No Dogs in Philly (12)

A Cyberpunk Horror Noir | Chapter 12: Eros

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The doorbell rang, a happy melody indicating a friend. How strange, who would visit him here? Who even knew where he lived? Saru, probably, stopping by uninvited, sneaking by security somehow, ready to kick down the door if he didn’t answer. But he’d programmed a special ring for her, a sweet melody that was nothing like her personality, but what he imagined her to be if he ever really got to know her, to pierce that tough facade and meet the girl within.

One day.

And why wasn’t the camera working? The security camera in the light fixture pointed right at the doormat but he couldn’t make out the figure; it was tall, so it could be Saru, but there was just a black smudge where the face should have been.

Something was wrong here. The hairs across his body were standing on end and it had nothing to do with what he was doing on the Net. He started to unplug himself, feeling suddenly very vulnerable, lying in a bathrobe on his couch with his brain tugged in every direction. He left all the conversations, paused all the videos, stopped the search for information about the girls on the list. When his eyes returned to the real world he found them crusty and blurry and saw that it was night.

How much time had passed, how long had he been lying there? His stomach growled. The doorbell rang again, and this time he heard it with his ears, the sound chiming around his empty apartment—big, heavy, crystal noises that filled him with dread. He buzzed security, no response. He stumbled to his feet, tripped over the coffee table, and shuffled to the drawer where he kept his gun. He’d never used it, wasn’t sure how it worked or what kind it was—was it even loaded? He backed up against the window, whirling when his ass touched the glass and then whirled back and aimed at the door.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god…

There was a click and slide of the door unlocking itself—how? It swung open slowly and the light from the hallway crept in, a long, growing rectangle that cast Jojran in a spotlight.

“Freeze,” Jojran shouted, or tried to—his voice cracked and came out cartoony. The gun shook in his hands, slippery wet with sweat, hard to hold onto; he gripped it tighter and then BANG! it went off with the sound of a cannon in his ears, flying backward, snapping his wrist, slamming into his mouth and bending back his two front teeth. He yelped at the pain and the panic splashed out of him through his low-level connections to the apartment.

Every light, faucet and appliance sprang to life—the kitchen and living room overheads, the LEDs and heaters in the floor, the lamps, the oven, the microwave, the waffle iron, the percolator, the PizzaToniTM pizza maker, and the mixing bowl, all the window screens, the sonic shower, the autovacs shooting from their cubbies and rolling around the floor, and his stereo blasting death metal at maximum volume. He fell to his knees and crawled to the bedroom where the drawers rattled with the vibrations of his sex machines, and his love doll moaned and begged for him. He slammed the door behind him, swiped the lock, and dove onto the bed.

He sat, resisting the urge to crawl under the covers, cradling his wrist, which was sending sharp, nauseating pain through his arm and down to his stomach, every motion a fresh nausea, a new threat of vomit. The gun was gone. He found his mind bouncing around in his skull, desperate to escape, running down the long hall of doors to the Net with so many wonderful distractions—cute animals and naked women, bad puns, witty jokes, endless streams of news and recipes for biscotti, games and viks where he was safe and in control. He felt the familiar pull of the Net and fought, fought to keep his focus on the terrifying present, buzzing the guard station over and over again, calling everyone he knew in the real world, which seemed suddenly to be no one.

Saru wasn’t picking up—you bitch, I’m gonna die because of you! Where are you, passed out in a drunken stupor somewhere? Grunting on your knees with that lawyer you love so much? His mom answered the call and immediately started to complain—you thief, you liar, what, do you need money? He hung up.

The cops, thank god, they were on their way! He just needed to hold. But when would they arrive? What had he told the officer? There was a stranger in his house; he needed help. He felt a coldness down his spine, mixing with the nausea in his stomach. What had Saru told him about dealing with the cops? Rule number one: cash up front. He called back, ready to offer a fortune, but all he got was a busy signal. It was hard to focus with the pain in his stomach and his wrist and his mouth; he needed to search, find the number of a mercenary, or private justice, but he kept losing the thread, distracted by the fear.

The music outside stopped and his drawers stopped clattering, the love doll stopped rubbing her nipples and lay still. Footsteps, soft, coming close, stopping outside the door.

“Come out, Brian. You’re safe now.” Oh thank god, it was Saru, and in the voice he’d always imagined she’d use with him, breathy, soft, sweet, heavy with suggestion. She’d even used his name, his real name that he’d never told her, but somehow that contradiction didn’t bother him, the voice was too sweet, he could feel it like a delicate finger tracing down his neck, felt his pain recede, fall back, felt other things, other sensations more pleasing rise to the surface. He stood and walked to the door, unlocked and opened it.

There she was, as beautiful—no, more beautiful than he remembered, her features finer, lips and breasts fuller, and she was smiling. She smelled of tropical fruits and it looked like she’d even showered and washed her hair.

“Come,” she said, giving him a smile that made him gasp. She held out her hand and led him back to the living room, which was now quiet and dimly lit with candles that he didn’t own. He knew now, knew that this was not Saru, not the real Saru, but that if he wanted it he could have her, have her forever and more, anything he wanted, anything at all.

“Come.” She guided him to a couch and pushed him down gently so he floated into the cushions. His hand brushed her naked thigh as she turned—of course, the real Saru never wore a dress like that, shimmery and scant, that actually fit her and made every curve a tease. She sat across from him, crossing her legs, and he saw a flash of red lace between them. He felt himself melting in an agony of desire, the pain of the broken wrist and teeth nothing compared to this longing. She smiled at him.

“You want me, Brian.”

“Yes,” he breathed.

“What else do you want?”

There were things he knew, power probably, not like a king or a businessman, but power inside him, to be strong, to be fierce, to be brave maybe. To be perhaps the hero of a fantasy, to wield a sword against the darkness, to be admired and loved and to feel those deep, deep emotions that come from adventure. They were stray thoughts, stupid thoughts, childish thoughts, hard to control with her power washing through him.

“Whatever you want you will have,” she said. “Anything.”

From somewhere the fear returned, a small, nagging thing. Memories of the women being cut open, of elzi covered in sores and worms, wandering the streets, eating cigarette butts and scraps and bones. Why would he think of those awful things now? It annoyed him. But he should ask, make sure everything was on the level. It seemed too good to be true.

“I don’t want to be an elzi,” he said suddenly, unexpectedly, desperately. He couldn’t resist, he knew. This was it. The UausuaU. In some form or another. He would give in now, later, one day or another. It had come and he would follow and he was just a small mind, a weak soul—had always been weak, everyone had known that about him, he had always known. He would surrender, but he had to fight, just a little, struggle at least a bit. He would not become an elzi, he wouldn’t, wouldn’t let the real Saru find him like some beast, naked and broken and mindless, rolling in the garbage.

The other Saru laughed, a tinkling kindness that warmed him, set his mind at ease, like she knew his thoughts and was gently guiding him back to safety, back on a course that led to her, his only course, the inevitable.

“Come,” she said. “Come home, Brian.”

She leaned forward and touched his knee. Heat spread out from her touch, traveling up his leg into his groin, his heart, his brain. What did he need his body for anyway? Everything good was in the Net, that was the real world, that was where he could do anything he wanted. All his body did was slow him down—it was a big sack of chores with all the eating and sleeping and crapping. He wouldn’t need to do any of that. The UausuaU would give him a place where he was free.

“If I say no, will you leave me alone?” he asked.

She smiled. “Oh, Brian, you can’t say no. You could never say no to me.”

She was right. He didn’t remember saying yes, but he remembered her standing and coming over to him, crossing her legs as she walked, bending over and kissing him on the forehead and then her kisses traveling down his neck and finding his mouth. He remembered her hand tugging at his hair, her body wrapping around his, and the two of them coming together at last. He felt her nails digging into his back, felt the heat of her breath, the soft, delicious moans, and the sound of his name whispered in his ear.

It seemed at some point in all of that he died, leaving his body and going into hers, and inside her was a whole new world, vaster and more beautiful than he had ever imagined, and that his old, lumpy bone and skin had been a burden all along.