Dead Roots (The Analyst) (11 page)

The white sun beat down on the beach. A cool island breeze swept through Tom's hair. He felt the heat on his muscles, the sand between his toes. The cold gun’s handle in his palm. His fingers felt numb from the recoil of the shots he'd just fired. A small platoon of black-clad ninja assassins lay around him in heaps, their blood staining the otherwise spotless beach.

Evey was in the water, arms wrapped around her front, and a look of pure terror on her face. She was hyperventilating. Tom stepped over a black-suited body and strode towards her, leaving heavy footprints in the sand. When he reached her, he dramatically pulled off his mirrored shades and wrapped an arm around her.

“Don't worry, baby. I sent them on an express flight south. Way south.”

“Tom, I'm scared…”

“Don't be scared, sweetheart... I'm a professional.”

Evey wrapped her arms around him. Her perfect body pressed up against his. Tom let their weight drag them down into the wet sand on the water line. Evey lay on top of him and tugged at the waistband of his swim trunks. He cast his pistol aside, and kissed her.

Evey pulled her head back. “Do you think they'll be back, Tom?”

“I'm sure Professor von Mord isn't done yet. But no matter what he sends, he's gonna learn...”

He put his sunglasses back on.

“...That the Bell tolls for thee.”

Evey gave a lascivious grin. She ran her tongue across her lips.

“Mmm, yeah...”

Evey leaned down and kissed him hard on the mouth. Their bodies sunk into the sand.

*

“Cut the shit right now or I'll put you in the ground.”

A deep voice broke up their session. Tom, still lying on his back, tilted his head to look behind him. There was a very tall, upside-down black man in an expensive-looking suit. He was built like a linebacker.

“More assassins?” Tom said casually. He pushed Evey off him and stood up. He faced the man down as the form approached them swiftly.

“Don't get in the way, Tom,” the man said. Tom mused that he would have this guy on the floor in seconds, and then would go pluck one of those fat-looking coconuts from the nearby trees.

“You don't know who you're dealing with...”

Tom tried to deliver a karate punch, but his forearm was immediately captured by his opponent’s huge hands. Tom felt his arm twist around behind his back, and a pain like a hot knife shot into his shoulder. He crumpled to the ground.

“
Ahh.
God
damn
it…”

A high-pitched ringing sound broke the air, and he suddenly couldn't move. He clutched his hands against his ears. All Tom could do was flop onto his back, and watch helplessly as the huge assassin approached the screaming Evey. He saw massive hands reach for his lover’s throat.

********

“This one is with me, slut.”

The gray and black world came crashing back into existence.

Tom felt like he'd been thrown from a thirty story building as the ground under him suddenly returned to solid cold concrete floor. He rubbed his head and shook it from side to side violently. A smoky haze was lifted from his thoughts, but he still couldn't focus.

“Fuck.
Fuck.
Where--”

“Relax, Tom,” said Keda, who was kneeling down over him. Behind Keda was another man Tom didn't recognize, a slim Japanese man with wild hair, wearing a purple dress shirt. Tom gave a bleary wave to him. The stranger nodded in acknowledgement.

Tom realized he was back in the club. He sat up as Keda handed him a glass of ice water, from which he took a grateful gulp. He looked around for Evey.

“Where's...?”

“Over there.”

Keda thumbed to the wall behind himself. Tom saw Harold's huge form holding up a girl he recognized as Evey by the throat. She was choking out an apology.

“Mr. Saldana... I'm--”

“If you say sorry, I will
snap
your useless legs.”

“
Harold.
For God's sake, what are you
doing?
” Tom cried out in protest, trying to stand. Keda and the guy in the purple shirt gently held him in place.

“Stay back, Tom,” Harold commanded. Tom obeyed. “This is my fault. I apologize. I'll take out my frustration on this one.”

Evey no longer had her cute brown haircut. She had long black hair that was totally obscuring her face. Her fingers seemed longer with prominent knuckles, almost emaciated. Tom suddenly understood what was going on, and groaned loudly, no longer trying to stand up. Tom took a long sip from his glass of water, and Keda released him. He felt like the biggest idiot to ever walk the earth.

“She snared you,” Artie's voice cut in from behind him. Artie knelt down next to Tom and patted his shoulder. “You lucid?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm back. I hit you, didn't I?”

“Yeah, and you hit like a bitch.”

“I guess I should be thankful for that, then.”

“Yeah, I should too.” Artie's laugh. Tom was actually glad to hear it.

Harold turned his head back and barked back at Keda.

“Shinichiro, get those two out of here. This was a bad idea. Take them to Shibuya, or Roppongi, I don't give a fuck. I'll catch up.”

“Yes, Harold.”

Harold turned to look at Tom. His grip tightened around Evey, whose arms looked suspiciously longer than they had a moment ago.

“I apologize, Mr. Bell. There's a thousand American dollars in my account with your name on it, to make up for this little mishap.”

Tom shook his head.

“That's...”

“Get a decent drink and a real woman. I'll meet you later. Okay?”

Tom nodded his head dumbly, still bleary from the ordeal. “Sure thing, Harold.”

Harold smiled at Tom warmly. His face returned to a death glare as he turned to look back at his captive. Keda couldn't shuffle them out of there fast enough.

As the door to the stairwell snapped shut behind them, Tom shook away a pang of guilt, of regret, for leaving Evey in danger. It was bullshit, and he knew it. A lingering side effect, no different from drug-induced paranoia.

“I am literally the hugest moron,” he groaned.

“What?” Artie called over the music, which now drowned them out again. Tom shook his head.

“Nothing.”

********

“I'd never seen one of those things before,” Keda's fashionable friend piped up. He had introduced himself as Goichi. Tom had a little trouble hearing him over the clanking of the subway car.

“A succubus?” Artie responded genially. Tom was nursing a bottle of water. Keda was, true to his behavior this evening, quiet.

“Yes. Is that what it was called?” Goichi asked with interest.

“Yeah. They're far more common in Europe, so don't feel bad. I'm kind of surprised to see one this far from home, honestly.”

“And how do they operate?” Goichi pried further.

“You probably know the old archetype. Seduce men, steal their souls. More or less accurate, but 'soul' probably isn't the right word, and they can snare women too, though they tend to prefer guys. They just kind of... drain your energy, I guess? It's hard to quantify it, because anyone who’s ever been drained by one has committed suicide within twenty-four hours. It completely saps the victim's will to live.”

“Does that mean Tom is a special case?”

Tom rubbed his forehead. Artie turned to look at him.

“Well, she didn’t have time to drain him, but...”

“She definitely snared me.”

“What was it like?” Artie asked.

Tom cocked an eyebrow.

“Sorry, never mind. Too soon,” Artie tried to change the subject.

“I was in a fantasy,” Tom explained with a frown. “Like... I was just somewhere else. She put me in this little world. I probably would have stayed there until she was done with me.”

“What was it like in there?” Artie inquired.

The side of Tom's lip curled up. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. Goichi, right?”

“Yes,” Goichi responded with a warm smile. He reminded Tom of Keda in a lot of ways.

“What do you do? Are you a Medium?” Artie asked.

“Yes, but not like Keda. I'm a pleasure host, or a concierge as some call it.”

“I can guess what that means, and I'm not sure how to feel about it,” Tom chided.

“It's fairly self-explanatory. I willingly rent my body out to demons who are here to experience the pleasures of the corporeal body.”

“You're a prostitute,” Tom said sharply.

“Sex is a large part of my job, yes,” Goichi said smoothly, running a hand through his hair. “But also substances. Anything demons find novel, I allow them to experience. Some are content simply to sit in an apartment listening to music or taking in films. In a lot of ways it allows me to enjoy simplicity to life that other people, ironically, can't appreciate. Many take the world we live in and the amazing bodies we are given for granted.”

“I guess I see what you mean. But there are other things they might want to experience-- bad things. Hurting people, killing people. Rape. Dangerous situations. Do you expose yourself to that?”

“No. Those sorts of people are referred to as Hard workers, and they're usually the kind of people who would be doing those things, to themselves if not to others, regardless of if they had the convenient excuse of demonic possession to justify their actions. I take all the necessary precautions. I get tested regularly. I often take a partner along to keep watch in case the guest tries to push things further than I'm willing to let them. Some guests are more persuasive than others.”

“Does it happen often?”

“They commonly want to go quite far, I will admit. But I am experienced. The boundaries are set clearly when I make the pact, and I swiftly end the agreement if they make more than a cursory attempt to break them.”

“Is this sort of thing common? Are there a lot of people like you?”

“Very many,” Goichi said simply.

“Goichi. This is our stop,” Keda said suddenly. The train slowed to a stop. Tom looked up at the LED display over the door. They were not in Roppongi.

“Where are you guys headed?”

“I'm very exhausted,” Keda said with a defeated smile. “Goichi is taking me back to the hotel from here. I'll see you in the morning, Tom. Don't hurt yourself.”

“Sure, sure. Easy to get back there from Roppongi?”

“Harold will be picking you up. Just keep your cellphone handy.”

“Sure. You guys have a good night, nice to meet you.”

“You too, Tom,” Goichi said. The train doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss. The Asian men stepped outside and onto the stark white tile, disappearing into a nighttime crowd.

The train car, by contrast with the platform, was strangely sparse. There were other passengers, but Artie and Tom had a row of seats to themselves.

“You think those two are...?” Artie said under his breath with a cocked eyebrow. He sniggered to himself drunkenly.

“No, Artie. God, you're a child.”

“I'm getting sober. How far is Roppongi?”

“Map there says three more stops,” Tom said.

“Fuck. Wish I'd brought one for the road.”

“You'll live.”

The train groaned into motion. Tom jostled in his seat as it picked up speed, and again the loud hum of the carriage drowned their conversation from the ears of others.

“You think Keda is alright? Seems like the exorcism shook him up a bit,” Tom inquired over Artie's shoulder.

“Probably just drained, man. It's tough work.”

“Yeah.”

Tom's head tilted back. He stared idly at the ceiling. The bright fluorescent lights of the car stabbed his eyes, but outside the car it was pitch black in the subway tunnel.

Tom's eyes slid shut and he didn't feel himself drift off.

********

He was in an empty field that sprawled to the horizon. He didn't know how he got there, and he realized he was dreaming, but he was too far under to do anything about it.

The grass here was dead, brown. There were no trees. A flat, dead plain.

Tom looked up at the gray sky and felt exposed, tiny, with nothing around him but space and nothing between him and the heavens.

His head came back down to look ahead. Now there was something there. Figures in the distance, which he supposed to be trees, a short walk away. He set off towards them, having nothing better to do.

Getting closer, he realized they were not trees.

He almost tripped over a pothole in the ground. Something you might plant a shrub into. Or a tree. He noticed that there were many of them, spread out along the ground, then even more of them, stretching out into the distance.

Not twenty or thirty feet ahead of him, the holes were filled. Not with plants, but with people, their feet buried in the ground and their forms rising up.

The people were silent. Light- and dark-skinned people, men and women. The only thing they had in common, at a glance, being that they all stood dead still.  A handful of them had their arms and torsos contorted like oddly-shaped plants, frozen in place, their arms like branches. Most simply stood there with their buried feet and heads hung as if in shame or defeat, eyes closed.

“Hello?” Tom called. He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one.

He approached one, feeling bold. A bald Caucasian man, his head hung, his arms slumped forward lazily. Tom reached his hand out and pushed the man's chest. The big man didn't budge. He was firmly rooted and stiff. Tom noticed that his skin was dry to the touch, and hard, like stone or wood.

He slapped the man's cheek gently. The man’s head, at least, did move. It flopped to the side, but made no other response, physical or otherwise.

“Hello?” Tom asked again.

“Hello,” he heard faintly to his right, startling him.

A long-haired, emaciated stranger was walking towards the field of people.

“Who are you?”

“Hank,” the stranger said simply. He didn't make eye contact.

'Hank' approached one of the holes in the ground. He knelt down and patted the dirt, sizing it up.

“Good spot,” he said. He sat down and placed his feet in the hole. He scraped his hands against the ground, pushing more dirt into the hole to cover his feet.