“You see what I mean? You’re not paying attention. When you figure this thing out, my man, you’re gonna kick yourself for taking such a huge risk in coming here again.” Gunderson shrugged. “But what the hell. No balls, no babies, right?”
As far as Donovan was concerned, the only one taking a risk right now was Gunderson. He was about to rip him a new asshole.
“Let’s tackle this in a way you can appreciate,” Gunderson said. “One word. Ten letters. Here’s the clue-you ready?”
Another goddamn puzzle. Donovan was ready, all right. Ready to castrate the motherfucker.
Gunderson smiled. “Sara’s window. All you had to do was look out Sara’s window.” His eyes hardened. “Too bad you’ll never get that chance.”
Then he pounced.
It happened so quickly that Donovan wasn’t even sure he’d seen him move. One second Gunderson was standing there and the next he had his hands wrapped around Donovan’s throat, crushing his windpipe with his thumbs.
Donovan tried to breathe, tried to beat him away, but his blows seemed to have no effect. Gunderson increased the pressure, driving him to the ground, and Donovan fell hard, rocks digging into his back. The steady loss of oxygen drained him of strength, narrowed his vision.
“Control, Jack. That’s what it’s all about. Here… in the real world… and even down there, where you’re headed.”
There was a small electric storm brewing inside the abyss, as if waiting in hungry anticipation for Gunderson to finish his task.
As his consciousness faded, Donovan flailed, trying again to beat Gunderson away, but his blows were soft and powerless. A few seconds more and he’d be gone.
Come on, Jack, concentrate. This place is what you make it. Everything and nothing.
Think about Jessie.
Take control, goddammit. Now.
In a final, Hail Mary attempt to break free, he brought his knee up hard into Gunderson’s groin, centering every bit of his concentration on the impact between bone and testicle.
The connection was solid.
Gunderson howled, grabbing himself, and fell back.
Donovan choked and coughed, sucking air into his lungs. Rolling over, he got up on his hands and knees, then staggered to his feet.
He glanced toward Gunderson, expecting to find him curled up in a fetal position — but Gunderson wasn’t there.
And before Donovan could pull himself fully upright, a boot connected with his ribs, jolting him with pain, knocking him down again. Looking up at the sky, he found Gunderson silhouetted against it, circling like a predator.
“Not bad, hotshot. You’re starting to catch on. Unfortunately, it’s too little too late.”
He punctuated his words with another kick to the ribs.
“You see, Jack, while you’re still trying not to piss all over yourself, I’m already hitting the bowl.”
Donovan struggled to get up, but another kick sent him sprawling.
Gunderson continued circling. “You should’ve seen Sara the day we met. She was a lot like your little pea pod-all ripe and ready to wear. What do you think a mind like hers would be able to do with a sweet fifteen-year-old body?”
Donovan tried to catch his breath. “… What are you talking about?”
Gunderson smiled. “I didn’t take Jessie just to piss you off, Jack. That’d be a tad shallow, don’t you think? I had plans for her from the very beginning.”
“What plans?”
“Ever hear of a little thing called controlled metempsychosis?”
Donovan shook his head.
“It’s just a bullshit word for a very simple process: the transmigration of souls.”
Donovan suddenly remembered the conversation he’d had with Bobby Nemo. About Gunderson’s stoned monologues on reincarnation, mind control, the swapping of souls…
“Most religions believe in transmigration,” Gunderson said. “Even the Christians were into it before they got civilized. But my nasty old aunt, as crazy as she was, always believed it was a lot more than religious psychobabble. She was convinced that there were certain people in the world-people like you and Jessie-who, with the right conditioning, could be used as vessels for migrant souls. Kind of like a car with the driver’s door hanging open and the key in the ignition.” Another smile. “Guess she wasn’t so crazy after all.”
Donovan tried to rise again and got another boot to the ribs. Pain blossomed and he clutched his side.
“Unfortunately,” Gunderson said, “that fat fuck cop put a stop to the wheels before they really got rolling. And I gotta tell you, I thought the coins had let me down.”
“Coins?” Donovan had no idea what Gunderson was talking about.
“The I Ching, Jack. The Book of Changes. You really need to expand your mind.” There was a flicker of disgust in Gunderson’s eyes, then he continued, “So after the cop did his deed, I had to improvise, and, surprise, surprise, the coins weren’t wrong after all. Turns out the improv is so much better than the original.”
The boot came up again, knocking Donovan backward.
“While you were incapacitated last night, I was a busy, busy boy. Stopped by to see Sara. Her nurse tried to bitch me out of there, but I hung around long enough to give her a message.”
Donovan could barely breathe. “A message?”
“She may look dead to the world, but she’s still got a channel or two on receive mode. You just gotta know how to tune her in.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing special. Just that we have a prime opportunity here. A chance to start over. And just as I expected, you took the bait. Now, the first order of business in my shiny new, federally franchised body is to pay Sara another visit.” He grinned. “And pull the plug.”
The sparks from the abyss were reflected in his eyes. “Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Part Two, hotshot. Leave no child behind. It might take us a while to get over the father-daughter thing, but I think we’ll manage. Don’t you?”
Wong was smoking another cigarette, thinking he might actually be able to make his student-loan payment this month, when the girl said, “He blinked.”
Wong jerked his head toward her boyfriend on the table. Motionless.
He looked up at the girl. Damn, she was cute.
“Impossible,” he said. “He ain’t taking an afternoon nap.”
“I swear I saw his eyelids flicker.”
She’d been on edge ever since she’d stepped foot in the room. Now she was getting agitated. She was also seeing things.
“Situation like this,” he said, “sometimes your imagination gets the better of you.”
“No. Something’s wrong. Bring him back.”
Wong checked his watch. “He’s still got a couple-”
“Bring him back,” she said, her voice rising.
There was a fierceness in her tone that Wong wasn’t about to argue with. Cute, but no pushover. He liked that.
Doffing an imaginary cap, he said, “I aim to please,” then stubbed out his cigarette and went to work.
Clutching his battered ribs, Donovan struggled to get to his feet, but the celery sticks were back, as rubbery as ever.
Focus, Jack. You did it once, you can do it again.
Donovan may not have been much of a father, was certainly a failure as a family man, but one thing he’d
