Imago

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Publication Information

  Imago

  Amy Sterling Casil

  Dedication

  To the families and children of Family Service Association and Home Again Project, Redlands, California.

  I have risen

  in search of history

  I have lifted the rock

  to pick the white blind grubs beneath

  I have gazed

  in the lake of glass

  to see the man who wears my face

  I have picked

  the red bones clean

  I have sought

  the truth in flesh

  And told my soul to flee

  Chapter One

  Katie Jacques paused in the hall beside the door to her grandson Harmon’s room. He was inside, singing.

  “Katie, Katie, give me your answer true...”

  She supposed he was singing about her. Harmon always used her first name. He was an unusual boy. He often told her that he intended to grow up and run the world.

  She knocked lightly. The singing stopped.

  “Come in, Katie,” Harmon said, his voice wavering between boyish treble and callow adolescence.

  “It’s cold today,” she said. “I thought that you might like some after-school hot chocolate.”

  She bore two Campbell’s soup mugs on a tray. One held his hot chocolate, the other plain green tea for her: no sugar. The Campbell’s mugs were Harmon’s favorite. He said that he liked the little soup-boy, with his bright red and white checkered suit. At sixty-four, Katie Jacques could still be called a beautiful woman. She’d long since passed the point of caring about that, but she saw her young-old face reflected in the mirror over Harmon’s bed, and smiled even so.

  He’d been working on his town model again. Once, she had suggested that Harmon turn it into a model train layout.

  “That’s for wussies,” he replied in a calm voice. She never mentioned it again.

  “I just finished the new church,” he said, pointing at a three-sided Spanish-style structure. “That’s the Baptist church. Next, I’ll do the Catholics.”

  “It’s wonderful,” she said, leaning over the model, which took up much of the north wall of Harmon’s spacious room. The house was too big, she thought, remembering her childhood room, with its narrow girl’s bed and white Queen Anne coverlet. She’d barely had enough room for a gold velvet-covered stool and her cheap Sears dresser, with its cracked white paint and fake gold trim, that peeled off after a single summer season. Harmon’s room seemed larger than the entire house she’d grown up in. But of course, she could say nothing of that to him. What child would understand something like that?

  “Here is the church,” he said, playfully. He sipped some of the hot chocolate, then laced his fingers together.

  “Here is the steeple,” he added, bringing his forefingers up in a point.

  Katie laughed. They’d played that game before he’d even started kindergarten. Now, here he was in sixth grade. Her heart jumped. She ruffled his hair and sipped her own tea.

  “Open the doors and see all the people!” Harmon turned his hands over and waggled his fingers. Then he lifted the roof of the model church and showed her the “people” inside. Dozens of tiny Disney characters, all lined up neatly. Goofy, Donald, and the Seven Dwarves; Mickey and Minnie stood by the altar.

  “Look at them!” she exclaimed. “How about this?” She put one hand over her nose and pretended that she pulled it off.

  Harmon didn’t respond. He replaced the church roof, staring intently at Katie, and re-laced his fingers, waggling them once more. They moved furiously back and forth. Then, he moved his hands to and fro, as if he was rocking a cradle.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, still laughing.

  “Guess,” he said, grinning, his green eyes shining happily.

  “You’re playing Rock-A-Bye Baby,” she said.

  His eyes darkened.

  “A fishing boat?” she asked, her voice wavering.

  “No,” he snapped. “Look!”

  “I don’t know,” she said. Please, let him not be getting angry, she thought. His eyes were narrowing. The fingers still waggled. Then at once, they went stiff. He thrust his hands in her face.

  “I set the church on fire,” he snapped. “And they’re all running away!”

  Katie shivered.

  “But as you can see,” he added; “They didn’t quite make it.”

  His long, sensitive fingers curled back and forth, twisting, almost writhing.

  “Oh,” Katie said, sipping her tea. “How creative.”

  Harmon was still for a long moment, then he swept the Baptist Church from the table in one brief, graceful movement. The delicate foam board walls shattered, spraying Katie’s legs with white powder. The steepled roof skittered across the floor. The Disney figures — all ceramic — tinkled as they tumbled to the hardwood floor. Minnie’s head rolled away. Goofy’s body slid toward Harmon’s bed, while his legs remained by the ruined model.

  Harmon smiled. Then, he cracked his knuckles.

  This was in the Spring of 2005; eventually Harmon did finish all the models, including a mouse-ear silhouette on the double doors of the Catholic church.

  oOo

  Max Prinn’s brother Joe worked as a programmer for DisLex, and Max had already heard about DisLex chairman Harmon Jacques’ PerfectTown, even though he wasn’t supposed to know a thing about it. When he and his wife Cindy ordered their first season pass to the Magic Kingdom, he called ahead to ask if there was any chance, any at all, that they could get into the PerfectTown on their first visit.

  “My brother works up in Sunnyvale,” Max told the operator. Mentioning the DisLex headquarters usually produced great results, especially when Max was calling about the bill or service.

  She put him on hold for twenty minutes while he rinsed the dishes and tore his junk mail into halves, then quarters. Just as he was throwing the mail in the recycle bin, she came back saying, “are you one of the Gold Star Preview Winners?”

  “Yes,” Max said. He felt only a tiny twinge at the lie.

  “Can I have your confirmation code?”

  So much for that, Max thought. A shred of brightly-printed junk mail that he’d missed fluttered to the kitchen floor. He bent, picking it up, then said, “uh” to the operator, who sighed in return.

  “Is it this?” he asked, reading the numbers printed above the postal bar code on the address label, right below where it said “Prinn Family or current resident.”

  “Let me check,” she said. The phone clicked. A few seconds later, she returned
. “Mr. Prinn, our database seems to be down. I can’t —”

  “My brother told me that it was a really great ride,” Max blurted. “He’s worked on parts of it. They’ve all been —”

  The operator laughed. “I’m sure if your brother is up in Sunnyvale, it’s okay,” she said. “Why don’t you just give me your GoldStar card number?”

  “Sure,” Max said. He had that memorized; it was his social security number plus three extra digits.

  “Well, I see that,” she said. “At least that’s working. I tell you, I don’t know how they expect us to do our work, with this network broken down all of the time.” She sounded middle-aged, but good-spirited. Maybe she’d had the same kind of training that Max had. He sold home water purification systems over the phone and the net.

  “You have a nice voice,” he told the operator.

  “Thank you!” she replied. He imagined her beaming. Max, you have a gift, he thought.

  “Smile when you talk,” he added. “Smile from the wrists down when you type!”

  “That’s right,” she said. “Every day.”

  “DisLex is lucky to have somebody as nice as you working for them,” Max said. He paused. Maybe that had been a bit too much.

  He heard something rustling in the background, then the tell-tale clicks of a keyboard being worked.

  “Your passes will be out today,” she said. “Just press the print button on the autoscreen when you download them.”

  “Oh, thank you!” he said, amazed that his heart was pounding. Wait until he told Joe about this! Why, Joe wasn’t even going to get to see the PerfectTown for months — this really was a special preview for the GoldCard promotion winners only. A hundred of them, or something like that.

  “And your daughter is how old?” the operator asked.

  “Seven,” Max said. “She’s in second grade. Christian school, here in town.”

  The line clicked again. “I hope you enjoy the preview,” the operator said. “You’re one lucky man!”

  “Yeah,” Max said. “Thanks!”

  “You know to check your printer before you start,” she added, with the smile still in her voice.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Because it’ll only print once, then the file is gone. We can’t issue you another file.”

  “Right,” Max said. Darn right he’d check that printer. Imagine going to all that trouble to get the first passes to see the PerfectTown preview, then buggering up the damn print job? Not Max Prinn. He and Cindy and little Tina were going to be the very first ones to see it. He pictured the jealous faces of the guys at the country club, and Cindy’s bright blue eyes widening in surprise. And how excited Tina would be. Nothing was too good for Max’s girl. He’d be right there holding his baby’s hand while they saw the complete simulation of the future. According to Joe, the tiny people that the computer created were actually alive. They thought, lived, moved around — had feelings — everything!

  “Thank you so much, ma’am,” he said to the operator. “Could I have your name?”

  “Marilyn Chen,” she replied. “C-h-e-n.”

  “You’ve done such a great job with the network trouble and all,” Max said. “I’m going to tell my brother about you the next time we talk.”

  “Oh thank you, Mr. Prinn,” she said, her voice fluttering. “It’s been a pleasure helping you!”

  “Likewise,” Max said, breaking the connection. He straightened his collar and called upstairs.

  “Hey Cin! Cin! You’re not going to believe what I just did!”

  oOo

  Ten days later, Max, Cindy and Tina piled out of their forest green Chrysler vancruiser and trotted to the gates of the Magic Kingdom. It was a spring Tuesday, so there were only a few dozen people in line. The season pass got them in the gates, where an electric cart waited. The cart had a striped awning that reminded Max of a fruit-flavored gum he’d chewed as a kid.

  “It’s so cute!” Cindy said. “Look, Tina! It’s waiting for us.”

  A standing sign printed with “GoldStar Special Preview Members” stood next to the cart.

  “Red carpet treatment,” Max said. Cindy smiled up at him, her freckled nose wrinkling. Tina grabbed his hand. His heart jumped a little, feeling her small fingers in his.

  “Come on, honey,” he said, helping her into the cart. Cindy followed, then he sat on the edge, resting his feet on the running board, getting comfortable.

  A balding man in the back extended his hand. “Ray Martinez,” he said. “Can you believe we won this thing?” His wife smiled benignly; she looked as if she’d missed her morning cup of coffee.

  “Yeah,” Max said. “Incredible luck.” Cindy elbowed him, rolling her eyes. He’d told her the whole story.

  “You know,” Martinez said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I got my lawyer on them because they were dicking me on our bill. We live in Palos Verdes. They keep trying to force through the water surcharge.”

  “Yeah?” Max said, deciding that Martinez was one of those types who lived to make trouble.

  “The lawyer sent a registered e-mail, and the next day, boom! Sally got the message that we’d won the tickets!”

  “Ha!” Max said.

  “Really?” Cindy said, turning around.

  Martinez started to say more, but Tina, tugging on Max’s shirt, interrupted.

  “Look, Daddy! Goofy’s going to drive us.”

  “No,” Max said. “That’s my namesake.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, voice full of awe. “That’s the teenage boy, Max.”

  “Name’s Max Prinn,” Max said, turning to Martinez and his wife. “I had to take a lot of jokes about this guy when I was growing up.”

  Martinez’s wife whispered something, and the blank look on his face faded. “Yeah,” he said. “Oh, yeah! That one’s called Max.”

  “All right,” the driver said, his elongated, putty-colored dog face bobbing up and down. “Let’s hit the road! We’re off to see the PerfectTown.”

  “Whee, daddy! Whee!” Tina cried as she curled against him and the cart set off. Cindy smiled and ran her hand through her wheat-colored hair. They were traveling at least five miles an hour through the oldest part of Disneyland: Main Street USA.

  They passed the old Mister Lincoln exhibit. It was closed now; Max had heard from his brother Joe that it was going to be preserved as a museum. Max saw a character in an unusual costume standing beside the old brick building. The guy’s clothes were ragged, and he wore some kind of ugly mask that resembled a wild pig.

  “Hey, who’s that?” Max asked, leaning forward and tapping his cartoon dog-headed namesake on the shoulder. The cart slowed as cartoon-Max turned.

  “Who’s what?” he asked.

  “Over there,” Max said, pointing at the figure. The guy crouched. He was skulking! No Disney character ever walked like that, like some knuckle-dragging freak.

  “By Mister Lincoln?” cartoon Max asked. “Yeah, I see him.” The cart came to a stop, its electric motor whining down. Cartoon Max pressed his cheek and started speaking softly. Max heard most of what he said.

  “Intruder by Mister Lincoln,” he said. “Can’t believe they’re everywhere. I thought they cleared them all out —”

  Max suddenly understood. The man he’d seen was no Disney character, he was a viral freak, and the Magic Kingdom had been invaded. Was there nothing and nowhere safe? He pressed Tina close to him.

  Cindy’s eyes were wide. She’d seen the figure too. Tina looked up at Max and said, “what’s wrong, daddy?”

  “It’s a bad man,” he said. “They’ll take care of him.”

  “Why?” Tina asked.

  “Oh, honey,” Cindy said, leaning over to kiss Tina’s smooth, dark head.

  “I can’t believe they’ve gotten in here,” Martinez said. “Damn freaks!”

  “Hey,” Max said, turning and raising one brow. He looked at Tina, then back at Martinez. The message was unmistakable: watch your language aro
und my little girl. Martinez’ brow furrowed, then he sat back, putting his arm around his wife, frowning. Max hoped that he was embarrassed.

  “Daddy, I’m scared,” Tina said. Her small shoulders were trembling.

  The driver turned, waggling his dog ears. “Hey, sweetie,” he said. “Don’t be scared. You think my dad would let somebody do something bad here? Or Mickey Mouse? That’s just a guy who’s lost. We’ll help him find where he’s supposed to go.”

  “Really?” Tina said. She looked up at Max, her dark eyes full of uncertainty, and also wonder that Goofy’s teenaged son had spoken to her.

  “What’s your name?” Cartoon Max asked.

  “Tina,” she said in a tiny voice.

  He extended his big, three-fingered glove. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Tina,” he said.

  “You’re so sweet,” Cindy exclaimed. Max smiled at the driver. He was good — Max couldn’t believe how quickly he’d smoothed that over. Half a dozen security men in bright blue jumpsuits were approaching the Mister Lincoln building.

  “That was fast,” Martinez said.

  “See those guys?” Cartoon Max said, pointing at the security men. “Those are our helpers. They’ll help that man find his house.”

  “Did he run away from home?” Tina asked.

  “I think so,” Cartoon Max said.

  “Then he’s in a lot of trouble,” Tina said. “He might get a time out.”

  Max grabbed Tina and hugged her fiercely. Cindy put her arms around both of them.

  From the back of the cart, Martinez said, “You’ve got a great family.”

  Max turned and nodded. The men in the blue jumpsuits were entering the closed Mister Lincoln exhibit. Another group had appeared, starting down the narrow alley to its side where they’d last spotted the intruder. The freak.

  “I can’t believe that this is a problem here,” Cindy said to Cartoon Max. By that, she meant the derelict: the freak.

  “Well, it’s not a problem for us,” he said. “We’ve got everything under control.”

  “I’m sure,” she said in a tart voice. She looked at Max: he’d hear what she really thought later. Cindy was a little bit on the liberal side and often expressed sympathy for the freaks.