Stories: All-New Tales - By Neil Gaiman & Al Sarrantonio Page 0,142
recess until nine A.M. tomorrow.”
Glenn Hollow thanked the judge and told his young associates to gather up the papers and take them back to the office. The prosecutor rose and headed out the door. But he didn’t start sprinting until he was well out of the courthouse; he believed that you never let jurors see anything but your dignified self.
AT A LITTLE AFTER nine the next morning, Glenn Hollow rose to his feet. “I’d like to call to the stand Dr. James Pheder.”
“Objection, Your Honor.” Bob Ringling was on his feet.
“Reasons?”
“We received notice of this witness last night at eight P.M. We haven’t had adequate time to prepare.”
“Where were you at eight?”
Ringling blinked. “Well, Your Honor, I…the wife and I were out to dinner.”
“At eight I was reading documents in this case, Mr. Ringling. And Mr. Hollow was—obviously—sending you notices about impending witnesses. Neither of us were enjoying the buffet line at House O’Ribs.”
“But—”
“Think on your feet, Counselor. That’s what you get paid those big bucks for. Objection overruled. Proceed, Mr. Hollow.”
Pheder, a dark-complexioned man with a curly mop of black hair and a lean face, took the oath and sat.
“Now, Mr. Pheder, could you tell us about your credentials?”
“Yessir. I have degrees in psychology and biology from the University of Eastern Virginia, the University of Albany, and Northern Arizona University.”
“All of which are accredited four-year colleges, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you do for a living?”
“I’m an author and lecturer.”
“Are you published?”
“Yessir. I’ve published dozens of books.”
“Are those self-published?”
“Nosir. I’m with established publishing companies.”
“And where do you lecture?”
“All over the country. At schools, libraries, bookstores, private venues.”
“How many people attend these lectures?” Hollow asked.
“Each one is probably attended by four to six hundred people.”
“And how many lectures a year do you give?”
“About one hundred.”
Hollow paused and then asked, “Are you familiar with the concept of neme?”
“Yessir.”
“Is it true that you coined that term?”
“Yessir.”
“What does it refer to?”
“I combined the words ‘negative’ and ‘meme.’ ‘Negative’ is just what it sounds like. ‘Meme’ is a common phenomenon in society, like a song or catchphrase, that captures the popular imagination. It spreads.”
“Give us the gist of the concept of neme, that’s n-e-m-e, if you would.”
“In a nutshell?”
“Oh, yessir. I got Cs in science. Make it nice and simple.”
Nice touch, Hollow thought of his improvisation. Science.
Pheder continued. “It’s like a cloud of energy that affects people’s emotions in destructive ways. You know how you’re walking down the street and you suddenly feel different? For no reason at all. Your mood swings. It could be caused by any number of things. But it might be a neme incorporating itself into your cerebrum.”
“And you say, ‘negative.’ So nemes are bad?”
“Well, bad is a human judgment. They’re neutral, but they tend to make us behave in ways society characterizes as bad. Take a case of swimming in the ocean. Sharks and jellyfish aren’t bad; they’re simply doing what nature intended, existing. But when they take a bite out of us or sting us, we call that bad. Nemes are the same. They make us do things that to them are natural but that we call evil.”
The defense lawyer couldn’t, as it turned out, think on his feet, not very well. He was prepared for Hollow to introduce testimony by experts attacking his client’s claim of insanity.
He wasn’t prepared for Hollow to try to prove nemes were real. Ringling asked a few meaningless questions and let it go at that.
Hollow was relieved that he hadn’t explored Pheder’s history and credentials in other fields, including parapsychology and pseudoscience. Nor did he find the blog postings where Pheder claimed the lunar landings were staged in a film studio in Houston, or the ones supporting the theory that the Israelis and President George Bush were behind the 9/11 attacks. Hollow had particularly worried that Pheder’s essay about the 2012 apocalypse might surface.
Dodged the bullet there, he thought.
Ringling dismissed the man, seemingly convinced that the testimony had somehow worked to the defense’s advantage.
This concluded the formal presentations in the case and it was now time for closing statements.
Hollow had been writing his mentally even as he’d fled the courthouse yesterday, in search of Pheder’s phone number.
The slim, austere man walked to the front of the jury box and, a concession to camaraderie with the panel, undid his suit jacket’s middle button, which he usually kept