Breena said, “Oh, I knew it…” under her breath as she led Peter down the hall to the front door. She shouted over her shoulder, “Leez, stay with Red.”
No lights lit the deserted halls. Feeling his way along the corridor, Peter pressed one hand against the wall. He moved slowly, because old filing cabinets and shattered computer monitors littered the floor, and all were cool and the same temperature.
“Wait,” said Breena. From her pocket she pulled a ring that emitted light, then slipped it on a finger.
He heard quick footsteps echo up from the stairwell. “Come on.”
They ran for the stairs. When they reached the landing, Peter looked down the center of the well and saw Eddy’s trembling warm-red hand sliding along the banister.
“Eddy, come back here. What are you doing?”
Eddy didn’t answer, but kept moving.
Peter bounded down the stairs, with Breena close behind. Realizing he didn’t have his gun, he was glad. At this point he’d have felt obliged to shoot Eddy down, something he didn’t really want to do.
When Peter got to me first floor, he saw Eddy run through the lobby toward the front door.
“Eddy! Stop or I’ll shoot!” he shouted.
Still running, Eddy called back. “No, Peter, don’t. You don’t understand.”
Brenna came up alongside Peter, her breathing ragged and loud. “Where’s your gun?”
“Don’t have it on me.”
She faltered and lost her stride. “Son of a fraggin’ insect.”
Peter ran on.
Eddy had just reached the building’s outer doors. A red glow grew behind Peter. When he looked back, Breena was forming a fireball in her hands, the heat of the object nearly blinding him. For one instant he drought about leaping in front of it to save Eddy. But then he remembered that the man just couldn’t be trusted.
He dove for the ground.
The shadows in the lobby slid quickly across the walls as the fireball rushed toward the doorway. Sensing danger, Eddy glanced over his shoulder, his mouth forming into a twisted, terrified O. He jumped through the doorway out onto the sidewalk, just as the fireball slammed into the metal frame of the doors and exploded. Shattering into bits of fire, it flew in all directions.
Peter heard Eddy scream. He scrambled up and saw his friend on the ground, rolling desperately back and forth in the snow, his pants and the back of his jacket on fire.
Peter rushed through the lobby. Eddy’s screams grew in intensity, and now he was clawing at his hair and his face, frantically trying to beat out the flames.
Suddenly Peter saw red bodies rush toward Eddy from out of the darkness of the street. At first he thought they might be ghouls or scavengers, but then saw they were only mob men dressed in dark overcoats. One man spotted Peter and their eyes met. The hood smiled, just slightly, and drew an Uzi III from under his jacket.
Peter stopped running, slid for a meter or so along the smooth, marble floor, and then ran back into the lobby. Bullets raced along the wall behind him. He only caught a glimpse of the other hood, who had whipped off his overcoat and was using it to beat out the flames on Eddy.
He saw Breena rush toward him, her face set and furious. He dove at her, catching her in the crook of his right arm as he fell to the ground. Bullets smashed into the ground all around them. Peter twisted and rolled to put himself between the mobster and Breena. Two bullets smacked into his shoulder, sending a dull pain spreading through him. Breena’s ring lay on the floor, illuminating them clearly. Peter reached out and grabbed it, plunging the lobby into darkness.
Outside he heard some shouting in Japanese, and caught the words “now,” “orders,” and “later.” He looked toward the doors and saw the mob man had left.
“Get your fraggin’ arm off me,” Breena said with a coldness that frightened Peter. He rolled over and ran toward the doorway, leaving the ring with her.
Outside he saw the two hoods shove Eddy into a sleek black Westwind.
“Son of a—”
Peter crouched and scuttled off toward the car, using the burned-out bodies of other cars for cover. He was just across the street when the Westwind began to accelerate. Peter made a dash for it, running up behind and jumping onto the top. He heard muffled shouts of surprise from within the car as the impact of his body on the roof rocked it from one side to the other.
Peter swung his fist and smashed it through the windshield. As the Westwind swerved wildly, he grabbed the roof edge and clung to it tightly.
Eddy shouted, “Peter-Peter, don’t-don’t do it. It’s clear-It’s clear!”
Then four bullets punched their way through the left side of the Westwind’s roof. Peter immediately rolled over the bullet holes and watched with nervous excitement as four more bullets shot out in the spot where he had just been.
Peter glanced around and saw that they were approaching the Michigan Avenue bridge over the Chicago River.
He rolled back over to the left and smashed his fist through the driver’s door window. The Westwind once again swerved wildly, this time grinding up against the bridge’s cement guard rail.
Peter wiggled his hand around trying to contact the head, neck, or shoulders of the driver. Suddenly he felt his nails dig into the man’s face. The driver screamed, and the car accelerated. It careened toward the left side of the bridge, rushing into the guard rail at a tremendous speed.
Peter flew off the car and into the air over the river. The car flipped over the railing and followed.
He had nothing to which he might compare the sensation. He felt weightless, for he could not feel his body pressing against anything, but at the same time he was being drawn to the cold, ice-filled river below. He was Alice falling down the rabbit hole. He remembered it now. Alice didn’t rush down the hole, she took her time. She looked at things along the way. She didn’t focus on the certain destruction waiting for her below. It was enough for her to be falling. The result was inevitable. She didn’t panic about it.
It was a strange thought to be having at this moment.
Then he plunged into the icy water, the sounds of the world muffling into a dull roar. The water rushed by him as Peter dropped deeper and deeper. Within seconds he could see nothing.
A panic coiled around his body. Which way was up? He twisted around, only now aware that he hadn’t held his breath as he plunged into the water.
He let his whole body relax, the weight of his skin, his clothes, his shoes dragging him down. He discovered that what he had thought was up was really off to one side. He turned himself so his feet pointed down.
Then he started swimming up, keeping his head as a guide.
His lungs burned. He wanted desperately to take in a breath of air. With difficulty, he forced his mouth to stay shut.
Only a little more, he told himself. Only a little more. But he had no idea how much further it would be. He had no idea how deep he had sunk. He could see no light ahead of him.
His arms strained. Just a little more.
How much little more?
Don’t give up.
He couldn’t stand not breathing anymore. He just wanted to take in big gulps of air, to breathe and never stop breathing.
He pleaded with himself not to try to breathe—not just yet. Just a little bit more. That’s all he wanted. Just a little bit further, and he could finally breathe.
Before he knew he’d arrived, his hands broke the surface of the water. His head followed, and he gulped down one quick breath of air after another. Thick slabs of ice floated around him and bumped against his body, but he didn’t mind.
“Peter!” Eddy cried.
Bullets splashed into the water around Peter. He gulped down some more air and dove underwater again to escape another round of bullets slashing through the water. He turned and swam in the direction from which they’d come.
Peter had gone perhaps ten meters when his hand bumped into a body.
He surfaced and came face to face with one of the mobsters. The man’s teeth chattered as he tried to bring his gun around to Peter, but Peter punched him in the jaw. It was enough to send the hood into shock. He slipped down into the water.
The gun fell onto the slab of ice. Peter grabbed it.
“Peter,” he heard Eddy gasp. Peter looked around and saw Eddy floating with just his face out of the water. When he exhaled, small streams of water blew out of his mouth.
Peter swam over to Eddy. He saw that his friend’s face was horribly burned; the flesh torn and scorched. His eyes were glazed over. He continued calling for Peter as if the two of them were still far away from each other.
Peter dragged Eddy through the river with his left arm, and kept the gun in his right hand in case anyone else was around to cause them trouble.
When he reached the south side of the river, he pushed Eddy up onto the cement walkway, and then dragged himself up.
“Eddy? Eddy?”
Eddy began to shake violently, then his eyes opened. They stood out in strong contrast to the charred black skin of his face. Peter could see thin silver wires, now revealed to the world.
“Come on,” Peter said. He shoved the gun into the top of his pants and leaned down to pick Eddy up. “We got to get to Breena.”
“No…”
“Shhh.”
“No, Peter-Peter-Peter. I’m all messed-messed-messed up. I don’t wanna live no more.”
“Quiet.” Peter lifted Eddy and carried him toward the stairs.
“No. No. I’m all messed up. I’m tired. But I fixed it. I told them you geeked the slot.” He laughed and coughed water up. “Sorry.”
“Shhh.”
“You geeked-geeked her. I didn’t tell about your friends. I just said I knew-knew-knew where the labcoat was. They-they said if I found-found him, they’d get me fixed.”
“Fixed?”
“They got an operation now. They can fix-fix-fix my nerves. I can get fixed.”
“Eddy. They… No. We can’t do that yet. We don’t know how half the brain works. They lied to you.”
Eddy turned his face away from Peter.
“Don’t worry about it. Breena will fix you. You’ll be as good—”
Eddy’s voice cracked as he spoke, “No. No. I wish I were like you. You.”
“What are you talking about? I’m a troll.”
“But you know things. You made things happen. I’m just used-used.”
“I didn’t make anything happen.”
“Yes. Yes, you did. You said you wanted to find out how to-to be human. Human. And you did. The suit said you did. I heard her. You did it, Peter.” Eddy clutched Peter a bit closer. “All these things happened to-to-to me. To me. I didn’t know why. You know why. You got it all figured out.”
“No. No, I don’t,” Peter whispered.
“Peter, I can’t stand bein’ alive anymore. Please-please kill me.”
Peter stared down at Eddy in amazement. “No!”
“But I razzed you. Twice. I can’t even trust myself. I’ll do anything-anything to feel like I’m in control. I can’t stand-stand it. I wanna die.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“I gotta tell you somethin’.”
“All right.”
“But first, you gotta tell me… Are you angry-angry-angry about going with the mob? I mean, I know you wanna go straight now. Do you wish it never happened?”
Peter thought of the ork family. “It got me through my life. It got me to here, and now I can do something else.”
“So?”
“So I don’t regret it.”
Eddy moved his hand around and placed it on Peter’s chest. With an enormous effort he turned toward Peter. “Good. Good. Peter, remember those cops on the lake? When we first met?” Peter nodded. “I set that up.”
Peter stopped walking.
“I set that up. I wanted to work with you. You had something. I could see it. But I knew you’d get chewed up without help. I wanted to help you. And-and-and you did your research, right? That’s good, right?”
Peter found his mind was a blank slate, clean of all ideas and comprehension. “I don’t know what to say, Eddy.”
“Say you’ll-you’ll-you’ll remember me for how I helped you, not how I turned-turned-turned on you.”
And before Peter knew it, Eddy had slipped his hand down to the gun, grabbed it, and brought it up to his chin.
“NO!” Peter screamed.
Eddy pulled the trigger.