Dead and Alive

with relief, Erika entered the unfurnished north-wing suite, the troll was standing on the points of his toes, pirouetting.
    She rolled the cart into the living room. Closing the door to the hall, she said, “Where did you learn to dance?”
    “Is Jocko dancing?” he asked, continuing to spin.
    “That’s ballet.”
    “It’s just … a thing … Jocko does,” he said, and pirouetted into the bedroom.
    Following with the cart, Erika said, “Don’t you get very dizzy?”
    “Sometimes … Jocko vomits.”
    “Well then, you better stop.”
    “No control.”
    Putting the bedding on the floor, in a corner, Erika said, “You mean you’re compelled to pirouette?”
    The troll spun to a stop, came off pointe, and weaved a few steps before regaining his equilibrium. “Not so bad that time.”
    “You poor thing.”
    He shrugged. “Everybody’s got problems.”
    “That’s very philosophical.”
    “Most worse than mine.”
    Erika was pretty sure there weren’t many fates worse than being a grotesque troll with three hairs on your tongue, penniless, living mostly in storm drains, with a compulsion to spin until you threw up. But she admired the little guy’s positive attitude.
    In the bathroom, Jocko helped her unload the cart and distribute the items to cabinets and drawers. He was delighted with the supply of snack foods that she had brought.
    “Jocko likes salty, Jocko likes sweet, but never bring Jocko any hot sauce, like with jalapeños, because it makes Jocko squirt funny-smelling stuff out his ears.”
    “I’ll be sure to remember that,” Erika said. “Of course, I’ll bring you healthy meals whenever I can, not just snack foods. Is there anything you don’t like besides hot sauce?”
    “Jocko’s been living mostly in storm drains, eating bugs and rats. And hot sauce on corn chips that one time. Anything you bring is delicious enough for Jocko.”
    “This is very exciting, isn’t it?” Erika said.
    “What is?”
    “Having a secret friend.”
    “Who does?”
    “I do.”
    “What friend?”
    “You.”
    “Oh. Yes. Jocko is excited.”
    Putting away the last of the towels, she said, “I’ll be back in the morning, in just a few hours, after Victor has gone to the Hands of Mercy, and then you can read to me.”
    Sitting on the edge of the tub, Jocko asked, “Is this good to eat?”
    “No, that’s bath soap.”
    “Oh. Is this good to eat?”
    “That’s another bath soap.”
    “So it’s good to eat?”
    “No. Soap is never good to eat.”
    “Is this good to eat?”
    “That’s also bath soap. It’s a four-pack.”
    “Why soap, soap, soap, soap?”
    “I brought extras of several things. You’re going to be here awhile…. Aren’t you?”
    “As long as you say Jocko can.”
    “Good. That’s very good.”
    “Now go away,” said Jocko.
    “Oh, of course, you must be tired.”
    “Must be,” he agreed, following her into the living room. “Go away.”
    Erika left the stainless-steel cart, intending to return it to the kitchen in the morning, after Victor went to the lab.
    Cracking the door, she scoped the hallway, which was deserted and quiet. Glancing back at the troll, she said, “Don’t be afraid.”
    “You either.”
    “You’re safe.”
    “You too.”
    “Just lie low.”
    “Go away.”
    Stepping into the hall, Erika quietly pulled the door shut behind her.

CHAPTER 37
    THE INSTANT THE DOOR CLOSED , Jocko scampered into the bathroom. Snatched up a bar of soap. Tore the wrapper off. Took a bite.
    Erika was wrong. Soap looked delicious, and it
was
.
    She was wrong or …
she lied
.
    How sad she would lie. She seemed so different from others. So pretty. So kind. Such delicate nostrils. But a liar.
    Almost everybody lied. The world was a kingdom of lies.
    Jocko lied, too. Told her he was Harker.
    True, he came out of Harker. All Harker’s knowledge. Harker’s memories. But he wasn’t Harker.
    Jocko was Jocko, unique. Jocko wanted what Jocko wanted. Not what anybody else wanted.
    Only one way Jocko and Harker were alike. Hated Victor Helios.
Hated
him.
    One thing Jocko wanted, Harker had wanted. Victor Helios dead.
    Jocko was Jocko. But he was also
vengeance
.
    Soap tasted better than rats. Almost as good as bugs. But so chewy. Not easy to swallow.
    Jocko put down the half-eaten bar. Didn’t have time for so much chewing. Later.
    Jocko wanted what Jocko wanted. Wanted it so bad. But couldn’t have what he wanted until he killed Victor Helios.
    He dashed into