The Clockwork Man (27 page)

The door itself—a thin, pliable metal—was no obstacle, and I forced it open easily, pushing aside the wooden table placed behindit as a barricade. I spotted him at the far end of the greenhouse, huddled behind a bench lined with rows of marigolds. He was clutching what appeared to be a length of pipe, fear in his eyes, poised to strike at me. I watched him for a moment, my ticking echoing over the trickling water.

“I can see you,” I said. “The police will be here soon.”

“Whatever you are, keep away from me!” he said.

“You should surrender now.” I walked toward him.

This must have caused him to panic, for the florist screamed and rushed at me with the pipe, swinging it clumsily at my head. My mobility limited as it was, I could not entirely avoid the blow, and it caught me across the chest, briefly throwing me off-balance. (He did not have the strength of his larger companion, so I incurred no further injury.) Having swung the pipe so hard, and his injured leg unable to support his weight, the florist collided with me, and we toppled together across a wooden table full of petunias, displacing many, their planters shattering on the floor all around us. I grasped at his leg, but he was quicker than I; with a loud and pained grunt he crawled through the terra cotta shards and ran for the rear exit.

It took me nearly ten seconds to rise from the floor. Even under ideal conditions this has never been an easy task, but with my damaged arm and dented side, it was all the more difficult. Were it not for his injury the florist would likely have eluded me, but when I emerged from the greenhouse he was still hobbling awkwardly toward the van, presumably to make his getaway. I gained ground rapidly as he fumbled the keys, once dropping them on the grassy lot. Finally, he managed to unlock the door and pull himself inside.

The engine began to chug to life. Before the vehicle could roll away, I took hold of the front end and lifted it a few feet off the ground. I should note that this was unwise—had my strength ebbed in the slightest, I might have been crushed under its tires. But at the time I gave no thought to avoiding injury.

The front wheels spun uselessly in empty air, spitting dust and trapped gravel from the tires. The florist looked at me through the windshield, eyes wide with terror and confusion. A shrill, wailing sound penetrated the engine hum and the sharp mechanical hiss of the suspended wheels, growing increasingly louder. I looked down the road; a long line of red and blue flashing lights, seemingly independent of any other body, was fast approaching.

It was at this moment of exertion that my internal workings began to slow, my ticking echoing in my head and chest, drowning out the wheels and engine and sirens. I did not have long, and could not free my right hand to wind myself. I turned toward the shop; there was no sign of Greeley, and I assumed he was still inside with Carrie. As my vision blurred and the sounds began to blend together into an incoherent mess, I became aware of my left arm buckling, one of the castoff screws stressed to breaking.

I saw no other choice; with my remaining strength I tilted the van to the left and toppled it onto its side, its right wheels boring impotently into the grass. The florist fell out of his seat and toppled to the passenger side of the cabin, his head striking the window pressed against the ground. In the front window I saw myself silhouetted against the blue and red light, heard the sirens all around me, so loud my whole frame shuddered. I turned to surrender, but all went dark and silent, and I felt my body tilt earthward, striking the hard ground. Then, nothing. I awoke in a windowless room with walls of white plaster, lying on a metal table, a strong hand reaching into the flap at my hip and turning my winding key.

I heard an unfamiliar man’s voice. “Is that it?”

“That’s what he said to do.”

As soon as I was able, I sat up, turning to see several men and women—some in dark blue uniforms, some in suits, all strangers—jump back, startled.

“Hello,” I said, but the only reply came in anxious, silent staring. After two full minutes I attempted to ease the discomfort by asking the time. (As my internal clock had stopped when I wound down, I was also curious as to how much time had passed.)

Finally the man I came to know as Sergeant Albright approached me, cautiously at first. He reached out and, with a single finger, touched the tamped-down suede of my forehead. “So it’s true,” he said. “Amazing.”

“Thank you,” I said, causing him to quickly draw his hand away.

I apologized for frightening him, and asked after Herr Greeley and Carrie. He informed me that Carrie was recovering in a local hospital, and that Greeley (whose first name, it was revealed to me, is Marvell) was in protective custody for questioning.

At first I expressed some concern that he might be blamed for the florist’s crimes due to his race, but the sergeant assured me that the culprits were in custody.

“You and your friend saved the girl’s life,” he said. I offered my testimony, having witnessed two of the men’s crimes; Herr Albright indicated to me that he was certain his colleagues had morethan enough evidence to convict the florist and his accomplices. “Besides,” he said, “we don’t even know what you are.”

I reached into my jacket pocket and drew out this journal. “Perhaps this will explain,” I said. Sergeant Albright reached out and gently took it from my hand. I should here indicate that I was not eager to share its contents, considering that some of the passages (particularly those dealing with Giselle and Herr Gruber) are of a private and revealing nature, and I have no wish to darken their memory. Nevertheless, I believed this account provided a much better understanding of my nature and history than I could have given at that moment. Also, while never intended for that purpose, I hoped it might prevent my destruction, should it find a sympathetic eye. I do not believe either would have minded in that case.

“Thank you,” he said. “You wrote this?”

“Yes.”

“Amazing.”

“I should like it back when you have finished,” I said. I would sooner have destroyed this volume than have it passed around as fodder for the amusement of the curious, and I remained committed to delivering it to Professor Wellesley’s successors.

“Of course.”

Soon after I was taken to the small room where I now sit, monitored by a small electric eye in the corner behind me. Herr Albright has visited me on several occasions, but has not questioned me; rather, he has simply stood by the door and watched me. He did not speak to me again until the third day, at which point he merely asked me if I needed anything. (He was surprised at my request for a can of WD-40 and a new pen, but within fifteen minutes he had delivered both.) While at first he seemed nervous in my presence, he has since begun to engage me more directly.

On the fourth day of my captivity, he entered this room carrying this very tome. I stood, out of respect.

“This is all true, then?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Even the part about the girl? Gazelle, was it?”

“Giselle,” I corrected him. “And yes.” At that moment, however, I cared very much that my diary should in no way darken her reputation. “I would appreciate it if you did not share it with too many others.”

“Not unless it’s subpoenaed.”

“How long do you intend to hold me here?”

“I don’t know. Truth is, nobody here even knows what you are, much less what to do with you.”

“I understand.”

He stared at me for several seconds. “You do, don’t you?” He set my diary on the table in front of me. “You can have this back now. We have to wait for a judge’s order before we can release you to anyone. We’ve already called two, and they thought someone was playing a joke on them.”

“I have had that reaction before.”

“I’m sure you have,” the sergeant replied. “I know that Linnhoffer fellow wants you back pretty badly. But we need a judge who’ll hear the case.”

“I would like to see Greeley,” I said.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, and left me.

I must, then, accept that I will likely not know my fate until someone comes to claim me. Perhaps I will be dragged back to my storefront window in chains, or, now that I am revealed to the world, disassembled for analysis. The decision now lies in the hands of the magistrates. Until then, I will wait, and hope for the best.

This morning Sergeant Albright informed me that I had a visitor. As I expected Herr Greeley, who is oblivious to such formality, I neither rose nor attempted to straighten my clothing. Instead, when the sergeant opened the door, Herr Linnhoffer entered. He was dressed in a gray suit and red necktie, a few wispy, dark hairs combed over his otherwise-bare scalp. I quickly stood, standing as straight as possible. Slowly, he crept toward me, and as he looked into my remaining eye he reached out carefully with his right index finger and poked at my chest.

He said nothing at first, only looked me over and smiled. “Hello, Ernst. So you’re the real thing after all.”

“Yes.”

“And you were playing possum all that time? Just standing there watching us, right under our noses?”

“Yes. I meant no disrespect.”

“Of course not,” he said, his gaze fixated on my intact eye. “In fact, I should thank you for stopping that robbery. I thought Ed was either crazy or covering for himself when he told me the story.”

“He was not,” I said, seeing my opportunity to restore Herr Czyznyk’s reputation.

Herr Linnhoffer seemed unconcerned. “So Gruber’s story was true. All of it.”

“Yes.”

A wide smile slowly spread across his face. “Guess I got my money’s worth after all.” He looked me over once more, brushed the dust off my jacket, and wiped at my damaged eye with his thumb. “You’re pretty banged up, though. Guess I’ll have to call a specialist.” He laughed, looked me in the eye again. “You’re going to make me a lot of money, my friend. People will come from all over just to see you.”

“We are going back to the store, then?” I asked. While this would not have been my first choice, as I was his legal property I felt I was honor bound to comply.

“That’s right. And after that, who knows? I could take you to Broadway. You’ll be world famous.” At this point Sergeant Albright interjected himself. “Now hold on, sir. You can’t take him yet. We need a judge’s permission to release him.” Herr Linnhoffer sighed. “Ernst is
my
property, Officer. Why can’t I just take him back now?”

“It’s more complicated than that, sir.” The sergeant’s voice was tinged with agitation.

Herr Linnhoffer folded his arms and began to tap his foot. “I don’t see how.”

Sergeant Albright rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you don’t, sir.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

The sergeant began to usher Herr Linnhoffer out. “It’ll take some time to get the judge’s order, Mr. Linnhoffer. Until then youcan come visit, but we won’t be releasing him.”

“Thank you, Officer,” Herr Linnhoffer said. “And I’ll be seeing you soon, Ernst. I’ll be glad to finally bring you home.”

I bade him farewell, and the sergeant closed the door behind him.

“I’m sorry about that,” Sergeant Albright said. “I can’t stand that guy. He and the captain are golf buddies.”

“I am his property. He has a right to me.” The sergeant shook his head and sighed. “If it were up to me, I’d just let you go. But I have to think, once the judge sees you and that diary of yours, he could never just give you back.”

“Thank you.” For the first time since I arrived here, I sensed the faint possibility that I might not be dragged in chains back to my window prison.

At 8:36 this morning, the sergeant knocked softly, then eased open the door with an almost imperceptible creak. The hallway outside was mostly dark, and there was little commotion. “Follow me,” he said. “And if anyone asks, I never did this.”

“I understand.”

For a moment I believed he was attempting to release me, though were that the case I might not have gone willingly. To be perfectly frank, despite my ragged condition, if I so chose I could escape any time I wished; the interrogation room door is neither thick nor heavy, and I could easily rip it from its hinges. But my current incarceration—if that is the proper term for it—is fraught with complications, and I would not wish him to incur the judge’s wrath.

He led me through a series of hallways dotted with doors similar to my own, with tiny shaded windows. At the end of the corridor was a heavy door labeled
Fire Exit Only
, and my apprehension grew. However, we stopped at the last door; he opened it, and gestured for me to go inside. I entered a small, squarish room bare but for a tiny table and a large rectangular mirror on the far wall.

“Well, good mornin’, ol’ boy!” Herr Greeley sat at the tiny table, his dark skin shimmering in the harsh light, a plate of doughnuts and a small cup of black coffee in front of him. He rose and embraced me, patting my back so roughly my insides rattled. “I was gettin’ worried about you.”

Sergeant Albright laughed. “He’s been here every day since you were brought in. When I got here, he was banging on the back door.”

Greeley gave him a stern look. “You shoulda let me in sooner,” he said brusquely. “But thanks for breakfast.” He lifted a doughnut off the plate and took a large bite.

“My pleasure,” the sergeant said. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Greeley smiled widely and clapped his free hand on the tabletop. “So when they lettin’ you outta here? We oughta go out and smash up some more bad guys.”

“I do not know. I think the judge may give me back to Herr Linnhoffer.”

“Aw, man,” he said, a small speck of doughnut flying from his mouth and sticking to the edge of the table. “They can’t do that. Don’t they know who you are yet?”

“Yes. But they may not care.”

He shook his head in disgust. “Man, you don’t belong to nobody. You belong to
you
.”

Sensing his irritation, I attempted to change the subject. “How is Carrie?”

Greeley’s face seemed to lose some of its harshness. “A little better now. They roughed her up pretty good. She’s still in the hospital. Prob’ly be out in another week. Her momma came down from Green Bay to get her.”