My nerves crackle, raising the hair on my skin as panic turns to terror.
Delicious.
“Retiring is for old men. You’re young yet. Ages of work left in you. And a gambling habit to pick up.”
“Retiring is for the rich. Which I am. Because of you.”
“Don’t put this on me,” I protest. “If it were up to me, you’d be impoverished and doing my bidding until the day you die. Retirement isn’t good for employee retention numbers.” Or—when it comes tohisretirement—my central nervous system.
“The way you run your business is on you,” he retorts. “And the way I take advantage of it is on me. I’m retiring.”
“You sure you wouldn’t prefer scratchers?” I ask, grinning at the ceiling. “Or perhaps you’d like horse races? Underground boxing matches? Mahjong?”
He laughs, a terrible sound that serves beautifully to increase my distress until it batters against my bones in an effort to infect every inch within me.
This is going, in a word,horribly.
How very,veryfun.
I roll my chair across the floor to a shiny metal table on the opposite side of the room from my desk. Absent-mindedly, I poke at my current project, who lies atop it.
“When is thisretirementgoing to start?” How much time do I have to prepare before I have to confront…her.
My project, a man by the name of Ted Richards, squirms atop the table and emits a high, keening sound.
My nose scrunches, and I grab my pliers. A little bit of multitasking couldn’t hurt, right?
“Now,” my uncle says in my ear. “We’re at your gate.”
The pliers rattle as they hit the tile floor, then slide under the table.
My breaths shudder, burning through the chest my heart is trying to drop out of, and I jolt to standing. Dread and anticipation riot beneath my skin, and I wonder at how I could have thought the mere panic of moments ago would ever be titillating enough to satisfy me.
Thisis feeling—living. Raw, unfiltered emotional input converted to output in the form of goosebumps, shaky knees, and adrenaline. What a terrible, delightful, enchanting feeling.
“See you in five,” Stone says as I bask in my turmoil, then he clicks off, leaving me to revel alone—or, mostly alone.
Shoving my phone in the pocket of my jeans, I address my current project. “I’ve got to go. My uncle, it seems, has brought me a gift.”
Ted’s wide brown eyes watch me in alarm as I tighten the straps holding him to my favorite work table. I double check my knots, then pour a fresh round of diluted hydrochloric acid into the tank for the homemade slow-watering system attached to the table.
The liquid will do some of my job for me while I’m away, gradually administering the solution at the top of the slightly tilted table. The solution will then slide down the smooth metaluntil it reaches a collection tube at the end, which will collect the waste into a series of buckets for me to safely dispose of later. The system is not unlike one I have in CubeCraft, the video game I play and stream online for enjoyment and extra income. Not that Ineedthe extra income, per se, but it’s nice to have a spare couple hundred-thousand dollars or so a year for fun spending.
Ted squirms and whimpers as the watering system starts to do its job. I’d feel bad for him, maybe, if I didn’t know that his current pain is not even a fraction of the pain he deserves—the pain he’ll be experiencing before I’m through with him.
I check his IV, ensuring he has the hydration he needs to withstand this. I can’t have him dying before I’m finished.
He whimpers again.
“I know, buddy,” I soothe, sweeping a lock of sweat-soaked hair off of his forehead. “I wish I could stay, too. Alas. I must be going. You understand, yes? I’ve something more important to see to.”
Ted does understand, of course. He doesn’t say so, possibly because the gag in his mouth doesn’t allow for our chats to be two-sided, but the pleading, yearning,begginglook in his eyes assures me that he knows a thing or two about wanting something just out of reach.
“To be fully transparent with you,” I say, lowering my voice as I lean in, careful not to touch the now-wet table, “I’m quite scared. I wasn’t expecting this gift just yet, and I’m not sure I’m ready.” I grin, a wide, feral thing. “It’s invigorating, isn’t it? The fear?”
Ted whines in agreement, and I poke his adorably bloody little nose.
Then I return my chair to my desk, check my soft blue sweater for any wayward red stains, head outside, and prepare to meet the love of my life.
