OK, so that's the story I'm running with, because I have to believe something.
I walk another four blocks looking for the right bus. I must be a sight: bloody hands, torn pants and edgy as all hell, glancing up and down the streets, ducking for cover at the slightest noise. Any second I expect a bullet to come driving into my brain or worse, into my back, driving me to the ground where I'll writhe like road-kill. If I'm going to be killed I want it to be as quick and painless as possible.
Finally, the bus I'm after is trundling down the street. Why does public transport travel at such glacial speeds when people are trying to kill you? I flag it to a stop, flash my pass and get on board. The driver barely gives me a second glance.
'Where are you going?' Lissa asks.
'My question exactly.' Tremaine's voice drills into my skull.
'Home,' I say, keeping my voice low and spinning toward the dead couple. 'Is that all right with you two?'
Lissa slaps her forehead disdainfully, and looks at me like I'm an idiot. 'Surely you wouldn't be so stupid as to-'
'Exactly. Surely I wouldn't be,' I say. 'There's a back way-well, it's actually someone's yard. They're not going to expect me to go home, anyway. They're going to expect me to go to Mr. D.'
'He has a point,' Tremaine says, which immediately makes me suspect my own logic. 'Besides, you can bring Mr. D to you.'
'I don't like it.' Lissa frowns.
'Any more than you don't like being dead?' Tremaine winks at me. He's certainly taking a bipartisan approach to pissing people off.
'Hey,' I say. 'That's below the belt.'
Tremaine shakes his head, even manages a laugh. 'Boy, you've got it bad.'
Lissa is looking at me, with that mocking expression I'm getting to know so well. I feel about two inches tall. 'He does, doesn't he?'
'Yes, he does, and he's not going to get far with that. And if he thinks so then he's as big an idiot as any of the Queensland crew.'
'Stop talking about me as though I'm not here.' I glare at Tremaine. 'Just tell me how I bring Mr. D to me.'
'All right, it's difficult, and location specific, but not… Oh-'
And then he's gone. But not smoothly. Eric struggles in a way that I've not encountered before. As though he's trying to take me, too. I grit my teeth, feel dizzy, shout, 'Not yet, you bastard! Not yet.'
Half the bus is staring at me, or trying to ignore me, but I can't afford to give that too much consideration. Finally he releases. I feel it as a sort of shocked sadness, as though he can't quite believe it. I have to admit, the man had stamina.
Lissa groans. I look over at her, she's getting hazy. Fading out.
Eric's passage through me must have opened the door a little, or left a sort of wake. It's threatening to take her, too.
'Keep your distance,' I say, teeth clenched. I close my eyes and try to find some sort of center to the chaos of Eric's passing. It hurts to delve so deep into the process, like shoving your fingers in the guts of a machine while it's ticking over. I find something.
Yes. There's a calm space there. The door closes, the wake subsides. Now, that wasn't pleasant. Not one little bit.
I open my eyes a crack, Lissa's still here, looking more substantial than she did a moment ago. I'm beginning to wonder why she's sticking around. What exactly it is that's holding her here? She reaches toward me, and then pulls back at the last second.
It taxes her, or whatever it is that is left of her. My body is trying to draw Lissa in, and no matter how much I don't want it to, I can't switch it off. I don't even want to consider the effort it must be taking for her to resist the pomp. She grimaces and sits a seat away from me. The two nearest seats are empty.
'Your nose,' she says. 'It's bleeding.'
I grab a tissue from my pants pocket and wipe my face. Blood, and plenty of it. 'Shit. Eric even pomps roughly. You OK?'
Lissa nods. 'I'm OK. I'll be joining him soon enough.'
'Both of us,' I say. 'I've lost my one chance of getting in touch with Mr. D.'
'Not at all. I know how to bring Mr. D to you,' Lissa says. 'It's not very pleasant, and will be rather painful.'
Of course it will. Messing around with death offers that as a given.
'I need to go home first.' And I do. Dangerous as it is, I have to. 'I can't keep wearing this suit, and I can't be walking around with this beard.' I lift my bloody paws. 'And these need seeing to. There's no way I'd be any safer at a hospital.'
I remember Wesley Hospital and shudder.
Lissa gives me one of her disapproving stares. 'I don't think you should.'
'I've got no other choice.'
And whether she thinks it's a good idea or not, she has nothing to say about that.
10
The back door hasn't been broken down or even tampered with, as far as I can tell, which is a good sign. And the brace symbol above the door is whole. Another good sign, literally, though it's glowing even brighter now, but that's to do with the increased Stirrer activity. I take a deep breath and open the door.
There's another reason I had to come home, and she almost knocks me off my feet. That's how pleased she is to see me, though not half as happy as I am to see her. I crouch down and give Molly a hug, scratch behind her ears, and apologize for her horrible treatment. She's forgiving.
'Lovely dog,' Lissa says.
Molly is sniffing at my heels. She glances up at Lissa, isn't fussed by her being dead. Seems if she's good enough for me, she's fine with Molly. I get Moll to sit then throw her a treat. 'She's my best girl, my Molly Millions girl,' I say, and rub her behind the ears again. She grins her big, border collie grin.
Lissa snorts. 'Molly Millions, hah. You are a geek.'
'So, I like Neuromancer. Who doesn't?'
'But, Molly Millions…'
I glare at her, then smile down at Molly. 'I just had to make sure she was OK,' I say.
And I'm thinking of the time when I brought her home, the tiny bundle of fluff that she was then. Puppies, particularly bright ones, can be trouble but she never was. She grins up at me again, and I grab another treat from the bucket by the fridge. She catches it in one smooth motion, then crunches it between her teeth.
We walk through my place and Molly sticks to my side. I know it's because she can sense how unsettled I am. I can tell no one has been here-there are no unfamiliar presences, and there's certainly no stench of Stirrers. And Molly isn't acting too weird. I stop in the living room.
There's a photo of Dad and Morrigan on my mantelpiece.
Those two have been pomping as long as anyone at Mortmax, other than Mr. D. Both had graduated from Brisbane Grammar and both had had something of a reputation as hellraisers in their day. The stories I had heard from each about the other, and always without implicating themselves, were told with relish, and were usually accompanied with a lot of eye rolling from Mom.
Morrigan is family in the best sense: family you choose. I feel a twinge of worry for him. But that's all I allow myself, I can't wallow in grief and fear. There are walls building inside of me. I don't know how sturdy they are, but I'm unwilling to push them too hard. At least I know that there's an afterlife.
Dad and Morrigan both came from a long line of Pomps; they could trace their line back to the Black Death, but Dad's focus had always been family. Not so Morrigan, death had been his life, and he'd risen in the ranks faster
