Gilded Latten Bones

Tinnie said, 'Garrett, I love you. You know that. I have forever. I could say something corny like you complete me. I can't imagine myself with any other man. Whatever I said, however I behaved, whatever else happened in our lives, that's been true since I was a kid and you used to come around to see Denny. Ever since then I've tried hard to understand the Garrett who operates outside the closed field of you and me. But I can't, anymore. I know I shouldn't be so selfish. I know I'm twisting away into a darkness that some people might consider insanity. But I'm obsessed. I can't share you anymore. I can't. The monster inside wants to push it to the point where there is no one but you and me. No work. No distractions. Just us. I know that's crazy. But I can't stop it.'

Now she had me scared.

What she says is true but right now she is trying to manipulate you through exaggeration. Nevertheless, that exaggeration is being built on a truth from a level so deep it has never emerged before.

'Can you help?' Tinnie was a major part of my life. I had loved her, maybe too often from a distance, almost as long as she said she had loved me. But I was not obsessed. I had been in love before. The rational side of my mind told me I would survive-if the pain insisted on coming.

The adventure called Strafa Algarda waited on the other side. I knew that. Strafa offered a chance for an adult, cooperative relationship.

I looked at Tinnie and wondered how she had gotten to this point.

She said, 'The Dead Man has been inside my head, trying to show me things. He says you're part of a network of friendships and obligations. He says there is a fine woman who wants to be important to you but you still look only toward me. .'

What game was Old Bones playing?

Tinnie surrendered to wracking sobs.

The problem here is that a part of her mind does remain fully rational. That fraction knows she is crazy. It knows that obsession drives her. But it has no control. It remains a prisoner inside the growing obsession.

'I can't believe it. How could it happen? Could Kolda come up with an herb? Can you do some kind of surgery?'

I might be able. But you will need to convince Miss Tate that she wants to have the corrective work done. And there is the further question of the strength of your own emotional commitment.

I ignored Strafa, thought a question about working Tinnie and this case in parallel.

That might be possible. Assuming she agreed.

'Curses.'

I would have to search her mind memory by memory and hurt by hurt to find tipping points in need of adjustment or cauterization. Each such tipping point will have affected every other that followed. It is a three-dimensional problem. The surgery would be far more subtle than an abuse victim like Miss Algarda needs. She is content with the life she has lived. And there would be no guarantees.

Tinnie said, 'You and him are talking about me, aren't you?'

'We are.' I pulled her into my arms. As always, she felt exactly right, being there. Designed to fit. She cried. I cried. I told her, 'We can work this out. If you let it work out. If you let Old Bones make some minor adjustments. . I'm going to let him work on me.'

That was off the top of my head and next to a bald-faced lie. Any refinements my mind needed he would have made already, without mentioning it. Maybe.

Scary thought, that.

Nobody wants to be told that they need fixing. Even when they know it themselves. Tinnie's natural first reaction was rejection. I kept on holding her tight. I said nothing. Talk would not help. What could be talked about had been talked about.

Changes in us would lead to changes in the conversation.

I thought there was a chance. I thought we could find a way.

Uncle Oswald opened the door, checking up. He had a mug in hand. The rosy glow in his cheeks said he was hard at it, enjoying my hospitality. He didn't see any guts strewn about so he grunted and shut the door.

The clinch went on. Tinnie relaxed slowly, surrendering to need. We had to go on. She had to fight the obsession that would make it impossible to do so.

I was confused, for sure. I had this, familiar and mostly comfortable though always freighted with emotion and drama. I had Strafa in the background, exercising a surprisingly powerful pull-not the way it used to be with any female between seven and seventy. That draw was there, too, absolutely. But there was more to it. An intellectual intrigue and a certainty that Strafa Algarda would involve a lot less drama.

Thou foul beast, Temptation!

I felt the amusement of the invisible observer.

It was a classic tough situation.

Tinnie had the lead by a furlong, at the moment. She was as comfortable as an old shoe once she relaxed against me. But Strafa could pull even, or push ahead, with very little effort, if Tinnie wasn't there to rattle my reason.

The invisible observer suggested, It is time to come inside. Something is moving in the darkness. You do not want to be out there should it come this way.

62

The Dead Man's big party rolled on. I led Tinnie into his lair. The temperature had risen there. The air had begun to smell because of the crowd. Penny and the Bird worked on their art. Jimmy Two Steps and Butch's little brother occupied a couple of folding chairs, out of the way, eyes closed, maybe unconscious. Old Bones might be picking their brains.

There is not much there to pick. In any sense.

The lighting was better than usual, on behalf of the artists. The lamps contributed to the rise in temperature.

Playmate's color had improved. It had more depth and sheen. Still, he would be a long-term project, and would demand a lot from the Dead Man at a time when all the rest of this was going on.

Old Bones was a miracle in defunct flesh but he did have limits.

When would he have time to work on Tinnie?

A complication that I am pleased you recognized before I had to bring it up myself. A scheduling problem I will be happy to leave in your keeping.

'Meaning?' I looked over Penny's shoulder. She had several sketches going, all of a very attractive girl. She was doing a sheet of full-body images in different orientations and hairdos. I could say nothing but, 'Wow!'

Tinnie failed to poke me. She just looked astonished, and envious.

You are allowing imagination and expectation to carry you away. It is the daring choice of costume that makes the woman so striking. Miss Tate and her niece would appear equally impressive in that apparel.

I said nothing but thought the younger Miss Tate might have an edge on the elder.

Amusement.

'I'm not dead. I notice things.'

I watched Penny work. She was talented and quick and had no trouble being close to me while she used charcoal and a variety of Amalgamated's writing sticks to shape her squad of fantasy girls.

The Bird had a color portrait going. It made an ugly, lazy-eyed son of a bitch look like he was about to bark, lean forward, and take a bite.

Tinnie seemed at a loss. I caught the edge as the Dead Man asked her to step back and stay out of the way.

I asked, 'Who is this wad?'