For 88keys.

References to works by Harlan Ellison and Mary Howitt. Theirs, not mine.

I like this room, I have decided.

Camera in the top right. Table in the middle, two chairs. I like the balance of it. Don't much care for the walls, though. Blue, but not navy. I wonder why?

And the mirror. Never was a fan of those. There's movement and voices behind it. Can't hear anything, but I can see it trembling ever so slightly.

Is it you, Boy?

You sitting behind there?

I don't know.

That shot was in the dark, so to speak. Yours was good, to hit me up there.

But I think I am a better shot than you.

A door's opens in the room behind; the pressure sucks in the glass like plastic over an open mouth. Seven steps, and then the door to this room opens.

Not you, then.

This man instead. Tall, blue eyes cold enough.

He's got your blood stuck in faded crescents along his cuticles.

He drops a fat file on the table, sits down a little too heavily.

You seem tired.

He doesn't reply, but the look in his eye says: "Well enough to talk to you."

That's his second mistake. I won't tell him yet, though. Much more fun to spring it on him later.

What do you want to talk about, Sir?

Always say Sir, Boy. If my mother taught me anything, it was to say Sir. To the postman, to the teacher.

To the men who came scratching on the screen door like tomcats to be let inside.

You want to know, sir. I can tell.

I already know. He taps the file twice. Nothing for you to tell me.

What's in the file, Sir? Ah, I see my name on it. My history in between the brown edges of a manila folder.

Tells you the why, sir. That's all you people ever seem to want to know. Not how, but why.

The why is immaterial. History. The how shows the mechanics. No point learning all about how steam engines were made back when. You need to know how they work.
That's why you're here. If you were telling the truth, there would be no conversation.

You need to know how I did it.

Well.

He walked into my parlour first.

The Boy.

That's not how it started.

No. But that's where the important part started. The rest is none of your business.

I think it is.

How so?

They were all mine.

Like the mirror he is, Boy. Looking out but no looking in.
But I can't see my face in him.

You never said your name.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Gibbs.

Heard my little flies talking about you. You have rules, I understand.

That's right.

One of your agents told me.

Actually, he said it to the woman, though she was not awake.
He doesn't need to know that. I've thrown him a little.
Third mistake.

Rule Nine, he said.

Never go anywhere without a knife.

Ah, I see.

I prefer lessons. Rules are made to be broken, but lessons are learned. Shall I tell you the lessons your agents learnt?

…

I think I shall, and in order too.

The First Lesson:

The cables never break, no matter how you squirm.

They both learnt that early. Very early

The female – Agent David – learnt the second lesson not long after she learnt the first.

The Second Lesson:

The cables are electric.

I think Agent DiNozzo may be glad he didn't have the knife.

You want to get back to the Boy, I can tell. Not easily distracted, are you, sir?

Fine.

Came late in the day; just walked right through the front door. Didn't have his gun out at first, but two steps in he decided it was a good idea.

Not like the other two.
It was far too late by the time they drew their weapons.

I watched him as he tried to call them, and found the signal scrambled; watched him hesitate, step forward through the dark.

I let him find his own way, and said nothing.

You appreciated my art, didn't you, Boy?

Not like this man, Agent Gibbs. Ran straight through with those idiots and their guns.

What a waste.

Went slow, feet skidding through the water. Metal and rust and the hum of cables. Calm enough, though I could see the whites of his eyes glinting and the dull scrape of uneven breath. You should have seen his face, when he found them.

The two of them hanging in my pretty wires, twelve feet off the floor and swaying slightly.

Oh, I live for those moments.

Thought he might scream, but he didn't. Legs nearly buckled, he moaned, but he did not scream. He thought they were dead, I think.

Your Agent DiNozzo saw him down there, and the noise he made was almost as good as the Boy's expression.

Two presents like that in a day.

Almost makes this worth it.

I spoke to him then.

Do you like it?

Practically jumped out of his skin. Funniest thing I've ever seen. Good thing I can turn the microphone off, otherwise he'd have heard me laughing, and that would have spoiled the moment.

I said to him: I can make them dance like marionettes for you, if you'd like.

He said he would not like that much.

Neither would they.

Agent DiNozzo said his name, but it was too faint so I didn't catch it.

He recovers himself enough. Says he is a federal agent. I suspected as much; I ask if he is here to arrest me. He looked up at them, and hesitates.

I promise not to get mad.

He says he is.

The Third Lesson:

The man who controls the switch?

He's a dirty liar.

Did you know it only takes 1 mA to send a heart into fibrillation? I learnt that very early. It was disappointing.

I'm far more careful, now. Keep the current along the skin, and they can dance for hours. Still not exact, though. I had one man die the first touch; another lasted a week. It was amazing. Older man; skin like old leather. Maybe it's bad for the conduction of electricity.

Oh, he's angry.
See the tightening of the jaw?
Almost as angry as you were, but you wore it differently.

He tried to get close, but they were too high and the cables burnt his hands. I did not let them suffer long; or at least, as long as I'd like.

Agent DiNozzo moaned; the woman was silent.

Do you remember what you asked me?
You asked me what I wanted.

You know, I have never been asked that. In all my live-long life, never that question once.

Why?

That question is a little too big for me, Sir. You'll have to narrow it down.

You gave him a choice. Why did you bother to do that? You don't get off on other people being saved.

I don't get off on any of this, Sir. I resent that implication.

But. Satisfaction means many things.

I wanted to see what he could do. That's why I gave him the choice. He didn't like it, any more than you seem to; but he listened, he thought about it, and he seemed to come to some agreement within himself.

He tells the hanging man he's coming back. And I remember exactly what he said in reply.

"Get the hell out, Probie. We're already dead."

Clever, your Boy.

Not a great listener, though.

The Fourth Lesson:

To go forward, sometimes, you must go back.

I asked Agent DiNozzo why he thought that. Why he thought they were already dead.

He said that he had seen my work. You've seen it too, haven't you?

I saw what you did to Petty Officer Stanmore.

Though I suppose the real question is how he managed to find them first, and alone?

Where were you, Sir?

…

Did you know what you were sending them into, when you asked them to search those warehouses? What they'd find?

No.

I should hope not, sir. That's a cruelty even I wouldn't have subjected them to.

So I gave him a choice.

If he could find me, I would surrender. I didn't think he would, and I was becoming bored with the other two. When they're half conscious it's no fun at all. More fun to watch him wander like an eyeless insect in a world of death.

I have many eyes in my parlour; they followed him as he followed the cables up winding stairs. Got a good eye for tricks, he passed over the first without even realising. Smart enough not to touch the cables with his hands.

I asked him why he didn't run; He said they were friends of his.

Now sir, I haven't had many friends. If I were honest I'd say probably none, but I'm a liar, so we'll say a few. I never really got the complication of it.

I have coworkers. Harry who works in the north end of town calls me a freak and sticks chewing gum over my desk. Sally smiles but tries not to be alone in the same room with me.

Coworkers and friends are in my book mutually exclusive. I tell him so and he says that maybe it depends on the job.

He found a fuse box; peered at it in the gloom. He touched the first switch gingerly.

The shock threw him back into a wall.

The Fifth Lesson:

Be careful what you touch.

He was unconscious for fourteen minutes and 31 seconds.

I will make my confession to you, now you have caught me.

I have killed many men. Women too.

Children as well, though never intentionally.

Does that somehow make it better? Does that mean they don't count, when it was an accidental death? When my time is up and they give me my ledger, I will be sure to look for those three children. I do not have much faith in God, but they say he is a good accountant. Measures up the gains and losses to make a nice fat zero. Sneaky man will slip them in as a tax deduction, I'm sure.

You should know too that plenty of them called me coward, which is all a matter of opinion. Bravery and stupidity is the same thing with different eyes opened.

One should remember, it is the cowards that survive a war.

You knew what I was, Boy. And you kept looking.
What does that say about you, I wonder?

What do my actions say about me?

Well, four facts then.

I set many fires, but some were supposed to be there and others were necessary. So I am free from those. I never had a bed to wet, and I never pulled the wings off flies.

And I loved my ma.

I know a lot of the other sick bastards you get in here hated their mothers, but mine was a saint. She's in heaven now with the accountant god, looking at him with sideways eyes and lips parted just so.

She was always good to me.

My saint ma sent me to sit in the garden while she and her men got on their knees to talk to God. Even when it rained; though I didn't mind so much with the electric storms.

I'd sit in the jungle garden, with the golden silk spiders. Nephila clavipes babbling to themselves in webs of light.

I fed the flies to them.

Watch them jerk around while my ma and her men praised god so loud he made the thunder to block his ears.

Why mess with nature, after all?

After the men had left she'd come down the stairs to find me, radiant with a half smile, light shining in her skin.

Salve, Regina, Mater misericordiae,

vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve.

Like I said.

My mother's a saint.

Doesn't mean nothin' about me.

There's a why, if you want it, Sir.

If it makes you feel better.

The flies know something has happened; every change in the power grid runs through those cables.

But you didn't know that, when your men came bursting in. You may not have felt it under all that rubber, but they sure did.

Too easy to get this man angry, Boy.

The woman wakes. Eyes roll upward, but she doesn't make a sound.

The man calls her name, and she moves her head towards him.

They whisper to each other, and I can guess what they say.

We're still alive.

I move the cables a little, and they freeze. Move them again, twist and turn like little puppets until their position changes. Before it was as leisurely as a hammock. Now, they are scarecrows to frighten away all things.

We shall have some fun while we wait.

The man whispers to the woman, and I know what he says.

We're still alive.

And someone is coming.

He hears them.

I can see it on the screens. He trembles at the sounds echoing against the walls as he wanders through the halls and looks at all my wonders hanging in the wires.

I've been doing this a long time.

He finds the three problems in my account, and has to walk away. I suspect he feels that these three should be on my ledger, but he is not going to be the judge of me at the End of Days.

Only one voice, now. Weak.

He walks faster.

Water pools in from outside, through the back. On the other side is a fuse box.

He looks at his reflection in the water, then retreats.

Fast learner.

Tell you what, sir. I'll tell you how many he saw, if you tell me how you found me. Fair trade?

…

I don't believe I said anything funny just then, Jethro.

You really think you have anything to bargain with?

Oh, I think I am. I really think I am, you see.

Someone knocks on the glass. He pauses, then gets up. As an afterthought, he takes the file

It's been twelve hours since he pulled me out. In an hour or so he'll see I'm definitely in a position to bargain. But I will not tell him that yet.

He'll be back, very soon I think. Twelve minutes, if I care to wager.

Shall I tell you the real why, Boy?

The truth is, I'm not right in the head.

My own ma told me so, and it's her fault. All bad things in the world come back to our mothers, whether it's what they do or what other people do to them.

But she also told me something else. That I was damned clever.

When I did numbers without a calculator, fixed the wiring in the dishwasher and television.

And that I was; for all the time at school, for all the other things I never got, I was smarter than all the others. My own little treasure to keep inside, precious knowing against all the blows and loneliness.

All I had left, the day the kitchen flooded, and my ma danced in the water on the kitchen floor with her hands still stuck in the dishwasher.

All I have is that I'm damned clever, and the bit of me that's not right in the head.

And…

Huh.

Steps are quicker outside.

Why, agent Gibbs, you're not looking so fine. Little grey around the edges, Sir. Twelve minutes are up, and I'm guessing that phone call was from the hospital. Something wrong?

Scared now, Boy.
Good.
Not good for you, though.
You're not going to like the next few hours.

What did you do? he asks, incomprehension in those angel eyes.

Me?

Oh, I did nothing.

Do you want to here the rest of the story, Sir?

The Sixth Lesson:

One plan is good.

Two plans are better.

He wanders, and the last voice falls silent.

With no one to play with, I watch him walk.

He sees me watching, I think. Eyes fall on me a few times, then pass.

Eventually, he slows to a stop. Sits on the earth and puts his head in his hands.

You think, sir, that maybe he should not have decided to play my game. But know that had he refused, turned to leave, I would have killed them both in front of him, and had a new toy.

But he did play, and was still alive for the moment.

Then he stood, started walking again.

Found his way back to face the limp shadows.

I can't. That was what he said.

But see, this is where it gets interesting.

For nearly everyone in the world, there are twin railroads tracks running either side that hardly intersect. Thought and Voice. Only one can be used at a time. Not this boy, but I didn't know it then. He was thinking, even with that agony in his eyes. Even when he walked away, and left them there.

The woman called after him, I think. He did not turn.

I watched head towards the light of the exit, ready to get him as he passed the threshold. Three is a far more superior number than two, after all.

He passed out of sight for a moment, but did not reappear.

I hesitated.

Then the screens went dark.

Silence below.

Silence everywhere

Where are you?

I'm here, he says. Alto voice, clear. Very close indeed.

Right behind my ear. Gun pressed against my damp neck.

Turn everything off, or I swear to god I will shoot you right here.

You see, that's what makes us different. Men like him, men like me. He looked around and saw the grand scheme of things. Patterns and loops running round and round this building, to reveal that the cables are nothing but a giant web, with it's hub right above the flies.

You and he are nothing alike.

Believe what you like.

Our minds think the same way, whatever you may think.

He cuffs me to the pole, turns off the power. It goes dark. He unravels the cables, and is running even at the sound of two dull thuds below.

The first mistake, Boy was letting me live.
The second was cuffing me with my hands in front.

The Seventh Lesson:

Just because a man is cuffed,

doesn't mean he can't shoot you.

I never really liked guns. A man should rely on what God gives him. Wit, speed, insanity. Guns are the great leveller; but since he cheated first, I was quite happy to join in.

Except when I cheat, I do it right.
How are you feeling, Boy?
Not long now.
Be at peace with the fact it won't last long.

Got him in the back. He stumbled, spun and fired.

Got you in the hand.

That he did. Hell of a shot, your boy. And now he's dying, isn't he?

Agent Gibbs can't look me in the eye.
You must have been something special to him.
But then, why is he here instead of watching you die?

Why?

I never was a fan of happy endings. It makes me mighty satisfied to know I threw the spanner into yours.

No one will win, but I will not lose. It's consolation enough.

Oh my little fly.
You must be feeling mighty unwell.

There are many poisons in the world, Sir. Can you test for them all? A bullet like that is hard to make, but it can be done.

He takes a breath.

...What bargain was it you wanted?

Oh, shops closed, Gibbs. It's far too late for that.

The Sixth Lesson (amended):

One plan is good.

Two plans are better.

Fail-safes are best.

Must have taken a turn for the worse, Boy. For him to leave like that. Shall we finish the story without him? He was there for the rest, but you were not awake.

They took them too long, in any case. After you barely managed to call him.

I got to watch you lying there, with them, huddled in the water surrounded by spreading blood and the smell of burnt skin.

Yes.
It took them far too long.

But once they were there, they got me out first. Says a lot about their priorities, frankly.

But I got to see him turn you, and get your blood all over his hands.

…

…

You know, I had time to tie you up. In those fourteen minutes and 31 seconds you were unconscious.
I knew that while I was watching you, but I did not. My actions from birth have followed easily illuminated paths, but that one I cannot easily explain.

Door opens again, and it's like a new man walks through.

Grey man. Tired old man.

My poor Boy.

You did not learn you lessons well.

I would say I was sorry, but you know I'm not.

Why?

Always with the why. Such eternal questioning.
There is no why. There just is.

He sits there, stares at the file on the table. That fatness that somehow predicted nothing at all.

You got the others sick too, didn't you? Before…

He swallows.

…before you killed them.

Yes.

That was….

…

…

That was out of spite. To be honest.

Malice, and a just in case.

The venom passes slower through the skin, but it would have killed them in the end, Jethro.

Last mistake, Sir, to show yourself so broken.

Because no matter what you do to me now, I will still have that.

What was it?

Brown recluse? Black Widow? Golden Silk Spider?

No. My tastes are far more exotic than that. Phoneutria nigriventer. Aranhas armadeiras

What?

The Wanderer.

He stares into the nothing. I see myself smiling in the mirror. Not so bad, after all, he seems to say.

Jethro turns. Watches me in the mirror. Then…

Did you get that, Tim?

Alto voice from behind the man smiling in the glass.

Loud and clear, Boss.

My ears feel funny. The man in the mirror's cheeks are suddenly hollow, and he scares me with his eyes of death.

I don't…

…no.

Gibbs stands, walks to flick the switch.

The monster vanishes.

You…

Grimness, and weakness.

Holding yourself up, forcing yourself to stare me in the eye. And then you pull down the too big NIS shirt, shows the patch by the shoulder covering the exit wound.

There is a freezing, in the back of my mind.

Then it is a mirror again, and I see Jethro's true face.

That smile, and eyes of retribution.

Hell of a shot. Passed straight through. Toxin's embedded three inches deep in concrete.

He stands, tucks the folder under his arm.

Agent's DiNozzo and David appreciate your help in finding the appropriate antivenom.

Then he shuts the door.

There is an echo, from behind the glass.

It is just me, and the man in the mirror.

Well.

Well, indeed.

…

Never was a fan of mirrors. Don't like what I see in them.

Oh, staring eyes.

...

…

Boy…

…

…

…

Tim...

The Last Lesson:

Unto an evil counsellor,

close heart

and ear

and eye, 


And take a lesson from this tale

of the Spider

and the Fly.