Alpha Incorporated

IV - viii NO OTHER MEDICINE

Lucy doesn't want to think about James. She hates it when he hijacks her thoughts, the way he does. Like now.

Lucy finally has some time at her desk and is trying to get through the budget numbers, the stuff she has been putting off. She pretends that she is okay with this side of her job. Sure, leave those with me she offered, knowing that Shawn would never get it done in time anyway. It is like she is always covering up for somebody or another. But that is teamwork, right?

Then James pops by. She blames him for doing that, for sneaking into her consciousness and pulling her away from whatever kind of budgetary fun she is having, or hoping to have, and reminding her that she wants to be with him. She hates that he has that kind of power over her, still.

So, she tells him to get lost. Sometimes he listens, other times he sticks around, the sneaky bastard. He follows her, hiding just behind whatever it is she is doing, like those apps that run in the background, sucking up the bandwidth. Or he is in the next room, listening to her conversations. Sometimes, if she says something particularly clever or witty or sarcastic, she smiles because she knows James is finding it amusing. Then, inevitably, it hits her that he actually didn't hear that, or that he isn't looking over her shoulder as she talks to herself, asking him if she should buy the kale tortillas at Trader Joe's. She knows he would laugh at her.

Ten years, already, yet it seems like they just split. During the day, she can usually keep him far enough in the background that he isn't bothering her too much, but at night, well that's different. They still meet in her dreams. It is always a happy meeting.

Last night they met at his residence at college. In her dream, the door was open to the building so she just went in. Lucy walked the familiar hall, made a turn or two, through another door and kept walking. It was like she was in a maze or something. The halls all looked identical with painted block walls and mauve berber carpeting. She has had this dream before, so she knows where she is going. She is not afraid as she descends a set of stairs, deep below the building. There are no other students now, just her, and her destination. She sees the door ahead, one of the endless row of doorways on both sides of the hall. There is no doubt in her mind; she stops in front and turns the knob. It opens, and James, sitting at a dorm room desk, lit from above by the cold florescence of a lamp, looks up from his papers and smiles. And when they embrace, Lucy is filled with the warmth and joy and peace that only the James of her dreams can provide.

Fuck it. Lucy closes the spreadsheet. She knows she isn't getting anything done. It pisses her off that James keeps distracting her like this. Bastard. A glance at the time is enough of a reason to call it a day. She wonders if they will meet again, tonight.

Lucy stops peddling and lets the bike coast around the corner. She leans into the turn, like she always does here, starting to bank at the sewer grate that has never seen water. Then she lets gravity pull her home. She has got it figured out: if there is no wind in her face, no resistance, she can crunch low on her bike and coast the rest of the way. She can duck and slip off the bike path, onto her street and make her way right into her driveway without exerting any energy or without applying the brakes. She enjoys the feeling of efficiency as her bike comes to a stop right at her doorstep. It is how she measures success these days.

But this afternoon she is forced to alter her usual path of least resistance. Ahead, on her street, there are police cruisers, two—no three—that last one is unmarked. And a white van too, a news crew. There is a yellow tape line, POLICE—DO NOT CROSS. A police officer is motioning for to her to pass on the left, but that is her house on the right. She needs to get in there. As she brakes and drops her foot to the pavement, someone is approaching her. A blond woman in a gold skirt who looks like a real estate agent, but she has a microphone in her hand, and a grimy man that looks like he works at a comic book store chases after her. He has a large black video camera over his shoulder. Lucy had no idea that they still make cameras that big.