Part 10 (2/2)
”Firefly,” he said.
”The old Joss Whedon thing, or the remake?”
”Huh? It's just out.”
”The remake. Any good?””Still on the first chapter. There's no way out of Serenity Valley, no third-level choice till later.”
”Uh, right.”
When he'd been Marek's age, games, novels and movies had been separate things. Phone accounts had not been bank accounts; and phones were not computers.
Marek's gaze returned to the stilled image on screen.
This is stupid.
They had nothing to say to each other. He should leave the poor kid alone, let him immerse himself in imagination, forget the reality of what occurred. Up on the wall, the flat muscularity of Fireman Carlsen motto: Sh*t hot with a blade Sh*t hot with a blade was a mockery. It was the end-of-fight shot from the rematch against Slicer Stross, the Fireman's comeback from defeat, a cla.s.sic fight. Why had no one taken the poster down? was a mockery. It was the end-of-fight shot from the rematch against Slicer Stross, the Fireman's comeback from defeat, a cla.s.sic fight. Why had no one taken the poster down?
”I just wanted to say I'm sorry about... everything.”
”Sure.” Marek's lower lip seemed to be swelling.
”Look, I can”
Then Marek was sobbing. ”He sliced me.” He pulled the white blanket aside, pulled up his pyjama s.h.i.+rt, revealing white plastic, an abdominal sh.e.l.l. ”They were slipping out, my things, my insides. They're soft and, and... wet.”
”Yes.”
”You don't know. n.o.body”
Josh's voice dropped. ”I know.”
Marek stopped. His eyes went wide as Josh touched the plastic with one finger.
”This is bad,” Josh went on. ”Real bad, and you can get through it. You ever heard of Ironman?”
With a sniff: ”The remake?”
That was promising, the slyness of his humour.”I mean the event. Run, bike, swim. You ever seen it on screen?”
”I guess.”
”Friend of mine competes, fittest man I know. Had one of these” Josh tapped the plastic ”for nearly two years.”
”He's... all right?”
”Oh, yeah.” Apart from rippling scars, the hollow curvature of skin and missing muscle. ”Super, super fit.”
”Oh.”
Josh stood up. For some reason, the movement brought back his memory of the movie game, whatever that Marek was watching, and the military disaster it began with.
”You know, if the events at the start hadn't happened, there'd have been no story. They survived the hard times, got through them.”
”Oh.”
”Take it easy, my friend.”
He let himself out of the room and went downstairs, not quite smiling, but aware that he might have done some good.
Sophie. Oh, Jesus, Sophie. Some good, but not enough. Some good, but not enough.
Tears like acid came from nowhere.
Finally, Irina showed them out, her smile sad but her eyes bright; and she watched them until they reached the car, then closed the door. Josh reached for the door handle, but Kath stood unmoving. Then tipped her head back toward the house.
”Take a look at this.”She walked back to the wheelie bin out front, and pointed to one of the recycling boxes behind it. Then she raised the lid.
Vodka bottles filled the box.
Josh said, ”He's having a hard time of it.”
”Not Carl. He doesn't drink.”
”But”
The brightness in Irina's eyes. The near-permanent sad smile.
”s.h.i.+t.”
”I wish I could help, but I don't know how. Eileen would kill me if I tried.”
As headmistress, Eileen O'Donoghue would be worried about legal implications.
”I don't know how, either.”
Kath opened the car door. ”Maybe you need someone to look after you.”
This feels wrong. ”You go on. I'm all right.” ”You go on. I'm all right.”
”What do you mean?”
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