fuzz of static.
While there was stil a bleak gray dusk outside, it was already night in Clem's Gadget Garage. The rectangle of the doorway to the back room shone with the bluish pastel shimmer of the stacked television sets Maddox always left on, and he trudged toward the light,
sneezing from the dust and mold that thickened the shop's cold air. Maybe he'd forget trying to talk to the dead for one night: just change the channel of one of his TVs to some dumb sitcom, nuke a dinner in the micro, and work up a good beer buzz until he passed out for the night. What the hel --sounded like a plan.
Clem passed through the doorway's arch, tossed his wet jacket on a pile of dirty clothes beside his cot, and squatted to open the smal icebox in the corner. He swapped his cold coffee for a cold beer, placing the java in the fridge to reheat in the morning. Clem popped open the can and started to guzzle, but the sight of a silhouette next to his on the wal made him choke and spew.
"Welcome back, Mr. Maddox," a voice said from behind him. "I've been waiting."
Clem spun around to see a tal , wel -dressed man
outlined by the rows of speckled, glowing screens that lined the shelves at the opposite end of the room. "Who the hel are you? How'd you get in here?"
"You can cal me Dr. Amis. Carleton Amis." The stranger squinted at one of the televisions as if peering into an aquarium. Like al the others, the set had a personal article from a deceased person--in this case, a Raggedy Ann dol --tied to its rabbit-ear antenna with a piece of wire. "And as for how I got in, wel , as I like to say, there's no stopping good news."
"Get out. Get out before I cal the cops." Amis shook his head sadly. "Real y, Mr. Maddox! I would think you'd have even less of an affinity for the police than I do."
"What do you know about it? Who told you about me?"
"A mutual friend." Bathed in the television's fluorescence, the stranger's face looked as rapturous as Clem's once did, when eyes stared back at him from the on-screen blizzard, when mouths gaped, yearning to scream their secrets. "You know, we have a lot in common," Amis observed. "We share a fascination with the tissue-thin barrier that separates our world from theirs--and we both want to penetrate that barrier." Comprehension made Clem narrow his eyes. "You with the Corps?"
Amis laughed. "I am with the Corps but not of the Corps, if you get my meaning. The N-double-A-C-C
wants to maintain its monopoly on postmortem contact, whereas you and I want to, shal we say, democratize the gift of necromancy." He indicated the TV nearest him. "It's a shame the Corps didn't back your research into electronic mediumship. I find it immensely
interesting, if a bit clumsy." He ruffled the yarn hair of the Raggedy Ann touchstone, lashed to the antenna like the figurehead on the prow of a ship.
Despite the disil usionment Clem felt about his work, he bristled at the snub. "Look, you people had your chance. I ain't giving you my discoveries, so take your money and shove it."
"You misunderstand me, my friend. I didn't come here to demand. I came to give." Amis strol ed over to the workbench and gestured to the corkboard where
Maddox had pinned a crazy quilt of newspaper and
magazine clippings about the exploits of famous
Violets. "After al , would you rather see your late wife trapped behind the glass wal of a video monitor...or feel her inside you, the way a real conduit does?" Clem didn't realize he was shaking until he heard the sloshing of beer in the can he stil held, forgotten, in his right hand. "What're you talking about?"
"Simple, Mr. Maddox. I can make you what you always wanted to be. Question is...how badly do you want it?" Amis fingered the touchstone attached to the television on the workbench--the one given a place of honor, apart from the others. Nudged by his touch, the
diamond on Amy's engagement ring twinkled in the
electronic moonlight.
9
Unwelcome Roommates
CALVIN CRISWELL COMPARED THE
While there was stil a bleak gray dusk outside, it was already night in Clem's Gadget Garage. The rectangle of the doorway to the back room shone with the bluish pastel shimmer of the stacked television sets Maddox always left on, and he trudged toward the light,
sneezing from the dust and mold that thickened the shop's cold air. Maybe he'd forget trying to talk to the dead for one night: just change the channel of one of his TVs to some dumb sitcom, nuke a dinner in the micro, and work up a good beer buzz until he passed out for the night. What the hel --sounded like a plan.
Clem passed through the doorway's arch, tossed his wet jacket on a pile of dirty clothes beside his cot, and squatted to open the smal icebox in the corner. He swapped his cold coffee for a cold beer, placing the java in the fridge to reheat in the morning. Clem popped open the can and started to guzzle, but the sight of a silhouette next to his on the wal made him choke and spew.
"Welcome back, Mr. Maddox," a voice said from behind him. "I've been waiting."
Clem spun around to see a tal , wel -dressed man
outlined by the rows of speckled, glowing screens that lined the shelves at the opposite end of the room. "Who the hel are you? How'd you get in here?"
"You can cal me Dr. Amis. Carleton Amis." The stranger squinted at one of the televisions as if peering into an aquarium. Like al the others, the set had a personal article from a deceased person--in this case, a Raggedy Ann dol --tied to its rabbit-ear antenna with a piece of wire. "And as for how I got in, wel , as I like to say, there's no stopping good news."
"Get out. Get out before I cal the cops." Amis shook his head sadly. "Real y, Mr. Maddox! I would think you'd have even less of an affinity for the police than I do."
"What do you know about it? Who told you about me?"
"A mutual friend." Bathed in the television's fluorescence, the stranger's face looked as rapturous as Clem's once did, when eyes stared back at him from the on-screen blizzard, when mouths gaped, yearning to scream their secrets. "You know, we have a lot in common," Amis observed. "We share a fascination with the tissue-thin barrier that separates our world from theirs--and we both want to penetrate that barrier." Comprehension made Clem narrow his eyes. "You with the Corps?"
Amis laughed. "I am with the Corps but not of the Corps, if you get my meaning. The N-double-A-C-C
wants to maintain its monopoly on postmortem contact, whereas you and I want to, shal we say, democratize the gift of necromancy." He indicated the TV nearest him. "It's a shame the Corps didn't back your research into electronic mediumship. I find it immensely
interesting, if a bit clumsy." He ruffled the yarn hair of the Raggedy Ann touchstone, lashed to the antenna like the figurehead on the prow of a ship.
Despite the disil usionment Clem felt about his work, he bristled at the snub. "Look, you people had your chance. I ain't giving you my discoveries, so take your money and shove it."
"You misunderstand me, my friend. I didn't come here to demand. I came to give." Amis strol ed over to the workbench and gestured to the corkboard where
Maddox had pinned a crazy quilt of newspaper and
magazine clippings about the exploits of famous
Violets. "After al , would you rather see your late wife trapped behind the glass wal of a video monitor...or feel her inside you, the way a real conduit does?" Clem didn't realize he was shaking until he heard the sloshing of beer in the can he stil held, forgotten, in his right hand. "What're you talking about?"
"Simple, Mr. Maddox. I can make you what you always wanted to be. Question is...how badly do you want it?" Amis fingered the touchstone attached to the television on the workbench--the one given a place of honor, apart from the others. Nudged by his touch, the
diamond on Amy's engagement ring twinkled in the
electronic moonlight.
9
Unwelcome Roommates
CALVIN CRISWELL COMPARED THE
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