FORTY TWO

Johnny pulled the wiretap from his face, listened. There it was again: a knocking. It sounded frantic, urgent.

He was in his apartment. He rubbed his mouth, feeling the three day stubble on his unwashed face. He looked to the half-empty bottle of JD on his table. His cell sat beside it.

Johnny had been zoning pretty much 24/7.

It was the Jesus VR, same scene, played and replayed: Jesus would bring him to the hospital bed, talk to him about how to save Becky, how to cure her, before presenting the cup into his hands. And Johnny would give it to her, watching as the transformation took place, Becky alive, lucid, joyous. But on his latest run, the VR changed, Becky’s face narrowing, her hair becoming straighter, paler, blonder.

The knock came again.

Johnny pulled himself up, still wearing the same old shirt and strides from three days ago. He ruffled his hair, glancing in the mirror as he passed, moving out into the hallway.

More knocking.

Johnny called out, ‘Alright, alright, I hear you!’

He opened the door, finding Sarah, looking scared, flustered. She pushed past him, entered the apartment.

‘Sarah? You okay?’ he asked.

But she just glared at him, produced her cell and synced to his Box.

The news came onscreen, showing various scenes of unrest throughout Lark City: people fighting; crowds of protesters gathering outside City Hospital, the Mayor’s office, the precinct.

‘Jesus!’ the code guy said.

‘Exactly!’ exclaimed Sarah. ‘Johnny, It’s that damn VR you wrote, I’m sure of it. It’s like something from the VR is infecting people.’

‘Don’t be stupid, it’s just a program,’ he countered.

But Johnny was starting to see sense in her argument, how he’d been hooked into his own cell for almost thirty six hours straight. How he’d become obsessed by it, obsessed by Becky and the bedside and what the Jesus doll could offer him.

‘Just a program? How can you be so naive?! It doesn’t matter what it is that’s causing this. God knows, it wasn’t even a program when the Holy War kicked off. Johnny, this thing that you’ve created is messing with people’s minds! You’ve got to stop it, before . . .’

Sarah placed a hand to her head, suddenly light on her feet. Johnny reached for her, helped her over to the sofa in the living area.

‘Are you okay? Need a glass of water?’

‘I’m fine she said,’ removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes. ‘It’s just the city right now . . . it’s not safe out there.’

‘Well, what are you doing out, then? Sarah, you shouldn’t have come here.’

‘I had to. I’m worried about you. Can’t you see, Johnny? You have to stop using the VR.’

Johnny stood up, suddenly angry.

‘That’s always the trouble with you, Becky. You think you know everything, that you can just walk in here and –’

He stopped.

Sarah was crying.

Johnny sat down beside her, again, took her in his arms.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Slip of the tongue.’

Sarah pulled away.

‘Slip of the tongue? How dare you,’ she said. ‘If you only knew half of the nights I’ve spent worrying about you, Johnny, not sleeping a wink, lifting my cell, desperate to call and check you weren’t lying in some self-induced coma, but too scared.’

‘Sarah, please . . .’

‘And that day Garçon sent me around here and I found blood in your bathwater and you told me it was just a shaving cut. do you think i’m stupid?’

Johnny went to speak but couldn’t find any words.

Sarah lifted the empty bottle of JD, shook it: ‘This stuff’s killing you, Johnny.’ She picked up the wiretap. ‘This stuff, too. Well, guess what? I’m not going to stand back and watch that happen. Not anymore.’ Tears sprung from her eyes again, her voice now but a whisper. ‘I’m not Becky. I can’t become Becky. I love you, Johnny, but you don’t want that, do you? You don’t want me.’

Johnny reached for her, pulled her close, nursed her as she wept.

He wanted to love her, to feel something even close to what she needed, what he needed. He wanted to ditch the bottle, the wiretap like she said, but in his mind, he could still see the Jesus doll, standing by the hospital bed, offering him that cup.

And right now, it was still an offer he couldn’t refuse.