She stomped the pedal to squeal us out of the driveway and away. That didn't sit too well with my current condition. The acceleration pushed me through the seat cushion until only a black, hazy smear of Dell Ammo remained.
6
Unbelievers
The ride was as much of a nightmare as the dissecting room. Shapes jumped from corners, colors rammed against screaming odors. I tried balling myself up as much as I could and only succeeded in curling smaller and smaller like Igli until I disappeared and returned to the passenger seat.
By the time we reached her home, I had almost completely recovered. I shivered and yanked myself together. An arm here, a leg there. One last squid stuck a tentacle at us from the bushes around her driveway as we pulled in to park. The fear still sat with me.
'It was just a bad trip, Dell. The things you're scared of don't exist.'
I pulled over to the far side of the car, leaned up against the door. 'They do, though. They're in my mind. Waiting like some punk around a corner. Waiting to strike no matter what I believe.'
She unlatched the door and got me out of the car. I noticed that it was a Porsche 964. Not bad.
I stood and took a step up the brick path. I walked well enough. What made me unsteady was the urge to flinch at every wavering shadow, at every flitting insect and bird. The breeze blowing up the back of my hospital smock didn't help much, either.
'Those people programmed the fears in, and you can reprogram them right out just as easily. That's what psychotomimetic drugs are for. Programming and metaprogramming. Better than hypnosis.'
She used some pretty long words for an accountant. My suspicions weren't exactly lying quiescent....
The house was no mansion. It sat up on a hill overlooking Silver Lake, one of many. The construction looked mid- twenties, maybe early thirties. She kept it in good repair. Two stories, white paint. A garden ran from the driveway to the front door, split by a brick walk.
She offered me her arm. I accepted it for reasons perhaps ulterior. She looked beautiful despite the rough treatment she had obviously received.
'Where'd you rent the car?' My mind had regained enough of its fortitude to wonder how the hell Ann had escaped her kidnappers.
'It's registered to a Reverend Morris Beathan.'
I grinned even though my legs were feeling like unvulcanized rubber.
'What did they do to you?'
'More or less what they did to you.' She fumbled about in her purse for the house keys. 'They took me to the monastery and grilled me about you, about the contract, about Emil Zacharias, the TV evangelist. They thought locking me in a stuffy confessional for hours would make me crack. I pretended to and gave them a bunch of creative nonsense to keep them paranoid.'
'Uh... Such as?'
She pulled out a key ring made of silver and turquoise and unlocked the door. 'I told them that we were making a horror film. The rumors were designed to build interest in the movie.'
I frowned. 'They bought that?'
'No. That was when they took me out, shot me up with junk, and locked me in the rectory with a little guy for a guard. I guess that's all they figured I'd need.' She rattled the key loose and pushed the door open. 'When I was done with him, he couldn't have broken his celibacy vows if he'd tried.'
'The drugs seem to have worn off faster for you than they have for me.' I stepped inside and watched my head spin.
'Are you kidding?' she asked. 'I'm sailing the stratosphere!' In the subdued light of the hallway, I saw that her pupils were the size of dimes.
'Less than a novelty to you, I presume?'
She grinned giddily. 'When I was a young, sweet, impressionable child of sixteen I consumed a greater variety of drugs than most people are comfortable pronouncing. I was always the only person in my group who could drive wasted.' She closed the door and set the deadbolt. 'When they started the injections, I was sort of grateful for the free vacation. They didn't expect me to be able to function.'
'Why weren't you so resourceful when they first grabbed you at the bar?'
