Tenth Man

by Tamara Sheehan

Chapter 10

[Tenth Man has been withdrawn at the author’s request.]

They went through the city like shadows, clambered over fences and ran through yards. As they traveled, the world came awake; gulls stirred, piping on tall grey buildings, lights winked on around him. Dawn was coming fast, the sky lightened to a pale grey that made streetlamps shiver off.

Cold wind blew the smells of wood smoke and exhaust and sea water. A distant siren wailed somewhere in the downtown core but now Saul was too tired to feel the pinch of anxiety.

Toven stayed close, kept up Saul’s pace. He said nothing, but his fingers touched anything within reach, as if tactile sensation had become nourishment, as if the world was too bright and colorful, even in the grey predawn, to be entirely real.

They darted between parked cars, crossed a strip of asphalt, huddled in the entrance was of Saul’s building while he dug around the backpack for his keys. Inside, the building was warm, the air stupefying and still. Saul lead Toven to the elevator and squelched in after him. Water ran out of his shoes and pooled on the tiles. Toven’s feet, he realized, were bare.

“Eight-Oh-Nine,” he said and pushed the glowing number Eight. Toven nodded. His fingers traced the veins of color in the fake marble veneer until the elevator came to a stop and the door opened.

Saul lead Toven down the hall, though pink-painted fire doors, to the apartment he had lived in since he’d become Saul Hornsby. The smell of home was catharsis. Exhaustion seeped into his limbs, he sagged gratefully in the hallway, gestured to Toven. “Come in, lock the door behind you.”

Working off Howie’s shoes, he flicked on the hall light.

“Go ahead, check it out.” He gestured to the rest of the apartment and turned the shoes upside down to dry. Toven passed him, wandered from room to room, looking, touching. Saul ducked into his room to shuck off his wet clothes. The wet reek of sewer permeated his skin and his hair. He pulled on a sweater and yesterday’s jeans.

A soft cry came from the living room. Saul peered around the corner and found Toven standing, frozen in the living room, his eyes staring from his head in horror.

The view from the balcony was of the eastern side of the city, a city that was big and sturdy and battleship grey. It encompassed a great, squat block of town houses surrounding a circular green, stubby apartment buildings, office towers, fingers of upthrust glass and concrete that went marching away to the south. Lights were coming on, people moving about like phantoms, doing groggy morning rituals.

The first cars were rumbling along below them, running on silver concrete made piebald by orange pools of streetlamp light. Streetlights flashed green, yellow, red. Red tail lights, white headlights. Flashing neon signs illuminated storefronts, coffee houses. Minarets of radio towers winked red eyes at passing planes. And distantly, the great, square edifice of the ASSC golem factory, lay at the foot of the harbor, shrouded in the last of the fog.

The apartments, the towers, the roads, all of it clambered down the peninsula to the ocean which rolled away to the curve of the earth. Ships, red and black, dotted the grey, their bulk made miniature by the vastness of the ocean, the distance of the view. Overlooking all this, Saul’s apartment had been built.

Toven’s eyes rolled toward Saul. His body taut and stretched, he seemed frozen in the act of tipping backward, hands thrust out to ward off the sudden vertigo, mouth open in the attitude of a cry.

Saul pulled closed the drapes and turned back to Toven. Blocking out the sight of the city had an instant effect on his guest. His hands curled into little half-formed fists, and he swallowed noisily. Gradually, Toven relaxed. His shoulders sagged, his head drooped.

“Have a seat. Try not to think about it.”

Toven lowered himself onto the couch and clasped his knees. He looked up at Saul from under his matted fringe. “Sorry.” He said lamely. “Just didn’t expect...” Instead of continuing, he fell silent and stared down at the carpet with a frown.

Saul found a pair of jeans and a tee shirt to replace the clothes Toven had worn and threw the old clothes into the garbage under the sink. He hesitated, then buried them under wilted lettuce and the wrapper from a frozen pizza, squashing the garbage down in the hopes that Toven wouldn’t find them if he looked. Then he wrestled with a shrunken set of spare sheets and an old, slightly musty duvet and moved the familiar from the couch to make up a bed.

“Help yourself to whatever’s in the cupboard.” He told Toven when the man emerged with a cloud of steam, pink faced and slightly lost from the shower.

“Serious?”

“Yeah. Eat.” He shook out a sheet, tucked it into the crease where the back and seat of the couch met. He heard Toven opening the fridge door, the hissing of plastic bags. A loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a pint of semi-skimmed milk were all dragged to the table. Toven leaned so far over his food that his hair trailed into it. Saul watched him eat half the loaf of bread before pausing to drink from the milk container.

“Been a while since you had a meal?”

Toven nodded, chewing. “Used to get great food out of the dumpster by the Beach Drive Café. Cheeseburgers.” He slathered the bread with peanut butter. “Oh God, and the pizza. The best pizza ever. But people usually finished that.” He licked his fingers. “Been too scared to go out lately. Seen lots of ASS cars around.”

“ASS?”

“Audel Strategic Systems Corp. Ass Corp.”

Grinning, Saul shook out the comforter, smoothed it over the sheet, tucked in the bottom and the side. The chewing noises stopped.

“Nice cat.” Toven said, mouth full.

Saul stopped himself before he answered, what cat? and turned. The familiar, purring, had jumped onto the table, an exploratory paw in the peanut butter jar.

“Thanks. He’s pretty new.” He took it and put it on the ground. It licked the paw and purred.

“”t’s name?”

“Uh,” he looked at the creature. The familiar seemed to smile.

Mister Hornsby, Mister Audel, Mister Familiar.

Saul shrugged. “Mister Familiar.”

“Nice name.” Elbows splayed, he lowered his forehead to the table. “Psst. Psst psst. Mister Familiar.”

Eat? Mister Familiar asked Saul.

Not to eat. Replied Saul.

The familiar nosed Toven’s fingers, then arched its back. Toven trailed his fingers in the orange fur. “So, uh, what happened to your dad, Saul? After the accident?”

He stiffened. “What do you mean, what happened?” Saul heard the sudden irritation in his own voice. He shook the covers to get the dust off. “He died. I buried him.”

Toven’s head rolled along his arm, he frowned at Saul.

“Serious?”

“Yes. What do you think happens to a man when he’s compressed into a golem’s armored body?” The familiar wandered away from Toven, began circling Saul’s legs.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to... just... Is that what really happened?”

Saul sighed, launched into the story reluctantly.

“Accident investigators said dad got too close to the mold and his shirt got caught on the mechanism. It pulled him in.” He picked up the familiar absently and placed it on a chair. “Dad’s buddies said the golem reached up and grabbed him.”

Toven’s eyes were impossibly wide. “Before it was finished?” “Before.”

“Jesus.” Toven hunched deeper over the table. “Do you ever, I mean, did he leave you anything?”

“You mean like your mom’s ring? He gave me a book when I turned eighteen. And I have his old watch. That’s it.”

“Any you’re a wizard, right? So do you ever sort of try to find him?”

The question brought Saul up short. “No.” He answered when his voice would work. There’s no chance. None. There’s no point in trying. A rational voice in his mind had told him the same thing since the day his father died. But some part of the boy who had taken the news of his dad’s death so badly, some part ached to try. Just try. What’s the harm in trying?

His mind shuddered at what he might find. The big old man who smelled of soap and of factory grease was long decomposed, the last thoughts, if they lingered on the watch, would be of pain, of terror.

But they’d be his.

“I mean, if it was my mom, I’d try.” Toven rested his head in the crook of his arms. “My mom wouldn’t have let this happen.”

Saul felt he should say something to comfort Toven but couldn’t force his throat to work and couldn’t be bothered to come up with consoling words. The day had brought memories long buried to the surface. It hurt too much to think about his dad, tempted him too much to dig out the old watch. Saul felt his hands whiten around the comforter. He pulled in a breath through his nose.

Toven straitened. “Saul? Are you angry?”

“I miss my dad, Toven.” Saul answered as levelly as he could. “I get upset talking about him.”

Toven was silent for a while. He played with the crumbs on the table, licking his index finger, selecting one and bringing it to his mouth, again and again. Saul swallowed past a tightness in his throat. Silence stretched out.

I’m too tired for this. He told himself and dropped the pillows into place on the couch.

“Anyway, you’re all set up. I’m going to bed. Help yourself to anything you need. We’ll go talk with Howie tomorrow, so get some sleep.” Saul waved one hand. “Good night.”

He felt Toven’s eyes follow him until he resolutely closed the bedroom door. He stood listening for a moment, dully wondering what Toven would do now he was alone, but he heard nothing. Saul undressed, found pajama bottoms on the floor where he had thrown them yesterday morning and pulled open the window. Cold, night air flowed in, covered him.

Reached up and grabbed him.

He lay down, pulling the covers tight around his neck. Trapped in a wheel, asking the same questions he had asked since the night he got the news. How did it happen? How was it possible? Why my dad? Why just when we were becoming friends?

Again, he was a helpless rider on a well worn carousel. Golems don’t just come to life... how did it happen? Why then? Why my dad? Somehow, before dawn broke over the slumbering city, Saul was deep in dreams.

Proceed to chapter 11...