Unkillable (The Futurist Book 1) Page 5

  She picked up the phone by the bedside and dialed. It was one of those older models, a classic, with a stretch cord connecting the receiver to the base, and a mouth piece on the receiver that actually reached all the way to her mouth instead of hanging up by her ear. And she worked the rotary dial like someone who suddenly wasn’t so enchanted by anything retro that took this much fucking time to use.

  If it wasn’t bad enough how long it took to enter a ten digit number on these things, try waiting for the bitch at the other end to pick up. At least it was a good sign she was fucking someone else and maybe soon would grow tired of Adrian. Celine may be having second thoughts about Adrian, but not enough to want to let go just yet.

  He was going at it again. Techa almighty! He was chuckling now. “Their names and numbers and addresses are on the internet, you know? The oligarchs, I mean. It’s not like they can hide anymore. How’s that for arrogance? You’d think they’d have the sense to hide. But oh no, they’ve got gated communities to protect them, private police, bodyguards. None of it’s going to keep me from them, I tell you, none of it.”

  She wrapped the stretch cord connecting the phone to the receiver around his neck a few times, sunk her knee into his chest and pulled up. He was strangling now, just slightly. In some circles, this would be termed erotic asphyxiation. It was all the rage. And Techa knows, they were both in a rage, if not quite over the same thing.

  Dion finally picked up. Celine let her have it with both barrels. “What kind of fucking psychologist takes this long to pick up her phone?!”

  “The kind that has the sense to do sex therapy in the middle of the night instead of whatever other kind of therapy you’re in the market for.”

  “This is…”

  “Celine. You think I didn’t check out the competition.”

  Celine snorted. “Funny I never thought to do that.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Listen to lover boy. I can’t stop him ranting, not even with this phone cord around his neck and pulled tight. Trust me, you don’t want me to open the faucet any more than it’s already open. He’s been driving me mad with this shit all night.”

  Celine stuck the receiver to Adrian’s mouth. “I did the math,” Adrian said, mumbling, a bit more breathlessly than earlier with three layers of cord stretched around his neck. His head still swiveling back and forth, this time more like one of those dogs on the dashboard of a car. Maybe she could get one to remind her of this night. “Do you want to know what the math showed? That in less than a year, CRISPR units will be in every house on the planet, more in demand than utility-priced dishwashers and TVs. Why, you say? Why buy one even if they’re that cheap?

  “Because with a CRISPR, anyone can be a billionaire. Anyone. It’s that easy to edit the genome. That easy to give us wings or a Spidey sense or Hulk us out bigger than the Green Man himself. Eradicate disease. Hell, the wish list is so long and getting longer by the minute that they’ll hand those machines out for free just to coax people to use them, to spend an hour or so a day with them.

  “No aptitudes in genetics? No problem. The AI on board’ll walk you through it. Play with you tirelessly like some child until you get the hang of it. Even call up from memory all the promising work being done now and likely offshoots of that work currently not being explored because there are just so many promising roads to go down and not enough people to travel them…”

  Celine brought the receiver back to her ear. “You getting all this?”

  “He sounds like Adrian. When is he not going on like that?”

  “It’s worse than normal, I’m telling you. Yeah, when he’s awake but never in his sleep, not like this. A line or two maybe before rolling back over. Not fucking soliloquies like he’s auditioning for Hamlet. He’s sweating.” She put the back of her hand to his forehead. “I’m guessing the fever’s at a hundred, a hundred and two.”

  “So he had some bad sushi. Get on top of him and fuck him back into this world. It’s what I would do.”

  She paused to reflect on that. “Yeah, that’s not a half bad idea.” She straddled him and started undulating.

  “Is it working?” Dion sounded impatient for a response, like she had expensive sex therapy to get back to.

  “The night’s three erections old and he’s a good bit older than when this night first started. I know I am. Give him a minute.”

  “What’s really got your goat?” Dion asked.

  “There you go being a psychologist, finally. But it’s his head I want you to get into, not mine.”

  “It’s your dime.”

  Celine paused to decide if she wanted to say more. She didn’t want to prejudice Dion’s opinion. She was the damn professional. Let her come to the conclusion on her own or not at all. He was getting hard, and Celine was starting to moan and sound breathy. She swore she could hear Dion roll her eyes on the other end of the line. “He was talking about being the murderer he’s chasing on his latest investigation,” Celine said, finally.

  “Nonsense.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said, until he told me his mother was a split personality.”

  “Still not buying it.”

  “That’s what I said. Hey, maybe I should be the psychologist and you should be the coroner.”

  “You’re the one fucking the dead body.”

  “Touché. Look, I need to get this out before I climax and lose all my nerve.”

  “You’re a woman, darling, on her fourth climax. We’ll be talking all night. Just settle into the ride and spill. I charge two-hundred and fifty dollars a half hour. You’re getting the deal of a century. Most of my clients get a different fucking over entirely.”

  “The man he’s chasing has been sending ravens after him, ravens that have been genetically hybridized to do things they shouldn’t be able to do. He mention to you that his father bred pigeons? Didn’t just breed them, genetically manipulated him.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t violate doctor patient confidentiality.”

  “Then just shut up and listen!” Celine blasted, feeling herself becoming increasingly unhinged. “All night he’s been going on about sticking it back to the one percent.”

  “Different day, same rant.”

  “Only now he’s saying things like ‘nothing will stop me from getting to them’.”

  “You sure this killer just isn’t doing a number on him?” Dion prompted. “He’s highly suggestible. I usually have to dim the lights and talk in a hypnotic manner to take a patient under. Shit, I just blink at him and he’s in a trance.”

  “Hey, if that’s some wisecrack about how hot you are, I’ve seen the pictures. No need to rub it in.” Celine moaned loudly. “Sorry, the way his dick is angled right now, he’s really hitting the G-spot.”

  “Well?”

  “No, I didn’t come yet.”

  “No, did he say anything about the killer getting inside his head?”

  “Oh, yeah, big time, like they’re twinsies.” Celine fought to control her breathing; it wasn’t working.

  “Well, there you go.”

  “Look, that’s what I said. But he’s been bored lately.”

  There was dead silence on the other end, just breathing, like Dion was thinking it over. “Boredom’ll turn anyone into a serial killer. Maybe you should send him over. How bored?”

  “He’s got his lower level futurists now that filter most of the crap for him. Even if the threats are real, so long as they’re bright enough to shut down the bad guys…”

  “So nothing much makes it to his desk, anymore.” There was another, even more weighted silence as Dion seemed to gauge this with everything else Celine was saying.

  “So, what’s the verdict?” Celine moaned as much as asked. “And hurry, I think I’m going to come.”

  “Sorry, but I’m still not buying it. I hate to say it, but he’s just not that interesting.”

  “I know! That’s what I said! Shit, maybe we should do lunch.”

 
Dion laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Adrian finally opened his eyes. “Celine! You’re raping me?”

  “It’s rape therapy. It’s all the rage. Here, speak to your psychologist, she’ll back me up.” Celine shoved the phone in his face.

  He put it to his ear. “Dion? What are you doing interrupting my sex life?”

  “Returning the favor. Look, I want you to come and see me as soon as you have a chance.”

  “So you think I am the killer, then? I think I should tell you that if you’re certain by the end of our therapy session you should just shoot me. Because no one else will care. No one is going to put down the number one futurist on the planet. They’ll just supervise my visits, add some more bodyguards that are never more than arm’s length away, and it’ll be business as usual. They’ll lock up the president before they’ll lay a finger on me.”

  “No, Adrian, I don’t think you did it. I just think we need to address you going on hour-long rants in the middle of the night and disturbing Celine. If she can’t sleep that means I can’t sleep. We impartial girlfriends get very partial when it comes to having our time with you interrupted. I’d expect her to do the same for me.”

  “You the kind of shrink that can hand out meds?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll be in as soon as I can.” He handed Celine back the phone. She hung it up. “You come yet?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because I seem to have missed all the fun.” He brought her in close for a kiss, feeling more in the moment than he’d felt in a while.

  ***

  After sex, Adrian watched Celine getting lost in the third aspect of her triune persona. In addition to the Jekyll and Hyde ones she displayed at the morgue, Ms. Gruesome and Ms. Germophobe, there was this one, Ms. Genteel. The one making sure the soft lights and ambiance about the room were just so. Who’d made sure her bedroom, like the rest of her apartment, was decorated a bit too girly. Too much white lace and ruffles. And this white mosquito net thing that could be manipulated to drape over the entire bed. Maybe she felt she sacrificed some of her femininity in her day job roles as Jekyll and Hyde. Though, certainly not in his eyes. And this was her way of over-compensating.

  She spread lotion over her hands. Brushed her hair before the vanity mirror desk. Spritzed herself with perfume. Crossed a leg so she could paint her toenails. Adrian couldn’t help get the impression that this show was at least partly for his benefit. Maybe that’s what she liked about him; he was her Marlboro Man during those times when she needed to be more feminine than ever and so welcomed the polarizing charge of Mr. Masculinity.

  “You don’t have to convince me of your femininity, you know?” he said finally.

  She made a dismissive sound by blowing air out of her closed lips, like a car tire blowing out. “Please, it’s for me I do this, not you. You live in a man’s world long enough and you forget how to be girly after a while. You lose touch of some of the things you enjoy.”

  “Is it a man’s world, still? At the coroner’s, I mean? Well, anywhere, really?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “Last I checked, chicks had fifty-two percent of the vote. I guess that means you can make us do anything you want now. If it’s not a woman’s world, you can hardly blame that on us, anymore. Maybe it’s you broads with your penchant for alpha males holding back the clock of time.”

  She laughed in an abbreviated manner; it was more of a snort, really. “All right, I might be a little guilty there, nullifying some of that fifty-two percent voting edge you’re talking about. But, honestly, after the night I’ve had, the thoughtful ambiance, with the soft lighting and the rest of the stage setting—she glanced around the room—some of which is done for you, admittedly—trust me, I need it now more than you do.”

  He smiled heavy-heartedly. “Sorry I put you through that.”

  “You should be. But I’m already plotting how you’re going to make it up to me.”

  He smiled again, a bit more light-heartedly. “Oh yeah?”

  “It’s going to be a surprise. So, put your detecting mind on something else.”

  He interrupted her girly routine a short while later, being driven positively mad by it, with his manly routine, that had something to do with how opposites attract, which took them the rest of the way through the night.

  SIX

  Sounds. Like seagulls screeching. Which usually relaxed him. This time it had him thinking of the ravens and bolting upright in bed and catching his bearings before he realized it was the damn phone. He pried it open and snapped at whoever was at the other end. “Yes! God damn it, yes!”

  “You better get over here.” It was Klepsky’s voice at the other end. His usual deadpan that covered up the kind of shit you usually swept under the carpet, and for good reason.

  “Let me guess. He’s building the totem out of Humpty Dumpty’s body parts right in front of you, or at least the ravens are.”

  “If you’re not psychic, Adrian, I’m going to start thinking you’re the killer. Now get your ass down here. Usually you’re the creepiest thing in my life. Right now, I could use you to settle my nerves.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way over. Just text me your location.” He folded the phone shut and finished getting out of bed. Celine was out cold. He harrumphed. “Shit, you’d think she was up all night.”

  He dressed as quietly as he could but there’s something about pulling a gun out of a holster and checking the clip that even when done clandestinely will wake the dead.

  Celine bolted upright in bed, tried focusing her eyes, and looking for the source of the disturbance. Finally her eyes landed on him, though her vision was still so blurry she couldn’t be sure. “Adrian?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Gotta go to a crime scene.”

  “You leave before fucking me again, you’ll be leaving a crime scene.”

  He bent over and kissed her on the cheek. “Go back to… You know, come to think of it, you should come with. The ravens are putting Humpty Dumpty back together for us as we talk. You might want to see him come alive. Hell, you deserve to. You’re the one that put that nightmare in my head. The least I can do is return the favor.”

  “There’s a lot of favor returning going around these days. And you’re right, I’m coming. I need to pick up some things from the lab.”

  “Just what you have in the closet, darling. We don’t have time otherwise. Let’s hope you bring your work home with you.”

  She was out of bed and moving pretty damn fast for a woman that was still half-asleep. She’d dressed in the time it had taken him to pour a drink. “To steady my nerves,” he said, when she glared at him with accusing eyes. “I’m about to see a guy come back to life. Trust me, this will help me think better, not worse.”

  “Maybe you should pour me one, come to think of it.” He did so, by which time she was in the bedroom closet and stuffing things into her night bag. Hi-tech things. She looked like a photographer getting ready to rush out on assignment.

  “You ready?”

  She slung the bag over her shoulder, took the drink out of his hand, belted it back, handed the empty glass back to him. “Yeah.”

  ***

  The golem was being erected inside of St. Patrick’s neo-gothic cathedral, located in midtown. The stained glass windows alone were taller than Adrian’s two-story house. No one built churches like this anymore. Even non-religious people came here to find a sense of peace, and to feel right with the world. Though the sight of the golem today didn’t exactly lend the same sense of solace.

  The “man of many body parts” rose up from the altar that was being used as its foundation, piece by piece… Considering the elaborate architecture, even a statue of Christ on the Cross hanging overhead would have had trouble not getting upstaged, possibly explaining why there ordinarily was none, and why their killer picked the most attention-getting spot he could find. And why he’d also gone to the trouble of hanging a Christ on the Cross up above and behind
his golem—precisely so it could upstage the Christ figure. Maybe that was the point. Some statement about the impotence of faith and religious belief before Techa, and her ability to breathe the life force through one mad technological invention after another.

  “What do you make of this, Celine?” Adrian asked, his flashlight shining on the golem. The creature was nearly complete. Just the head and arms needed to be attached now.

  She took in the big picture of the church and the ravens. “The whole thing feels otherworldly, supernatural, even. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we slipped into a CW episode of Supernatural.”

  “Well, I’ve been recording the artwork in progress since it was just the feet on the altar,” Klepsky said, repeatedly checking the video camera on the tripod to make sure it was still recording, the light was on, and there was tape in the camera. He’d situated his tripod at the foot of the steps leading up to the altar.

  “The birds are stitching the body parts together,” Celine said, “working in twos. One to hold the part in place, the other to work the needle and thread. The ones off to the side are threading the needles. When they need more than one bird to hold the parts in place, they coordinate their wing flapping even in close proximity.” She was pointing and gesturing to the birds as she talked, as if they couldn’t see for themselves. But maybe she felt they needed to have their minds drawn to the right details. Everyone was more focused on the reanimation in progress. Maybe she just needed to verbalize to help her get her mind around what she was seeing. “God, it’s like they’re possessed. You aren’t going to try and tell me that someone trained these birds to do all this.”