A Perfect Machine(24)

When they got there, Faye motioned Henry to shh, then put her ear to the door, listened for movement.

Nothing. Silence.

“Alright,” she whispered, “when I’m gone, move something heavy behind the door. When I’m back, I’ll knock twice, quickly, then add a third knock at the end so you’ll know it’s me. With any luck, I’ll have Steve with me, and we can get out of here, get you safe, OK?”

Henry nodded. Faye looked at him, realizing that the light here was better than back in the alcove. And in so doing, she put reality to the images she’d drawn in her mind upon touching his face. It wasn’t as terrifying as she thought it would be.

Although he was decidedly alien, his features that of a comicbook villain – all sharp angles and sinister lines – she was not frightened. This was Henry. Her Henry – from the hospital, from the bar, from a time before he’d become what he was now. The more she looked at him, the more comfortable she felt in his presence.

She smiled at him, touched his arm briefly, turned the doorknob, slipped out the door, and was gone.



* * *



Henry heard her footsteps echoing down the hall. With every step, he grew increasingly nervous.

What if she just leaves me here? Now that she’s seen me, touched me, even in dim light, she knows what I am. What sane person would return?

Henry glanced around for something to block the door. He should do it quickly, in case someone was even now on their way for cleaning supplies.

Something heavy, something heavy…

Then it occurred to him – the quickest, easiest solution.

Henry turned his back and sat down against the door, roughly a quarter ton of steel blocking the way. As the seconds stretched into minutes, Henry’s eyelids grew heavy. He fell into a deep sleep very quickly.

He dreamed he was running in a field. He felt lighter than he ever had in his life. This was pre-transformation Henry. In fact, Henry felt even lighter than that; he imagined he had no metal at all in his body. In waking life, he couldn’t recall this point in his existence. He must’ve been lead-free at some time, but those days were lost to him. He knew only the feeling of heavy metals in his system, churning within him, eager to coalesce into what he would one day become. But this dream made him feel… what? Human? He had no idea what that felt like. Couldn’t possibly have any idea. But this dream was wonderful. His body felt so light as he ran. As though only blood, muscle, flesh, and bone were packed inside his skin. Such a freeing feeling – one so alien to him that he didn’t properly know how to process the emotions the experience stirred.

As he ran across the field, the wind whipped through his hair, around his ears, seemed to whistle right through him. He felt insubstantial, like he could run straight through solid objects.

Then: far away, perhaps coming from over the mountains that loomed on all sides, he heard thumping. The landscape rippled with each one. He continued running, but with each step, he felt heavier. Flesh and bone becoming metal again. More thumping, as if some gigantic god stomped around on the other side of the mountains, just out of sight. Heavier, slower now. And as in most running dreams, his legs felt weighed down in cement, the horizon stretching farther and farther away. The pounding sound became thinner as Henry’s feet slowed to a stop. He stood panting in the field, feeling as though this angry god would appear any second over the tip of one of the mountains, and lock him in its gaze. Rooting him to the spot forever.

When he finally swam up to reality again, he recognized the pounding of the god’s fists as merely Faye’s three-knock signal. He shook his head and scrambled – as much as five hundred pounds of steel can be said to scramble – to his feet. Turned, opened the door.

Faye walked in carrying a big dark blanket, followed by a short, worried-looking man. Balding. Glasses. Wearing a paramedic’s uniform.

“What were you doing? Why didn’t you answer?” Faye demanded as soon as the door was closed behind them.

“Nodded off. Sorry,” Henry muttered.

She just stared at him. Was about to continue asking questions, realized time was of the essence. “OK, well, Steve’s got the ambulance pulled up to the docking area, ready to go. I’ll pop out, make sure the coast is clear – I’ve always wanted to say that,” she said, and grinned. “Then I’ll come back in, hustle you out under this big-ass blanket, and away we go. Got it?”

Henry, still half asleep, just repeated, “Got it.”

“Great, let’s do it.” Faye then turned to Steve. “Alright, Steve, you walk out casually, get into the ambulance, then just wait for us to get in the back. Once we’re underway–” And that’s when she caught sight of Steve’s slack-jawed expression. The blood seemed to have drained entirely from his face.

She’d told him she needed to transport something “strange” to her apartment, but didn’t go into further detail. She knew if she tried to describe Henry to him, he wouldn’t have believed her anyway, and would’ve just delayed them further by asking a million questions. But in her desire to get this done before the hospital got too busy, she’d forgotten to deal with Steve’s reaction immediately upon entering the room.

She turned now to face him, put her hands on his shoulders, said, “Steve. Steve, look at me. Stop looking at Henry. Come on, Steve.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Come on, look at me. Focus.”