Tim Kenyon's My American Melancholy - Ersatz Nation

Ersatz Nation

Chapter One

His stomach grumbled loud enough to hear it. Dinner was all Dolan could think about as he waited in an endless line of cars, still blocked by a paver slowly pressing a fresh layer of tar onto the road. He looked out over the dashboard then turned off the engine. There was no point wasting gas; the traffic wasn’t going anywhere. The pudgy man to Dolan’s left leaned on his SLOW/STOP sign and yawned, the pole buckling under the man’s weight. Dolan smiled, but the man seemed uninterested, distracted by whatever turmoil filled his private little world. It was tough, but Dolan tried not to make the man’s problems any of his own concern. The people on Earth dealt with their internal lives personally. Mother was not here to direct them. The troubles eating at this guy was nobody’s business but his own. What a lucky bastard.

The cars still weren’t moving, so Dolan removed the envelope from the pouch of his briefcase and looked it over again before finally tearing it open. This time he’d held out for three days before opening it, but that seemed long enough. He couldn’t go on waiting. The doorway back was closed to anyone else, including Mother. And while on this side of it, the occasional letter was the closest tie he had to the Unation—the only real home he’d ever known.

The letter was from Theman, Mother’s liaison, and it began with the typical, overblown salutation: Attention Mr. Patrick Dolan, Defender of Mother Necessity and Her Unation. He kept reading. Theman was reminding him of the importance of his job on Earth, and how much Mother appreciated what he was doing, and that no matter what happened to Dolan, She was still willing to destroy it all if he ever—

There was no point reading more. Letters like this were just Mother’s way of reminding him that She was still in charge, no matter where he was. Since he was the first and only person to come here from the Unation, She was taking every precaution to protect both worlds and the secret passage between them. Of all that She had ever created for the citizens of the Unation, She claimed that doorway as Her most important and influential discovery. She created the rift, She created Earth, and everyone in the Unation believed that as fact.

But nothing could convince him that this place wasn’t real, at least to him. Rich sunsets and lush, green fields, places where he could see no one, all that was no fantasy. It was no dream, so naturally it was okay to dream about staying if he wanted to, even if Mother ruled that thinking about it completely unacceptable. For the most part he was a reasonable man. He couldn’t stay, he knew that. Mother hadn’t yet pulled him from this assignment for that simple reason.

He was still well aware of his job description: Find suitable candidates for Mother, collect them and return them to Her. Kidnap was too strong a word, he hated using it, as much as he disliked referring to his victims by name. Kidnap, collect—it all meant the same to Her; that would never change. Neither would Her policy on the world She had sent him to: It must be undeniably recognized that Mother created the rift, therefore She created Earth—No questions asked. And he had no plans to do so, but if this world around him had been created by Her, he wondered why She was allowing these people to have the liberty to love and earn and think solely for their own personal benefit. What could She possibly want to learn by studying them? That too was a topic he didn’t want to question. Especially that one.

Dolan picked up a pad and pencil and started sketching. Out the passenger’s side window he saw a busy recreation area. Groups of people lounged in the grass, children played curious games as adults watched. Others flew kites making them turn and dip as they pulled on their strings. A chain-link fence separated the park from the busy arena of machines. The construction site crawled with orange vehicles, littered with rows of concrete barricades and enormous piles of dirt and stone. He sketched the two different worlds on one sheet. Removing a soft green pencil from his briefcase and rubbing it across the white paper, he began adding color to the outlines. Off in the distance the unfelled trees swayed in the breeze. Along the edge of the road several earth-moving vehicles sped by dodging piles of stone, broken limbs, and men wearing soiled clothes and bright yellow hats. He stopped drawing and turned his nose toward the gap in the window. The tar was like nothing he had ever smelled in the Unation, and he found the curious odor very appealing.

Returning to the page, he added in the fence between the park and construction site. It was important to make the drawings as life-like as possible. Accuracy was the key to remembering what he was seeing here. Mother could take the memories from his mind if She wanted to, but he was intent on making this portion of his life permanent. No matter what happened, no matter what She would consider unauthorized memories, he’d always have the sketches to help him remember. There was no way he was going to spend the rest of his life with a twelve i-year gap in his head. Of course, that wouldn’t be an issue if he could only find some way to remain. If he could he’d be in control of his own life, keeping his thoughts to himself rather than needing to go back and contribute them to Mother. He touched the back of his neck, making sure his hair was still hiding his well kept secret. No matter how comfortable he felt here, he knew damn well that no one could ever see, no one could know the truth. But that wouldn’t have to be, if only he could find a way…if only he could stay…

The ground suddenly shook and both he and the car jumped. The vibration resonated like the footfall of some invisible presence coming to take him back to the Unation. He spun around, looking beyond the stopped cars and empty fields. Children continued to play, men continued to work. They were oblivious, but Mother was out there somewhere, he was sure of it. Even though he’d always felt safe on Earth, he still needed to return to Her every twelve hours. Had Mother become fed up with his desire to remain? Had She been playing a waiting game all along? He hoped not; he prayed on his life that wasn’t the fact.

A grinding noise to his left caught his attention. An enormous yellow crane opened its rusty jaws, dropping a cut tree to the ground. Another tremor shook the car. In his mind, the presence had taken one step closer. Let that step be the last, he said to himself, and he forced away the thought of staying on Earth. It went reluctantly, but he knew Mother could still find it if She wanted to.

He popped the cap off of the aspirin bottle he kept in the ashtray, tossed three pills into his mouth and chewed. His stomach churned on the pasty pills and growled sourly, reminding him again how little he’d eaten. Retrieving Mother’s recent candidate from across the state in Walpole—he’d nicknamed this one the Fighter—had taken two hours longer than expected. He wasn’t scheduled to return to the Unation until early the next morning, but his patience quickly wore thin when he realized the time—it was already 4:45. Because of delays the three hour trip had taken six. How stupid to have brought only one sleeper. A single injection surely wasn’t enough to keep her out for the whole trip. She was bound to wake soon with sharp memories of the damage he’d done to her during the abduction.

Traffic finally began to move, so he started the car and made a right turn onto Route 101, heading east toward Epping, and beyond that, the quiet little town of Garrison where, for the meantime, he was calling home. Mother had sent him to other places over the i-years: Sheridan, Wyoming. Mopeka, Ohio. Bridgton, Maine. Interesting, but all too average. These had been some of Mother’s preferred sites—the most successful ones, by Her standards—but Garrison, New Hampshire was by far his favorite. And for no particular reason. Small town, a lot of the old, a lot of the new. The mix was just right for him. The people were friendly, and there were enough of them that he could move around unnoticed. Garrison just felt like a comfortable place to hide, and that was good enough for him. And for Her.

The traffic stopped again and he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckled swelled knowing that his cozy living situation wouldn’t mean a damn thing if he didn’t get this girl back to his apartment soon. Sitting idle in the hot weather was going to kill her very fast. Even though the sleeper could sustain her with very little air, she certainly wasn’t safe from dehydration. The car was low on fuel, but he decided to chance it and activated the air circulator. The engine chugged as it worked to pump cool air into the trunk. If he had to explain to Mother how he’d lost another candidate, She would no doubt consider that one mistake too many. He couldn’t fail Her—not after what happened last time.

Several of the cars in front had been directed around the construction vehicles in the road. He edged forward, a pace that was too incredibly slow. He couldn’t help but stare at the gas gauge as it hovered just above “E” and using the air circulator was only using more fuel. When he looked up the traffic had stopped again. He stomped on the brake nearly hitting another car. The driver, unaware how close Dolan had come, stepped out and peered down the road. He yelled something, honked the horn and climbed inside again. The pudgy man directing traffic turned to him with half-closed eyes. Whatever the man in the car had yelled did no good—they still weren’t moving. Several cars behind him tried to use the sandy shoulder to pass, but were stopped by a police officer. Dolan wondered if he might be able to pass on the opposite side while the officer was occupied with the others. He backed slightly, then edged out and peered down the side of the road, but the shoulder was blocked by felled trees piled along the edge.

Once he had pulled out he realized being in the middle of the road was attracting too much attention. The last thing he wanted was to irritate one of the police officers. They just might make him pull to the side and wait out the traffic as some kind of punishment. What if they asked to search his car? What if the woman woke up? There’d be no way he could sneak away to shoot her full of sleeper agent. If only he had thought about buying gas before the pick up that morning, but instead he had become preoccupied with his Earth fantasies, arguing with himself about staying focused on his job. Mother or the police, either way his delusions were sure to be the end of him.

Dolan reversed again, pushing back into the lane of stopped cars. The piercing scream of a car horn flared from behind. He jumped, worry becoming reality at that moment. The law men had snuck up behind him while he wasn’t paying attention. Maybe if he ignored them they’d go away, but he felt compelled to not be taken without a fight, he owned himself that much. He turned. The front end of a monstrous pickup truck loomed no more than a foot away. Inside the white truck a young man was shaking his fist and mouthing words. The boy leapt from the truck, his wide lips still shouting some unknown, mute message. Dolan watched him, amazed at how much the young man looked like his brother’s son, Jacob. Dolan peered through the glass at him, a tower of a man seeming to grow in size while he waited outside the window. The boy finally knocked hard on the glass. Dolan fumbled for the handle and the boy bent down sticking his nose in the window crack. The face was certainly Jake’s—yet deep within the young man’s eyes it wasn’t him at all.

“Mister, what the hell’s your problem?” the young man barked.

“Noth…noth…” Dolan couldn’t get the words past his lips as the strange replica of his nephew stood over him.

“You almost drove right into me!”

Even the voice was his. His brother Rodney had that same cracked, nasal tone.
“I’m nearly out of gas,” Dolan managed to say.

“We all have out excuses for being in a hurry, don’t we?”

The confrontation was becoming less a matter of paranoia as Dolan stared at the small red scar on the young man’s forearm, identical to Jake’s. But this man was not him, could not have been him. Jake had been dead for more than six i-years, after disobeying Mother one too many times. Though his REMOVAL from the Unation had never been clear. Jake simply disappeared one day, and Dolan had to read about it in the Incorporated. Mother obviously had Her reasons for keeping the truth from him, and now he knew why. Mother had sent Jake to Earth. But something had gone wrong, terribly wrong, because he wasn’t even recognizing his own uncle.

“Jake, don’t you know me?”

The young man furrowed his brow. “What goddamned planet you from?” he yelled, then walked away. “Pay attention next time!”

Dolan watched in the side mirror as the young man who was Jake kicked the rear panel of the car. A dull thud echoed from the trunk. The car rocked as he kicked it a second time. Dolan turned and watched him get back in the truck. Over the whirl of the air circulator he listened for movement in the trunk. He prayed the sleeper would keep the woman under. If she woke up Dolan would have nowhere to go. She’d easily be discovered. Maybe that had been Jake’s plan all along. Or Her plan.

But he heard nothing. She was still asleep.

The young man who was Jake pulled out from the line of cars and passed Dolan on the right side, driving along the shoulder. Sand and rocks pelted the exterior of Dolan’s car and a cloud of dust circled into the air. A police officer yelled for him to stop but Jake kept going. Dolan gave up brushing off all these strange sightings as coincidence. Only six months before he’d sworn his brother Rodney was alive and riding in a car, right along side him, on that very highway. Mother was using Jake for something. Something that was becoming disastrous. He needed to find out why.

Dolan swerved around the police officer and followed the pickup down the right shoulder. His tires sank into the soft sand slowing him down. The truck pulled away, disappearing momentarily over a crest in the road. Dolan fought his way through the soft shoulder, speeding alongside the endless line of halted traffic. The steering wheel pulled, wanting to control itself. He fought it, trying to keep the car from sliding into the line of concrete barricades and the occasional police car stopped along the side. He ignored those officers too as they yelled for him to stop. At that point, the discovery of the woman in his trunk seemed trivial. He wanted only to confront the young man who was Jake once more, find out why he was on Earth, how he had gotten there. Dolan had the only way mechanism. There were supposed to be no others.

In the distance, he could see several orange construction vehicles, but no white pickup. As he reached the crest in the road, Dolan suddenly felt a thousand eyes upon him. He slowed and looked inside each car as he drove passed. All faces were turned to him. The drivers, the passengers were glaring in rage and utter amazement as if by some mass epiphany they had become aware of why he’d come to their world. Jake must have somehow alerted them. And Dolan knew that if this moment ever came Mother was going to abandon him, close the door forever. But he couldn’t stay here alone, no matter how much he wanted to. He needed Her, his life depended on it.

As he continued to pass the stopped cars, he realized the drivers were not as much looking at him as they were looking past him. Their interest was focused on something else, and that relieved him. He turned, looking in the same direction, horrified at what he saw. A large billow of black smoke rose into the air from something engulfed by fire inside a busy construction site. As the black stuff swirled and lifted, the shape of the white truck became visible in the center of the flames. It had rolled onto its roof. Although everybody was noticing the demolished truck, absolutely no one was making an effort to help Jake.

Dolan parked in the soft shoulder and sprinted down the sandy embankment. He approached the wreck, shielding his eyes. Intense heat pushed at him, as if giving a warning to keep his distance. A rare silence hung over the yellow flames; there was a strange absence of crackling glass and roar of rushing air. He circled the vehicle looking for some sign that the young man who was Jake had escaped before the truck burst into flames, but there were no signs, no footprints in the dirt. Mother had likely forced Jake to wreck the truck after Dolan recognized him. He wished he never had; Jake would still be alive. Losing him a second time twisted Dolan’s stomach. This time Jake’s blood was on his hands.

As he moved to the driver’s side he noticed a charred black limb pressed against the glass. He tried to step in, but the flames shot out forcing him back again. The heat became unbearable, and he fell back into the sand. Saving Jake was hopeless, and a hatred for the people of Earth flared in him for the first time. They all just stood and watched him die. Dolan wanted to bring everyone of them to Mother. Let Her do what She will with all of them, he thought.

Slowly, a dark, distorted form took shape within the flames. A body of sorts, but not Jake’s. With Jake gone She would need to send another to take his place, someone to spy, someone to tell the world who Dolan was and what he was doing. Who better to send this time than Theman himself? The spot where he was sitting was going to become his grave. The freedom he had been working for, all his dreams of staying on Earth, lost. He was a man of two worlds, though neither would have him.

Theman moved closer to his reality, the dark figure taking a more human form. Twisted licorice fingers reached out for him through distorted ripples of heat. In a single flicker of the flames the emerging figure resembled everyone he had ever taken from Earth: The young child from Barrington he had removed from the arms of a sleeping mother; the elderly man, Reginald Wells, whose unexpected death was Dolan’s first grave error. Two faces, and a thousand others, all at once.

The silent flames spat the black form onto the ground in front of him. The image stopped, loomed over him. Dolan covered his face, forced in scorching air and tried to scream. He sensed the smell of burning hair, the rise of blisters on his skin, his tongue melting and running down his throat.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” a voice asked. There was a surprisingly cool touch on his arm, and Dolan jumped, scrambled back a bit and looked up. A burly man loomed over him, skin covered with soot. Dolan looked down at his own unburned arms. The man didn’t move in on Dolan, instead he held his hand out. It wasn’t Theman, but it was someone from the Unation. She had sacrificed Jake to replace him with another, someone Dolan didn’t know. He looked up into the man’s face, studied it. He didn’t want to forget it because he knew this man would be watching now. Mother was never going to take Her eyes off Dolan, he knew that for sure.

After a moment, Dolan glanced to the right at a group of men standing extremely close to the raging fire. One of them was almost in it, unharmed by the heat. They stared back, puzzled and grimacing. The one in the fire absently patted dust from his jeans. To Dolan’s left, people in cars were no longer staring at him or the burning wreck. They merely crept forward as a short distance back the pudgy man turned the sign from STOP to SLOW.

“I asked if you’re okay.” The sooty man reached down to touch Dolan’s arm again. Dolan recoiled, then scurried away and climbed up the soft shoulder on all fours to his car. If only Jake had recognized him, if only he hadn’t run. He could have saved Jake from Mother. But now Jake had been replaced. For all Dolan knew Mother could have been watching him through any of the people around him. He turned the ignition and kept his eyes on the sooty man as he turned and retraced his steps, walking back through the truck’s hollow shell still engulfed in flames.

He forced his car back onto the road and eased along with the rest of the traffic. He occasionally turned toward Jake’s burning truck. The smoke swirled and hovered until the hungry air devoured it. Each time he looked the sight became more faint until in one brief moment the flames and the smoke dissipated leaving nothing. The truck had vanished.

“Move along!” a policeman yelled, thumping his fist against the trunk of Dolan’s car.

Dolan accelerated, following the others past the obstruction and onward toward the open highway. His anger toward the people around him had faded, there was nothing they could have done for him, or Jake. But the image of silent blue flames still burned in him. He felt Mother in him too, stronger than ever, and he knew She wasn’t going to set him free. What he had just seen was only a taste of the insanity that awaited him if he stayed. Returning to the Unation for good one day was an absolute. He’d been born with a lifelong obligation to thought-contribute to Mother Necessity, and if he violated that, his mind would shut down completely—he’d be as good as dead.

The parking lot of Mick and Herb’s gas station was anything but deserted. Too many people came and went, all attentive to what others were doing. Dolan turned away from whomever he thought might look at him. Cars lined either side of the lot, drivers waiting to fuel them. From the north side of the traffic circle a small van carrying a group of teenagers entered the lot, tailpipe scraping the ground. Yelling and laughing, the teenagers crawled over each other to get out, one of them kicking the trash around that had fallen out. A taller boy grabbed one of the girls around the waist, spun her in a circle nearly dropping her. She screamed, flailed her arms, kicking her feet in the air, begging to be let down. Next to them, an inattentive mother and her two children hopped across the stained asphalt with bare feet. Thankfully none of them were curious why Dolan had backed his car into a shaded corner beside the building. Regardless of their aloof behavior, he knew that any one of them, maybe all, were spying on him for Mother. He slouched further into his seat and glanced at the gas gauge as it hovered below empty. He turned off the engine. People came and went, none of them passing through without Dolan’s getting a good look. He had attracted enough attention for one day and didn’t want any more of it; just fuel.

The woman and her two children came out of the store, and the resemblance she had taken on made Dolan’s heart sink. She had become his wife, and the pain that had run through him as he watched Maggie die came back like the crash of a wave against his chest. But that was long before he’d ever heard of Earth, more than twelve i-years before. They were both living well and both had worked hard to gain Mother’s permission to have a child. He didn’t know a couple that was happier. Life from then on was supposed to change forever. They were going to bring another life to Mother, another person who would someday give their thoughts and ideas to Her. That was every couple’s goal. But their fantasy did not end as many others had. Maggie had a condition that, as Mother put it, was quite unprecedented. Uterine atony, genetic bleeding disorder—the doctors made up plenty of descriptive names, but they had never seen it before and Mother had created no technology to cope with the condition. The people that were supposed to be Her professionals could only stand there and watch Maggie bleed to death.

When they wheeled her out she looked so synthetic, having lost so much blood. The confusion had overtaken everyone in the room—the doctors hadn’t even taken the time to cover her over. He tried to pull her blood-soaked gown back down over her waist. Parts that had been inside her were lying between her legs. Except the baby.

The doctors inundated him with profuse apologies, but he ignored them. He just wanted to touch Maggie’s cheek, and when he did he finally understood what had happened. Maggie had given her life bringing Mother a child. At least that was what he believed until one doctor told him that his daughter had died too.

Dolan ran his hand against the stubble on his cheek and watched the woman shuffle her children across the lot and into the car. Losing Maggie had left a hole in him which he’d filled with his preoccupation with Earth. This place had kept him going for so long, but now the space in him was empty again. At that moment he just wanted to walk away from everything, leave his job behind him, his life, his status level in the Unation. But he knew better, he couldn’t give up now. He had too much to lose here, and there was nothing to return to in the Unation. He had agreed on a transfer to Earth right after Maggie’s death, hoping his new assignment would give him a chance to grieve peacefully and at the same time keep his career on track. No matter what had happened, losing focus on professional life would have guaranteed him a personal life much worse than he was living after he lost Maggie. And to think, an entire world all to himself. What incredible opportunities to pick up the pieces of his torn life. But as it turned out Earth wasn’t what he expected. Mother had a set of strict rules to follow: NO unnecessary contact with the inhabitants, NO fraternization. Soon he found himself more alone than he could have ever imagined. The only people he mingled with were those he was collecting for Her and they always had to be knocked out. His job became his only outlet for grief, and it had done little good except give him an excuse to bury the hurt.

Sounds of stirring came from the car’s trunk—a soft, broken moan, a rattle of the toolbox which he knew was snug behind the spare tire. With only fumes left for fuel and no more sleepers, he had to make a decision and fast. He sat up straight and peered across the lot at two men filling their cars. At that moment, neither seemed to pose a threat greater than the woman in his trunk. It was time to buy gas.

Dolan started the car, eased it across the lot. Both men looked up slowly, faces pale with curiosity, though neither resembled anyone he knew. Regardless, he was compelled to keep his distance, reminding himself of the lengths Mother would go to protect Herself. Anyone could be watching.

“Clear off your windshield, mister?” a boyish voice came from behind as Dolan replaced the nozzle.

He spun around, half expecting to see a miniature version of Jake staring up at him. However, this boy too resembled no one he knew.

“Your windows,” the boy said. “You know, clean them?” He moved the squeegee around in circles.

“Please, don’t,” Dolan pleaded, cringing at the desperation in his own voice.

The boy stopped moving the squeegee, stared at Dolan for a moment, then walked off, holding a conversation with himself. Dolan turned to watch the two men drive away. He was relieved that neither looked back to catch him staring. When they were out of sight, he moved his car as close as he could to the front of the store where he’d be able to keep an eye on it.

“Evening, buddy,” the man behind the counter said as Dolan went in.

This guy didn’t look familiar either, which probably would have convinced him that Mother wasn’t playing games, except for the fact that Dolan should have recognized him. “Where’s Mick?” Dolan asked finally, half expecting the old man to tear off a clever mask revealing the younger face of the store’s owner, the same person who’d been selling him gas and cigarettes for i-years. He clutched his wallet tightly, stared at the elderly man behind the counter. Everything in the store had been reversed. The cigarette rack was now to the left of the soda cooler, the cash register had been moved to the other side of the counter. The place was its own mirror opposite.

“Vacation,” the old man said, refusing to look at him.

Dolan waited for a more convincing explanation, but none came. “When’s he coming back?” he asked nervously.

The old man looked Dolan straight in the eyes. “You’re asking the wrong guy. Theman has all the answers.”

Dolan could feel that his feet had frozen into place. With each passing moment, everything he’d experienced seemed less like a dream. His throat began to tighten, as if Mother had gained total control over him, even more than She already had. The pain in the tips of his fingers, his nagging headache, the dull cramps haunting his stomach—none of that compared to what She could do if She really wanted to. He was at Her mercy. Was Theman somehow spying on him right now? Did he know the brand of cigarettes Dolan smoked, or the number of coffee cakes he ate on a daily basis? Dolan felt that strange, bulging eyes were fixed on him through the knot holes in the wood slats on the wall as the old man’s words rattled through his head again.

“What did you just say?” Dolan asked, eyes fixed on the holes in the panel. The old man continued punching keys on the register as though he hadn’t said a word.

“I said, the man’s son has all the answers. You know, Mick’s boy.” He paused, staring blankly. “The little guy cleaning windows out there.”

Dolan reworked the man’s words in his head trying to make sense of it. At the same time it all seemed too unreal to believe, but too real to deny. One thing was for certain: The boy outside was not Mick’s. “I’ve never seen him before,” Dolan said finally, removing the last four coffee cakes from the metal rack that had been moved to the right of the register.

“He’s here whenever Mick’s here.” The old man pointed thoughtlessly toward the window. “Can’t help you with your memory none.”

“No, guess not.” Dolan laid the money for the gas and cakes on the counter and turned to leave.

“Hey,” the old man squawked. “Want your cigarettes?”

Dolan spun around just in time to catch the pack of Pall Mall’s flying at him. His brand. He didn’t dare say another thing, just laid a handful of pocket change on the counter without counting it and headed for the door.

“Have a good one, buddy,” the old man said. Dolan sped to the door. “I’ll tell Mick hello for you!”

In the lot he passed the young boy, squeegee and rag in his tiny hands. He flashed Dolan a crooked smile. Dolan dug through his memory, but it did no good—the boy’s face was not that of Mick’s son. Though at this point, any recognition at all seemed unreliable. In a matter of an afternoon, he had lost any sense of distinguishing those he knew from those he didn’t. And that would be Theman’s best cover if he chose to follow him. At that moment, he felt there was nowhere he could go without being watched. The image of eyes staring through knot holes remained lodged in his mind. Once he got back to the car, he looked in the mirror and noticed his own eyes had begun to resemble those same holes in the wall. They’d become unrecognizable. All he could see were two black empty pits.

His preoccupation with Maggie made him oblivious to the road signs and his assigned routes, so he drove the rest of the way along roads he’d never taken before. Fiery headlights rushed by making him squint and look away, as if his oversensitive eyes were warning of danger inside the passing cars. Once the vehicles were out of sight, he returned to staring at the lines in the road, thinking of his wife, the old man, the Pall Mall’s, the burning truck. During his i-years of crossovers from the Unation, he must have been carrying pieces of mental baggage that now were unraveling the reality he’d built out of Mother’s creation, Her dreamworld. If asked, he’d certainly call this place home, but admitting that to Her would get him REMOVED. And that wasn’t an option at that point.

He continued to follow the signs directing him to the Route 16 intersection. Once there, he turned north toward Garrison. The last two miles seemed to take an eternity. He sensed that each car he passed was creeping by, the driver glaring at him. One of them was bound to be someone sent by Mother, perhaps Theman himself, searching him out. But if Theman found him, he certainly wouldn’t be as obvious as Jake had. No, Theman was smarter than that. He’d just watch, wait for Dolan to screw up again before moving in. Then there’d be a confrontation, face to face. That’s how Dolan would want it.

He drove by his apartment three times before finally turning in. He backed his car in the dark corner of the driveway. Two more vehicles passed by the house at a curiously fast pace. By now it was completely dark and Dolan couldn’t see if the drivers were looking at him like the others were, with their burning curiosity and disdain.

He lifted the heavy briefcase off the seat and, before opening the door, removed a small pocket knife from a zipper pouch on the side of the case. He pulled the interior light out of the vinyl roof and cut the wires. After tossing the knife and the light onto the passenger’s side floor, he softly opened the door. Because of the extreme weight of his case, he had to use both hands to carry it. Mother had certainly designed an exquisite piece of machinery, the mechanism that opened the doorway to Earth, though he wished She had considered the fact that he was going to have to carry it around. But he was not about to let the case out of his sight since the mechanism inside was his only means of return. He had decided long before that where he went, the case went with him.

The scuffling of his feet against the pavement quieted the symphony of crickets in the grassy hedge along the edge to the house. He found the lack of noise disturbing, as if it had been something else other than his footsteps that caused them to stop. It had been that quiet after the doctors left him alone with Maggie. That was the only other time he could ever remember being aware of the absolute silence. Even now, late at night, he would still find himself restlessly searching for a light to leave on, one that would buzz and shatter the noiselessness. Listening to it sustained him like air.

He lugged the case up the stairs to the porch outside his the apartment. He carefully set it down and the boards squeaked under its weight. He made his way back to the car wishing the crickets would start singing again, but his attention was quickly drawn to another noise. From inside the trunk he heard a faint, metallic scrape followed by a muffled whimper. Time had completely escaped him. Counting the number of hours that the girl had been under the sleeper was impossible. Days could have passed by in a single minute and he would have never noticed the bright orange streak across the sky that was the sun. With clumsy fingers he searched for his keys. After frantically feeling his pockets he cursed quietly and retrieved them from the ignition. He slid the key gently into the lock, turned it, and listened for the soft click.

The trunk lid sprung up, tearing the key ring from his hand. He pulled his face back just as the edge grazed his chin, swinging set of keys flashing by his eyes. The throaty wail of terror inside the black compartment echoed across the field. He took one step back and watched as the Fighter rolled out of the darkness, to her feet, and leapt with a limberness that could only have been energized by pure fear. The wrench she was clutching came down hard on his left shoulder, her other hand found his right forearm. Her fingernails took several layers of skin near his elbow, sure to leave scars. Both of them fell to the ground, her on top, air rushing out of his lungs as he hit the pavement. She brought the wrench down again, slower this time which allowed him to grab it before it cracked his skull wide open. He squeezed her hand, felt the cartilage in her knuckles give. She howled and the wrench slipped free, just missing his head. Through fear alone, her strength had doubled since their earlier encounter. He started to feel overwhelmed as she remained perched on his chest, continuing to scratch and hit him. The panic in her had blurred the logical ease of her escape—she only needed to run. Managing a small, pitiful breath, he lifted his legs, wrapped them around her neck and pulled down whacking her head against the tar. Her bellowing cries ended abruptly. The deafening silence he loathed so much had returned.

With a twist of his hips, he slid out from under her limp body, positive he’d killed her. As he searched for a pulse, a trickle of blood ran out onto the ground. In the dim moonlight it looked like engine oil seeping through her thick hair. After finding a faint thump in her neck, he hoisted her over his shoulder. The scratches on his arm were bleeding profusely leaving dark streaks on her pants. He’d have to wash those out before bringing her to Mother. But washing the blood from her clothes would not cover the marks he’d left on her body—add a head gash to the list of injuries. It had not mattered at this point if Theman, or even Mother Herself, were watching because his preoccupation with this world, his incompetence, were clearly evident by the cuts and bruises on her body.

With the woman securely over his shoulder, he stood by the back of his car and sighed. The trunk key was bent. To avoid breaking the lock he removed the rest of the keys. He carried the girl up to his bedroom and gently set her down on the bed, disregarding the streaks of blood he was leaving on the bedding. He retrieved a small bag inside the closet and carefully removed a sleeper. Adjusting the dose to full, he rolled the girl onto her stomach and, after removing the sheath from the needle, pressed it into the base of her skull and activated it. The transparent blue liquid inside the glass vile slowly moved from the tube into the woman’s brain. A dose like that would keep her out well into tomorrow, which was fine. He needed no more confrontations for the rest of the night.

In the bathroom, he ran water over the scratches on his arm and the dark blood turned into a pale, red liquid as it ran down the drain. Luckily, the wounds hurt far worse than they looked. The blood had already begun to clot. He looked at himself in the mirror, shaking his head at the mess he saw. But right then the girl was more important.

He sat on the edge of the bed and softly wiped the drying blood from her matted hair and scarred neck. He used another clean cloth against the spot where the driveway had cut her head. The sleeper had slowed her breathing down so drastically that she could have passed for dead in this world, though Mother would know the difference. She always knew.

The girl looked oddly peaceful, much like Maggie had looked when he saw her for the last time, as they wheeled her away to the REMOVAL bays. Mother took Maggie as part of Herself, even the love she had had for Dolan was now part of Her. But he couldn’t remember ever feeling Maggie’s presence when he gave his thoughts to Mother. He was all alone then, too. He had given up on the chance to talk to someone about what had happened. To have someone listen, and understand. Mother never looked back, never considered Her past; Her wisdom came from what other people contributed to Her.

Any of the people here would sympathize. Surely this woman would know how he hurt. What would be the harm in waking her and confessing who he really was, all that he’d lost, and everything Mother had forced him to do? He could show her the back of his neck, and even though she’d be first frightened, then prejudiced, she’d still find it in herself to help him.

But he knew better. There was no helping those you couldn’t understand.

After filling the bathtub with water, he turned her over and removed her stained pants. He dropped them into the hot, soapy bath water and the fabric sank slowly, blood seeping out in a rolling cloud of red.

Then came a hard knock at the door. He moved quickly into the kitchen. Through the window, he saw two dark blue uniforms, badges gleaming dull yellow in the porch light. Any thought of revealing himself was suddenly washed away as he stared out at the men that could end his life as quickly as Mother, if they happened to discover his true intentions. With all he had done since he first arrived, all the scenes he’d caused collecting Mother’s candidates, the police had never become involved. He assumed for a moment that they had been sent by Theman, but passed off the possibility when he recalled the ruckus he’d had with the woman in the driveway. It had been loud, really loud. They were no doubt just doing their duty, but that worried him even more. A second knock came as he reached out to open the door.

“Evening,” the first officer said in a husky voice. “Garrison Police. Is there a problem here?” He poked his head in and carefully scanned the room.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Dolan said in the calmest voice he could manage. “My…my wife got a bit noisy. I realize now that I see you here.”

“Now why do you think we’re here for that reason?” the second officer piped up. He was much younger and stood a full head shorter than his partner. The first officer turned, furrowed his brow, clearly chagrined by the young one’s sarcasm.

Regardless, it was a keen observation. Dolan had only assumed he knew why they were visiting him. One more false move could land him in a situation he’d always anticipated, but never expected. Though he should have been, at any time. Theman was sure to have words with him about this. Mother would see to that. “She fell again,” Dolan said, praying he wasn’t backing himself into a corner with his explanation. “Happens every so often. It’s some kind of balancing problem.” He pulled on his ear.

“Are you sure that’s what all the yelling was about?” the first officer asked. His partner stepped back and peered in the kitchen window, looking around curiously.

“Yes, sir,” Dolan said, keeping his eyes on the shorter one who was moving his nose as if sniffing for some sign that Dolan was lying. The young man returned, one side of his mouth turned up.

“We’re not going to find out that you’ve had a fight, are we?” the younger one asked.

“No.” Dolan winced, thinking of a hundred things he could have said besides a curt no. The two men stared at him and said nothing for a moment. He knew they were studying him, memorizing his face, because he had just given them the invitation to watch him. Whatever he did, wherever he went, these two would know. Now Mother had people here working for Her, and She didn’t even know it.

Both men took a step forward. “Would you mind if we came in and checked on her,” the first one asked, more as a statement than a question. Dolan stayed on the threshold, but felt repelled by their advances. If he let them into his house there was a chance they’d realize the truth just by looking around. No time to prepare. He’d slip somehow, make reference to something this world had no right to know. Allowing his two realities to merge was out of the question, but there was no way his mind could keep the two separate. Not while these two men stood over him and drilled him with questions. He rubbed the back of his hair flat and stepped out of the doorway. The officers sauntered into the kitchen.

“Where is she?” the young officer asked.

“Asleep in the bedroom.” Dolan moved quickly down the hall staying in front of the men. Hoping he had put away the sleeper apparatus, he slid into the bedroom a few steps ahead and glanced at the table. It wasn’t there. As furtively as possible, he glanced around hoping what was in the room belonged there and not back in the Unation. Everything looked normal to him, but that didn’t mean a thing. His two outwardly different worlds had mixed into an opaque mess inside him. The two men stepped in and looked around. The taller officer stood over the girl, hands on hips. “I’m sorry,” Dolan said, “I missed your name earlier, Officer…?”

“Sergeant Delvechio.” He shook Dolan’s hand. “My partner, Officer Theberge.” Delvechio’s partner moved behind Dolan, boxing him in. He tried to wedge himself between the two officers and the bed hoping to stay close to the woman. The last thing he wanted was for either man to take a good look at her and think she was dead.

“And your name, sir?” Delvechio asked, producing a note pad.

“Patrick Dolan.” He pointed to the half-naked stranger on his bed. “My wife…, Maggie.” That hurt. He pulled the comforter from under her feet and laid it over her.

“Your date of birth, Patrick?” Officer Delvechio’s pen hovered over the pad of paper.

Date? He’d calculated the Earth date so long ago, but—. “Thirty-eight,” Dolan said.

“You were born in 1938?” Theberge said. “You’re awfully spry for your sixties.”

“Years,” he said. “That’s my age.”

“So, 1960 then?” Delvechio asked after pausing to calculate.

“Yes, sorry…, second month, fifteenth day.” Dolan said over the lump in his throat. Why hadn’t he spent more time memorizing that stuff? “Of 1960,” he finished.

“Her date of birth?”

“Same year, twelfth month, twenty-third day.” Dolan glanced at her. “Do you mind if we finish talking in the kitchen? I hate to wake her up after what she’s been through. She’s very irritable afterward.” He stepped between the men and moved toward the door. Delvechio leaned over the woman and examined the bandage on her head. There was nothing to do but hope they wouldn’t notice the absence of breathing. Dolan held his own breath and waited for the two men to join him. At the last second, he felt his eyes bulge slightly as his body fought with him for air. Finally, Delvechio tapped his partner and motioned for him to follow. Dolan followed them out, closing the door behind him.

“You sure she’s okay?” Theberge asked Delvechio. “Maybe we should roll the med team. Have them look her over.”

“Really, she’s fine,” Dolan interrupted. “She doesn’t hurt herself that often when she falls. Looks worse than it is.”

“Convenient that she can’t speak for herself,” Theberge said, turning away from Dolan mid-sentence.

“In the kitchen,” Delvechio snapped, motioning to his partner.

Dolan lead the men straight to the back door. “I’m sorry you had to come out here for this.”

“We need to follow up on every call, Mr. Dolan,” Delvechio said. “No matter what it is.” He closed his notebook and returned it to his breast pocket.

“I appreciate your concern,” Dolan said, opening the door. “She just wanted to sleep it off before going to the doctor’s. I’ll leave it up to her come morning.”

“Good night,” Delvechio said. The man nodded to his partner then slipped out the door.

Officer Theberge moved across the room with one eye on Dolan. “We’re going to be keeping an eye on you from now on,” he whispered, then slipped out and followed Delvechio down the stairs.

Dolan watched intently out the kitchen window as the officers walked down the stairs, quickly past the spot where the Fighter had bled onto the driveway, and to their car. The unthinkable had just occurred. He had just become a permanent part of Earth, though he couldn’t figure out if it was a curse or a blessing. His name was on record in an official capacity. It seemed absurdly exhilarating, as if before he had never existed. Someone here knew who his was. Mother wasn’t going to be pleased when She extracted the thought from his head.

He slid his hand under his hair and fingered the cold metal protrusion he’d kept hidden from the officers, and the rest of them. His knowledge implant was Mother’s only way into him, and his need to thought-contribute was the only thing that kept him going back to Her. He had to go back, there were no two ways about it. Sharing his mind through his KI was the only way he knew how to live, the only way he knew how to survive.

MY AMERICAN MELANCHOLY