| Flash Back (continued) |
III
I wake up screaming, the pain still fresh in my mind, dull on my body but hurting like hell.
My eyes hurt. My face burns. I'm wrapped like a mummy. The bandages around my arms feel
like a giant cheese grater. I imagine the dressing holding my face together, keeping the flesh
from falling away. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. I try sitting up. I can't. I don't feel anything
below my waist. I'm scared, perhaps more frightened than I've ever been in my life. Will I ever
walk again? Can the nanites repair this much damage?
The ornate globe around the light bulb in the ceiling's center casts shadows on beige
walls. The sheets are white, but I know this ain't no hospital. I can't smell any hospital smells,
can't hear any of the familiar buzzing of doctors and nurses. What I do smell is salt water. The
sea is not far. I can hear the far-away cry of seagulls and other birds. The ancient odors of
pipe smoke and expensive wine. The linen covering me is top quality and imported. This house
is old and lived in with history. I detect the subtle energies of family memories, but whose? I
don't sense any danger, but I must get out of here. But where is “here?”
"Welcome back, pal. I was worried."
I turn my head and grimace from the pain of movement. Mike sits in the shadows with the
chair tipped back against the wall. His silver and black wavy hair is disheveled over his round,
craggy face. Bags droop under his gray eyes. He's still wearing the same white shirt and black
trousers he had on when he left the bar. How long ago was that? Hours? Days? How he found
me I don't know, but I'm glad he did. I can tell he's been with me the whole time I've been out.
He gives his wise guy smile, eyes twinkling, telling me that he was scared. I nod. He sits
forward, the chair resting on four legs.
"Guess I would be, too. Where the hell am I?"
"Safe house in Mamaroneck Westchester. I called in a favor. You won't be found."
"Thanks," I say, touching my face. It feels puffy through the bandages. I hold my hands up
in front of me. They're burned, but the healing has already begun.
"What time is it?"
"It's eleven twenty-eight, Monday morning." Mike says, looking at his watch. "You've been
out for two days, man. If I hadn't heard you breathing, I would've guessed you bought it."
I snort. “Do you have a mirror?"
Mike looks pained, uncomfortable. He looks down at the floor and wrings his hands. He
looks up again with tears in his eyes.
"Sam, I have to tell ya . . . ya look like shit, man."
"You ain't winnin' no beauty contest either, pal. Now where's that mirror?"
Mike sighs and stands. His powerful but aging frame ambles over to a desk and removes
a pair of scissors and a modest hand mirror from the drawer. He moves over to the bedside
and hands it to me.
"Here," he says, sitting back down and trying to hide his tears from me.
Movement is agony, but I cut away at the cotton strips and gauze until I feel the air on my
face. I lift the mirror up for a look. He's right. I do look like shit. The nanites have already
started repairing the damage, but most of my hair is gone and my scalp still shows signs of
being singed. My face is a patchwork of runny scabs, pale flesh and what's left of my caramel
brown complexion. My eyebrows are gone. My grief is a heavy sigh.
"You know what he said to me? As he left me burning, you wanna know what he said?"
"What'd he say, Sam?"
"He said, 'Stick to you own kind.' Can you believe it? 'STICK to your own kind.'"
"Sam, guys like Eddie are dinosaurs. They think the planet is segregated into two colors:
black and white. They'll never see past that."
"I know that. The thing is--" I pause, dropping the mirror on the bed, trying to hold back my
frustration. "I ain't got no fucking kind!"
Mike's face becomes even sadder. He shakes his head.
"Aw hell, man, don't think that way... "
"Nah, it's true. Everyone I know is dead. I've outlived everybody because the bits and
pieces of technology inside my body won't let me die. Flora's dead, Jessica, Dante--two
generations of my blood. Two generations that I've never even known--my family--dead."
I look up at the flat white ceiling, remembering the last time I saw Flora-Mae. Mike lets out
a long and heavy sigh.
"Sam, it's not like--"
"It's the damn truth, Mike. The only kind I have is you. I was a guinea pig half my life for
the government-- against my will, dammit, against my fucking will! Now I'm a fugitive. You're
the only person who's been with me thick and thin. These last thirty years since I went AWOL,
you've been the one I could count on and trust.”
Mike shifts in his seat. He looks at me, determined to convince me otherwise. He slaps the
back of his right hand against the palm of his left.
"Sam, it ain't like the entire human race's like that. Okay, you have me in your corner, but
now you have Diana, too."
"Diana?" I bark my words. “She's the reason I'm laying here playing Mr. Crispy! She
played me, Sam. She just wanted Eddie to leave her alone so she came on to me in front of
him. I don't want to hear about her."
"Well, you're gonna have to, bud, 'cause she--"
"I said I don't want to hear it!"
Mike holds up both palms, lets it go.
"Okay, pal, you just rest up and heal. We'll settle with Mister Eddie Odiarre once you're
back in full swing. You can be on your feet in no time. I know you will. In the meantime, just
don't let their hatred become yours."
"Hatred? Never. Justice? Yes. I've been down that road already. I've been through too
much to turn the other cheek. But I have to ask the sixty-thousand dollar question now."
"Ask away," Mike says, a smile poking through the sadness.
"How the hell did you find me?"
He looked embarrassed. He wiped a hair from his forehead.
"Believe it or not, Sammy, I had just arrived home and realized my damn house keys were
still in the back office."
The burn races through my face and lungs as I laugh.
"You're shittin' me!"
He chuckles sheepishly.
“Nope. It's the truth, man. I saw you just laying there burning to hell."
"I thought I heard sirens."
"You did. Running down Horace Harding. I guess they went to another call. No one
showed up where you were."
"Figures," I snort. "Where is this safe house anyway? I don't hear the city; I can't feel any
buses passing. Where the hell is this place?"
"You're out on Long Island. Way out. It's an estate, sort of."
"Whose estate sort of?"
Mike gives me his gotcha grin and says, "You said you didn't want to hear it."
I groan in disbelief, "Ah, shit!"
"You guessed it," Mike says with a smile.
I know I've been had. This is Diana's place. Nice joint, but what does she know?
"What'd you tell her, Mike?"
"She doesn't know major details, pal, but she knows you ain't normal. She's a doctor, you
know. She took one look at those burns and wanted to take you to a treatment center. I had to
plead and piss fire to convince her to just let you heal on your own. She likes you, man. I could
tell that by the way she wouldn't leave."
"Yeah, right. She likes me enough to let her old sweet heart turn me into shake-and-bake.
It's been a long time since I've been with a woman that young, Mike, like back when I was her
age."
Mike doesn't give up. He stands, moves closer to the bed.
"Listen, you can hate everybody for what happened to you. You can stay in your pissed off
shell and be lonely. I don't give a crap. But if a gorgeous blonde saves my life, I'd damn sure be
grateful. Hell, I'd bark and roll over if she asked me to! Diana's good people. She's been
around the world and knows that the rest of society ain't stupid like folks in the States can be
sometimes. You need to show a small amount of gratitude, pal. Stop grinding your axe for one
damned minute and be thankful."
I take a deep, stinging breath and let it out slowly. I know he's right. Maybe I'm looking a
gift horse in the mouth. It's been so long since I could trust anyone.
"Okay, Mikey. I'll give it a chance. I owe her that, at least. But I ain't making no promises,
hear?”
"You don't have to, pal. I know you."
"Yeah, you and the Department Of Defense."
"Well look. We've avoided detection this long. I just hope this incident and the aftermath
doesn't bring attention our way. You gonna heal now or what?"
He moves to the door and opens it, waiting for my answer. I touch my face. I know I can
heal quick, but this is the worst I've ever been. Will I be whole again? Will I look the same? My
little buddies will do the best they can. I'm scared to try it. I've been shot at, stabbed, but never
burned like this; never paralyzed from the waist down. But I must try. I have a score to settle.
"Yep, seems like I have time to work on my looks. Do me a favor and order me something
to eat, huh? The nanites need fuel for rapid regeneration, and I'm hungry enough to eat the
north-end of a south-bound jackass."
Mike chuckles at that, stepping outside and pulling the door behind him.
"Sure thing, Sam."
"Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you, man. I mean it. Thanks."
Mike turns red like wine.
"Shut the hell up or you won't get lunch."
I wake up screaming, the pain still fresh in my mind, dull on my body but hurting like hell.
My eyes hurt. My face burns. I'm wrapped like a mummy. The bandages around my arms feel
like a giant cheese grater. I imagine the dressing holding my face together, keeping the flesh
from falling away. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. I try sitting up. I can't. I don't feel anything
below my waist. I'm scared, perhaps more frightened than I've ever been in my life. Will I ever
walk again? Can the nanites repair this much damage?
The ornate globe around the light bulb in the ceiling's center casts shadows on beige
walls. The sheets are white, but I know this ain't no hospital. I can't smell any hospital smells,
can't hear any of the familiar buzzing of doctors and nurses. What I do smell is salt water. The
sea is not far. I can hear the far-away cry of seagulls and other birds. The ancient odors of
pipe smoke and expensive wine. The linen covering me is top quality and imported. This house
is old and lived in with history. I detect the subtle energies of family memories, but whose? I
don't sense any danger, but I must get out of here. But where is “here?”
"Welcome back, pal. I was worried."
I turn my head and grimace from the pain of movement. Mike sits in the shadows with the
chair tipped back against the wall. His silver and black wavy hair is disheveled over his round,
craggy face. Bags droop under his gray eyes. He's still wearing the same white shirt and black
trousers he had on when he left the bar. How long ago was that? Hours? Days? How he found
me I don't know, but I'm glad he did. I can tell he's been with me the whole time I've been out.
He gives his wise guy smile, eyes twinkling, telling me that he was scared. I nod. He sits
forward, the chair resting on four legs.
"Guess I would be, too. Where the hell am I?"
"Safe house in Mamaroneck Westchester. I called in a favor. You won't be found."
"Thanks," I say, touching my face. It feels puffy through the bandages. I hold my hands up
in front of me. They're burned, but the healing has already begun.
"What time is it?"
"It's eleven twenty-eight, Monday morning." Mike says, looking at his watch. "You've been
out for two days, man. If I hadn't heard you breathing, I would've guessed you bought it."
I snort. “Do you have a mirror?"
Mike looks pained, uncomfortable. He looks down at the floor and wrings his hands. He
looks up again with tears in his eyes.
"Sam, I have to tell ya . . . ya look like shit, man."
"You ain't winnin' no beauty contest either, pal. Now where's that mirror?"
Mike sighs and stands. His powerful but aging frame ambles over to a desk and removes
a pair of scissors and a modest hand mirror from the drawer. He moves over to the bedside
and hands it to me.
"Here," he says, sitting back down and trying to hide his tears from me.
Movement is agony, but I cut away at the cotton strips and gauze until I feel the air on my
face. I lift the mirror up for a look. He's right. I do look like shit. The nanites have already
started repairing the damage, but most of my hair is gone and my scalp still shows signs of
being singed. My face is a patchwork of runny scabs, pale flesh and what's left of my caramel
brown complexion. My eyebrows are gone. My grief is a heavy sigh.
"You know what he said to me? As he left me burning, you wanna know what he said?"
"What'd he say, Sam?"
"He said, 'Stick to you own kind.' Can you believe it? 'STICK to your own kind.'"
"Sam, guys like Eddie are dinosaurs. They think the planet is segregated into two colors:
black and white. They'll never see past that."
"I know that. The thing is--" I pause, dropping the mirror on the bed, trying to hold back my
frustration. "I ain't got no fucking kind!"
Mike's face becomes even sadder. He shakes his head.
"Aw hell, man, don't think that way... "
"Nah, it's true. Everyone I know is dead. I've outlived everybody because the bits and
pieces of technology inside my body won't let me die. Flora's dead, Jessica, Dante--two
generations of my blood. Two generations that I've never even known--my family--dead."
I look up at the flat white ceiling, remembering the last time I saw Flora-Mae. Mike lets out
a long and heavy sigh.
"Sam, it's not like--"
"It's the damn truth, Mike. The only kind I have is you. I was a guinea pig half my life for
the government-- against my will, dammit, against my fucking will! Now I'm a fugitive. You're
the only person who's been with me thick and thin. These last thirty years since I went AWOL,
you've been the one I could count on and trust.”
Mike shifts in his seat. He looks at me, determined to convince me otherwise. He slaps the
back of his right hand against the palm of his left.
"Sam, it ain't like the entire human race's like that. Okay, you have me in your corner, but
now you have Diana, too."
"Diana?" I bark my words. “She's the reason I'm laying here playing Mr. Crispy! She
played me, Sam. She just wanted Eddie to leave her alone so she came on to me in front of
him. I don't want to hear about her."
"Well, you're gonna have to, bud, 'cause she--"
"I said I don't want to hear it!"
Mike holds up both palms, lets it go.
"Okay, pal, you just rest up and heal. We'll settle with Mister Eddie Odiarre once you're
back in full swing. You can be on your feet in no time. I know you will. In the meantime, just
don't let their hatred become yours."
"Hatred? Never. Justice? Yes. I've been down that road already. I've been through too
much to turn the other cheek. But I have to ask the sixty-thousand dollar question now."
"Ask away," Mike says, a smile poking through the sadness.
"How the hell did you find me?"
He looked embarrassed. He wiped a hair from his forehead.
"Believe it or not, Sammy, I had just arrived home and realized my damn house keys were
still in the back office."
The burn races through my face and lungs as I laugh.
"You're shittin' me!"
He chuckles sheepishly.
“Nope. It's the truth, man. I saw you just laying there burning to hell."
"I thought I heard sirens."
"You did. Running down Horace Harding. I guess they went to another call. No one
showed up where you were."
"Figures," I snort. "Where is this safe house anyway? I don't hear the city; I can't feel any
buses passing. Where the hell is this place?"
"You're out on Long Island. Way out. It's an estate, sort of."
"Whose estate sort of?"
Mike gives me his gotcha grin and says, "You said you didn't want to hear it."
I groan in disbelief, "Ah, shit!"
"You guessed it," Mike says with a smile.
I know I've been had. This is Diana's place. Nice joint, but what does she know?
"What'd you tell her, Mike?"
"She doesn't know major details, pal, but she knows you ain't normal. She's a doctor, you
know. She took one look at those burns and wanted to take you to a treatment center. I had to
plead and piss fire to convince her to just let you heal on your own. She likes you, man. I could
tell that by the way she wouldn't leave."
"Yeah, right. She likes me enough to let her old sweet heart turn me into shake-and-bake.
It's been a long time since I've been with a woman that young, Mike, like back when I was her
age."
Mike doesn't give up. He stands, moves closer to the bed.
"Listen, you can hate everybody for what happened to you. You can stay in your pissed off
shell and be lonely. I don't give a crap. But if a gorgeous blonde saves my life, I'd damn sure be
grateful. Hell, I'd bark and roll over if she asked me to! Diana's good people. She's been
around the world and knows that the rest of society ain't stupid like folks in the States can be
sometimes. You need to show a small amount of gratitude, pal. Stop grinding your axe for one
damned minute and be thankful."
I take a deep, stinging breath and let it out slowly. I know he's right. Maybe I'm looking a
gift horse in the mouth. It's been so long since I could trust anyone.
"Okay, Mikey. I'll give it a chance. I owe her that, at least. But I ain't making no promises,
hear?”
"You don't have to, pal. I know you."
"Yeah, you and the Department Of Defense."
"Well look. We've avoided detection this long. I just hope this incident and the aftermath
doesn't bring attention our way. You gonna heal now or what?"
He moves to the door and opens it, waiting for my answer. I touch my face. I know I can
heal quick, but this is the worst I've ever been. Will I be whole again? Will I look the same? My
little buddies will do the best they can. I'm scared to try it. I've been shot at, stabbed, but never
burned like this; never paralyzed from the waist down. But I must try. I have a score to settle.
"Yep, seems like I have time to work on my looks. Do me a favor and order me something
to eat, huh? The nanites need fuel for rapid regeneration, and I'm hungry enough to eat the
north-end of a south-bound jackass."
Mike chuckles at that, stepping outside and pulling the door behind him.
"Sure thing, Sam."
"Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you, man. I mean it. Thanks."
Mike turns red like wine.
"Shut the hell up or you won't get lunch."
| Click on "Young Sam" to continue! |
