Free The Flicker Men by Ted Kosmatka Page A

the same idea.”
    Satvik regarded us. “No, it’s more than that.”
    â€œIt’s like the old question about the guitar,” I said. “Do you play the guitar with your fingers or with your head?”
    â€œBrain is hardware,” Satvik said. “Mind is software.”
    *   *   *
    The Massachusetts landscape whipped past the car’s windows, a wall of ruined hillside on our right—huge, dark stone like the bones of the earth. A compound fracture of the land. Somewhere to the east was the ocean. Cold, dark water. We drove the rest of the way in silence.
    Back at the lab, we started with the turtle. Then the canary, which escaped afterward and flew to sit atop a filing cabinet. Then the mice. None of them collapsed the wave. The final mouse, white with red eyes, the classic lab mouse, moved cautiously across the table, whiskers vibrating, before Satvik caught it by its tail and put it back in its cardboard travel carrier.
    â€œTime for the dog,” Point Machine said.
    The Boston terrier looked up at us, googly-eyed, from its spot on the floor. It whined, tilting its head to the side.
    â€œAre its eyes supposed to look like that?” Satvik asked.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œYou know, in different directions?”
    â€œIt’s the breed, I think,” Point Machine offered. “A lot of them are like that.”
    I lifted the black-and-white puppy and placed it in the box. “All it has to do is sense the light. For the purpose of the test, either eye will do.” I looked down at man’s best friend, our companion through the millennia, and harbored secret hope. This one , I told myself. This species, certainly, of all of them . Because who hasn’t looked into the eyes of a dog and not sensed something looking back?
    The puppy yelped in the box. There wasn’t much room to spare; the lightbulb jutted into the box near its head.
    Satvik hit the button and ran the experiment.
    â€œWell?”
    I leaned over, looking down at the capture screen. The interference pattern was clear and steady.
    Inside the box, I knew, the light had come on. But from the perspective of the universe, it had not been observed.
    â€œNothing,” I said. There was no change at all.

 
    12
    That night I drove to Joy’s. She answered the door. Waited for me to speak. “You mentioned coffee?”
    She smiled then, pretty face framed in the doorway, and there was another moment when I felt sure that she saw me. She stepped back and opened the door wide.
    â€œCome in.”
    I moved past her, and the door clicked shut.
    â€œI don’t get company often,” she said. “I apologize if the house is a mess.”
    I glanced around, unsure if she was making a joke. Her apartment was small and orderly. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Maybe this, exactly. Bare, pictureless walls. A couch. And then later, a bed.
    It started with a silence. Then a touch.
    A kiss soft, unsure of itself.
    On the sheets, she arched her back. Skin like silk.
    Living in sound and touch. Covers pooled on the floor. Her hands clutching tightly behind my neck, pulling me closer—a voice in my ear as our slick bodies slid past each other.
    Afterward, in the darkness, we lay for a long time without speaking.
    *   *   *
    When I thought she was asleep, her voice surprised me. “I usually know them better.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThe ones who steal the covers.”
    â€œBorrowing,” I said. “I’m borrowing the covers.” I reached down and grabbed the blanket from the floor and draped it over her naked shoulder.
    â€œAre you good-looking?” she asked.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’m curious,” she said. Her hand reached out in the darkness and found me. She ran her fingers through my hair.
    â€œDoes it matter?”
    â€œI have standards.”
    Despite myself, I laughed. “In that case, yes.