T-Bone's work boots squeaked grossly as he walked down the damp access
tunnel. The sound was loud enough that a rat heard it and squealed as it
dived through the grid and down the cracks leading to the subway corridor. A
train was already rumbling below, so he paused, staring at trickling
groundwater and bleach stains on the eroded wall. Moments later, the door
stopped shaking, and he produced his key, threw back two huge bolts, and
entered.
Concrete dust gave the stuffy air an aged taste. Drifting down because of
the nearby trains, it had coated nearly everything: his girly pictures,
toolboxes, chairs, and the bank of screens. A cleanup would help, so he
pulled some rags from his pack and polished the panel, screens, and his
leather chair. He sat for a moment with his feet on an orange crate and
rolled the new filter circuit in his palm. A moment later, he got up, slid
the panel drawer out, and inserted it.
As the panel closed, the button locked and ten monitors lit up, their light
combining with the single fading fluorescent bulb, giving the room a sort of
movie-theatre feeling. Using the keyboard, T-Bone edited the settings file,
and then he rebooted the operations computer and watched as the screens
refocused.
A similar but slightly different picture showed on all ten screens. And with
the new filter, the images on the center screen were clear; video effects
like pink sunlight, underwater blur, and depth distortion were now gone.
T-Bone could see the activity at ten city intersections, and by simply
changing the coordinates, he could switch to nearly any intersection in the
Greater Toronto Area and lock it in the center screen for a better view.
T-Bone's hobby was highly illegal and also highly secret, as only he knew of
it. No one else would believe it to be possible. Two years ago, T-Bone had
moved to Toronto to aid with the red-light project - the installation of
more red-light cameras at city intersections. The system itself detected
red-light jumpers by recording their plate numbers. Privacy rules dictated
that the system be set to see nothing else. And at Transit HQ, high above
T-Bone, they saw nothing else. Up there, the city computers and banks kept
the system working, reporting system failures and pouring gold into the
treasury as violators were issued computer-generated tickets.
The red light system saved lives, but despite its wonderful advantages,
there were always nasty people questioning it and filing legal challenges.
Privacy crackpots, T-Bone saw them as that. Always worrying that Big Brother
would be secretly watching everything and invading citizen privacy. Silly
folks. T-Bone knew Big Brother wasn't watching. In installing the new
system, he'd made sure it was foolproof. Government officials and police
could not use it as a general surveillance tool.
Time jades all people, and T-Bone had been hired to maintain the system as
well, which was just a little too much temptation. He'd wanted to experiment
with the camera system and the software, so he'd run a cable straight down
to this abandoned subway service room and built his custom system from
discarded systems and parts. A thing of beauty, it worked in conjunction
with the main system. The main computers could go right on recording
violators while T-Bone tinkered around, honing his underground lair into an
electronic den where he could spy on city intersections.
It had been a boring scene at first, with the distortion, weird colors, and
lack of control. Yet odd as it was, he'd often sat in his chair for hours.
He watched workers stream across the walks at rush hour, kids going to and
from school, Friday night drunks, and midnight raccoons. Parades and
rallies, weddings and funerals all went by in the pink sunlight. It was a
dim, distorted alien world where no one was quite right, and it suited him.
The human aliens were beings he really couldn't fathom. Sometimes he hated
them and wished the fizz and snow of the screens could somehow replace them,
filling the world with the peace of silent noise. He couldn't grasp their
motives, and he didn't care about the things they cared about. They were all
losers hiding from the fact that they'd soon be bones rattling in a coffin.
He’d never really belonged in any world, though he hid his attitude with a
wide smile and strong handshake. T-Bone, the friendly mulatto engineer,
always working in mostly white corporations, and he had some real technical
brains behind his simple tradesman-like facade.
Ugly things hide behind simple names. An ugly, demonic thing likely lurked
behind the word "Earth". Even his name - T-Bone - had an ugly story attached
to it. He was originally from Australia, and his name was Larry. His family
had moved like Gypsies across that wilderness. A rough life, and he was
often left with abusive relatives. At age ten, he'd been brutally raped by
an uncle on the sand beach at Highland Falls. And though he didn’t call the
police, some of the other kids had witnessed the crime from the bushes.
Unidentified men from town strangled his uncle a week later, and the day
Larry started school was the day he got tagged with his nickname. The other
boys were sitting on the bridge railing as he passed, and because he wasn't
part of the local gang, he went by silently and apprehensively, ignoring
their whispers and giggles. Then one boy, Eddie, suddenly shouted, “The
Bone! We saw you get the Bone!” And they all roared with laughter as he
turned white and started to run. At school, the nickname became his name,
even the teachers picked it up without knowing why. He returned to Highland
Falls that first evening, planning to jump and drown himself -- his
self-esteem sinking right into the mud at the bottom when he discovered that
he was a coward.
By the time T-Bone's family moved on, the damage had been done, the loner's
personality had been cast, and a host of devils lurked inside it: weird
homophobia, distrust, brooding, anger, resentment, and the rejection of all
the usual values society tagged onto individuals. It was a perfect
personality mix for the cameras. He felt calm and in his proper place,
watching a distorted world of intersections and people obeying lights that
he couldn't care less about.
His reason for the new filter and the end of distortion was women. The city
had many beautiful women, and he wanted more than just a distorted view of
some of them. There was one in particular he wanted to see in true color,
and as the memory of her rose in his mind, he began hurriedly switching
through intersections along the grid, many of them with simple view cams
he’d added himself. What was it? Silver Birch and Jenson Ave, which was the
corner - somewhere in the 300 range. Running a string, he watched as all ten
screens blinked through intersections, then something caught his eye, and he
hit the stop key. It was a light jump in progress on the Mansion Road; a big
sucker of a truck barreling through at high speed, its silver box leaving
waves of distortion on the screen as it flashed by. Quickly switching to the
next intersection on the route, T-Bone watched the truck approach. A young
woman pushing a carriage was just getting across. “Thank God,” he thought,
“I sure don’t want to see a baby get pancaked.” Then a man appeared on the
crosswalk. T-Bone's view showed him from the rear. Brown-skinned like him
and wearing a blue suit. He seemed to be stoned or something as he stopped
in the center and faced the oncoming truck.
It was still a hundred meters away, and T-Bone bit his lip, wondering why
the idiot wasn't getting off the road. Then his eyes widened in amazement as
the man suddenly tried to escape. He ran for the right side, throwing his
arms out as he tried to leap. Something light, gossamer, and almost
invisible flashed in front of the truck, and then it was gone. But the man
remained; he hadn't been fast enough and was now food for the big grill.
The truck nailed him. T-Bone saw the crazed eyes of the Chinese driver, the
impact, and the body bouncing high in the air, bordered by blood spray as it
headed straight for him.
Frightened and gasping, he fell out of his chair, and the orange crate
clattered as it overturned. Sitting up, he saw purplish liquid pouring on
the screen. Switching back through the grid, he tried to find the truck, but
it didn't appear at the next light.
He had a recording of the accident, so he switched the whole thing to the
center screen and replayed a version without the distortion. “Damn shit,” he
muttered as the body and blood spray flew straight for him again. With his
arms spread, and shooting up at about forty-five degrees, the guy looked
like some sort of super hero taking flight. Only it was a death flight, and
T-Bone wiped his brow with a handkerchief as he watched red blood pour on
the lens.
“Bad news day,” he thought, and then he looked at his watch. Nearly nine
p.m., and if he wasted any more time, he would miss her. Switching back
through the lights, he got Silver Birch and Jenson on one of the screens,
then moved to the center for a better view.
Ten minutes passed without a single person passing by. A few cars trailed
exhaust as they drove slowly through the intersection. Other than that, it
was about as exciting as staring at a still of plastic fruit. Then she
appeared, coming off the side street. Her windblown platinum blonde hair
excited him. Everything about her turned him on. Only he wasn't quite sure
why. She wasn't the type he'd gone for in the past. Robust, healthy women
had been his preference. This one was more like a ghost. Pale skin, slim
with delicate features, and always wearing white dresses, thin as gossamer.
The whole effect was enhanced by her long, luxurious legs. Other women were
dragged and bent by the wind, but she floated into it, fluttering like a
flag of beauty. Seeing her close up and in true color made him gasp. And at
that moment, she seemed to look his way, her eyes like twinkling crystal.
Then she was gone, hidden in the shadows of an oak tree, and T-Bone nearly
ran to the screen, trying to see more of her. A few seconds passed, then he
saw a bit of silky white, her legs moving as she went up the steps to her
home.
She lived in the second house up from the north corner, a two-story frame
dwelling. A weed garden and its riot of wildflowers covered the front, and a
huge oak tree blocked any view of the living room window. Hitting the
keyboard, T-Bone used a code that would cause the red-light camera to swing.
This being a repair tool for fixing circuits remotely, only T-Bone had
modified the code so he could move the lens and maintain a specific view.
The scene he chose was her bedroom window. He couldn't see much of it, just
a glitter of dark glass with a leafy branch swaying in front of it most of
the time. But it was enough to lock him there for more than two hours.
Near midnight, the bedroom light came on, and he saw her moving past the
window. He remained frozen and impassive as he watched her brush her hair.
After that, she left the room, returning ten minutes later. She pulled off
her top and bra, walked to the window, and opened it a crack. T-Bone stared
with hypnotized fascination as she smiled out at the night sky.
Then the lights went out, and T-Bone sighed deeply and rose from his chair.
There hadn't been a man in the room with her, and that made him happy. If
there had been a lover, it would have meant no in for him. A lover would've
meant he would never have her. But now he saw an opportunity and his stony
face broke into a grin.
-----
T-Bone's happiness was short-lived. Three days passed, and she didn't show
at the lights, and her bedroom light didn’t come on. A state of apprehension
and worry began to eat at him. He began to fear the worst. Using the secret
room in the daytime was too risky, but he still thought of chancing it as a
way to see if she came out of her house in the morning or at noon. One more
day passed, and he decided to compromise and simply go to the corner of
Silver Birch and Jenson, hang around, and see if he encountered her.
He knew that simply standing on the corner all day could get him reported to
the neighborhood watch, so he dressed in a repair outfit and took a city
van. The day was sunny, his mood gloomy -- but that didn't bother him as his
mood was nearly always on a downer. If he could catch sight of her, things
would change.
Silver Birch was a winding street overarched with maples. There were also a
number of birch trees in front of mostly small bungalow-style houses. Her
house was in the older section of the street, and as he approached the
intersection, he felt a twinge of guilt. Parking right out front would be
too obvious, and he knew that if he tempted himself, he would try to stare
in the windows. For the sake of self-control, he pulled over before he got
to the intersection, in a spot where he had a clear view of the sidewalk and
the lights. If she came out, he would see her, and that would be good
enough.
Two hours passed, and T-Bone saw in close-up some of the same people he used
to watch by camera, back when it was possible to spy openly during the
daylight hours. It was interesting but not all that exciting, and all the
while he kept biting his nails, hoping she would show. She didn't, and noon
hour arrived with the sunlight shifting out of the trees and onto the van.
He started to sweat in the heat and with the sweat came semi-delirium and
worry. Why was nobody coming out of that house? What had happened?
Finally, it was too much, and he got out, deciding to walk by for a closer
look. There was nobody on the street, and as he stepped to the shady
sidewalk, a cool breeze swept him, and he felt a lot better. At the corner,
he waited for the light, and then he sauntered past the first house toward
the riotous weed garden that marked her house. He faced straight ahead as he
passed, then, when he was at the driveway, he took a quick glance.
And what he saw surprised him so much, he stopped, turned to face the house,
and gaped. The place was a dilapidated, boarded wreck, crouched in rubble,
trash, and weeds. A faded for sale sign stood in the center of the yard,
nearly buried by long grass. The driveway was cracked like it had been
through an earthquake. And the weed garden wasn't a garden at all; it was
just weeds. Paint peeled on the sills, and the whole place seemed to be on a
tilt. No one could possibly be living there; no one could have lived there
for at least ten years.
His hair stiffened, and a feeling of eerie fear crept into his blood as he
raised his eyes to the bedroom window. It was the only window in the house
that wasn't boarded, and the glass was intact. It shone with dust and
darkness, like cellophane on a well of emptiness. All of T-Bone's dreams
vanished as he stared at it, then he lifted his eyes to the moldy shingles
on the roof above and felt a tear falling across his cheek.
A gust of wind blew through the weeds, and a sheet of yellowed newsprint
rose and blew past him. Suddenly, the mix of sadness and fear became too
much, and he turned and began to run. Jumping into the van, he slammed the
door, and moments later, he'd swung a U-turn and was speeding away.
----
Back in his technological lair, T-Bone, the sad eye of the underground,
stared listlessly at the nighttime intersections. There was nothing to
really watch for now that she was gone. Force of habit kept him going more
than anything else. Sometimes, as he watched empty roads and the clock
ticking past 3 am, he realized he'd been doing this so long he didn't know
of anything else to do.
But mostly he realized nothing, and just stared, feeling somewhat dead
inside like he'd finally gone all the way and actually turned into a
mindless camera. But not quite because he still had a bit of the predatory
instinct and often switched through various lights to interesting scenes. At
the end of about three weeks, he had taken to watching the West Queen Street
strip, an area of heavy drug use and prostitution. On one corner, a number
of hookers hung out. Over three days of observation, he learned about all
that anyone could need to know about their sordid lives.
But like a voyeur, he kept watching anyway, seeing fat Johns and their
filthy laughter and pimps yanking hair as they pulled the drugged-out girls
from the gutters at 2 a.m.
One Friday night, as he stared into the darkness, the rubbish and the
trickling sewer water, he saw something different. He saw her, his platinum
lover, out strolling in the night breeze. His heart leaped, but his eyes
didn't believe what they were seeing. T-Bone rubbed them hard, but she
didn't disappear. Red from the flashing light glowed on her pale skin. She
moved forward with the slender beauty of a tigress. As always, she wore
white, and this time it was shorts and a halter-top; an outfit that
highlighted her perfect long legs. As she reached the center of the
intersection, she looked his way; the moonlight glittering in her eyes made
him feel as if she could see right through the camera to him in his lair.
As she turned away, his heart skipped a beat and then nearly burst as a red
Porsche suddenly sped through the light, blowing its horn. She leaped out of
the way so fast he could barely believe it, and then she walked off into the
shadows and was gone.
----
T-Bone's mission in life was to find her again. Now that he knew she was out
there, he would never give up. A fantasy developed in which he would spot
her on camera, run to his car, race to her, and pick her up. To help make
the dream come true, he worked on the equipment, developing new settings so
he could switch through intersections and swivel the cameras faster. To his
rear, he installed a map of the city; it covered the whole wall and had two
bright red dots marked on it, one marking her home intersection and the
other marking the new one she had shown him on the other side of town.
There wasn't any time to look at the clearer focus on the center screen; his
eyes flashed across all ten screens, absorbing the distortion, the winking
lights, and the blue-tinted night. T-Bone flew across the intersections like
a racecar driver going off on ten roads at the same time, a mind-boggling
effort that possessed him so much so that he sat there with the determined
look of a madman as he hammered at his keypad and controls. On the Friday
following her reappearance, he really went out of control, shooting through
the lights on a trip that lasted for hours. By 2 a.m., which he considered
prime time, he didn't think he could go on anymore. Horrible pain stabbed at
his eyes, colored lights and distortion swam in his aching head, and his
stomach had turned sour on him. But he couldn't stop himself; he kept
working the night until finally he fell right out of his chair and vomited
wickedly.
He thought his entire stomach lining was going to be thrown up, but after a
minute, he felt a bit relieved and raised his head. And it was then that he
saw her, just a glimpse as she had already crossed the street. The platinum
hair, profile, and her way of walking were unmistakable. Bouncing to his
feet, he ran closer to the screen, slipped on his own vomit, and moaned
miserably as he hit the floor.
----
In the daytime, T-Bone was often dead tired and dragging himself like a
sack. Lack of sleep showed as drooping purple bags under his eyes. What work
he couldn't put off, he passed on to subordinates. He had a private lakeside
office in a high-rise, but no secretary, so it was easy to leave the door
closed most of the time. In the afternoons, he slept with his face on the
desk, uneasy sleep peppered with haunting dreams. She was there in bizarre
dream intersections and alleyways, always tossing him fleeting smiles and
then vanishing before he could reach her. Often, he woke in a state of
burning frustration, and he now kept whiskey in his drawer. A solid shot of
Club and he'd stroll to the window, look out at the distant lake and
islands, and try not to think of her, and it often worked for a short few
minutes. But not any longer than that, she always escaped him, but he could
not escape the ghostly image of her always rising in his mind.
As a loner, he didn't have friends he could use as a distraction. It was
always the reek of whiskey, and then his feet pulling him beneath the smoggy
sunrise, into damp darkness and his voyeur's lair. Over a few weeks, he
spotted her a few times. Just fleeting glances and never a solid sighting.
Even in his worst moments of frustration, he still carefully consulted the
map and marked sightings with a large red dot.
When his luck improved, it was again a Friday night, and rather than jumping
the system through lights, he'd decided to take it easy and study the crowds
streaming from various events around the city. A formally dressed concert
hall crowd was spilling across a Yonge Street intersection, and as it began
to thin, she appeared. Her long white dress was elegant, revealing a
sophisticated side of her personality he hadn't seen before. Headlights
flashed across her face as she walked across the street, headed directly for
a handsome gentleman leaning on a newspaper box. Her eyes glittered like
gems or like the eyes of a woman in love. And in that instant, T-Bone felt
jealousy he'd never felt before. His hands rose from the keyboard, and he
gripped the air. Then, when he saw that the man was only lighting a smoke,
and she was just passing him, a great feeling of relief passed over him, and
he slumped in his chair and watched calmly as she vanished in the
night-lights.
She began to appear almost nightly, and T-Bone spent a great deal of time
studying the map. At one point, he noticed that she grew closer to his lair
with each sighting, and he began to believe she was coming to him, driven by
passion. But rather than arrive, she outright passed him, appearing next at
a set of lights farther north.
T-Bone was heartbroken by this, and after the sighting, he swore he would
get to her; if only he could somehow study the map and predict where she
would appear next. At work, he'd all but forgotten about his job as he sat
locked in his office, drinking and staring at a replica of the map. Yet the
more he studied it, the more confused he grew. Trying to make a logical
pattern out of the dots proved elusive because there were endless patterns
you could create and apply, and you never knew if they were valid.
Heaps of paper napkins grew on the floor as T-Bone worked at tracing every
pattern possible: angel faces, demon claws, shapes of vehicles, birds,
bears, ornaments, and plants. His drawing seemed endless. And the connection
of dots was never quite right; somehow, he always knew it, discarded his
work, and started again.
Friday arrived again, and with so many sightings on Friday, T-Bone arrived
at the office with a bunch of notepads and a bottle of whiskey. By the
afternoon, he was drunk with crumpled paper all around him. His hands shook
so much he couldn't write, so he threw the pen aside in frustration and
leaned back in his chair. His vision swam in an alcoholic haze as he stared
at a large copy of the map tacked on the wall. Then things got so blurry he
could see nothing but the red dots marking the intersections where she'd
appeared. The dots seemed to float on their own in midair, and then they
connected, and he saw a word.
“LOVE,” he said it aloud, and then he knocked over his whiskey bottle and
pulled himself up. The chair he simply threw aside as he hurried to the map.
Staggering slightly, he pulled a red pen from his pocket and, as carefully
as he could, connected the dots the way he'd seen them. When he was
finished, he'd spelled the word LOVE at an angle across the city map. It was
almost perfect, except that the last dot had not been filled in yet. T-Bone
knew beyond any doubt that this was it and that last dot was the
intersection where she would appear next.
----
T-Bone had sobered up by sunset. Stopping off at his downtown apartment, he
showered, shaved, and put on a light suit. He took his city wagon and drove
leisurely across town. The sun was falling in a blaze of red glory that
seemed pointless as a backdrop to the everyday people on the sidewalks.
Lights in the sky held little meaning or beauty for him; all of his faith
had been placed in the glittering eyes of a woman. The sun couldn't sink
fast enough, and twilight couldn't sift in soon enough for T-Bone. Nightfall
meant he would see her, and this time, he would not let her get away.
As he reached the corner of Grace and Allan, the last rays of sunset were
rising like streamers of fire over the western treetops. Almost like a
natural fireworks celebration, indicating a great event to come. Getting out
of the car, he looked around at the quiet neighborhood, and then he took a
walk to get the feel of the intersection.
The streetlamps came on as he reached the lights, giving him a better view
of the houses. This was a clean residential street of front gardens,
porches, and neat fences. Only one house looked out of place, an abandoned
place on the northeast corner. It was overgrown with weeds and in bad
repair, much like the house where he'd first spotted her. This one didn't
even have a for-sale sign in the yard, like the owners had given up on
attempts to sell it.
T-Bone crossed the road and stood out front for a few minutes, staring in at
the dark, cobwebby windows. He saw nothing, and all he heard and felt were
wind chimes and the breeze. A gentle tinkling and touch that would likely
have spooked others raised T-Bone to a state of elation.
He knew the time wasn't right; she wouldn't show this early. But just
knowing she would was enough to cheer him. His feet took him back to the
car, where he sat and waited in a state of certainty underwritten with
feelings of aching romance. He felt like a groom who knew his bride would
eventually appear.
The breeze drifted softly through the window and his hair as the hours
passed, and as 2 a.m. approached, he began to stir like a corpse in its
coffin. His new suit scratched his chest and knees as he opened the door and
eased himself out. Stepping to the sidewalk, he stretched, raising his arms
high, an unwitting worshipper of the full moon flying high in the ragged
fleece of leaf and cirrus angel hair above.
Fresh lilac-scented air filled his nostrils, and he felt unusually strong
and exhilarated as he walked to the lights. Once there, he leaned on a
newspaper box and studied the deep shadows and crowded houses. There wasn't
any late-night traffic on the deserted street, and the only sounds now were
vague snatches of party music carried in on the breeze. His eyes turned to
the abandoned house across the road. The grounds were shrouded in darkness,
but moonlight spilled across the treetops and spotlighted some of the higher
windows with a ghostly glow. He studied a weird reflection of the moon in
the glass, and then a sports car whooshed by on the road, breaking his
concentration.
T-Bone watched the red taillights recede in the night, then he looked back
at the house and saw a flash of gossamer in the driveway. It was her walking
out to the sidewalk, and even in deep darkness, her skin shone with pale
moonlight. He could see the heavenly glitter of her eyes and her silky crown
of platinum hair even before she came under the lamps.
Her step was purposeful, like a woman who knew where she was headed, perhaps
hurrying in the darkness for fear of what might lurk in the night. Her dress
was light and silky and open at the neckline. The breeze blew its folds
high, revealing dazzling legs. As she reached the corner, the light flooded
down on her face, perfect cherry lips, and small nose. Her expression was
self-absorbed, as if some inner turmoil had her slightly upset.
She didn't notice T-Bone at all; her eyes failing to grant him recognition
as she began to cross. She was headed straight for him, but despite that, he
couldn't wait. Stepping away from the box, he moved toward her, blocking her
path so she'd be forced to speak to him there in the center of the street.
He was almost face-to-face with her when she noticed him approaching. Her
reaction was a startled glance; she halted immediately, began to back off,
and, when she saw that T-Bone was still stepping up, she turned and ran
straight up the middle of the road.
T-Bone hesitated for a moment, and then he shouted, “No, you can't run from
me this time! Wait! Please!”
But she didn't listen, and he could see her escaping. Turning, he began to
pursue her, sprinting as fast as he could. An eerie feeling swept him; it
was almost the same as all of those nights of pursuing her by camera, except
that this time he could really feel the chase, wind in his face, and the
exhilaration of a pounding heart.
She didn't vanish this time, and he gained on her rapidly. He knew he'd have
her in a few seconds, and as he ran, he dared not take his eyes from her
fluttering form for fear she would be gone. He saw her long legs moving as
swiftly as his, and then she was running no longer. Quick as a dancer, she
stopped and turned; he saw her beautiful smile and blowing dress, saw them
fade and vanish, replaced by headlights and the grill of a speeding truck.
T-Bone had enough time to jump aside, but he didn't do it. He just kept
running toward the truck and certain death. He kept running because he knew
his dream woman was a ghost. He'd known since that night at the Silver Birch
intersection when he'd seen the abandoned house.
In life, he could not have her, and so he'd decided to join her in death. He
was certain she loved him, or she wouldn't have left him that message on the
map. And if she cared that much then he wouldn't let trucks or red lights
get in his way again. Raising his arms, he smiled as he ran, and when the
truck hit him, he flew so high in the air that his body landed in the
telephone wires. But he saw none of that. T-Bone saw ephemeral flashes, a
world of pink sunlight, blue-tinted night, and distortion. The alien world
he'd seen through the unfiltered cameras, and ahead on the street, he saw
her, smiling as she waited for him on the corner of Silver Birch and Jenson.
----
