Ceramic DM, Round Two: Piratecat vs. Berandor
Dancing in the Streets
Part one: Dan Smith
The door to the delivery room flew open. A nurse hastened out, pressing a hand to her mouth. Dan stopped wringing his hands and got up.
»Miss? Is everything alright?«
The nurse barely spared him a look and rushed along, disappearing into the ladies' room down the hallway. Dan looked at the door to the delivery room. It was closing slowly. It drew Dan towards it. From inside the room, he heard the doctor giving orders like a general under fire: frantic, yet calm at the same time.
»More swab. Hold it tight. You'll have to sew it. I'll take care of the cervix. Don't faint on me now. For god's sake, get yourself together!«
Rachel's voice was but a tiny whisper in comparison, but Dan heard her every word. »Can I see him?«
The door fell closed. The voices ceased.
A terrible scream echoed through the ward. Dan rushed to the door, but he would be too late. Rachel was dead.
-
Dan took Adam home the same night. The doctors said it was dangerous, that the child might die.
»Very well«, Dan answered. He hoped it did. The ›child‹ was an abnormity, an ugly miscreation. And more, it had killed Rachel. When Dan looked at that misshapen face, he felt like he might puke. He brought the thing home and put it into the room they had prepared. The cot barely contained its bloated body. Dan could not stop staring. The child looked back with its bulging eyes, silent as death.
Dan forced himself away. He closed the door behind him and went downstairs into the living room to make short work of any alcohol he could find. God willing, he would get too drunk to climb the stairs and choke the child as it slept.
»My son«, he said, tasting the words. They tasted foul, slimy. He resisted the urge to spit them out. Tomorrow, he would get a caretaker for the thing. Tonight, he would drink.
-
Over the next months, Dan went through several caretakers. Adam freaked them out. It wasn't so much his looks, they claimed (though Dan hardly believed them). It was his silence. Adam would not utter a sound, whether he was hungry, tired, or his diapers were full. One woman went so far as to put a needle into his arm. The boy flinched, but he did not cry.
A friend of Rachel's, Myriel T. Hago, urged Dan to see a doctor. She was preparing a lawsuit against BioLabs for the radiation treatments Rachel had undergone, a process called OptiChild that was supposed to genetically enhance a child's intelligence. Dan didn't want to spend any more money on Adam than was necessary, but the more damage he could claim, the more likely would BioLabs have to pay for their part in the killing of his wife. He relented.
They did not have to wait for the examination. The nurse was anxious to get Adam out of her sight again and had them go right through. The doctor stared at Adam for a few seconds before catching himself. Dan felt like he was the father of the elephant man. The doctor examined Adam thoroughly. The child's muscles had atrophied from lack of exercise, and of course his bones were bent and crooked, but the nerve reaction was normal, as was his larynx. Adam felt discomfort and pain, and he wasn't dumb, either. He simply didn't cry. Or babble, for that matter.
Dan heaved Adam back into the car. He didn't fasten the seatbelt around the child – perhaps he would have an accident and be relieved of the boy. He got into the driver's seat. Adam stared at him.
»What are you looking at?«, Dan said. »You're gonna kill me, too?«
-
»It's not looking good«, Myriel admitted. »The jury is not convinced you're not simply out for the money.«
»Out for the–« Dan was furious. »It took me almost two years to get this thing to court, and now I'm the bad guy? Let me testify, and I will tell them who the bad guy really is.«
»We can't do that«, Myriel said. »The defense will tear you apart. You're not exactly father of the year.«
»But my wife is dead! And I have to live with – with a freak instead of her.«
»Still, that's not going to make your standing with the jury any better.«
»Then what do you expect me to do?«
Myriel paused for a second. »Get Adam.«
Dan shook his head. »No way.«
»Yes way.« She patted his arm. »We can sell your reluctance as not wanting to hurt the boy, but we have to have him appear in court. One look at him–«
»One look at him, and they'll know what a monster he is.«
»And that BioLabs created him.«
The next day, Dan took Adam to court. The boy looked grotesque, just as Myriel had imagined he would. Barely two years old, he was already the size of a young boy. Dan had put him into a large steel basin in order to make his appearance even more striking. He'd never bothered to buy any clothes for Adam, so the boy was nude and only covered by a large blanket. He still didn't have any hair on his body. Dan could not bear to look at his face with its fat lips, the flat nose and the trumpet-like ears sticking to the sides like alien antennae.
When he ascended the stairs to the courthouse, people started gathering around him. Everybody wanted to take a look at this freak of a child, it seemed. Suddenly, someone pulled the blanket away and revealed the cancerous blob of flesh the boy had for genitalia. The crowd murmured, cell phones and digital cameras flashed. Someone flung a water balloon at Adam. It hit him in the chest. It must have been filled with jelly of some kind, because now Adam was covered in a greasy substance as if freshly born.
As if he had just torn Rachel apart. The crowd roared, and even more cameras flashed.
Dan stumbled into the courthouse, barely reaching the men's room before throwing up. He rinsed his mouth with water, and then went to find someone to clean Adam up.
Three days later, the jury awarded Dan and Adam two hundred forty-one million dollars in damages. Another week later, BioLabs declared bancruptcy. They never paid a cent.
-
Dan wrote a book. It came out on the fourth anniversary of Rachel's death. It was an account of Rachel's pregnancy, and of Dan's life with Adam. Critics hailed it as »impressive«, »depressing and realistic«, and »brave and honest«. Dan's editor wanted a picture of Adam on the cover. Dan said no. Ernie also disliked the title. Dan resisted. And so, ›Torn Apart: how OptiChild killed my wife and ruined my life‹ featured an overly cute baby on its cover, and kept its title. It sold one hundred and seventeen copies.
-
Dan put his briefcase on the kitchen table. He scratched his head and got himself a glass and a fresh bottle of vodka. He was in the middle of his second glass when he noticed the sheet of paper. Marie had written a letter. Another caretaker had quit. Dan walked to the foot of the stairs. The first floor was eerily silent.
»Just shout if you need something«, he muttered, then went back to his drink.
The bottle was half empty before he dared check the mail. Invoices, all of them. Dan threw them away. Only when the bottle was empty did Dan notice it had been his last one. He would need to buy some more. He got into the car and drove to town.
A truck was parking in front of Jimmy's Liquor. Dan parked right behind and fumbled to get the key out of the ignition. He made to get out of the car. He noticed the bookstore next to Jimmy's Liquor. He froze. His book stared right at him, on sale for thirty percent off.
»...ruined my life,« Dan muttered. »Ruined.«
The cutest baby in the world grinned at him from the cover of his book.
Dan put the key back into the ignition and started the car. With screeching tires, he sped off. He didn't need more vodka. He needed a gun.
-
Dan opened the door to Adam's room. It was dark; a handful beams of sunlight streaked through the window shutters. Dan was nearly overwhelmed by the smell. He wondered when Marie had left and whether she'd cleaned Adam before she had. He stepped forward to the large cot. Adam sat there, dressed in diapers and nothing else, dried feces on his stomach and legs.
»You're almost five«, Dan leered. »You should have learned to clean yourself by now, freak.«
A book lay next to him, but Dan couldn't make out its title. He picked it up: ›Berenice‹. It didn't seem like a children's book, but then he didn't know that much about children's books, anyway. Or about writing books. Dan drew the gun he'd just bought.
He pointed it at Adam. It felt reassuringly heavy in his hand. Adam simply stared at it. His ears twitched, but his eyes did not blink.
»You killed my wife and ruined my life.«
Adam reached out to touch the gun, but his bent arms did not reach it.
»You f...ing ruined my life.« Dan felt tears running down his face. He tried to blink them away. When he closed his eyes, he could hear Rachel's dying scream, her terror when she saw what she had given birth to. Sorry, the doctors had said. Bancrupt, BioLabs had said. Thirty percent off, the picture had said.
»F...ing starve to death, you freak.« Dan turned the gun around, put it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.
The police found Adam, caked in feces and blood, reading his book in near total darkness.
-
Part two: Adam
His mother had been a dancer, Adam was sure of it. She danced all the time, even when there wasn't any music playing. She heard the music in her head, and that was enough. Adam could see her, standing in the street, her hands full with shopping bags, spreading her arms and swirling around. All the other people had to duck away from her, to make room for her dancing. And they looked at her angrily, and she smiled, and their anger disappeared.
And when she came home, she would grab Adam and sweep him through the kitchen, into the living room, and out into the garden. She sun would shine for them, and they would smile back at the sun, and everything would be fine.
But his mother never came home. She had spoken, she had sung, she had screamed. And when she did, she had died. Adam would not die, and so he did not speak, nor sing, nor scream. It was too dangerous.
Adam still remembered the look the doctor gave him in the delivery room. He remembered the exact face the man had made, even though at the time, Adam had not known it was a face. He remembered everything that had ever happened to him. If one of the many caretakers read a book to him, he would remember every sound she made, and every letter that went along with it. And if his father came into his room late at night to sneer at him, Adam would remember every bit of hate and disgust that man offered him. And when his father went back to his drinks, Adam would close his eyes and see his mother dance.
He also remembered the gun in his face. It was one of his favorite memories. He had been tested, then. Adam had been hungry that evening, and soiled. His father had taken his book away, and then threatened him with a gun. But Adam had not said anything. For a moment, he'd wanted to apologize, even though he didn't know why or what for, but he had managed to remain silent, and had survived.
Silence was golden.
-
After his father died, Adam was brought to Saint Angela's orphanage, where the only book allowed was the bible, where the nuns were mean, and where the children were meaner. The nuns often beat Adam with a paddle, and the children liked to try to make him scream by pinching him or putting beetles on his face. Still, it was the best time he'd had so far. Adam was put into a wheelchair, and as he learned to push the wheels and himself forward, he was also allowed to go outside, to the courtyard. It was so wonderful, Adam had almost squealed with joy, and only barely restrained himself.
About six weeks after he had gotten to the orphanage, a woman arrived. Adam recognized her as his father's lawyer, Myriel. She smelled nice, not at all like the nuns. She smelled of life. Adam watched her bosom rise and fall as she breathed. He liked that.
»Hey,« Myriel said. »How are you, Adam? You look good.«
Adam would never look good; not while he was in this imperfect body. But he chose not to hold the lie against her.
»I've got good news«, she said. »They're going to publish a book about you. Your father wrote it – most of it, anyway, and now they've got this journalist who's going to write an addendum. And you know what?«
She smiled at him. Adam stared back, too caught up in her smell and her breathing to react.
»They want a picture of you on the cover. You know what the cover is, don't you?«
Adam made his ears twitch. Myriel got the hint.
»Of course you do. Anyway, what do you say if we go outside and make a few pictures, right now? It'll be fun!«
Adam forced his maligned muscles into a smile.
»Great! Let's go.«
›Suffer the Little Children‹ came out two months later, featuring Adam's face on the cover and a full-body shot on the back. It sold a hundred million copies worldwide.
A few months later, Adam was adopted by struggling physicist Dr. Mark Adair, his wife Emily, and their son Steve. The money, they claimed, was not a factor in their decision.
-
»What's this, then?« Steve asked.
He was home on one of his rare visits from UCLA, and as always he wanted to see what Adam had been up to since they last saw each other. Steve probably thought that as always, it would end with him rolling his eyes at Adam and leaving for university with new stories about his freak brother.
Adam typed something into the computer installed on his wheelchair, and the monitor facing Steve showed the message.
It's comfortable.
»Yeah?« Steve frowned. »Maybe for someone like you, but I've grown in the last ten years. I wouldn't even fit in.«
Sure you would.
»Anyway. What's it for?«
I can't explain. I must show you.
Adam could have explained. He could have explained that after getting his engineering degree and his doctor of medicine, he had spent what had been left of his fortune to build himself a new body. That he had invented and constructed a machine that would tear his own body to shreds, preserving only the brain, and transplanting it into a perfect shell, a slim, lithe, and powerful body looking not unlike a mannequin and being equally sexless. Adam saw no use for genitals. And he saw no use in explaining all this to Steve, the art major who couldn't tell the difference between a neuron and a neutron.
»Alright, but I gotta tell you, I feel like an assistant to Copperfield or something. Don't saw me into two, alright?«
I will make you disappear.
Steve laughed. » I see you've developed a sense of humor. Better late than never, eh?«
Adam did not respond. Steve shrugged. »Whatever.«
He sat down on the edge of the chamber and swung his feet inside. Finally, he took up a curled position in the nest-like chamber.
»This must be what flying in an alien escape pod must feel like.« Steve turned to look at Adam and put his hand up like a telephone.
»Adam phone home.«
Very funny, Adam typed. He called up the command screen on his computer and de-activated the interior controls. Now to see whether his construction had worked. Would Steve's body be totally destroyed? Would his brain survive long enough for a theoretical transplantation? Adam clicked on the command screen. The chamber closed.
»What the–?« Steve sounded surprised, but not worried. »It seems I was wrong about your sense of humor, Adam, because that's not. Funny! Now let me out of here.«
Adam hesitated for a moment. Nothing had happened yet. He could pretend it had just been a joke. Nobody would ever know. Nor would he know whether the extractor worked. Adam imagined himself in his new body. Walking across the street, jumping over fences, and above all: dancing. He saw himself dancing. He clicked the screen again.
»What's happening now, Adam? What's tha–«
The rest was screaming.
Adam cursed himself for not sound-proofing the extractor. He turned his wheelchair away from the machine and towards the stairs out of the basement. That's where Steve's parents would come from if they heard anything. Adam counted ten seconds before the scream was cut off. He waited for ten minutes, and when nobody came, he turned his focus back on the conputer screen. He smiled. The extraction had been a success.
-
Adam bounded up the stairs and threw the door wide open. He ran into the moonlit garden, arms spread wide. He tested his new legs by jumping up and down a few times. He turned around and around, in ever faster circles, watching the world swoosh past his new eyes. He heard the living night with his new ears, and the distant sound of a television.
-
Dr. Mark Adair got up as the first commercial began to blare its message. »Do you want something from the kitchen, Em?«
»You could re-fill my wine,« Emily Adair answered, holding up her empty glass without looking. Mark Adair took the glass from her hands.
Adam watched his foster father leave the room. He opened the garden door and slipped into the living room. With a few steps – actual steps! – he stood behind the couch. Emily did not look up. For a moment, Adam watched her bosom rise and fall as she breathed. He liked that. Emily shuddered.
»Did you open a window, honey?«
She turned her head. Adam pressed one hand in front of her mouth and the other around her neck. He broke her like a twig.
»Did you say something?« Dr. Mark Adair came back from the kitchen, a glass of wine and a bottle of beer in his hands. He froze as he saw Adam's new body.
»Who – what are you?« His foster father looked past him. »What did you do to my wife?«
Adam walked towards his foster father. He had to set himself free. Mark Adair stared at him, eyes growing wide, recognizing something.
»Adam? Is that you?«
Adam gently took the wine glass from his foster father's hands. It did not break. Adam had perfect control over his electronic muscles. He plunged the glass deep into his foster father's chest.
-
Adam stepped over the twitching body. He had remade himself, and now his fake family was gone. Soon, he would dance with his mother. There were just a few more ties he had to sever. He still remembered the children who had tortured him, the nurses who had punished him, and the look on the doctor's face in the delivery room. And he remembered all of their names.
-
The orphanage was quiet in the night. Adam stalked the hallway leading to the head nurse's office. He should have come here first. Looking up the children's names, even on the internet, had not helped very much. Adam had only been able to locate three of them, and one had already been dead. The other two had died quickly, as well. Adam found that he had gotten somewhat bored of killing. Perhaps after burning down the orphanage, he would stop for a while. Leave the country, take dancing lessons, and come back when the mood struck him. It wasn't as if he was pressed for time.
Light spilled out from under the office door. Adam heard pages being turned, accompanied by stifled yawns. He turned the doorknob and opened the door just an inch, when suddenly it was pulled from his grip and pulled back.
There were three men in the office, dressed in riot gear. One man was flipping the pages of a book. The second one had opened the door and smiled grimly at Adam, mimicking a yawn. The third one stood directly in front of the doorway, aiming large rifle at Adam. The hum of electrical current emanated from the strange-looking weapon.
»Hello, Adam,« said the gunman. He pulled the trigger. There was a flash, and then darkness.
-
Another flash, and the world came back. He was outside. It was day. In front of him, half a dozen soldiers with automatic rifles knelt on the ground, facing him. Adam tried to shield himself from the sun, but his arm wouldn't lift. He looked at his body – what was left of it. His arms had been torn off. His legs stuck in a block of cement. They would not move, either. Furthermore, he was bound tight to a pole.
»Adam Smith,« a woman said.
He turned his head back towards the firing squad. Next to the soldiers was a woman in a business dress, reading from a folder she held in her hands.
»You have been found guilty of murder and sentenced to death. In order to insure your passing, your artificial body will be put under heavy fire until it is utterly destroyed. Do you have any final words?«
Adam did not respond. He wanted to see them try.
»Very well,« the woman said. She turned to one of the soldiers. »Sergeant.«
Muzzles flared in staccato. Bullets step-danced on his skin, ricocheting everywhere. The paint coat splattered, tumbling through the air like snowflakes. His skin bent, but did not break.
The gunfire stopped, magazines depleted. Adam's left eye had stopped working, but other than that, he felt fine. The soldiers stared at him. The sergeant spit.
»Get the grenade launcher.«
One of the soldiers got up and hurried to a building in the distance. Adam tried to grin, but only half of his mouth still obeyed his commands.
Was it simply the echo of the gunfire, or did he hear music? Yes, definitely. It had an Eastern European flavor. Adam turned his head to see where it came from. There, next to the firing squad, was a group of four women, dressed in some kind of traditional garb, swirling around to the music. He had not noticed them before. Strange.
The soldier returned from the building, carrying a large rifle. One of the women stopped dancing. Her skirt continued to twirl. The soldier prepared the rifle and aimed. Adam stared in shock at the woman – it was her! She had finally come to him. He wanted to join her, to dance with her, but his legs would not move. They were trapped in something. Adam pulled with all his might, but they would not budge.
The woman smiled at him, holding out a hand, beckoning to him. And yet he could not reach her. Adam opened his mouth.
»Mother,« he said, only then realizing his mistake. He had spoken.
The sergeant nodded towards the soldier.
»Fire!«
