COSMOS magazine

Wednesday, May 21

Wayne was not the kind of guy Payback would choose for a friend, let alone a constant companion. When it came to school work and reading books, Wayne might have been smarter, back then, but when it came to the real world he was so out of it his smarts didn't do him a bit of good. Most of the time, Payback was glad Wayne knew nothing about him. There'd been times, though, when Payback would've given the rest of the fingers on his right hand to be able to explain a few things to this clueless shit-head he carried around with him.

From the first time he'd taken control of the body, back when Wayne was not yet five years old, Payback had been the one with guts. He'd taken the risks and done the scary shit that chicken Wayne passionately wanted to do.

 

Wayne's mama comes into the kitchen all smiley and says, "Wayne, honey, your daddy's got a surprise for you out in the garage." She grabs Wayne's hand, and they walk together out to Wayne's daddy's workshop. And there, in the middle of the garage, all shiny and red, is a bicycle. Wayne is so excited he wants to leap into the air and shout, but he's afraid of mama and daddy. One or the other will be sure to get mad and yell at him for making too much noise. He jumps and shouts inside, though. Wayne's daddy has a screwdriver, and there's a piece of paper on the floor with a diagram that shows how to put the bike together.

"It's your bike, son. Here, you put on the reflector." Wayne's daddy is as tall as a tree and as strong as Goliath. Wayne idolizes his daddy, wants more than anything in the world to please him. Eagerly, he takes the screwdriver, places the blade in the slot of the screw. This time, he'll get it right. He'll make Dad proud of him. He twists his small hand and sends the blade slipping out of the slot. It gouges a scratch in the shiny red paint.

"You stupid klutz!" Dad jerks the screwdriver from his hand. "I pay $65 for a brand new bicycle and the first thing you do is go and ruin it. What's the matter with you, Wayne?"

Wayne pinches his lips together tight to keep them from trembling, turns around and walks out of the garage so Mama and Dad won't see him crying. Just as he reaches the kitchen door, that's when Payback takes over and marches back into that garage. Mama's just standing there looking sorry. She never sticks up for Wayne, except sometimes when Wayne's daddy's hitting him she asks him to stop. But Wayne's daddy never pays any attention to her, and she just stands there like she's stupid or something, never lifts a finger to protect her son.

"Sorry I messed up the bike, Dad," Payback says. I'm not sorry at all, you big ugly jerk, he thinks.

Later that afternoon, when no one's around, Payback takes the steel rake from the garage and puts it right behind the back wheel of Wayne's daddy's car. Ralph Harlan from down the road gets blamed, and Wayne's daddy staggers down to the Harlans's house drunk as a skunk and tells Mr. Harlan if he doesn't pay to get a new tire, the sheriff is gonna be paying him a visit. They never hear the end of it, because he comes back with his nose swollen and bleeding. No money for the tire, neither.

 

The only thing Wayne ever did that Payback approved of completely was marrying Melody. Payback would've been happy to just stay in the background, maybe come out once or twice a year when he was feeling especially horny. And that's what he did, too, until Melody got sick. But then Wayne screwed up, the biggest fuckup yet, and let them kill the most beautiful woman ever to walk on the earth.

Payback had to step in and get whatever justice he could.

He got justice all right, but also almost got himself screwed bad. When the cops found that scientist woman dead in the burned up trailer, he realized there'd be something worse than a beating to share. If Wayne went to prison for murder, Payback would be stuck inside right along with him.

Wayne had no idea what Payback had done, but some of Payback's fear must have gotten through to him, because for years Wayne never let down his guard, never gave Payback a chance to come out again. But the years of inner fighting took their toll. Somehow Payback's own private memories were sneaking their way into Wayne's dreams. Shit. It was just a matter of time before Wayne figured out he was not alone.

The trouble went from bad to worse. For Payback it was like being half stuck in a nightmare, not quite able to get free of it. Stories started showing up on TV about new ways of treating diseases, even cancer, and suddenly the wounds left by Melody's death, wounds finally starting to heal a little, opened up again. When Wayne heard a Nature Forever speaker in the park talk about how medical science could cause the end of the human species, he starting brooding about what he'd like to do to the soulless bastards in white coats who took other people's lives into their careless hands. It was an opening for Payback, or the start of an opening. He sensed he was needed again, though he wasn't sure what he'd be able to do.

Well, now he was in control again, so he had to figure out what to do. Briefly, he wondered if he might try to enlist Wayne's help. Forget it. No, he had to do this on his own; Wayne would only screw things up. Let's start by using the Internet at the Delmar Public Library, he told himself, do some catching up.

Wednesday, May 21

It was like preparing herself for her own death sentence.

Jill waited on a bench in the sunny Santa Inez courtyard, sick with anxiety. Somewhere inside the hospital, Dr. Arecchi was pushing a biopsy needle into her son's head.

When she was thirteen, Jill had sat in a hospital waiting room on an uncomfortable plastic sofa while doctors tried to save her father's life. She and Dad had just gotten back from their best camping trip ever. He complained of indigestion on the way home; the sausage they'd had for breakfast, he guessed. He was wearing a red and grey plaid shirt and that old brown cap he must have kept since he was Jill's age, and they talked about school and what they'd do on their next camping trip and whether to stop at the grocery store; all so ordinary. She'd seen no clue this would be the last time she'd ever be able to talk to her dad, that his failed heart would tear him from her. Of course she'd talked to him many times since then; but he was no longer there to hold up his end of the conversation.

Dr. Collins came to her in the courtyard, stepping from shadow into hot light. He did not have to tell her; she guessed the message from his slumped shoulders and sober expression.

"Malignant," Jill said, as if by saying it first she could divert some of the pain.

Dr. Collins remained standing. "We won't know for sure exactly what sort of cells they are until they're analysed in the lab. But they're definitely cancer cells. I'm so sorry, Jill."

She was amazed by her terrible calm as she drove to a nearby cafeteria for dinner. Back at Santa Inez, sitting beside Alex's bed gently rubbing his back, she realized she could remember nothing about what food she'd eaten, which streets she'd driven down.

Wednesday, May 21

Evening was the weather's soothing apology after the vicious afternoon heat. Jill sat on the front porch, blinded by tears, hands automatically moving through scale progressions on her guitar. Alex must have wondered why I hugged him so desperately tight, she thought, when I tucked him into bed.

A yellow Nissan pulled up at the curb. Even in the twilight she recognized Paul Gibson. Heart suddenly pounding, she sprang up, wiping a hand across her wet eyes.

"Hello, Jill." He shut the car door as she opened the front gate. "Would've rung you first, but I was in the neighbourhood, hope it's okay."

"Sure." She turned her face away from him, not wanting him to see she had been crying.

"So you're a musician as well as a lawyer, eh?"

She was still clutching the damn guitar. "Not really." With an embarrassed shrug, she put it aside. "I play a little. Music is a... a soul-relaxer. Come on in."

The front room was dark; she turned on a brass art deco floor lamp. It made a circle of light around two red leather easy chairs.

"Would you like some tea?" The kitchen had a 1940s gas stove and stainless steel countertops. Heavy copper and stainless steel cookware hung from a wall rack. Jill took cups from a shelf over the stove and lit the burner under the kettle. Shit! she thought. Wish I'd washed the dishes.

"Carrot cake?"

"Sounds delicious."

"So, what brought you from Australia to Austin?" She set the cake and two plates on the table.

"Mainly the lab. And the library's brilliant. I have to get in a certain amount of official research, but in my spare time they let me use the equipment for my own purposes."

To Jill's surprise she was beginning to feel a little better. It helped, having a normal conversation. "I've read that certain herbs increase thinking power," she ventured. "Gotu kola, for example, and ginseng." But his hand moved back and forth, a kind of gentle denial. Oh no, she thought, now he thinks I'm some kind of New Age nut. Not that it matters what he thinks of me. He's here for free legal advice, certainly not because he's interested in me personally.

He said, "I know some research was done on ginseng, but I haven't studied it myself. I'm working with neuro-proliferators-um, clinical trials, you know, treating Alzheimer's disease."

"Senility, right?"

"Dementia, yes. Alzheimer's damages brain cells, kills them eventually. These proteins I'm working with activate neural repair and regrowth." She heard him hesitate. "What I'm most interested in is their effects on normal people."

Jill looked up sharply, nearly pouring boiling water on her fingers. "You're experimenting on human subjects?"

Paul smiled, shook his head. "Nowhere near that stage. Just mice."

She relaxed, found some humour in it. "Building better mice, huh? I hear there's a big demand for that." Then bit her tongue. Damn, now he's probably wondering if I'm a crazed animal rights activist.

"Better mice? Actually, yes, in a way. My guys can figure out the most amazingly complicated tasks."

"Maze running's a mouse favourite, I hear."

"Laugh if you will." His smile grew broader. "My mice have to open a latch, then go through a maze to find their food."

"You're underestimating your mice. I've had mice get into some places you wouldn't believe."

"Ah, these are tough latches, two distinct kinds. You can change the shape of the maze. The path to their dinner depends on the kind of latch. Ordinary mice never figure it out. Most of my guys have it down in a couple of days."

"Good grief, would that work in people? Swallow a pill and remember more of what you read? I'd love to be able to do things I've never been good at before, like..." She trailed off, wondering what to admit to.

"Lumberjacking?"

She coughed tea. "I was going to say math."

Laughing too, Paul seemed to have snorted tea up his nose. "No one knows yet." He put the cup down and pulled out a handkerchief. "We've treated Alzheimer's patients with neural regrowth proteins. They start doing stuff they forgot how to do years ago-dressing themselves, you know, minor housework, making phone calls."

"Paul, those are just skills they'd learned as children. I mean, it's impressive, but why would it help a normal, healthy person?"

He shot her a keen look. "My best guess is, it'd boost your ability to pick up new skills. Possibly you would learn math faster and easier. What is this stuff?"

"Raspberry mint. I've always tried to have only the healthiest food in the house. Never let Alex eat too much sugar." She sighed, suddenly close to tears again. "All for nothing."

"Jill, I'm sorry, what's wrong?"

"I just found out today that my son has cancer."

"Oh my god, Jill. That's..." He shook his head, brows furrowed. "I'm so sorry."

"They say he might have less than a year to live." Despite herself, the words tumbled out. "Dr. Collins and Dr. Arecchi-" After a moment, she said in a choking voice, "They recommend minimal doses of chemotherapy. It's an unconventional treatment, but they said they've had enough successes with it that they feel certain it's Alex's best chance. Of course there's no guarantee it'll work."

"Les Collins?"

"Yes. You know him?"

"He's one of the best. That's why you were down at the Health Center that day?"

Jill nodded, relieved that Paul's opinion of Dr. Collins confirmed what she'd heard from others. She dabbed at her eyes, stood up. "Well, shall we go to the living room and apply the law to your lease?"

He looked desperately uncomfortable. "Maybe it'd be better if I bring the lease back another time."

"It'll help me to get my mind off things for a while. I want to try to be cheerful for Alex's sake. If he only has a few months to live, I'll make them as happy for him as possible. Here, take a look through the CDs and put on some music, but keep the volume down-he's asleep." Her CD collection was eclectic, everything from medieval dances to heavy metal.

She settled into one of the easy chairs, reading the six-page document. Muted, the Chieftains' Celtic Harp filled the space of the living room. "Ah, so you like Irish music too!" She looked up from the contract, relieved by his choice.

"It's always been big in Australia. Irish convicts, you know." Paul was investigating the book shelves that took up most of one wall.

"Did you realize this is a month to month contract?" Jill frowned.

"The rental agent told me it was for a year."

"No, it can be renewed for up to a year, but the owner has the right to terminate the lease at any time by giving thirty days' notice."

"So there's nothing I can do about it?" He grimaced.

"'Fraid not. Sorry."

"The bastard could actually throw me out if he wanted to?"

"He'd have to give you a month's notice, but it seems he's already done that."

"Yeah, certified mail."

"Well, twenty-five dollars more per month isn't so bad considering how low-" The door beside her chair swung open. In his Spiderman pyjamas, Alex blinked in the light, the top and side of his head heart-breakingly shaved for the biopsy.

"Mom, my head itches. I can't sleep." The child slid into the room through the barely open door, leaned against Jill. She gently stroked his back.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I'll make you some special tea. Okay?"

Alex nodded, staring at the visitor.

"Paul, I'd like you to meet my son, Alex."

"I'm sorry you're feeling crook, Alex." Paul did not speak down to Alex as some adults did with children. The tone of his voice and the expression on his face were simply friendly.

"It's okay. My mom'll get me fixed up. You talk like my teacher Ms. LaTrobe."

"I'm from Australia. You know where that is?"

"Sure. The land down under. Do you have any money?"

"Eh?"

"Any Australian money? I have a money collection with money from all over the world. Wanna see?"

"Sounds interesting. Where is it?"

"In my room." Alex proudly led him through a hallway.

Preparing Alex's catnip tea in the kitchen, Jill could hear them talking.

"That's my alien space station. I made it myself."

"Well done, my good man."

Alex giggled with pleasure. "My coin collection's over here. My mom made the display case."

"That's very nice. Let's see, you have coins from England, and Mexico, and Canada, and look at this! One from Greece! Did you go to Greece?"

"No, I got it as a Christmas gift."

Jill took Alex in his tea. Paul was perched on the bed.

"I don't have any Aussie coins with me right now." Paul said. "People here don't like it when I try to pay for things with them."

Alex giggled into his tea, making bubbles. "Can you check and see? Maybe one got stuck in the bottom of your pocket. Sometimes things get stuck in my pocket and end up in the bottom of the washing machine."

"Well, I'll check the coins in my pocket, but I don't think we'll find anything but plain old American money." Paul delved into both trouser pockets, making a comic production of it. Out came a handkerchief, a roll of Peppermint Lifesavers, a billfold, a flat plastic case. "Oops."

"What's this?" Alex reached for the case.

"Oh that? Just something that belongs to a friend of mine." Paul glanced at Jill, who struggled not to laugh at his embarrassed expression. At the same time, she felt a stab of disappointment. Well, of course. What did you expect. Guys like him always have girlfriends or wives.

"Leave it, Alex," she said. "It's something grownups use."

"What for?"

"We'll talk about it another time. Right now, it's time for you to try to get some sleep. Let me tell Paul good night, and I'll read you a story."

In the living room, she handed Paul the contract and said curtly, "Sorry I couldn't give you better news."

"Oh well, best to know the grim truth. I appreciate your time. And thanks for the tea and cake."

I'll never see him again. "You're welcome." She tried to smile. He stopped at the door.

"Hey, would you like to go out to dinner with me some time? You and Alex, that is?"

Absurdly, she found herself hesitating. "Sure," she said finally, and her heart thudded. "That sounds like fun."

She watched him walk to his car, then gently closed the door, wanting to run, laugh, shout with glee. For a moment, she let herself feel optimistic about Alex. People did recover from cancer after all, and her son was young and healthy. Surely he would be cured! Forcing herself to walk calmly into the kitchen, Jill picked up the phone, pressed Carol's number. Her best friend was always urging Jill to get out occasionally and have a little fun.

Damn. The answering machine. "Carol," she said, "you're not gonna believe what happened. I've met a man."