DevolutionRevolution - The Book of Jay
The night felt thick and heavy, like some obese hairy monster perched on my shoulders, slouching me further and further over the desk as the hours wore on. I should have left the overhead light on, but how could I have known that the bulb in my desk lamp would choose this night to give a final desperate flicker and die in a minute, crackly blaze of glory? Stupid light bulb, taking the easy way out and leaving me with nothing but the somehow lighter darkness of the black computer screen and its miniature army of white type to fend off the night.
(continued in comments)
3 comments:
My eyes moved sluggishly and seemingly independent of one another. I hunched there, an overgrown chameleon, left eye following the type, forever following the type, right eye wandering across the spilled coffee and other unidentified stickiness on the desktop, taking a brief breather at the clock, then trekking back to the screen. Nearly 5 A.M. commented whatever part of my brain was paying attention to my right eye. That will make twenty two hours. Somebody shoot me. Please.
Line after line of letters and numbers, line after line of angles and curves, nonsense flowing endlessly down the screen. One in particular had me confused; a hook with a line across the top of it. I felt that, regardless of the rest of the indecipherable mess, I should recognize that one. Staring at it didn’t help. I just didn’t know anymore, and my right eye was off wandering again, running laps around the screen, making everything swirl slightly and giving me the uncomfortable sensation that I was being sucked into some alternate universe, or flushed down a toilet.
Behind the jumble of symbols, I thought I noticed a reflection of movement, against the pull of the vortex. Then I felt the flat of the knife touch the side of my neck, slightly cold and refreshingly indifferent. Nothing like a necklace, I thought, even though both are made of metal. I must have straightened in reaction to its touch, because when my eyes focused, I found myself looking at the window, a triangle of blue-black sky dangling above the obsidian slickness of the computer screen. The knife turned, and I expected pain, but felt mostly warmth.
“Don’t move,” he whispered.
His calm voice was like steam in my ear, completely incongruous with the trail of blood I felt oozing down my neck. It was a voice that should be softly saying “sweet dreams” before kissing your forehead and switching off the light. I felt blood collecting into an unstable pool in the slight recess of my collarbone. If he cut any deeper, it would pour down in a viscous flood, channeled over my body by my bones and muscles. That’s going to leave a nasty stain, I thought, unable to avoid laughing at my priorities. He pulled the knife back and spun my chair around so that I faced him. I guess he hadn’t expected laughter.
He didn’t match his voice at all. Short and wiry, vaguely reminiscent of a feral cat, he was slightly crouched, casually pointing the knife at my eye. His black hair spiked out in all directions, in absolute denial of gravity, transitioning seamlessly into the darkness of the room. Less distinct than shadow, only slightly more than shade. He had a mouth that looked like it didn’t know how to smile, so it made me nervous when he lowered the knife and grinned at me.
Motionless, he seemed to be studying me, weighing his options, predicting my responses, playing out a hundred iterations of my death in his mind. His posture suddenly relaxed and he examined the knife, about eight inches of curving silver blade, impossibly bright in the hand of Shade, in the frozen instant of night. As if it were reflecting pure moonlight, though the moon had already set hours before. A drop of something shiny fell to the floor as he lifted it to his eye level. Shade looked back to me briefly, unnatural grin replaced by an expression that I couldn’t interpret, then licked the side of the blade.
“Salty,” he mumbled.
Overwhelming my initial disbelief, he flipped the knife and cleaned the other side, too. I felt an obligatory flash of horror and disgust, but that was rapidly replaced by curiosity. Feral cat, definitely.
“You don’t know what blood tastes like?”
“Only my own.”
“And you thought someone else’s might be different?”
He shrugged.
“And?”
“Yours is better. It’s hard to say why.”
“Well, I try to eat right… take my vitamins, you know?”
Shade took a step forward and grabbed a handful of my hair. I regretted going without a haircut for the last six months and growing him an admirable handhold. He had a bit of a smirk, a sociable sort of smirk, which seemed much more appropriate for his face, although it didn’t match well with the pain in my scalp.
“Why aren’t you afraid?”
“Too tired, I guess. I was pretty bored anyway.”
The smirk faded.
“I don’t like doing this.”
“Why? Because I’m so handsome it seems like a waste?”
“Perhaps.” His pale eyes fixed on me. I couldn’t tell what color of pale they were. “But really, it’s not my idea; it’s not like I have a choice in this.”
“Then who does?”
“You. This is your dream after all.”
Yes, of course. It makes sense now, I thought. Shade leaned over and licked blood off the side of my neck, the point of the knife nicking my ear as it passed. I remember thinking that I saw a hint of a long, thin scar just below his jaw. He smelled a bit like coffee and damp soil, a surprisingly pleasant combination. I couldn’t remember having dreams with scent before.
“Well then, doesn’t that mean that you can’t really kill me?”
“I’m not sure. Shall we find out?”
He spun me back around and the knife was at my throat again. It felt more natural this time; the darkness, the metal, the lines of text staring out passively from the computer screen. I didn’t mind the thought of dying like that. Eventually, the knife lifted and a hand rested on my shoulder. Guess you can’t do it, huh? I thought.
“Jay?”
My eyes, already open, seemed to open another layer, like a cat’s inner eyelid sliding back, revealing a slightly bluer triangle of sky and the reflection of one of my assistants in the screen. Then I noticed that my eyes were burning, and it took me a moment to realize that the overhead light had been turned on.
“Wakey wakey. You alive?”
With his usual tact, Jesse prodded me in the back a couple of times and started shaking my chair. As the world waggled back and forth, I fondly recalled several earthquakes I would have rather re-experienced. I wanted to tell him to knock it off, but all that came out was a grunt. He read the malice in the grunt and backed away a couple of steps. Smart kid. I pushed myself out of the chair and rubbed my eyes.
“I was having a weird dream.”
My hand involuntarily checked the side of my neck, finding only skin and a bit of stubble coming in along my jaw. Jesse probably would have mentioned it if I was sliced open and sitting in a puddle of blood. I sighed. I think it was relief.
“With your eyes open?”
“I’m talented.”
“It’s after five. Have you slept at all?”
I made a snorting noise that roughly translated into “no.” I rubbed my eyes again and decided nothing was going to improve my vision at that point. Jesse was looking awfully blurry. I made a flapping explanatory gesture of futility at the computer.
“Not working?”
“Do you think I’d still be up if it was?”
“I don’t know. You’re crazy.”
The computer looked smug.
“There’s something wrong with the code.” That didn’t really need saying. The only problem we ever had was something being wrong with the code. “The error-check isn’t catching it, so it’s got to be something tiny and obscure. It’s one of the parts dealing with the prey-species population dynamics. The stupid things go extinct no matter what you do. So that narrows it down to some ungodly number of lines.”
“Go sleep,” Jesse said, plopping down in the chair. “I’ll handle it.”
I grunted again and staggered for the door. Walking made the world rush at me in blurry jolts. My depth perception was completely shot. I paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame to make sure I stayed upright. Jesse was already scrolling through the text. I wondered how he could possibly be so awake.
“Dress code,” I mumbled.
He looked down at his boxers, readjusted them, and looked up at me.
“They cover everything.”
I sighed.
“I work better when I’m comfortable.”
“Just find some pants before eight. Fourth floor starts showing up around then.”
He wheeled himself around, the chair squeaking a mild complaint. Arms crossed in front of his chest, Jesse gave me the best scowl he could muster, which wasn’t terribly convincing since the corners of his mouth kept twitching up.
“I don’t want to be hearing ‘dress code’ from a guy in a halter top.”
“Covers everything.”
I smiled and shuffled off down the hallway, trying to pretend that it wasn’t spinning and that I could see where I was going. There was a short lag between my eyes aiming at something and my brain deciding what it was. Or maybe I was just blinking. It was hard to tell. Dress code. That was a good one. If we had a dress code at all it was to not be naked. Or not let anyone from one of the other offices in the building see you being naked. Well, ok, so basically, there wasn’t one, but Jesse and his underwear were bound to get us in trouble with someone sooner or later.
I noticed that the light was on in the lounge area, so I peeked in. There was a pyramid of Mountain Dew cans in one corner, topped off by a flag made of a fluorescent pink post-it stuck to a yellow highlighter, which was protruding from the topmost can. It was quite impressive really. A jump rope snaked across the middle of the rug and Jesse’s jeans were draped over the back of the sofa, his idea of a couch doily apparently. I thought about bringing them to him, but the ten feet of wavering unearthly hallway were fresh in my mind, and I decided it wasn’t worth the effort. On the massive black coffee table sat the remains of a ravaged pizza, mushroom and something, and a laptop with one of those pink post-its on top. The post-it read: “It’s done. It works. Wake me up on Tuesday. ~S”
I thought I heard something, remembered the existence of sound, and spun around. Shaelyn was snoring on the ratty old armchair in the corner, curled in a ball with her jacket over her head. It reminded me of a documentary on hibernation that I had seen the week before, marmots or some such rodenty thing. The armchair seemed like a decent place to den up for the winter. I made sure that she had an air hole, hit the lights, and stumbled out. Four days of sleep sounded like a good idea.
As I flopped down on the futon in the back office, an image of the man with the knife appeared in my mind. I wondered whether it was him or the knife that made the world so still and calm. Why didn’t he scare me or at least upset me a little? Was he somebody familiar? Was I really so bored with life that I wouldn’t have cared if he killed me or was the night just doing funny things to my mind?
Shade, I thought. If I see him again, I should at least ask what his name is.
So have I read 2 of the 4 parts or 3 of the 4 parts of the novel-type-thing?
Neato picture where'd you find it?
Has this changed from the last time I read it? I like Shade he kinda reminds me of Vlad/Loiosh.
You've read about 2.5 of the 4 parts (D&D, Jay, first 1/2 of Dev). I think this is still the same as last time, I haven't done anything to the Jay part in a while. I think I just searched "sky" and "window" or something to find the picture.
Post a Comment