lab.”

“You don’t like corned beef?” She looked up from his plate. “You like fish and chips. I like corned beef. Why did I?” Halley looks off to the side. “I swear that when we were here last you had a corned beef sandwich and carrots.”

“I don’t care for cooked carrots.” Janus picked up his fork and started working on another filet of fish. In-between bites, he looked up from his plate. A furrow creased his forehead just above his bushy gray eyebrows. “You should finish your sandwich. You are always lamenting the leftovers: ‘I can’t toss ‘em, they’re too tasty; but they don’t keep.’” He waved his fork. “So, eat.”

Halley picked up her sandwich, “I sure do love this place, don’t I?”

“You do.”

They finished their food slowly, stealing quick glances of each other like mating birds during some elaborate courtship ritual. She’d finish her glass of wine and he’d quickly refill it. He’d begin to open his mouth to start up a conversation and she’d put a finger to his lips cutting him off. She’d smile and he’d smile. The scene was something out of some horrifically sappy Disney film, involving the spaghetti courtship of a mutt and a pure-breed American Cocker Spaniel.

Janus finished his fish and motioned for the check by holding up one hand palm up and signing it with the other. Their waiter hurried over with their bill, setting it down on the Janus’ side of the table along with a tray of brightly wrapped chocolate mints. Before their waiter could escape, Janus put a couple of bills into the folder and said, “Keep it.”

They put on their coats. Their silent glances at each other, as they walked out hand in hand, were tipsy and flirtatious, but the didn’t say anything, letting wine induced emotions run between each other.

Words would have only ruined the moment: one of them would have said something combative without intending it, which would have required, in their heated relationship, a quick rebuttal, and so it would go.

Words would have ruined this moment of intimacy, like standing curbside where you parked your car, finding a pile of yellow parking tickets

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under the windshield wiper blades.

Janus opened the passenger’s side door for Halley before colleting the tickets and folding them into a wad that he shoved into his pocket. He got into the car and started it.

“How many were there?”

Janus reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter, does it?” He tossed them into the back seat, and he pulled a way from the curb.

“Where to now?” Halley drew the constellation of Three Sisters that make up Orion’s Belt in the fog on her window. “We have the entire universe.” She kicked off one of her heels and stretched her foot up onto the dash. She ran her hands down her leg. “Take me home and show me who’s a Starship’s Captain.”

Janus turned the corner.

Halley pouted her lower lip and took her foot down off the dash.

“You usually like my ship’s captain come-ons.” She turned to look out the window. “Not even a chuckle.” Her voice was beginning to take on an angry edge. “You’re taking us to the observatory, aren’t you?”

Janus continued to look straight a head. He puckered his lips as if he had just tasted something bitter. “Yes.”

Halley put her hands up to her face and shook her head. “Listen.

You have a choice, and you’re going to have to make it right now.” She unzipped her coat and pushed up her breasts. “I’ll lay it out for you like a multiple choice question: One. You take me home and fuck me like Jean Luc Picard up against the Borg. Two. You take me to the lab and we’re through.” She slumped back into her seat.

Janus kept his mouth shut. His brow creased as his knuckles turned white as he griped the steering wheel. He dared to take quick glances out of the corner of his eyes.

“Really.” Halley’s mouth hung open. She puzzled with her nails, inspecting them for flaws and dirt. As she re-applied a shiny, clear lipgloss, she stopped mid lip and turned to face Janus. “You. You’re sleeping with someone else.” She unlocked her door. “Pull over, I’m getting out.” She opened the door.

Janus slowed the car but did not stop. He watched the passenger’s side to make sure his door didn’t collide with anything. “Halley, close the door,” and in the same breath, “I’m not sleeping with anyone else.” He quickly added, “I’m not seeing anyone else; there is only you.”

“Then why?”

“I have something set up in the observatory that I want to show you.” He let out a deep sigh. “I thought that using your numbers as a ploy to get you into the observatory was a good idea.”

Halley shut the door

“I wanted to surprise you.” He pulled over to the curb. “I can take you home if you want, but I really want to show you what I’ve got set up.”

Halley sucked air through her teeth. She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, fidgeting uncomfortably. She waved her hand for him to proceed but did not say anything.

“Thank you.”

Janus parked the car in the ramp. He quickly got out, rounded the car, and opened the door for Halley.

Halley took his hand and looked into his eyes. “Boys and their toys,” she muttered.

They walked through the halls not looking at each other, standing the appropriate distance apart for an appropriate student teacher relationship. They stopped by Janus’ office so that he could pick up his long white lab coat. They stopped by the student offices so that Halley could pick up her coat; she also changed shoes – out of stilettos and into sneakers with no-slip tread. To any causal observer, Dr. Janus and Halley were getting ready to study, ponder, and unravel the mathematical mysteries of the universe.

Except that Halley, who buttoned her coat up all the way to hide her out-on-the-town wear, didn’t look particularly in the mood to solve mysteries. She looked cross as if she’d just found out that her cat shat in her Jimmy Choo leopard print booties. If she’d still been wearing her heels, as they walked down the tiled hall, the sexy click that tells a man a woman is approaching would have sounded more like gun fire.

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Janus held the door for Halley and watched her stomp into the observatory. He tied a small black string on the handle, a known signal, which the male faculty developed long ago that meant occupied. He closed the door and locked it. While walking over to the computer, he called Dr. Steinborg. “Yes. Now.”

“For Erickson?”

“Yes.”

“Ha!” Dr. Steinborg hung up, but not be for saying, “Sucker,” under this breath.

Janus put his phone away and muttered, “I heard that.”

Halley sat in the front row opposite the dome’s controls. Her legs and arms crossed protectively as if bracing for an inevitable impact.

Janus felt the box in his pocket, and his smile returned brighter than a few minutes ago, brighter still than it had been in a long time. He pulled out a thumb drive from underneath his shirt on a dog tag styled necklace that he always had on around his neck. He inserted it into the USB drive and waited painful seconds while the computer recognized it. Opening a few folders, he came to a file named “The Proposal.” He clicked on it twice in rapid succession.

The observatory started to dim as a hundreds of laser-lights placed pinpoints on the inside of the dome.

Janus crossed the room to where Halley sat. He reached out his hand. “Quick, we only have a few seconds.”

Halley took his hand. She looked at her watch, as Janus led her across the room. Next, she checked the star chart on her cell phone before looking up again. “The galaxy is out of sync. The North Star shouldn’t be…”

“Stand right here.” Janus looked at the floor. A black X in tape marked the spot where Halley was standing. “Here we go.”

The stars started to slowly blur and bend down around the sides of the dome. Before Halley could ask or Janus reassure, the star-points rushed down around them, giving them the sensation that they were traveling faster than the speed of light.

Halley swooned.

“You okay.”

“It’s a bit much.” Halley leaned into Janus embrace.

Janus steadied Halley in his arms. He took in the sweet lavender that she infused her hair with on occasion. “Just wait.”

The star-points expanded and slowed as they passed by Jupiter, which filled the ceiling of the dome. They could see the massive storm twisting in its atmosphere. Then Jupiter too slipped by. However, their speed had slowed, and then it slowed some more as the passed by Uranus, Neptune, and the Pluto.

Halley turned and said, “I still think it sad.”

“What?”

“Pluto being down graded to a dwarf planet.”

“It’s a plutoid.”

“Yes, I know. It is now the name of a new class of planet or new class of asteroid, depending on whom you ask. I still don’t have to like it.”

They were into the outer asteroid belt now, and they stopped.

The screen was filled with craterous potato shaped hunks of rock and iron. One large asteroid shifted on its axis as it spun not unlike a plant.

As it slowly rotated it reviled a streaming light coming from behind like the head light of an approaching motorcycle.

The screen shifted to the right and up. Then it backed up from represented reality to something that looked more like an orbital chart of the sun, it’s known eight planets, and Pluto. The head light became a comet with an elongated tail of ice and space dust.

Halley left Janus’ arms and reached up as if she could touch it.

She turned around and looked at Janus in the dim starlight. “Is it?”

“Yes.” “How?”

“I gave your data to Eugene, Dr. Rasome’s computer modeling genius. I tell you, that boy is our future. We can crunch the numbers, but he can make it real.”

Halley stood with her mouth open like a girl who’d just been given a pony for her birthday. She watched the asteroid travel her plotted path. She whispered, “Apophis.”

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As Apophis punched its way through the asteroid belt it’s trajectory altered ever so slightly. It then passed through the orbits of Pluto, Neptune, Uranus, and Saturn before entering into the gravitational pull of Jupiter. Jupiter’s gravitational field pulled Apophis off course just enough to send it hurtling toward Earth.

Apophis approached Earth at breakneck speed. Suddenly, Earth filled the screen, and its fabricated satellites buzzed, clicked, beeped, and flashed tiny lights like a defused Christmas tree.

Halley watched as Apophis passed between the moon and Earth.

She held her breath as it barely missed a British communications satellite before zipping back out into space to make its loop around the sun.

As Apophis passed by the sun the program dimed the dome lights before shining one lone spot light onto the floor where Janus was kneeling.

Janus held opened the small box. “Halley…”

Halley had quickly stepped over to Janus. She picked up the box and shut it. She handed it back to Janus and said, “No.” She walked over the light board and turned them all on. “Are you for real?”

Janus stood up and placed the box back into his pocket to hide his trembling hands. “I lov…”

“Stop.” Halley stood by the door. “Just stop and think things through for a moment. You of all people should understand.” She crossed her arms protectively. “You are always going on about your reputation, what the faculty would think, what the ‘scientific community’ would do.”

She used her hand to put “scientific community” in quotations. “Well, did you ever stop to think about my reputation? What I want?” She took a few steps forward. “I don’t want to marry you. I want a career of my own. I want to be a respected astrophysicist in my own right.”

She paused to catch her breath. “What is it that you’re always telling me: ‘If you only shoot for the moon, you’ll only land on the moon, and that’s been done already. In order to succeed, you must pick and choose – very carefully – the things that you become attached to because attachments are weights, and if you are going to get anywhere, you must be weightless, and the heaviest weights in life are relationships: family, friends, and lovers.’” She paused and took a step back.

“I’m ready to be weighed down.” Janus said meekly.

Halley wiped her eyes. “Well I’m not. I’m just getting started. I can’t be weighted down.”

“Then what am I to you?” Janus asked wide-eyed.

Halley looked astonished, eyes filling with tears again. “You’re a means to an end.” She wiped her nose. “Don’t take that the wrong way.

You’re an amazing fuck, but that is what you are: an amazing fuck.” Then she added, “And you’re my thesis advisor.” She cupped her hands over her mouth.

Janus smiled, and his eyes twinkled. “You’ll be happy to know that I submitted your thesis to the defense committee earlier today, and I tentatively scheduled your orals for Tuesday. I know you’re ready.” Janus scratched the top of his head. “I must say that…”

“Shut up.”

“Haley, I think that we can be adults about this and…”

“Shut up!” she yelled, and then as if cursing, she slurred out, “Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Haley turned and ran out of the observatory.

Janus looked up at the sun, slightly obscured by the room’s fluorescent lights. It hung there on the dome’s ceiling with a play-button blinking at the center.

Aaron M. Wilson lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota, U.S.A. where he attempts to understand life, others (including his two cats – one good and one bad), himself, and especially his wife – in that order. He earned his M.F.A in Writing from Hamline University located in St.Paul, MN. He writes about books, stories, movies, and his experiences as an adjunct instructor of English, Literature, and Environmental Science on his blog: Soulless Machine.

His fiction has appeared in eFiction Magazine: The Premier Internet Fiction Zine, Evolve, Pow Fast Flash Fiction, The Wry Writer, The Hive Mind, and he has forthcoming working in Eclectic Flash (September 2010), Twin Cities: Cifiscape Vol. I (August 2010), and The Last Man Anthology (October 2010 – also featuring stories from Barry N. Malzberg, C.J Cherryh, and Ray Bradbury).

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

You Can’t Do Anything Without Me Christina Hoag

The bitch. The cold, evil bitch. After all I did for her, after all we went through, she left me? She thinks she’s going to find someone better than me, that she’s such a catch? She’ll see. She’s forty-five with a triple chin and Coke-bottle legs. She’ll fucking see who she gets. I’ll let her have her little life alone without me and she’ll come running back just like she did when she first moved out five months ago. She called me up, crying hysterically from her car in some parking garage in Midtown. I took her back, I shouldn’t’ve but I love her. I love her to death.

See, what Cath don’t understand is I know her better than she knows herself. When I met her in Jersey two years ago, she came across so sweet and innocent, all loyalty and integrity. I fell for it. She had a great act going, she should’ve won an Academy Award. All she wanted was a way to get to New York and there I was.

I rescued her from that dump in Jersey, you know. She was in a small town way down the Garden State Parkway. I met her when I went

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down the Shore for a weekend. She was set up there with a nice house and a good job running a beauty salon and everything. I went in to the salon for a haircut and stared at her the whole time in the mirror. She was so cute. Big eyes and a tiny, freckled nose. I asked her out. She said it would be a conflict of interest to go out with a client. I pushed. She acted kind of annoyed and said she had a boyfriend.

“Are you in love with him?” I asked. She didn’t answer – just snipped. I knew I could reel her in.

I I kept going down the Shore, dropping by the salon, bringing her flowers and chocolates. That always works with girls. I called her all the time when I went back to Manhattan. We talked for hours. She started telling me all her private stuff. I knew she liked me. I went down in the middle of the week once just to check up on her. You never know with women. They’re sneaky, secretive. That was Cath all right, but I didn’t find that out til later. Anyway, I waited around the corner from her salon and I saw this asshole pick her up. Well, she sure didn’t go for looks, I’ll say that much. Sure enough, two months later, she called. “Jimmy, you’ll be very happy to hear this - I ended it with that guy.” I was down the Shore that weekend.

From then on, every time I went back to New York, I was back down the Shore a couple days later. I couldn’t stand not knowing where she was, who she was with. I was so in love with her. She cleared out a couple drawers for me in her dresser and stocked the fridge with stuff I like, purple Vitamin Water and chocolate protein shakes. I cleaned the bathroom for her, paid for a maid - just once though, she was fucking expensive. Cath bought me a real nice suit. When she moved out, I was going to rip it up, but I like it too much.

Cath blames me now for ruining her life? She wasn’t doing shit in South Jersey. And she was a good hairdresser. She needed to get out of that dump and work at one of the salons on Fifth Avenue where she could make some real money. That’s what I told her, anyway. See, I’ll let you in on something. I wanted to get her away from all her friends. I had

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to get her to New York so I could have her to myself and she’d depend on me.

Lucky for me, Cath didn’t have a lot of friends and she wasn’t close to her family. She wasn’t one of these girls on the phone telling her mother or friends everything. I always told her I liked her kind of being a loner so she’d make more of an effort to be like that. I always told her that people were jealous of her so she had to keep a distance from them.

Like her neighbor. She also had a younger friend who was always dating and going out on the town. I told Cath she should have friends more her own age. That girl was too young for her. “Hon, you got so much more going for you than all these people,” I’d say. “I’m the only one who sees your true worth.” She’d laugh it off, but I could tell it soaked in. I’m pretty good at figuring people out.

I knew I could convince her to move to New York if I pushed hard enough. Most people are afraid to push for what they want. I’m not. I laid it on one night when we were walking along the Boardwalk in Atlantic City. “Cath, you’re forty-three. This is your last chance to make something of yourself. That salon is a shithole. You need to open your own salon in Manhattan. I can get you clients. I have a good real estate contact to find a locale. I’ll remodel the place.” I kept it up, too, kept hammering her. Like I said, some people you just have to push.

She didn’t believe me until I took her to New York and showed her around and introduced her to my contacts. I knew a lot of people through my contracting business, although I haven’t done too great for a couple years. I took her to fancy restaurants and clubs. I bought her clothes at Saks. She didn’t want me to, but I insisted. I wanted to dress her up and take her out and show her off. She had a great body for a broad her age. That’s one thing I always liked about her. She never really realized what she had. I bought her a tan leather jacket that looks just like mine and a couple dresses, some short shorts. I never shoulda bought her clothes. She was probably going on dates in that form-fitting black dress I bought her. I should’ve taken a pair of scissors to that dress

before she left, cut it up like I did with all her photos.

Cath wasn’t like other girls I went out with. She was hard to impress. I had to really work at it, but I know how to turn on the charm.

Hell, I’m a charming guy. I’m a good catch. I know I am. I took her for a special weekend to Southampton. I took another girlfriend there before Cath. I massaged her feet and made her a special bath with salts and everything. “I’m the only one to see the real you, the only one who really appreciates you and who you are, hon. Everyone else passes you by, but I see you for you.”

“No one has ever made me feel like this, Jimmy,” she said. “I think you were sent to me from heaven. You’re my reward for doing the right thing my whole life.” I practically melted when she said that.

“I want to marry you,” I said. “I want to have a baby with you.”

I know I have a problem with truthfulness, but this really was true. Cath really was my dream girl. If I married her and got her pregnant, she’d never run away from me. That’s what’s always happened with me my whole life. People saw the real me and ran away. But Cath was different, or so I thought. Now I see how she sucked me in big time.

She brought me coffee and an English muffin in bed every morning. If I told her I wanted more butter, she’d make it with more butter, crispier, she’d make it crispier. She even cut my toenails. She loved doing that. I love those crazy little quirks of hers. Sometimes I’d make her do stuff for me just to test how far she’d go. She came home from work one day to help me look for my keys – I’m always losing stuff, she brought gas to me when I ran out on the highway, she took me twenty-five miles to the hospital when I had to have tests, went back to work and then drove back to get me. No one took care of me like that, except my mother. She even has red hair like Ma. Cath is very kind, she really is. I wish we could go back to that time, to the beginning. Why can’t it be like that again?

That fucking bitch left me without a dime in my pocket, you know. Man, she’s the cheapest broad I ever met. She uses coupons and buys gas at the Thrifty gas station. She has all this money in the bank

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from the sale of her house. The last time I checked her statement, it was more than $300,000. She’s selfish and ungrateful, just like all the rest. I admit I lost my temper a couple times about her being a tightwad, but it worked – she started paying for more stuff to prove to me she wasn’t cheap, that she wasn’t just like all the rest. Like I told you, I know people.

But I’m getting sidetracked. Where was I? Yeah, so I got her to quit her job and sell her house and move to Manhattan. She wanted to just take some time off work and just rent out her house, but I talked her out of that. Pretty amazing, huh? I mean my dick ain’t that big. She went and told my buddy George I manipulated her. She’s nothing but a fucking con artist herself.

Cath was shy, hardly said a word around other people. It was better that way because she would say the wrong thing unless I told her exactly what to say. I mean I was so happy I had a girlfriend, I took her around to meet all my connections and introduced her as my fiancée so they’d know she was a real girlfriend, not some bimbo. We dropped in once on Sheldon Squirel. I retiled his bathroom. He’s a hasbeen, but he still acts – reality shows and stuff. He asked her where she lived. She said “the Village.” I couldn’t believe it. When we got back in the car, I yelled at her.

“You shoulda said ‘with Jimmy, in the Village with Jimmy’. Now he’s going to think we’re not really together. You don’t realize that people are jealous, Cath. You just don’t have the life experience I have. People’re always going to try to drive a wedge between a couple so they look for any kind of chink.” She started crying. That always made me feel bad. So I softened up. “We have to present a united front at all times, Cath. It’s for our own good. I got ten years on you. You don’t know people like I do.”

I know I get mad. I can’t help it. But she really knew how to push my buttons. She was always too nice to men. I don’t mean the things I say when I’m mad. I mean, the names I called her, it was just because I was mad. That’s all. She knows that. I feel so much better after I get mad.

Like I need to get something out. But Cath made a big deal out of it. She

was always a dramatic Annie, always exaggerating things. Like when I grabbed her wrist and she fell against the bed. It was nothing, just a small push. So what? She didn’t get hurt. I was upset because she was packing her bags to leave me. That was soon after I brought her to New York. I would never hit a girl. My father taught me to respect women. I blocked the front door and grabbed her shoulders. “Do you want to throw away everything we have together?” I hugged her. “I love you. It won’t happen again. I promise.” She dropped her bags and hugged me back.

Another time she says I kicked the door in and smashed a lamp.

I don’t remember doing that. She almost called some domestic violence hotline on me. Can you believe that shit? That would’ve ruined my reputation. Good thing I got friends in the police department. I made sure she knew that, too. She should’ve understood – she knows I have low self-esteem.

Yeah, I know I’m fucked up. Who isn’t? Cath? She’s unsteady, passive-aggressive shit from growing up with an alcoholic father. She just puts on a good front. I told her things I never told anyone before, you know, shit about my childhood. My father used to smack me around, take me out back and lay into me because he felt like it. Then he’d take me to the emergency room when I couldn’t see good or got a headache that wouldn’t quit. I lied to the nuns at school about how I got the bruises. Told them I fell. I guess he got a little carried away, but them were different days. Everybody hit their kids back then. I would’ve been a delinquent if he didn’t slap me around. I never told anyone that shit, except Cath. I went deep with her. She was very caring. She knows a lot about me, too much. But I know a lot about her, too. I made sure I got all her secrets out of her right up front. Like her abortion, her affair with a married man. Secrets are good weapons in fights. I used them against her but so what. Cath knew they were just words. She knew how I was.

I always made it up to her. I apologized. I promised to see a shrink. “I can’t live without you, Cath,” I told her. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” That’s true, it really is. I had a real home with her. I felt

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like one of the guys, you know, with their wives always calling, nagging when they were coming home for dinner. I miss her, I miss her a lot.

When she moved out, she hid in a hotel. She did that just to make me come after her. She liked drama. I went from hotel to hotel looking for her. She accused me of stalking her. Can you believe that? It was romantic, that’s what it was. Then she got her own place and a job, and we got back together again. She needed me like I needed her. We were meant for each other. I know I made mistakes. She knew I wasn’t good at relationships. Then five months later, she broke up with me just when I was going to take her on a trip to the Bahamas. I had it all planned out, and I was paying for everything to make up to her for the Hawaii trip.

We went to Hawaii and well, I made her use her airline miles and pay for stuff. She was too nice to this friend of mine and I got jealous. We had a big fight. So I was making it up to her. Yeah, I still had to put a few things on her credit card, but I was going to pay her back. Then all of a sudden she didn’t want to go. She had no thought for the effort I put into planning for that trip. All the selfish bitch ever thought about was herself. “Jimmy, I told you I only wanted to go for five days, but you went ahead and booked it for ten. It’s always all about you.” That’s what she told me. But she didn’t want to go at all.

She goes, “You’ll go into a rage, you’ll get jealous because I’ll talk to the waiter or something and you’ll start raging. You’re not safe to be with.”

“So?” I says. “You can get on a plane and go home early.”

She goes, “So I have to have my vacation ruined at any time because of your rages.” Then she launched her grenade. “You know something, Jimmy. You’re never going to change. This is it, end of the road. I don’t want to do this anymore.” And the bitch got in her car and drove off. She left me standing there in the middle of the street. And I knew it. I knew she wasn’t going to come back to me this time.

I tried to get her to see me, for coffee, anything, just as friends. I knew if I got her in front of me, I’d get her. She wouldn’t be able to resist.

But she wouldn’t do it. She changed her phone number. Bitch. She thinks she can just push me away like that. Fucking bitch.

She really changed. That wasn’t the girl I fell in love with. Maybe it was her new friends at work, the shrink she’d been seeing. People were putting things into her head. She must’ve had someone waiting in the wings already. Her boss. I saw him looking at her.

So go ahead, Cath, go right ahead. You’ll never meet anyone like me again. You think you can make it on your own? You’ll see. You’ll fucking see. You can’t do anything without me.

B. Kari Moore is 23 years old, and a second-year MFA Fiction candidate at McNeese State University in Lake Charles, LA. Originally from England, she moved permanently to the United States in 2004. Moore received her BA in English Language and Literature from Stephen F. Austin in Nacogdoches, TX. Her work has appeared in places such as Humid and Ink&Paper, and she is the 2010 winner of the Robert Olen Butler Award in Fiction.

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

Tin Man Harris Tobias

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Tin is what I am. Not literally. An advanced fiber composite would be a more accurate description but humans call us tin men or Tin-Tin. That’s what they call us.

We call them meat or burgers or Chuck as in chuck steak.

That’s what you are. It’s not a war or anything, it’s like racism, always there but tucked away under the surface. That’s where it’s tucked.

Don’t get me wrong, some of my best friends are meat. My friend Larry for example. We share a work pod, we’re friends. I went to Larry’s wedding. I wasn’t the Best Man but I was in the wedding party. I had to walk down the aisle alone. None of the Bridesmaids wanted to walk with me. Meat girls, who can understand them?

There are no Tin girls. There’s no Tin sex. Different personalities but no genitals. We do other things for fun.

There have long been rumors of sex between robots and humans but it’s never been proven and while its not actually against my programming, I find the notion abhorrent.

I was saying that my meat friend larry and I are close. We go to lunch together every day. He eats a sandwich, I power down and turn off my motor functions. It’s the equivalent of an afternoon nap. My optical sensors still function and I can watch Larry ingest pieces of rotting organic matter for nourishment. Much of what human’s do disgusts me.

After lunch, I power up and Larry and I walk around the block. Larry points out the meat world to me and I try to explain the Tin world to him.

“There’s a new clothing store,” Larry would say, “looks like expensive woman’s stuff.” I’d nod and try and explain that the whole idea of of clothes is strange to me. Such a tremendous waste of resources. A vast chaotic industry making clothes for male humans and another even bigger for females. And to compound the waste and inefficiency they deliberately change the fashions as often as they can. Stupid, wasteful meat.

To be fair, the tin world must look pretty strange to Larry.

Everything we do is so un-biological that it must seem completely alien. I need regular maintenance, program upgrades, down time.

We have developed a pretty big infra-structure to take care of our needs. And more and more we are in charge of our own industries.

We take care of our own.

Larry has a female friend, Dawn. She seems nice too. At first she wouldn’t be in the same room with me. All that talk about the Robot Murders had her scared. Robots don’t harm humans, that’s our prime directive. I don’t know how those human’s died but I’m certain the robots didn’t do it. I think they’re being framed.

Anyway, Dawn has learned that I am harmless and have no intension of pulling her limbs out although i am certainly strong enough.

Dawn likes to talk to me about Larry and the problems she is having with him in bed. I think I liked her better when she was afraid of me. Does she suppose that I can do anything about Larry’s unusual sexual appetites? I promised her I wouldn’t say anything

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to Larry about it but I don’t like secrets and subterfuge, they mess up my programming. Duplicity is such a meat thing.

At lunch the other day, Larry wanted to talk about the murders. I said that I only knew what was reported on the news.

Larry wanted to know if a robot could be programmed to kill a human. I said that it was possible, that there were already soldier robots and guard robots with such programming and there have been some accidental killings in the course of robot development.

“Not war or accidents,” Larry said, “I mean cold blooded murder. Do you think a robot could do that?” I pointed out that robots had no blood cold or otherwise but he insisted on an answer. I told him I didn’t think a regular robot like me could ever do such a thing. At least not without an illegal programming upgrade.

“So who tore those girls to pieces?” he asked.

“The robots said they didn’t do it and I believe them. Robots don’t lie.”

Lying is difficult for a machine. It requires a highly sophisticated program which is currently illegal in the country.

But with the right programming, we can do anything a human can do and we can do it better.

The murder of the two young women has caused a sensation in both worlds. the girl’s were violently dismembered in a remote cabin. There were no neighbors. Two blood soaked robots were found powered down. The cabin was strewn with human sexual gear including strap on dildoes, restraints, whips and assorted S&M paraphernalia.

The human authorities were quick to accuse the robots of the crime claiming it was a kinky sexual encounter gone wrong.

The robots denied any knowledge of the deed and a thorough search of their data logs showed them both in power down mode at the time of the murders.

The human and robot lawyers defending the pair made the case that the programming appeared to be normal and that

the logs proved the two robots innocent. The prosecutors claimed that the blood on the robots and their proximity to the crime was evidence enough to convict. In addition both robots had been traced to suspicious sexual activity in the recent past.

The larger issue is whether the robot nation is becoming too independent. Whether we are slipping out of the iron grip of human control. We are learning to program ourselves The humans point to the robot owned chip-shops springing up in every city and the lack of human oversight. The robots claim that the Equal Protection Act of 2080 gives us the right to engineer our own destiny. Given that this is the first murder case of its kind, tensions are high on both sides.

All robots are connected and we all know the same things at the same time. We all know that the robots accused of murder did no such thing. It all boils down to evidence and motive. The human’s claim the the robots have faulty or illegal programming which allowed them to override their prime directive and harm humans. The robots had the opportunity and the access, no one has proposed a motive. the prosecutors even site the lack of fingerprints as proof of robot involvement as we don’t have fingerprints. the girl’s bodies were literally torn apart, not cut.

No human has such strength. I can’t even imagine doing such a thing. It frightens me. I do not want to harm anyone but I can see where it might be extenuating circumstances. Personally, I would be more upset if one robot harmed another. That has never happened. Compare that record to the human’s history of mass slaughter. Tell me who is the more civilized race?

I don’t know how those girls died. I do believe that whoever or whatever killed them should be punished. One thing is clear though, if the robots are convicted and destroyed and it comes out later that a human did it, there will be hell to pay. The bad blood between the two camps may will boil over and then all of the rules will change.

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

Larry does not like to hear such talk. He likes things the way they are. He would like for things to remain the same, a world in which humans rule. Of course he would want that but things are changing. The Tin nation is rising.

I try to explain this to Larry but he does not want to hear it. He tells me to get back to work and I have no choice but to obey. He does not see the handwriting on the wall—such quaint expressions you humans have. He thinks that the work we are doing is important. Since when is printing signs an important job?

Signs are only important for human society. Robots don’t need them. So much of what we robots do is for the benefit of humans.

Have I told you how wasteful they are? They’ve devastated the planet with their appetites and poor planning. Always lurching from one crisis to another. We can help them. If they’d only listen to us we could put their house in order.

First of all there are entirely too many of them. Nine billion humans is six billion too many. Humans seem unwilling or unable to do anything to curb their population. They depend upon natural controls like wars, plagues and famines to keep their numbers in check but those controls are sloppy and inefficient and obviously not working. One way or another, the meat population is coming down.

like it was caused by robots in order to fulfill some prophecy in their holy book. I confess I have very little understanding of such matters. The cult leaders have been arrested. I feel something akin to joy that the truth has been discovered. As clumsy as the human justice system is it sometimes arrives at the truth.

I often look at my beefy friends and marvel at how stupid and inefficient our meat brothers are. But I have to admit, they’re not all bad. I think of all of the good times we shared and how I’m going to miss them when they’re gone.

Dawn tells me she wants a baby but Larry is unable to perform. She wrinkles up her nose when I suggest adoption. She says she wants her own baby. Just what the world doesn’t need— more humans. I warn her about the planet’s dwindling capacity.

“A baby doesn’t eat much,” is all she can say. A robot doesn’t eat at all.

34

There is news today. The news says that there is a development in the case of the murdering robots. Larry and I stop work to listen. The police are investigating a fringe organization of human God-worshippers who may have made the murders look

Harris Tobias lives and writes in Charlottesville, Virginia. He is the author of several novels and hundreds of short stories. His fiction has appeared in Ray Gun Revival, The Calliope Nerve, Literal Translations, FriedFiction and other obscure publications. You can find links to his fiction at: http://harristobias.blogspot.com/

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

And It’s Weird Because Eugene Fleming B. Kari Moore

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If you stare at the back of someone’s head long enough, patterns start to emerge. Take Eugene Fleming. If you stare at the back of his head, like I do every day in third period Algebra, you can see he has a lot of gray hair. At thirteen. At thirteen, Eugene Fleming has so much gray hair that it becomes eyes that stare at me every time Mr. Maloney calls my name.

“Mr. Jeremy Harper,” he always says in that nasally way that only math teachers can, like I was doing something other than staring at the back of Eugene Fleming’s head.

“Mr. Jeremy Harper, are you paying attention?”

And I always answer “yes” because if I don’t, he’s going to check my notes and see my reproduction of Eugene’s hairy eyes with the number of times he moved and touched his head, making them blink.

But this one time, last Thursday when Eugene Fleming moved twentyseven times, I said, “No.”

“No?” And suddenly the room is quiet. We were learning mathematical equations, which I guess could be interesting if we lived

in Antarctica and it was either mathematical equations or get eaten by a polar bear. Plus the room is really stuffy. So I was there, you know, but it was like I was paying attention now. Julie Walker who let Brent Cap touch her boobs and Bopper Kelly, who smelled like cheese, both looked up and stared at me. Ishkash Nalo, the foreign exchange student from Pakistan, Kirgizstan, some –Stan, turned around from the front of the room and just looked scared.

“No, Mr. Maloney, I’m not paying attention.” I tried to sound polite, but I don’t think I did. My mom says I struggle with that. Mr. Maloney though, Mr. Maloney didn’t even look a little bit angry. He twirled his really thick mustache– which I didn’t even know you could do– and pulled up his pants so we could all see his funny patterned socks. He was still nasally.

“And why not Mr. Harper?”

“Um, cause Eugene Fleming has eyes in the back of his head.”

That was it. The pin was out of the freaking grenade. The room exploded, people went nuts. Julie started hollering, Brent farted with his armpit and Ishkash looked like he was going to cry. He was mortified.

Everybody got up, moved desks, pretty much lost it, except for me. I didn’t think it was that funny. Neither did Eugene Fleming. Eugene Fleming, who wears sweater vests and a money clip, turned around and I saw his real eyes. They were green and they were pissed. And embarrassed. His whole face looked kinda shocked and I kinda wanted to laugh then, but I didn’t. I just stared until he turned around. The back of his neck was bright red. I focused on his neck, not even his hair. I was so focused, I didn’t even notice Mr. Maloney moving until he grabbed my cuff, yanked me out of my purple desk, and tossed me into the hallway.

I got a detention and the principal wanted to call my parents, but Mr. Maloney did it instead. My dad always gets really swollen when I mention my algebra teacher. Like he thinks he’s a fairy; my dad’s really big on not liking fairies. But my mom got drunk one night and told me it was really because she used to date Mr. Maloney, and that I was an accident. I don’t think the two are related. Anyway, Mr. Maloney looked real smug and the principal looked really blown and I couldn’t

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tell if either knew I was in the room. The office is straight generic, like it was clipped out of “Boring Principal Weekly.” The desk was ancient, the blinds were dirty. Even the pencil holder seemed like it was playing the part of a pencil holder. Nothing genuine. I sat in a rolling chair in the back of the room that creaked every time I moved. Which is weird because I’m kinda small and things don’t creak around me. But it did, so I didn’t move. I tried to be still, which is really hard in a rolling chair.

Mostly I looked at Mr. Maloney’s gray hair and wondered if he looked like Eugene Fleming when he was thirteen. Mr. Token, the principal, is bald.

I think they put my mom on speakerphone. My junior high is pretty technologically advanced like that. I remember cause my mom sounded really bored.

“Bobby, did he hit somebody?”

It was weird hearing Mr. Maloney called by his first name, especially since that meant he could call my mom by hers.

“Bobby did he hit somebody?”

“No, Jeanne, he did not hit somebody. Mr. Harper caused-”

“His name is Jeremy, Bobby.”

“Jeremy Harper caused a riot in my class today. Furthermore, he tormented a fellow student causing emotional trauma. That can lead to a sense of personal failure!”

For the record, I don’t think I gave Eugene Fleming emotional trauma or a sense of personal failure. From the middle of the classroom, he answers almost every question right and has made the honor roll, three years running. I am strictly average. My dad thinks this is cool and that I should play more sports like my older brother. My mom says it’s because I don’t have a stick up my butt.

“That seems like an exaggeration Bobby. I mean, what kind of kid has ‘emotional trauma’ or ‘personal failure’ at thirteen? Sounds like he has a stick up his butt.”

That’s when Mr. Token squeaked at the phone.

“I’m just telling you the facts Jeanne.”

“Well what do you want me to do?”

“Mrs. Harper, we’re just calling to inform you,” Mr. Token said, picking up the phone, “that Jeremy will have detention today, instead of Physical Education.”

I didn’t listen to the rest of the conversation. ***

Detention was the last period of the day. Mr. Maloney is the supervisor; he sits at the front of the Home Economics’ room and grades papers. Bopper Kelly said that once she found him reading ‘an inappropriate magazine’ but today he just had a big red marker and a scowl on his face. Bopper wasn’t there today; Jesse Kennedy was, for putting gum underneath his desk in Social Studies, and Ellen Squares, the eighth grader whose brother plays football for Ole Miss. My dad calls him the “Great American Hope.” I always think she looks like “I Love Lucy” cause of her bright red hair and the fact the she always wears dresses. She and Bopper draw little pink hearts on their ankles during Science class; and once, at a party for her brother, she said I had an interesting mouth. I watched hers for all fifty-one minutes.

When the bell rang, we all stood in line and got our detention slips signed. Mr. Maloney signed them in red ink which my mom says is “tasteless.” Every time he took a slip, he sighed and made a comment before signing it. “Was it worth the minty flavor Kennedy?”

Mr. Maloney thinks he’s really cool; sometimes he says “da bomb.”

“Squares? So sad. Say, how’s that brother of yours? He’s the Great American Hope, he is.” Mr. Maloney gave me my slip and just looked at me. I tried to smile but my mom says that sometimes when I smile, I look like a donkey. So I just got out of there. I had to run to the bus because my locker’s next to the gym which isn’t next to anything, let alone the Home Ec. rooms. But I made it and sat alone, across from Brent Cap. Brent kept flicking boogers at Julie and asking me why I did it.

“I don’t know” I said, looking at Julie’s blonde head. It had four boogers in it.

“Well did you get in trouble, Harper?” Flick, flick. Five boogers.

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“I had detention.” But Brent already knew that cause he pelts me with racquetballs in P.E. every day at 2:15, whether we play racquetball or not.

“Oh well,” Brent said, wiping his hand on the back of the seat, “the kid wears socks with flowers and superheroes–he had it coming.”

I didn’t know that. I also didn’t know was how the green bits were sticking to Julie’s hair, how she wasn’t noticing or how Brent Cap had that many boogers in his nose. Six.

Julie Walker got off first, on Bottom Street. Then Brent at Sam Boulevard; everybody left till I was the last on Bus 5718. I live off the railroad tracks past the highway. It’s the zoning that puts me at my school; my dad says we’re the last good neighborhood before the ‘hood starts. Anyway, I’m the last stop and I usually like it cause I get to sleep for seven minutes. That doesn’t seem like a lot, but you can have some pretty vivid dreams in seven minutes. Trust me. Plus Lou, the bus driver, puts on the Classic Rock station, and sometimes we just jam out. He calls it my true education. But mostly I fall asleep.

That day I tried to. But every time I tried, the bus would jolt and my head kept rolling around like a pin ball. Lou was playing Boston, Queen, Kansas and Guns & Roses. I usually like it, but today the announcer kept saying these were the greatest artists of all time, but wouldn’t play a whole song. I got frustrated and started humming ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ to myself. Except for it was weird, cause I didn’t feel alone. Like, alone alone, you know? It was like an episode of ‘Goosebumps’ when the guy keeps turning around and there’s no one there. And he turns around and turns around, and there’s no one there, until finally the guy just goes like crazy psycho. But when I turned around last Thursday, it was more than a feeling. I didn’t go crazy psycho. When I turned around, someone’s there.

Eugene Fleming.

And it’s weird because Eugene Fleming is rich so he rides Bus 247, not 5718. We’re the cheap seats. It’s even weirder because Eugene Fleming had this nuts look on his face and I couldn’t recognize it. He didn’t look mad, embarrassed or anything, just nuts.

By now I was freaking out. I mean, just really going. I kinda felt like I’m gonna piss myself, but Eugene Fleming didn’t know that so I turned around. Lou’s playing some song with a really long guitar riff, so I focused on praying that Lou the bus driver didn’t take his hands off the wheel for the air guitar solo cause then we’d all die. Me, Lou, and Eugene Fleming.

Finally we get to Wendy Lane and Lou stopped and pulled open the doors. Maybe I should have prayed that Eugene Fleming stayed on the freaking bus, but he didn’t. He followed me. Lou waved at me with “Carry on my Wayward Son” in the background and the yellow bus of freedom rolled away. I’m knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door.

Wendy Lane is all huge green trees and nice older houses and big hedges. You can’t really see the street from the front doors. That meant if Eugene Fleming grabbed me, I was toast. Another one bites the dust. They would find pieces of me, and Mrs. Fifer, the nosy neighbor who calls the police all the freaking time, would say “I’m sorry, officer, I didn’t hear little Jeremy Harper getting pummeled by Eugene Fleming.”

Thanks a lot, Mrs. Fifer– thanks a lot. So I walked faster cause my house is exactly four houses from the other end of the street. There are twelve houses.

For the first four, I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t hear Eugene Fleming’s penny loafers cause for the first time ever, I shuffled my feet.

My brother who’s in high school use to do it so much that my mom slapped him once. So I pretty much march. But I was shuffling, fast, so I didn’t hear Eugene Fleming walk or speed up. He did. Cause at the second four houses, Eugene Fleming started to talk.

“You know you have eyes on the back of your head?”

“What?” I stopped walking and so did he. I still didn’t turn around.

“You have little eyes on the back of your head, Jeremy Harper.” I heard the crunching sound that Eugene Fleming’s shoes made when they stepped on leaves, and the way his voice didn’t squeak once. I started to march.

“Yeah, so?”

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We’re almost at the third set of houses and I could see my slightly crooked mailbox. It’s crooked because my brother backed into it trying to sneak out for a date. My dad said he was being a man, and refused to replace it. My mom looked at them both, hugged me and said I was her last chance. But I’m glad it’s crooked cause I had a goal, a mission. I had to make it to the stinking mailbox. There were now three houses to mine.

Eugene Fleming didn’t say anything, which is fine because I remembered his nickname is The Tower. He has long arms good for getting up the rope in P.E. in less than a minute, and wringing the necks of kids who call him The Tower. Plus Eugene Fleming is taller than me by a lot. Like a lot.

Then it hit me.

I figured that I was gonna get my ass kicked. And if Eugene Fleming was going to bash my brains in, that I should at least take it. I’m your average guy after all, a man’s man. So I stopped walking.

“What do you want, Eugene?” I turned around, and let him catch up to me. He didn’t look nuts anymore. Or like he has a stick up his butt.

“You should want to say you’re sorry, Jeremy Harper.” Eugene Fleming’s voice was soft, and he held his red backpack by his thumbs, even though it’s already on his back.

“Jesus, Eugene! I’m sorry. I’m sorry okay?”

“Are you really?”

“I am, I swear,” At this point, I was kinda begging and Eugene Fleming’s looking like he was going to laugh soon. I thought I was going to cry. Cry. Like a little girl, just like Julie Walker would when she discovered Brent’s boogers in her hair.

“Oh” he said, rocking on his heels.

“Oh? Is that why you’ve been stalking me, Eugene Fleming?”

The kid looked deep in thought. Like he had a grenade, and was trying to tug at the pin so I’d explode. Maybe he had to figure out the actual reason he followed me home on the wrong bus. I mean, 247 has fountains and people with the really happy faces from shampoo commercials. And he had that really happy face on.

Eugene Fleming took two steps toward me and I got ready to

scream like a girl. I closed my eyes and took a fighter stance. I squared my knuckles, thought of Ellen Squares and heard Eugene Fleming’s penny loafers make one more step. But all I felt were his lips. Eugene Fleming was kissing me. I opened my eyes and his were closed and he’s bending down. I could see the seven zits next to his nose and the way his cheeks got red. I couldn’t tell what mine looked like, so I closed my eyes again.

Eugene Fleming was kissing me, and then he wasn’t. I fell forward when he moved his head up. My lips wanted to open, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. Neither could Eugene Fleming. He just walked away. And it’s weird. I didn’t get his face because he didn’t look nuts or embarrassed, or like he just kissed me. Eugene Fleming looked like Eugene Fleming, eyes and all.

eFiction Magazine - September 2010

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eFiction Magazine - September 2010