74

If my head is a cake of baked pain, then the car’s police siren is the knife. A pulsing wave of auditory agony that cuts through the pleasures of unconsciousness.

“There,” Clyde says, “all done.”

“What the fuck did you do to my head?” I scream, except it comes out more as a grunt and a gob of spit. And there is a lot of shouting and name-calling, and I’m not sure I’m really heard.

I open my eyes. I wish I hadn’t. The world slaloms back and forth in front of me. It is full of screaming people and endangered pedestrians. The back of another police car looms too close.

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

I achieve audibility. Everyone turns.

“I helped.” Clyde does not sound as defensive as I feel he should. “With the sword.”

“We talked about this!” Felicity has her fists balled, knuckles white, arm half-cocked. “This is not a fucking gray area!”

“Are you OK?” Aiko stares at me, face pale. “Is your head OK?”

“I helped.” Clyde is insistent.

“With giving me fucking migraines?” I would love to give Clyde the benefit of the doubt but he ran out of that about one mind-raping ago.

“The sword.” Clyde sounds slightly hurt. “So you can use it.”

“What?” Maybe it’s the blinding pain, but I am not getting a clear read on his reasons.

“I downloaded information,” Clyde says. “Into your brain. On swords. On how to use them. A lot of styles. You know how to riposte now.”

“I don’t even know what—” and then I stop. Because I do know what a riposte is. I know how to execute one. I know how to look for one. I know tell-tale signs. I know how to string them together. I know different sword types and grips that will facilitate styles that rely heavily upon the riposte. I am a virtual sodding encyclopedia on ripostes.

“Oh my God.”

“You’re welcome,” Clyde says.

Except am I? Should I thank him? My brain was just violated in a massive and monstrous way.

“I suppose that does sound helpful,” Devon says from the driver’s seat. “Minus the blinding pain. Do you know anything about driving?”

“Do not encourage him!” Felicity barks.

Useful. God, is that really the word?

I look at Clyde, the world swaying and swerving behind his head as Devon fishtails round another corner.

“You’re not human,” I say. I don’t mean to. I’m disoriented, and head-fucked, and trying to come to terms with too many things, and it’s an accident. But I say it. And I mean it.

“No,” Clyde agrees with me. “I’m not. I’m a mask.”

“You’re not.” Felicity is insistent, hissing it through her teeth. “You’re human. Meat. Blood. You have to remember that. God, we spoke about this.”

I look again at Tabitha in the car, my eyes still watering. And does she know? Has she had this conversation with him? Does she know how far he’s gone?

“I’m electronic,” Clyde insists. “I am ones and zeroes.”

“You’re…”

“My body died. This is someone else’s. I’m like a parasite.”

And I can’t take my eyes off Tabitha. And she can’t know. She mustn’t know. She’s tougher than nails and twice as sharp but this would break her in two. Does Clyde know that? Does he realize?

“Could we have picked a better time?” Devon says it sotto voce, but her hushed words are another man’s violent yell. Clyde died. I realize. More than a week ago now. Just none of us realized it. I finally look back at him. It’s like there’s a ghoul or a zombie sitting between Felicity and Aiko. Calm. Unfeeling.

Except he’s our ghoul. Our zombie.

“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to reach Clyde, somewhere behind his mask. “You’re right. And it’s been wrong to pretend you’re not a mask. And it’s wrong to make judgments because of who you are.”

“He’s a dick, Arthur,” Devon says. “No matter what his corporeal state.”

I’m not sure I have the nerve to insult a man who can overwrite my brain.

“You’re a member of this team,” I say to Clyde, ignoring Devon. “You’re valued. You’re a friend.” I honestly don’t know if that’s still true. But I think it’s what he needs to hear. And I don’t know what team I’m officially on now, what team any of us are on, but the world has less than thirty minutes and I’m sure as hell not going to spend it trying to establish which circle I can piss in.

“We’re all a team,” I say. “We need to work together.” I look from Clyde, to Aiko, to Felicity. “Can we work together?” We have to work together.

Nothing but silence from the peanut gallery. And I’d be the first to admit, this is a little late in the day for me to start a career as a motivational speaker.

“We’re about to find out,” Devon finally chips in. “We’re here.”