Brian D'Amato - The Sacrifice Game

So I did all that and cleaned up and then tasted it.

Gastronodelic, I thought. Not quite there yet, though. Only one thing could possibly make it better. I checked the GPS. It showed Marena’s Cherokee hurrying into the hospital parking lot. Whatever. I got the Lobel Brothers tub out of my food delivery, put the two Styro cylinders on the lap desk, and poured the little one over the big one.

Fabulous. I took a fountainspoonful.

Mnmnmnmnmn.

Perfect. Perfectomundino.

“Hi, Jed.”

“Hi, Marena.”

“So how are you doing?” she asked. She put down an empty Phlegmy cup, found the food delivery, dug out a slice of salmon, folded it onto a big round water biscuit, and pushed the package five finger-widths in front of me.

“I’m good,” I said. An imaginary mosquito buzzed behind my neck. That thing I’d forgotten. Damn.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Why, don’t I seem good?”

“Well, I don’t want to say you don’t seem good, but you don’t seem exactly happy, you know.”

“Maybe I just have a sad face.” I lifted out a slice and lowered it onto my plate. I took a bite. It wasn’t dry enough and the smoking was different, but it still had that great old taste. I said thanks to Great Grandfather Salmon.

“Oh, yeah… but, you know, you brought back the stuff, we’ll work out the LEON software on the Sacrifice Game, we’ll deal with it, we should all be feeling a lot better than we did two months ago.”

“Yes.” I uncapped the Tabasco sauce and shook five shake-worths onto the salmon.

“I mean, I know it’s hard to believe, but there was a time when people weren’t so blase about time travel.”

“Right.”

“You’re like Neil Armstrong or, well, you know, I hesitate to mention Christopher Columbus, obviously.”

“Thanks,” I said. “No one’s going to know about it, though, right?”

“Come on, don’t make me a schmuck. What’s it look like out there?”

“It doesn’t work too well without the drugs.”

“I know,” she said, “but still… seriously, what’s up with it? Any stock tips?”

“Uh, yeah. Buy gold and ammunition and keep them both under the mattress and stay down there with them.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know. Yes, basically.”

“Do you realize you’ve used up, like, half a bottle of Tabasco sauce?”

“Uh, no,” I said, “I guess I hadn’t noticed that.” I put down the bottle. “Thank you.” I picked up the cup of water and automatically poured a shot out on the floor for No Way. “Oops. Sorry,” I said. I found a napkin and bent down to wipe up the spill. The cup was still in my hand.

“It’s okay,” Marena said. I looked up at her. She wasn’t looking. I knocked the Tabasco sauce onto the tile floor.

“Oops again.” When I stood up I stepped on the bottle. It shattered.

“Damn,” I said. “Sorry. I am such a total mess.”

“It’s nothing,” Marena said. She started to get up.

“No, sit, I’ve got it,” I said. I squatted and picked up the pieces, getting sauce in my hands. Damn. Random perturbation. Okay. Mime washing. I took the pieces and cap thingy to the bathroom, pulling my IV with me. In the bathroom I rinsed my hands and, noisily, dropped most of the bottle in the wastebasket. I kept a nice long shard that, conveniently, had part of the neck on it, making a good handle. I tucked it under the soft inner-arm edge of my cast, sat back down, and picked up the clear sporkf.

“You know, you’ve been stabbing that salmon over and over.”

“Oh. Sorry.” The mosquito was buzzing louder.

“Yeah,” she said, “the way you’re holding that fork, I don’t know, it’s scary.” Pause. “Okay, so, you want to show me what you’re doing with the Game? Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I said. You lyin’, cheatin’ honky-tonk angel, I thought. I am totally onto you. I finished smoothing down the foil and rolled it into a little cylinder. This stuff is incredible, I thought. Color, thinness, pliability, a miraculous confluence of properties achieved by some unfathomable alchemy… in the old days we would have traded ten thralls for something like this. I slipped it into my shirt pocket.

“This tastes kind of weird,” she said, “is there salt in it?”

I looked around. She’d picked up what was left of my ice cream soda and tried it.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “That’s the way we used to have it.”

“What is that?” she asked.

“It’s a chocolate soda,” I said.

She looked up at me. It was one of those moments. She knew.

“Is that blood?” she asked.

“Um-”

“ Is it? Gross! Jesus!”

“Well, no, it’s beef stock, it’s just, like, au jus from Lobel Brothers-”

“Jed, it’s blood, it’s blood and I think I’m going to throw up.” She put the glass down on the table and looked away. Her face was all scrunched up.

“Sorry,” I said.

“I think we have to get you some help.”

“Oh, please,” I said. I looked down at the clotting soda. It didn’t seem quite so appetizing anymore. But I picked it up and took a slug anyway.

“Jed, I’m your good friend,” Marena said, “and I really feel like you might be freaking out just a little bit. Do you have any feelings in that regard?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” I said.

“Would you be willing to talk to the shrink? I mean without anybody else around. Confidentiality city.” She poured herself some water. The moment she wasn’t looking I slid the bottle fragment under the pillow. You could really dig out a pretty big plug of flesh with this thing. I cached the glass ready-to-hand in the near corner pocket of the pool table. Marena pulled out a baby Lurisia, wrenched it open, and drank half the bottle.

“Well?” she asked. “Seriously.”

“Uh, sure,” I said, “I mean, I’ll see what I can do, I’m not sure I want to go into therapy or anything-”

“No, no.”

“But, you know, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life confused either.”

She came over and put her hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes.

“Jed, seriously. I’m on your side. What’s going on?”

“I don’t think it’s anything,” I said. I moved my eyes away from actually looking into hers and focused on a tiny little mole on her forehead.

“Your eyes look like they’re not focusing or something.”

“Yeah, I think, uh, that’s right-”

“Maybe you should take a Val or four and chill.”

“I will.”

“Okay.” She sat down.

“Okay,” I said. I flicked on my screen. “Okay, just a beat, I have to purify the directions.”

“Uh, right.”

“Tin chi’m tex tahlah tex to cal ual tu cal xol,” I said.

“Cantul ti ku cex cantul lubul bin yicnal.”

“My breath is black, my breath is yellow, my breath

Is white, my breath is red. Accept her head.”

“Som pul yicnal can yah ual kak ke

Tix tu ch’aah u kah u chi u sudz.”

“Accept her husk, her skin. We cast her down,

Into the heart of the cave lake, turquoise heart.”

“So look inside,” I said to Marena. “Check it out.” I moved the marker and entered the move. Marena leaned over the screen.

“See the deal?” I asked. I got my glass knife out from under the pillow but kept it out of her sight line.

“I can’t focus on this anymore,” she said. She pushed back.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“Nothing.” She got up and moved away.

“No, you have a problem,” I said. “I can tell.” I pulled out my IV needle and, without thinking about it, licked away the drop of blood. She recoiled a little. I moved away from her, but between her and the door, keeping my right hand down at my side with the glass in the lee of her vision. “Seriously,” I said. “Please don’t make me upset. I know I look like a nerd, but when I do get upset, people say I’m hard to deal with. This is not a threat.”