Dead and Alive

tippytoe, east along the south hall, across soft rugs. Toward the main corridor.
    Jocko heard voices. In his head? Could be. Had been before. No, no, not this time. Real voices. In the main hallway.
    The corner. Careful. Jocko halted, peeked around.
    Erika stood in the hallway, at the open master-suite doors. Talking to someone inside, probably Victor.
    So pretty. Such shimmering hair. She had lips. Jocko wished he had lips, too.
    “It’s the name of a great English house, a literary allusion,” Erika said to probably Victor.
    Her voice soothed Jocko. Her voice was music.
    As a calmness came over Jocko, he realized that he was different when in her company. With her, he didn’t feel compelled to do so much skipping, hopping, spitting, pirouetting, juggling, capering, nostril pulling, scampering, and walking on his hands.
    She lied to Jocko. Lied about the tastiness of soap. Otherwise, however, she was a positive influence.
    Eighty or ninety feet away, Victor Helios appeared. Out of the master suite. Tall. Trim. Excellent hair on his head, probably none on his tongue. Pretty suit.
    Jocko thought:
Die, juggler, die!
    Victor walked past Erika. To the stairs. Said one last thing to her. Started down.
    Jocko had the knife. The knife belonged in Victor.
    A
thousand
knives belonged in Victor.
    Jocko only had two hands. Could juggle three knives with two hands, put them in Victor. Trying to juggle a thousand knives, Jocko would probably lose some fingers.
    To reach Victor with one pathetic knife, Jocko must run past Erika. That would be awkward.
    She would see him. Would know he broke his promise. More than one promise. Would know he lied. Would be disappointed in him.
    And she might smell soap on his breath.
    Erika moved to the stairs. Watched Victor descend.
    Maybe she saw Jocko. From the corner of her eye. She started to turn. Turn toward Jocko.
    Jocko ducked back. Away from the corner.
    Hoppity-hoppity-hop. Hoppity-hoppity-hop. West along the south hall. Backward down the stairs.
    Kitchen again. Apples on the floor. Oranges would be even more round. Jocko must ask for oranges. And scissors to trim his tongue hairs.
    Jocko capered out of the kitchen, through a butler’s pantry, across an intimate dining room.
    Beyond was a large, formal dining room. Jocko didn’t see it too clearly because he had to, had to,
had to pirouette
.
    Room after room, small connecting halls, so much house. Walking on his hands, knife gripped in one foot. Cartwheeling, cartwheeling, knife in his teeth.
    North hall. Back stairs. Second floor. His suite.
    Jocko hid the knife in his bedding. He scampered back into the living room. Sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. Enjoying the fireplace without fire.
    She would say:
I thought I saw you in the hall
.
    He would say:
No, not Jocko, not Jocko. No, no, no. Not I who am from he who was, monster from monster, no, not Jocko, not in the hall and not eating soap
.
    Or maybe he would just say
No
.
    Jocko would play it by ear. See what seemed right at the time.
    After gazing at no fire for half a minute, Jocko realized he had forgotten to kill Victor.
    Jocko hooked fingers in his nostrils and pulled them toward his brow until his eyes watered. He deserved worse.

CHAPTER 40
    FOLLOWING THE FAILURE of the freezer motors, the saline solution in the transparent sack begins to warm.
    After the busy visitor in the laboratory throws the sink that smashes the glass door, the pace of the warming accelerates.
    The first improvement in Chameleon’s condition concerns its vision. In the cold environment, it sees only shades of blue. Now it begins to apprehend other colors, gradually at first, and then more rapidly.
    For so long, Chameleon has drifted in the sack, mobility limited by the bitter cold of the fluid in which it is immersed. Now it is able to flex its abdomen and thorax. Its head turns more easily.
    Suddenly it thrashes, thrashes again, a great commotion that causes the hanging sack to swing side to side and bump against the walls of the disabled freezer.
    In semisuspended animation, Chameleon’s metabolism performs at a basal rate so low as to be almost undetectable. As the fluid in the sack warms, the catabolic processes increase.
    With the energy provided by catabolism, anabolic processes begin to speed up. Chameleon is returning to full function.
    The thrashing signifies a need for air. The highly oxygenated solution in the sack maintains Chameleon in subfreezing cold, but is inadequate to