30. Crash space

“Indoors sucks,” Michel said. “I’m more like your dad that way.”

“What’s his dad like?” Jesse asked curiously.

“I’m right here.”

Jesse looked at George as they walked along.  Michel made a goofy face, and George said, “You know I can see you.”

“Do you have eyes in the back of your head?” Jesse asked.  It had always bothered him, how aware George was — while pretending not to be.

“And the top of his head, and the soles of his feet, and the tips of his fingers. Mind you he got no head, no feet and no fingers, but he doesn’t let that stop him,” Michel said.

“You are a mixer,” George said quellingly.

“Are you — are you a shapeshifter?” Jesse asked in horror.

George’s “No!” cut across Michel’s knowing laugh.

“We’re a separate species from humans, not a magical variant of them,” George said. “There’s nothing magical about us at all.”

“Bullshit,” Jesse said.

“He’s telling the truth,” Michel said, nodding soberly.

“If you’re not human, and you’re not supernatural — or what, I guess ‘folkloric’? — what are you?” Jesse said.  “Are you defrocked gods or something?”

George shook his head.  Michel was smiling again.

“Nope,” George said, making it two syllables. “We’re born, we live, we die, just like every other critter on this planet.”

The bottom dropped out of Jesse’s stomach. There was an explanation that readily covered George and Michel’s oddity, but he hadn’t thought of it until George said ‘planet’.

“Feeling okay?” Michel murmured.

Jesse started to feel that an invitation to crash at George’s place might come at a high cost to his mental health. He took a deep breath, expelled it noisily and said, “What is it that you are seeing, when you can tell I’m upset about something?”

“Blood flow,” George said.

“How do you see it?”

“Colour and heat,” George said. “That, and posture.”

“But you can’t read my mind.”

“We know where the blood’s going,” Michel said.

“Refinements in medical imaging have made it easier to guess what’s going on. We’ve had years of observation, but it’s always good to have them confirmed by science. Yes, we know you’re upset.  We can also guess why.”

“You have arrived at your destination,” Michel said. With smooth efficiency, he entered the variety store, and picked out six items: milk, Cheerios, instant coffee, toilet paper, hand soap and a two bags of corn chips.

George and Jesse waited outside.

“Why don’t you eat?” Jesse asked suddenly.

George took the question with urbane calm, and replied, “I don’t have to. If it makes you feel any better, Michel eats a lot.”

“Everybody has to eat,” Jesse said.  “You’re fucking with basic physics if you don’t eat, and heading back into supernatural territory.”

“I have vestigial hunger, but I’m not going to talk about it until I’m home, and maybe not then.  I’ve been good-tempered about your questions, but they are tiresome and unwelcome. Could we please change the subject?”

Michel exited the store and handed Jesse the bags.

“What do I owe you?” Jesse said, reaching for his wallet.

Michel shook his head. “Just make sure you drink all the milk. If it goes bad in the fridge it may be weeks before George does anything about it.”

“Can’t you smell it?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah, but he don’t care,” Michel said. “And you heard him, enough with the third degree.”

Jesse’s phone alarm for dawn went off with a croaking sound.

Michel hadn’t heard it before, and looked questioningly at him.

“Gotta get indoors,” Jesse said.

“It’s not far, maybe ten minutes.”

“We could go faster,” Michel said, and Jesse, sensing that he might be the victim of a practical joke, tensed a little.

“Nonsense.  We have plenty of time, and Jesse has the mask in his backpack,” George replied.

George lived in a condo rental in a modest (there was no concierge) twelve storey building.

It was as spartan as George had hinted. There was a very strange looking bed, a sofa, a lamp, a TV and a remote. There was literally nothing else, no kitchen table, no chairs.

“Shit,” Michel said. “Should I have gotten cutlery?”

“I have one of each in the kitchen.”

“I carry utensils and a coffee cup,” Jesse said. He went straight to the kitchen to put away the milk, and opened the fridge door.

It was empty.

There wasn’t even ice in the trays, or a lonely box of baking soda.

After a very long pause, enlivened by Michel rolling his eyes and shooting out his lower lip, Jesse said, “Has there ever been anything in this fridge?”

“Raw tuna, beer, raw salmon, sushi and Chinese takeout,” George said.

“Who was the beer for?” Michel asked.

“The phone guy.”

“Ah,” Michel said.

“Who’s the phone guy?” Jesse asked.

“For the love of fair play and good manners, can we please cease to use interrogation as a discursive technique?”

“Fine,” Jesse said. He walked out of the kitchen, closed the living room curtains, which he was unsurprised to see were perfectly opaque, and sat down on the couch. “Pillows? Blankets?” he asked. “Or is that too interrogatory for you?”

Michel fetched them from a cupboard. Jesse made up his bed and got his earplugs and sleeping mask out, and without further comment stripped off to his briefs and sealed his disgusting clothes in a camping bag.

George got into the bed, which appeared to have a rolling wooden top, said, “Good night,” and closed it.

“You should get one of those,” Michel said.

“Nah,” Jesse said. It was a handsome piece of furniture, for a roll-top coffin. “I can’t sleep in a confined space; believe me, I’ve tried.”

Michel put his hand on the balcony door handle. “I’m off to the roof. It’s not a bad balcony but it’s got too much of an overhang, and I like to feel the wind in my hairs.”

“How are you getting to the roof?” Jesse said in alarm.

“Climbing, of course,” said Michel. He vanished. The door closed.