Free The War of Immensities by Barry Klemm Page A

the
coffee, sweetie,” Tierney smiled. “She ain’t going no place.”
    “Joel, please!
I gotta go.”
    “Why? Come on,
you’re big here. Biggest you’ve ever been.”
    “I don’t know.
But I got this big urge to go. Thataway. Outa here.”
    “Thataway?”
    “Yes. That way.
I want to go there, now.”
    “Why?”
    “I gotta.”
    “Here, take
this and forget it.”
    He stuffed a
tab straight in her open mouth and she nearly choked on it. But
then the waitress brought the coffee and she gulped it down,
heedless of burnt lips. It’s tentacles immediately began to move
through her intestines and into the blood stream.
    “Better?”
    “I guess.”
    “This is an
island, Andy. There’s no place to go.”
    “Jesus, Joel.
You don’t know how I feel.”
    “Get this in
yer. Then tell me how you feel.”
    “I dunno. I
just got this wicked urge to move, to go. I feel like I’ll die if I
don’t.”
    “But go
where?”
    “That way.”
    “But there’s
nothing there except miles of reef.”
    “That’s where
I’ve gotta go.”
    “Just take it
easy. The tab will help calm you. Sleep. Get ready for the show.
It’ll be all right.”
    “Yeah, Joel,
sure.”

*

    Remember
Xanadu. Harley Thyssen got up with slow arthritic movements and
went to the door. Coleridge had begun the epic poem, then someone
knocked at the door and by the time he returned to the task, all
but the first hundred lines already written had gone right out of
his head. Not much chance of that in this case, but still Thyssen
approached the door with irritation.
    “Are you all
right, Harley?” Joanie, his neighbour, asked nervously.
    No, he was not
alright. “Of course. What can I do for you?”
    “Oh, nothing.
Albert saw the lights on. We thought we should check...”
    Nosy bitch. And
she knew it too, as her sentence ran out of words.
    “Just had some
work to do and wanted to go where I wouldn’t be disturbed,” Thyssen
said heartlessly. The truth was always cruel.
    “Oh, I see. I’m
sorry. It’s just that it was so unusual...”
    Joanie, like
many gossips, had a habit of embarking upon statements that they
didn’t know how to finish. He ought to invite her in, ravage her on
the couch while her husband stood on the porch across the road,
meditating on the Ancient Mariner and not at all wondering why his
wife was taking so long. That would give them something to talk
about, except of course they never talked about themselves.
    She was a
sturdy, good-looking woman and heaven knows what was left of his
libido needed it. But he didn’t have the energy, the risk to his
health would be excessive, and anyway, what he had told her was
true. He had work to do and did not want to be disturbed. For the
first time in about a decade.
    “Yes, Joanie. I
realise it is quite out of the ordinary for me to be at home at
this hour of the evening. Here, smell my breath. Not a trace of
alcohol will you find. Do you want to come in and verify that there
are no young women hiding under the bed?”
    “Oh, Harley,
really,” Joanie laughed—you could never insult people like her—and
then she glanced back toward her own house as if she just
remembered she had left something on the stove. “Well, you get back
to work, Harley. And remember, we are still here for you if you
want anything.”
    There was
little chance he would forget.
    “You tell them
I’ve finally decided to get a life,” Thyssen said quietly.
    Once he got the
door closed on her, he knew that her concern was probably genuine.
He always worked late and then went to campus bar for dinner and
had a few drinks with anyone interesting who might be there. If no
one engaged his interest, he made his way into town to visit the
strip joints and live out the death throes of his youth and
obliterate the reality of his life. This house terrified him and he
was never in it except to sleep from whatever hour he staggered in
until dawn. He did his ablutions at the gym after exercise sessions
of diminishing