Reborn. Vin Ph.D. Jackson

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СКАЧАТЬ an hour clear, who cares?" Then he turned on his heel and slithered away. The woman watched his retreating back, his rolling gait, and she thanked God their arrangement was purely business.

      Towards the front of the building a closing door nudged Richard's shoulder as he misjudged the exit to the street. He wasn't thinking. His mind was still in the auditorium, but on what he wasn't sure. Fragments of the lecture were all he seemed able to recall. Criminal when he needed to convince himself that he had gained $80 worth of positive motivation.

      A car horn blared followed by a yob-yell: "Dozy Bastard!" Richard jerked to a halt, fresh perspiration bleeding from his forehead. A faded yellow ute streaked past shaking a fist. A sign across the road said: Don't Walk! Richard supposed he had. Then a surge of pedestrians drove him forward and he accepted it as a temporary respite to his motivation problem.

      On his way down to the lower-level car-park beneath his office he actually remembered something:

      "There are two Universes - a positive and a negative."

      Bright sunlight gave way to a diffused neon gloom - definitely negative.

      The sedan next to his had been broken into. Beads of glass from the shattered side-window spread a jewelled carpet beneath his feet. There was no option but to walk on it. The crunching caused him to feel involved somehow as if he was destroying evidence, desecrating remains. As he climbed into his own car he was careful not to bump the victim's duco with his door. Probably the least he could do.

      Driving off the ramp to the street, he almost collected a passing vehicle. It was the same make and model as his, only black instead of white.

      "Nothing can exist without its opposite."

      She'd said that too, hadn't she? Without night there was no day; no good without evil. There had to be losers otherwise no-one could win. He was going to lose, for sure: his dash clock said 1.43; his appointment was in two minutes! Goodbye new client, goodbye junior partnership. Step up and get your medal, Clive, you slimy, adolescent boot-licker!

      "Matter is balanced by anti-matter."

      That was why there had to be people like Clive. Richard wore dark suits over white shirts; Clive was loud, trendy, had his hair permed. He ate Chinese, Mexican, Italian; Richard had to mind his ulcer. Richard's wife of fifteen years was mousy-plain; whereas Clive's tastes....?

      Traffic ahead of Richard had banked up. He braked, almost made the mistake of checking the clock again and searched for something outside the car to concentrate on. Anything not connected with time. Not much that wasn't: even the busker on the footpath probably had commitments, deadlines. Anyone who had a future did.

      Hidden from Richard's view and approaching the same intersection at right-angles was a Harley, gleaming chrome and showroom-condition black, cream fuel tank with the distinctive icon. The driver wore a faded vest and tattoos, his woman passenger a scarred leather jacket. Both had on holey denim jeans. No stack-hats, though. On a Harley? No way! Bystanders followed the bike's passage, some with admiration, some envy. Many resented it as a blatant display of vulgarity within their upper-middle class sanctuary. Richard had no opinion. Yet.

      A horn blast invaded his preoccupation. Vehicles ahead had pulled well clear of him and were already crawling through the intersection. There was a gap of at least forty metres between Richard and the back marker. As he started up, a stream of opportunistic pedestrians waded across the road and cut him off. So he waited. The horn beeped again, very irritable. He fretted until it was clear to go, then accelerated towards the lights. They began to change as he was approaching the line. A glance in the rear-view mirror confirmed the car behind was sitting right on his tail. He was committed. At least the intersection was clear. For a second.

      Just then his fringe flopped over his eyes. It was always doing that. He tossed his head to clear his vision, had a brief premonition of something wild and bearded flying at his windshield. Richard simply froze.

      The sound of impact didn't travel far: the high-rise baffles and a seething human carpet muffled it. Those closest were deafened, shocked. Only a block away heads turned slightly and wondered whether they'd heard something.

      Further away still - seventeen K's into the suburban sprawl - Richard's plain, mousy wife heard nothing beyond her own erotic gasping as she rode the window cleaner like there was no tomorrow. Unlike Richard, he was young, athletic. A big boy.

      "Nothing can exist without its opposite."

      She finally rolled off her stud and lay gazing dreamily up at the ceiling. "That was...." she started, ending with a deep, satisfied sigh. Gary paused to mumble an unintelligible response, then resumed gagging in an attempt to regurgitate a hair in his throat.

      After a coffee, he started on the front windows, giving Janet the opportunity to enjoy the after-glow. She was comfortable with the arrangement now; at the start it was like cheating. Not that there was ever much love between her and Richard - she wasn't even sure she knew what real love was - but it took a while before she stopped thinking of herself as a tart. Then she figured, if Richard didn't know and she was happier, who really suffered? Not Gary, that was for sure.

      He finished the windows and they were having the lunch she'd made when the door-bell rang. Janet answered it, still in her bathrobe. That, added to the flush on her cheeks and the truck parked in the drive, prompted a furtive, knowing exchange between the police constables on the step. But they covered it better than she did her guilt and went on to explain about her husband's accident. After which, they waited in the car while Mrs Olsen put some clothes on, then drove her to the hospital.

      Gary eventually left by the side gate. He paused at the mailbox to slide in his account. Even though he ran a strictly cash business, he bent the rules for his regulars.

      2

      Light - so intense it masked everything. It was everything; yet nothing.

      The Void.

      And cold: an eternity of winters breathing simultaneously. A shivering stroll through liquid nitrogen, it was as impossible to describe as it was to tolerate. But she was doing it.

      Something accompanied her - a feeling of detachment. She wasn't who she was. And yet, although she had changed, she was essentially the same. She had simply become negative.

      The light held her back, bore her on - influential ambiguity which whispered of everlasting peace and eternal misery in the same breath. Only a fool would take the dangerous option, so she pushed on, expecting the light and its magnetism to grow stronger. But the power of the contrary forces continued to increase in tandem, tugging at her like some prize both needed to seduce. And they contested more than her body. Her mind was a confusion of temptations - love, hate, comfort, pain; grouped mainly into two distinct camps: Lonfay and Nova. Were they places, philosophies, what....? Which was better? How could she choose without knowing what either would mean to her?

      The forces seemed to sympathise with her quandary and eased slightly, allowing her to take stock. She became aware of new information: integrated with the dense white were patches of black. At first she had a feeling they were only there because her rational mind needed the contrast, but as she advanced cautiously to take a closer look, the black became mottled with grey, was occasionally tinted by another colour - brown, maybe. And, not only did it seem more tangible, but she sensed it was pleased she thought so. Colours expressing gratitude.....?

      Possibly - the white light was hovering in the background, СКАЧАТЬ