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4
“Look at him, will you.” Hank felt his gut clench as he leaned close to the Orsa and stared at Darryl. “I don’t believe it.”
When his daddy had visited him during his growing years, he’d filled his head with tales of Other Gods wanting to come in from the outside, and how he was part of a special bloodline, and how his daddy could see things with his ruined left eye that people with two good eyes had no clue about.
Hank had listened and he’d believed all that weird shit because his daddy so obviously believed it. But all those years they’d been words, just words. He’d never seen anything to back them up.
Until now.
Darryl was barely visible.
“It’s like he isn’t there.”
“But he is,” Drexler said beside him. “He is very much there.”
Yesterday it had been just his skin. Today it was his whole body, through and through.
From a distance he looked like a shirt, jeans, a pair of shoes, and a clump of hair suspended in a block of Lucite—something some asshole in a museum would call “art.” But when you got closer you could start to make out details.
Yesterday just his skin had gone transparent. Now Hank could see right through him. He wasn’t invisible. Still a faint outline of the scalp—easier because the hair was the same as ever—around an even fainter outline of the skull beneath, and a vague tracing of the irregular contours on the surface of the brain within.
“I think we might be nearing the end of the process.” “
“ ‘Might be’? You’re supposed to know.”
“Well, none of this is on a strict timetable. It matters how sick he was. Maybe he had more illnesses than we knew, or even he knew. The Orsa is going to cure everything wrong with him.”
Seemed to Hank like Drexler was trying to sound more certain of this than he really was.
“Yeah, well, he keeps sliding, though. He’s past the halfway point now. Will it spit him out when he’s cured?”
“Yes.”
Hank wheeled on him. “You don’t have a fucking clue, do you?”
“Of course I have. It’s all been written down over the centuries, the mille
“But you said it’s never been done before.”
Drexler gave him a stony look. “He will be cured when he emerges from the Orsa.”
“Yeah? But what else will he be? The invisible man? I think he might rather be dead.”
“Then that will be his choice, won’t it.”
Again that urge to strangle Drexler. The guy must have sensed it because Hank noticed his knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on the cane.
He forced himself to turn away.
“When do you think this will be over?”
“At the rate he’s moving, tomorrow or the next day.”
He stared at Darryl. You poor bastard. You went in a human being. What’ll you be when you come out?
A Fhi
What the hell was a Fhi
5
“You’re serious about this?” Eddie said as he positioned her on the treadmill.
Weezy nodded. “Deadly serious.”
She’d made up her mind to get in shape—lose weight, gain tone. The first inkling had come as she’d watched Eddie eat high-protein, low-carb meals. It had solidified today when he’d told her he was going down to the basement to work out. She’d followed him downstairs and found a treadmill and one of those Bowflex mini gyms she’d seen on TV.
She needed to do this. She’d let herself go too long. Time to take control. As much as she itched to push further through the Compendium, this was important too. She could spare thirty minutes for herself.
“Okay,” he said once her feet were positioned to either side of the belt. “We’ll start off slow and easy. As you get in better condition and more comfortable on the machine, we’ll begin upping the speed and the incline.”
“What about that?” she said with a nod toward the mini gym. “I could use some weight training too, I imagine. My muscles must be like Jell-O.”
“Weight training is very important. Do fifteen minutes low and slow here, and then I’ll walk you through a few exercises over there.”
He turned a knob and the belt began moving. Gripping the hand bars, Weezy stepped on and began walking.
“Too slow. Speed her up. This is like I’m eighty years old. I need to work up a sweat if I’m going to lose weight.”
He gave her a puzzled look. “Why this sudden interest in getting in shape? I’ve been after you for years.”
She shrugged. “Guess I’m finally listening.”
A sly smile. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Jack, would it.”
She felt herself redden. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not getting any younger and I’ve let myself go long enough. Nothing more.”
His smile held. “If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
Was it Jack? She found herself thinking about him a lot—mostly cringing at the memory of coming on to him the other night. What had she been thinking? Obviously she hadn’t been thinking. And that wasn’t like her.
“Hello?” Eddie said, waving a hand before her face. “Earth to Weezy.”
She shook herself. “Sorry.”
“Increase the speed by turning the knob clockwise, but do it slowly.”
She nodded. “Got it.”
As Eddie stepped over to the mini gym and began setting the resistance bars, Weezy notched the belt speed up to somewhere near a brisk walk. Once she was comfortable, she glanced over at her brother. As a kid she’d always thought of him as a fat, lazy dork, but he’d changed. He’d shaped up physically and mentally. He had his life in hand and had made something of himself.
What had she done?
Well, she’d had a good marriage—at least she’d thought so, until Steve brought it to a screeching halt. But beyond that, what? Last week she might have answered, Nothing . . . that she’d spent her life chasing phantoms. But in the past few days she’d been given proof that they weren’t phantoms.
Vindication. She hadn’t wasted her time. But since Steve’s death she’d been living from only the neck up and letting the rest go to seed. Time to change that, get back to her old self.
Things were moving so fast. Jack’s call a little while ago about Mr. Drexler with the Kickers, and the possibility that he’d been the man in white Goren had seen at Ground Zero . . . it all had a crazy, surreal logic to it. If she could learn more, maybe the crazy and surreal would go away, leaving only the logic.
But she needed a break from that book. She was getting logy and sluggish from complete lack of physical activity. This was exactly what she needed to keep her sharp.
Maybe she could bounce some ideas off Eddie as they worked out. She saw him seated on the bench, back to her, stretching his arms this way and that. Then he pulled off his T-shirt.
When Weezy saw his back her knees locked and she stumbled. She fell, landing on the belt and rolling off the treadmill onto the basement floor.
Eddie was at her side in seconds.
“Jesus, Weez! Are you all right?”
She nodded, unable to speak—not because of the considerable pain, but because of what she’d seen on his back.
Finally she found her voice.
“I’m fine,” she managed, struggling to her feet.
But she wasn’t fine, not fine at all, anything but.
“Maybe you should stay down,” he said, “until we’re sure nothing’s broken.”
“Nothing’s broken.”
Except maybe my heart.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. Sure. I’m go
“Let me get my shirt and I’ll help you.”
He turned away and she saw his back again and felt her gorge rise.
“No-no,” she said, moving toward the stairs as quickly as she could while hiding the pain that screamed through her twisted hip. “You stay here. I’ll just put some ice on it and I’ll be fine. Just fine.”
“You’re sure?”
She didn’t—couldn’t look at him.
“Positive.”
Once upstairs she yanked a plastic trash bag from a box and limped to her bedroom. She threw all the clothes she’d just bought into the bag, then grabbed the Compendium, scooped up Eddie’s car keys, and headed out the door. All the while the silver dollar–size scar—the brand on his back—kept flashing across her vision.