Jimmy the Spook, Ghost in a Bottle, PART TWO
You can find part one of "Jimmy the Spook, Ghost in a Bottle," RIGHT HERE.
And now, unproofread,
“So," he says, dropping to the ground and picking up the duffle bag full of clothes I’ve brought him, “how’d everything turn out last time? I remember everything up until that gangsta’ clipped me in the temple with his knuckle-dusters.”
Keeping my face turned away from him, I pretend to be punching in information on the phone.
“Hang on,” I stall. I have to go through this sort of question every time we start him up again. The chip in his head contains everything that makes him Jimmy, including a little part that records his experiences from each new download. It saves as much of his “life” as it can, breaking it down into basic descriptions, but it’s a bit lossy, so some details get dropped. Beyond a certain point, the body he’s in starts to deteriorate to the point that the chip is of very little help, so it goes into a sort of standby mode while some sort of bizarre instincts take control of the body. We call it “Blackout.”
He still functions, but his personality and control just sort of drop by the wayside. I once saw him, in Kosovo, wandering around a warehouse, pointing his gun at everybody he saw, friend or foe, and pulling the trigger. He was out of bullets, but that never registered. I heard grown men yelp like puppies when the hammer came down and saw the same men wet themselves when three slugs in the chest barely slowed him down.
Click. Step. Click. Step.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Click. Step. Click. Step.
He pinned one guy in a corner and killed him by walking forward with his gun barrel pointed at the bastard’s eye. Kept walking and pulling the trigger as the metal burst the eye and was pushed deep into the brain. When I’d finished cleaning things up I had to pull his arm free so I could lay him down and remove the chip from his neck.
I wish the chip could record more, could preserve his personality better, then we could back him up straight from it, and…I wouldn’t have to watch my friend get less intelligent and less coherent, until his whole body just gives out.
“Spaz!” he shouts directly into my ear, prompting a reflexive slap from me. Even in “Hank’s” body, he can catch my wrist before my palm hits his cheek.
“Where the hell are you, man? C’mon, fill me in on last time so we can get moving,” he says, and unfolds the top of his turtleneck. I get him tight clothes that cover as much of his skin as I can. It helps hide the inevitable discoloration and the snug fit helps him maintain structural integrity for as long as he can.
“It, uh…it wasn’t pretty, man,” I said, looking at him with empty eyes.
His smile drops and he looks genuinely concerned. I never really get used to that. No matter who he’s in, his body language remains the same, so it’s like I’m watching a dead stranger perfectly imitating my best friend.
“You know how you’re always joking that this time is going to be the time that you turn into a zombie and start eating people?” He nods quietly. “Well, that’s what last time was.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious. The guys at the lab figure that must have been the last thought going through your head when the chip went into hibernation, so that was what your body got locked into performing,” He doesn’t speak, so I grimace and keep going, turning my head away again.
“You started off screaming 'Brains!' but that degenerated pretty quickly into just ‘Baaaa!’ The next thing I know you’ve grabbed one of the terrorists by the arm and started biting. Not like love bites, either, it was like you were eating a chicken leg. You’d tear out a big chunk and it would fall out of your mouth, so you’d do it again. Pretty soon he falls to the floor, his arm in tatters, and one of the other two shoots you in the back with his shotgun. The force blew you straight into the third guy. He…” I stop for a second.
“You chewed through his neck, Jimmy. Rigor mortis hit your arms, so you were holding him so tight he couldn’t move. You kept chewing and chewing until…until his goddamned head rolled right off his body.”
I finally look at him again and I swear he’s in some sort of shock. If his tear ducts worked, I swear he’d be crying. He’s always had an unnatural fear of zombies, so his joking about becoming one is some kinda fucked-up defense mechanism. He starts walking forward, raising his arms like he’s gonna hug me.
“Hey, man, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I tell him, backing slowly away. He looks at his arms, raised zombie-like, and drops them to his side.
“I…I’m…I’m sorry,” he stammers.
“Don’t worry about it, James. It’s not like it really happened or anything.”
I stare, deadpan, at Hank Resnick’s face and watch shock turn into brief anger and then a maniacal grin.
“You SON OF A BITCH, I actually fucking believed you, you asshole! God damn it, don’t do that to me, you fucking fuck!” and he falls back against a table, making the horrible noises that pass for laughing when he’s in a host.
Hell, yeah. We’re gonna have a good time with this last ride.
benjamin sTone
5:57 am, 03/24/05
Urbana, IL
Current Music: "Somewhere" -- Pet Shop Boys
Last Book I Read a Page of: A SCANNER DARKLY -- Philip K. Dick
Last Movie: LE TEMPS DU LOUP (Time of the Wolf), France, 2003
Next Movie: NEW YEAR SACRIFICE, China, 1956
And now, unproofread,
“So," he says, dropping to the ground and picking up the duffle bag full of clothes I’ve brought him, “how’d everything turn out last time? I remember everything up until that gangsta’ clipped me in the temple with his knuckle-dusters.”
Keeping my face turned away from him, I pretend to be punching in information on the phone.
“Hang on,” I stall. I have to go through this sort of question every time we start him up again. The chip in his head contains everything that makes him Jimmy, including a little part that records his experiences from each new download. It saves as much of his “life” as it can, breaking it down into basic descriptions, but it’s a bit lossy, so some details get dropped. Beyond a certain point, the body he’s in starts to deteriorate to the point that the chip is of very little help, so it goes into a sort of standby mode while some sort of bizarre instincts take control of the body. We call it “Blackout.”
He still functions, but his personality and control just sort of drop by the wayside. I once saw him, in Kosovo, wandering around a warehouse, pointing his gun at everybody he saw, friend or foe, and pulling the trigger. He was out of bullets, but that never registered. I heard grown men yelp like puppies when the hammer came down and saw the same men wet themselves when three slugs in the chest barely slowed him down.
Click. Step. Click. Step.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Click. Step. Click. Step.
He pinned one guy in a corner and killed him by walking forward with his gun barrel pointed at the bastard’s eye. Kept walking and pulling the trigger as the metal burst the eye and was pushed deep into the brain. When I’d finished cleaning things up I had to pull his arm free so I could lay him down and remove the chip from his neck.
I wish the chip could record more, could preserve his personality better, then we could back him up straight from it, and…I wouldn’t have to watch my friend get less intelligent and less coherent, until his whole body just gives out.
“Spaz!” he shouts directly into my ear, prompting a reflexive slap from me. Even in “Hank’s” body, he can catch my wrist before my palm hits his cheek.
“Where the hell are you, man? C’mon, fill me in on last time so we can get moving,” he says, and unfolds the top of his turtleneck. I get him tight clothes that cover as much of his skin as I can. It helps hide the inevitable discoloration and the snug fit helps him maintain structural integrity for as long as he can.
“It, uh…it wasn’t pretty, man,” I said, looking at him with empty eyes.
His smile drops and he looks genuinely concerned. I never really get used to that. No matter who he’s in, his body language remains the same, so it’s like I’m watching a dead stranger perfectly imitating my best friend.
“You know how you’re always joking that this time is going to be the time that you turn into a zombie and start eating people?” He nods quietly. “Well, that’s what last time was.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious. The guys at the lab figure that must have been the last thought going through your head when the chip went into hibernation, so that was what your body got locked into performing,” He doesn’t speak, so I grimace and keep going, turning my head away again.
“You started off screaming 'Brains!' but that degenerated pretty quickly into just ‘Baaaa!’ The next thing I know you’ve grabbed one of the terrorists by the arm and started biting. Not like love bites, either, it was like you were eating a chicken leg. You’d tear out a big chunk and it would fall out of your mouth, so you’d do it again. Pretty soon he falls to the floor, his arm in tatters, and one of the other two shoots you in the back with his shotgun. The force blew you straight into the third guy. He…” I stop for a second.
“You chewed through his neck, Jimmy. Rigor mortis hit your arms, so you were holding him so tight he couldn’t move. You kept chewing and chewing until…until his goddamned head rolled right off his body.”
I finally look at him again and I swear he’s in some sort of shock. If his tear ducts worked, I swear he’d be crying. He’s always had an unnatural fear of zombies, so his joking about becoming one is some kinda fucked-up defense mechanism. He starts walking forward, raising his arms like he’s gonna hug me.
“Hey, man, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I tell him, backing slowly away. He looks at his arms, raised zombie-like, and drops them to his side.
“I…I’m…I’m sorry,” he stammers.
“Don’t worry about it, James. It’s not like it really happened or anything.”
I stare, deadpan, at Hank Resnick’s face and watch shock turn into brief anger and then a maniacal grin.
“You SON OF A BITCH, I actually fucking believed you, you asshole! God damn it, don’t do that to me, you fucking fuck!” and he falls back against a table, making the horrible noises that pass for laughing when he’s in a host.
Hell, yeah. We’re gonna have a good time with this last ride.
benjamin sTone
5:57 am, 03/24/05
Urbana, IL
Current Music: "Somewhere" -- Pet Shop Boys
Last Book I Read a Page of: A SCANNER DARKLY -- Philip K. Dick
Last Movie: LE TEMPS DU LOUP (Time of the Wolf), France, 2003
Next Movie: NEW YEAR SACRIFICE, China, 1956