apartment; I even got the clothes I'm wearing here, in this apartment. My landlord, strangely enough, died near a riverbank, not long after we had our conversation. But
that
was completely accidental - excuse me,
coincidental
. Coincidental is what I meant to say.
And that man on the floor over there? He probably looks familiar, unless he stole your former roommate's keys just before I did. I met him outside a bar. He seemed like such a nice fellow, too. Now he's lying in the hall, much cleaner than he was when I first brought him back here.
We met at a bar a few miles from here. He was grabbing a Paulaner dunkel lager after what seemed to be a long day at work. Seeing him drinking such a strong lager, I thought he might need some help. He told me how his girlfriend left him and how his job was a bore and when he started getting real drunk, he started talking about his hatred for such a miserable life. And just before he went outside to find a cab, he told me, "I'd rather be dead than face another tomorrow."
So, here I am, roomie. At least, as long as it's okay with you. It's been 45 hours since I decided to change my life, to be reborn. And I'm being so productive with my life. I'm getting so much done. Mother would be proud.
However, you're not Mother, are you? And I understand we've started off on a bad foot, you and I, what with you being tied down and dragged everywhere I go in this apartment. But you understand, I can't have anything else go wrong in life. I was sick of my sorry excuse for an existence. I needed to start anew, and can't have anybody getting in my way.
If I'd known he had a roommate, I might've let you kill him instead. You wouldn't have done it, though, would you? You need me as much as I need you, I think.
Honestly, I'm glad I met you when I did. I appreciate you listening to everything I had to say.
So, there's my story. Now that you know me better, can I stay?
Eye For Eye - Part 2
by Orson Scott Card
Artwork by Kevin Wasden
----
Eye for Eye was published in 1990 as a Tor double novel, along with "Tunesmith" by Lloyd Biggle, Jr. It is currently out of print, although it is available as an audiobook.
Part 2
Continued from issue 17
Except that along about six o'clock in the evening I woke up and the car was stopping and I didn't know where I was, I must have slept all day, and the guy says to me, "Here you are, Eden, North Carolina."
And I about messed my pants. "Eden!" I says.
"It wasn't far out of my way," he says. "I'm heading for Burlington, and these country roads are nicer than the freeway, anyway. Don't mind if I never drive I-85 again, to tell the truth."
But that was the very guy who told me he had business in D.C., he was heading there from Bristol, had to see somebody from a government agency, and here he was in Eden. It made no sense at all, except for what that woman told me. Somebody was calling me, and if I wouldn't come, they'd just put me to sleep and call whoever was driving. And there I was. Eden, North Carolina. Scared to death, or at least scared a little, but also thinking, if what she said was true, my folks was coming, I was going to meet my folks.
Nothing much changed in the two years since I ran off from the orphanage. Nothing much ever changes in Eden, which isn't a real town anyway, just cobbled together from three little villages that combined to save money on city services. People still mostly think of them as three villages. There wasn't nobody who'd get too excited about seeing me, and there wasn't nobody I wanted to see. Nobody living, anyway. I had no idea how my folks might find me, or how I might find them, but in the meantime I went to see about the only people I ever much cared about. Hoping that they wouldn't rise up out of the grave to get even with me for killing them.
It was still full day that time of year, but it was whippy weather, the wind gusting and then holding still, a big row of thunderclouds off to the southwest, the
that
was completely accidental - excuse me,
coincidental
. Coincidental is what I meant to say.
And that man on the floor over there? He probably looks familiar, unless he stole your former roommate's keys just before I did. I met him outside a bar. He seemed like such a nice fellow, too. Now he's lying in the hall, much cleaner than he was when I first brought him back here.
We met at a bar a few miles from here. He was grabbing a Paulaner dunkel lager after what seemed to be a long day at work. Seeing him drinking such a strong lager, I thought he might need some help. He told me how his girlfriend left him and how his job was a bore and when he started getting real drunk, he started talking about his hatred for such a miserable life. And just before he went outside to find a cab, he told me, "I'd rather be dead than face another tomorrow."
So, here I am, roomie. At least, as long as it's okay with you. It's been 45 hours since I decided to change my life, to be reborn. And I'm being so productive with my life. I'm getting so much done. Mother would be proud.
However, you're not Mother, are you? And I understand we've started off on a bad foot, you and I, what with you being tied down and dragged everywhere I go in this apartment. But you understand, I can't have anything else go wrong in life. I was sick of my sorry excuse for an existence. I needed to start anew, and can't have anybody getting in my way.
If I'd known he had a roommate, I might've let you kill him instead. You wouldn't have done it, though, would you? You need me as much as I need you, I think.
Honestly, I'm glad I met you when I did. I appreciate you listening to everything I had to say.
So, there's my story. Now that you know me better, can I stay?
Eye For Eye - Part 2
by Orson Scott Card
Artwork by Kevin Wasden
----
Eye for Eye was published in 1990 as a Tor double novel, along with "Tunesmith" by Lloyd Biggle, Jr. It is currently out of print, although it is available as an audiobook.
Part 2
Continued from issue 17
Except that along about six o'clock in the evening I woke up and the car was stopping and I didn't know where I was, I must have slept all day, and the guy says to me, "Here you are, Eden, North Carolina."
And I about messed my pants. "Eden!" I says.
"It wasn't far out of my way," he says. "I'm heading for Burlington, and these country roads are nicer than the freeway, anyway. Don't mind if I never drive I-85 again, to tell the truth."
But that was the very guy who told me he had business in D.C., he was heading there from Bristol, had to see somebody from a government agency, and here he was in Eden. It made no sense at all, except for what that woman told me. Somebody was calling me, and if I wouldn't come, they'd just put me to sleep and call whoever was driving. And there I was. Eden, North Carolina. Scared to death, or at least scared a little, but also thinking, if what she said was true, my folks was coming, I was going to meet my folks.
Nothing much changed in the two years since I ran off from the orphanage. Nothing much ever changes in Eden, which isn't a real town anyway, just cobbled together from three little villages that combined to save money on city services. People still mostly think of them as three villages. There wasn't nobody who'd get too excited about seeing me, and there wasn't nobody I wanted to see. Nobody living, anyway. I had no idea how my folks might find me, or how I might find them, but in the meantime I went to see about the only people I ever much cared about. Hoping that they wouldn't rise up out of the grave to get even with me for killing them.
It was still full day that time of year, but it was whippy weather, the wind gusting and then holding still, a big row of thunderclouds off to the southwest, the
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