Рон Рэш - The Best American Mystery Stories 2019

Then I saw her. She was standing in an alcove, shadowed, and looking directly at me. She didn’t move. She was dressed as I was, her hair short and uneven, a small cowlick falling over her forehead, a sullen look on her narrow face.

I turned and stared at Jones. “That’s me.”

He grinned at me. “A hologram. I shot it when we came in.”

“Why? What’re you doing with it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

“Is that why you brought me here?”

“Of course not. It’s just a memento, something to remember you by.”

“I think it’s creepy.”

I walked over to it. It continued to stare coldly at me. I reached out to touch it, but my hand passed right through the image, like it was a ghost. Maybe it was. Maybe it was my ghost.

Jones opened a refrigerated cabinet and removed two glass bottles. “Something to drink?”

“What is it?” I asked. I couldn’t make out the labels on the bottles.

“Just water,” he said, twisting off their caps and pouring one with each hand into two tall glasses.

“It’s green,” I pointed out. “And fizzy.”

“Vitamin water,” he said. “A little flavor, a little color, and some carbon dioxide for the bubbles.” He set down the empty bottles and handed me a glass. “Cheers,” he said, and took a sip from his glass.

It was cold and didn’t have much flavor. I’d once had something called club soda, which was just carbonated water, and this wasn’t very different. I was thirsty, so I drank the glassful in several swallows, and burped.

Jones had gotten out his tab again, and I could see the first page of the IQ test on it — multiple choice, five choices per question, just touch the correct answer.

“I’m tired,” I said. “I don’t want to do that.” And I realized that I really was tired. I couldn’t smother a major yawn.

“I’m sorry,” Jones said. “It is pretty late. Sometimes I forget the time when I get into a project.” He gestured at the test. “This can wait for morning. Let me show you a room where you can sleep.”

Vague alarm spread through me, but I felt foggy with fatigue. I couldn’t stop yawning. I followed him through several doors to a small room with a single bed. He didn’t turn on any lights in the room, but I could see the bed in the light from the doorway, and I went straight for it and collapsed on it, facedown.

Sunlight on my face woke me up. I was lying on my back, under covers, in a girl’s bedroom. I knew immediately it had to be. Everything was in bright cheerful colors, and stuffed animals sat in a small easy chair across from the bed. My clothes were tossed over them. I did not remember taking them off.

The bedroom door was closed. I scrambled out of the bed and then stopped, transfixed by the sight of the sheet I’d been lying on. It was blood-smeared in one area, in the middle of the bed.

I looked and found a little dried blood on my upper inner left thigh.

I knew exactly what that meant.

I started for the door and then stopped and turned back to my clothes. I needed to get dressed first. I ached in a new place as I pulled my clothes on. They smelled, but they were all I had now.

I couldn’t help looking out the window. It faced east and the early sun. I was high up and I could look out great distances, but I couldn’t see much — just the vast city extending into the haze, the horizon indistinct. There were other tall towers nearby, and I could tell that they defined the area of the CeeZee.

The bedroom door wasn’t locked. I opened it and ventured out, not sure which way to go. But I found the next door I came to was to a bathroom, which I realized I needed. I went in and locked the door behind me.

It was spare but had all the necessities. I showered thoroughly, after which putting my clothes back on again felt disgusting. I examined myself while I sat on the toilet, but learned nothing new. Finally I wiped the steam off the mirror and stared at myself. Did I look different now? The hologram’s twin stared back at me. If I did, it wasn’t obvious.

When I opened the bathroom door I found myself face to face with Jones.

“Hi. Sleep well? Ready for breakfast?”

I just stared at him. He looked unchanged, still the Greek god, his hair a little tousled, morning-fresh, a dimpled smile for me.

“You drugged me,” I said. Start small and work up, I decided.

“Just a mildly opiated relaxant, same as I had,” he said.

“Why lie about it? We both know what you did.”

I waited for him to deny it, but he just smiled, as if dismissing my accusation, and said, “Come on. Let’s eat. Let’s get some food in you. The way you ate those burgers, I’ll bet you don’t eat well. You need to put a little flesh on your bones.” He turned and casually walked down the hall, almost sauntering, like he hadn’t a care in the world, leaving me to follow.

Put a little flesh on my bones, huh? He’d seen my scrawny body naked and didn’t care that I knew it. He exposed his back to me, I thought. He’s a fool.

Unwillingly, I followed him into his dining room. It was a relatively small room — but bigger than the bedroom I’d used — dominated by a large table in the middle. A chandelier hung over the table and cast a warm light. There were chairs along the walls and one already pulled up to the table.

He swung out another, placing it next to his, but I ignored the gesture and went to the other side of the table, opposite him, and pulled up a chair. We both sat, facing each other, Jones with a shrug and a disarmingly rueful smile.

“What would you like for breakfast?” he asked.

“Whatever you’re having,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim black object, putting it on the table. While he held it in place with his left hand, he jabbed his middle right-hand finger at it repeatedly, then stopped. He looked up at me. “On the way,” he said genially. He put the black thing back in his pocket.

A discreet chime sounded. Jones rose and went to a cabinet on the wall behind him. When he opened it I could see two plates of food sitting there. A mouthwatering aroma wafted out with the steam. I realized how hungry I was.

Jones set one plate in front of me and one at his place and turned back to get two cups of what smelled like first-rate coffee. I stood up and reached across the table to swap our plates.

He saw me doing it and laughed heartily. I was starting to truly hate his laughter. “They’re exactly the same,” he said, still laughing at me. “I don’t care which one I have.” And to prove it, he picked up a fork and took his first bite of his eggs.

A large omelet, slices of toast, sausages, coffee — it was a decent breakfast and I ate all of it. I also drank all my coffee, after switching cups while Jones watched, grinning. I drank it black because Jones did.

When I put down my fork on my empty plate he asked me, “Feeling better now? How about a smile?”

“I’m no longer hungry,” I said, “but I don’t feel like smiling at you.”

“You did last night,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“What are you talking about?”

“Last night. I made you happy then.”

I pushed to my feet, the chair catching on the rug and falling over. I didn’t care. “You miserable smug bastard!” I glared at him. “You raped me. You raped me!”

“I didn’t,” he said, shaking his head but still smiling. “You loved it. I had trouble keeping up with you. So demanding!”

I stared at him. I couldn’t believe his gall, his calm denial.

“What’s the matter? Didn’t I measure up to your usual lovers? You told me I was better than Jonny.” The words seemed to ooze out of him.