Written by my permanent and fantastic editor Samantha Derry, this story seeks to basically tie all my loose stories together into one arc-welding story. No active skinsuiting but a lot more implied behind the scenes. A bit of knowledge of canon can go a long way in getting the references and more subtle elements.
A man finds a trail of erased memories and missing people who return without a single memory of being lost. And strangely enough it all comes back to a certain billionaires mansion…
I had only been to a therapist once before. I was a kid then. “Fixated” was the word the tall, tan man in the thick glasses used–I was “fixated”. On what, I could never remember. Hell, that was years ago. It was a few months ago when I felt it again. The pull. The direction of my every waking thought. I had a desire, no, a need to learn everything there was to know about this…this–how could this be described? A conspiracy? I honestly don’t know. I was reading a newspaper when it hit me. Articles on disappearances, reappearances, testimonies of blackouts. It haunted my late nights. My afternoons were spent poring over article after article of eyewitnesses, interviews, even a few forums instead of my usual office work. This entire obsession was on a series of happenings that were connected (at least that was what I told myself). I mean even the dotted world map on my cork board agreed. It was lined with pins, each one lined with a thin string. The map…my obsession was in a full sprint before I realized something was wrong. My mind was fixated. That’s bad. I shouldn’t be like this. Hell, it’s why I was parked outside her office a half-hour early. I had this sense of…dread. Of what? I could be wrong. I had entertained it but everything I had read…the points I had stuck…that wasn’t wrong. The scariest thing to me was…what if I was right?
From the reviews I had read, Karen Charlemange was the best in the business. Five stars. Helped anyone and everyone, despite her methods appearing virtually unknown. Curing a man of incest? Was that even possible? Somehow, she had done it. Damned if I know how. Maybe a miracle worker was what I needed.
The time came, and I entered her office. My eyes instinctively went down to her cleavage, but darted back up to her sharp, grey eyes. “She had the body of a goddamn pornstar!” Were my first thoughts, admittedly.
Her tone was clinical. “Are you my five o’clock? Take a seat, Mr. Sumner.”
I took my seat and began to tell my story.
“It was February, and I was reading the paper…well..I mean I was reading the front cover of a paper–it was all shit. “Aliens took my husband” this and “ Who’s secretly impersonating rich and famous yada-yada” that. Tabloids, that was the term. The stand was selling tabloids. The guy who worked there was a Mexican guy with an accent. We had chatted enough, but I honestly never really knew him. Well we were chatting about something or another and all of a sudden I see something and it’s just…”
“MEMORIES LOST! AMNESIAC WOMEN WARN ABOUT TREACHEROUS TRIP!”
Whistleblower EXCLUSIVE on page 9–Sex cults: Do They Exist?
“And I was like ‘wait what? How do they remember?’ I bought it and I was hooked. I mean..shit, man. Five women book a trip to Israel and wake up with no memory of the trip? Isn’t that–weird? And it isn’t just them! There’s forums of this shit! I’ve seen it!”
Karen closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingertips. “Surely that can’t be it, is it?” Her voice was unimpressed. “All you’re obsessing about is a tabloid story? I could figur–”
“No, there’s more. Trust me.” I interrupted. She stared at me with icy eyes. Her pupils flicked to her wristwatch. “Go on then.”
“Alright, well…I did some digging. Called a few people. I even got a testimony from….shit…I think her name was Nina. She greeted the tour guide and…boom. Airport bathroom. Same with her internet buddy–Sissy–Sassy–I don’t know. She hugged Nina, spoke with the tour guide, saw…five guys on a female-only hike…Poof. Airport. She even told me about the website she found the place on. Shit, man. I even found this!”
At this point, I opened up my backpack (Ah shit, I should have mentioned that earlier. I brought my shit in a backpack. Surprise! Corkmap included and all) and took out a piece of paper. It was some flyer printed off the dark web–a tool that had launched me further into this insane investigation.
BECOME A WOMAN ON THIS ISRAEL HIKING TRIP!
NO PAIN! NO WORRY! NO TRACE! 100% ETHICAL*
Email Suitable Hikes at Suitablehikes@vacmail.com
FIVE SPOTS AVAILABLE! RESERVE NOW!
*Skinsuit usage may not be entirely ethical
“You see this shit, doc? This is fucking insane!”
Karen seized the paper and brought it close. Her eyes scanned the printed page before handing it back. “Mr. Sumner, you have my attention. Though I must say, an advertisement off of the “dark web” may not be exactly reputable, do you understand?”
I nodded in response. “You find the weirdest shit on the internet, eh?” I suggested. She nodded, affirming…something. “Is this your…fixation, Mr. Sumner?”
“Yeah. Though…I have figured something else out though.”
“And what would that be, Mr. Sumner?”
I pulled out the corkboard map. The pins were still there. The strings were still attached. There was one in Israel, and the others were scattered in the U.S.
“Alright, yeah so, I did–”
“You did some digging?” She gave me a half-hearted smirk.
“Damn, you’re good.” I rested the corkboard map on the mahogany table.
“It’s why I’m a therapist. Go on.” Her eyes darted down to it in a rapt way. Across the map itself was a line of pins.The line proper “began” on the edge of California and ended Bodega Bay Of course, the map was really, really small, so I had to make do with sticky notes.
“Turns out there are similar cases to that in Israel. Tabloids are calling it “body-hopping”. Nobody knows how it’s done. Type that term into a dark web search engine, you get some case reports of people getting their bodies hijacked. I thought to myself ‘Hey, wait a second. Would there be some kind of pattern with this body-hopping shit? Turns out yes, yes there was.”
The sticky notes held several names. People who had gone missing for a short time. Quit their jobs out of the blue. Prostitutes, escorts, Denise Harlow (she was the most distinctive one, a goth girl out of the town on Anders), A line could be drawn from where one missing person’s case ended and another began. When someone was found in a town, another person was missing, and that person would be found a few miles away…with no memory of what had happened…no clue where they were and how they got there…and somebody was missing from that town, too.
“From 2014 to mid-2015, a slew of cases carved a path all over California and…nobody noticed! It’s like they’re blind…or just..nobody is paying attention! It’s happening under our noses!” As I said this, my frustration began to mount. This was insane! What I was saying here was ludicrous, but fuck! I can’t fucking stop myself..not until I finish. Not until this raven-haired professional tells me I’m crazy.
“What happened in mid-2015, though? If you honestly believe that there was some kind of serial body-hopper out there, why would he stop?”
I shrugged. “To be honest, I was at a loss too. There wasn’t really anything going on then, but I had a separate theory building (for shits and giggles, of course).”
She checked her watch again. “I’ll be honest, we’re running out of time. If you want to stay and talk, I’ll make you pay extra.”
“That’s fine by me. Are you busy after this?” I asked. She shook her head. It was supposed to be a one-and-done deal, but I was the complication. I didn’t mind it.
Maybe it would be better to explain what I had told her here, just so I won’t get confused with all the quotation marks and shit. Long story short, here’s where I dive into a real conspiracy.
Alright, so that line of missing persons led around California, like–all around the state. A big loop-de-loop that ended in Bodega Bay. Clear? Good. Now Not only was one of the missing persons found there, but what was one of the first things she saw when she woke up? A mansion on Golden Drive Road. That was Denise Harlow. Goth chick. Turns out she was being showboated all over the state. An identity…over another identity. I mean having your body shown in the cameras all over the state was bad enough, but being used as a fucking vehicle? That’s insane. When I had first found this out, I honest-to-God hoped that she wasn’t conscious during that year-and-a-half. There was no worse fate than being an aware puppet to…well…a monster like that.
Alright, yeah. A mansion. Not much to go on, right? Well, she did list Golden Drive Road. There’s a few choices in that area. The Oldholms, the Ravinas, and the Creneths. All of them live on the street. You may be saying to yourself, “John, the only thing she gave you was a street name and a mansion, this is crazy!” Hear me out. The Oldholms are haughty guys. Don’t do much but sit in their backyard having wine. Parties and stuff. Everything the paparazzi could snap and shoot (which was a lot) ended up online so…that’s one suspect crossed out. About the Ravinas…I don’t know shit about. They’re off the list because they’re boring people.
The last mansion of my initial investigation belonged to the Creneths family. The guy, Mark Creneth, is a billionaire heir, works the stock market. The wife…I think her name was Andrea…she seems to be just a trophy wife. Whattapedia page didn’t say much. So I stuck with the tabloids. Ironically enough, the tabloids have the most accurate info, or at least the closest matching to what I’ve discovered thus far. One of the only things I found in the actual, mainstream media was a land purchase they had made a few years back. The heir of a billion-dollar fortune bought a few hundred acres of empty land for…and let me get this quote right, “Horse philanthropy”. What a crock of shit.
Weirdly enough, it worked out for them. One of their horses, “Strider”, won first place in the “Golden Tree Classic”, the biggest horse race in the state. There are video clips all over the place. It was probably the biggest upset in horse racing history, barring the fact that it was supposedly Strider’s time on the track.
Believe it or not, there were a bunch of rumors floating around about this family even before the race. Uncharted air flights, coverups, even rumors of hosting secret, fancy, rich-person orgies. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were eccentric criminal masterminds.
To be honest, I don’t know where that leaves me. I have missing persons reports, a description, a few addresses, and the horrifying realization that…the body hopper could be one of them. As I explained all of this to Ms. Charlemagne, her look turned from one of mild amusement to genuine concern.
“Mr. Sumner, everything you’ve told me was…well…it was astonishing how you’ve pieced it all together.”
“What do you mean?”
Wealth, missing people, and celebrities. It’s all very interesting, that’s all.” She spoke in a condescending tone, and I could see the cogs turning in her head as to what to say next. I had placed down every note and paper that I had on my person to make my case, and I felt anxious to hear her thoughts. It was like receiving a grade from a teacher I looked up to. After all, this woman was the first person I had ever spoken to about my impromptu investigation. It’d kill me to hear her just…disregard it. It would also be relieving too, that it’s all bull. The feeling in my gut told me I was right, that I had solved some kind of mystery, but my brain told me I was probably crazy. I just wanted an answer.
“To be quite frank, Mr. Sumner…I think you’re completely right.” She concluded. I froze. I had expected her answer to be something in the negative, but this…I found her answer exciting, surprising…and terrifying in the same breath.
“You’re shitting me.” I said, leaning forward to once again gaze over the charts and prints I had stared at for so long in the comfort of my own home.
“No, I am not.’ Karen readjusted her glasses and gave me a stern look. “Although I am bewildered with your deductions…What do you intend to do with this information?”
I had thought long and hard about what I was finding out, what I was going for, but the answer had always been to satisfy my own…obsession over a strange newspaper article. Now, it had ballooned into something way beyond what I could imagine.
“I have a few ideas. Sign up for the Israel trip, find freaks running the operation, and shut it down. I could take a small vacation in LA, figure out what the Creneths are doing and why. Or..if I wanted to do fuck all with all of this, I could call up my friend Jay and see if he wants to get hammered with me at the bar.”
“I think the latter is of your best interest. I mean…there’s nothing you could do, John.” My temper flared, and I could feel that extreme want–the desire for my efforts to not be for naught. “Bullshit, there’s always something I could do. I can’t just..sit back and let all this…this insanity happen, can I?!”
She sat back in her soft, comfy chair. “That’s the real world, John. People get…scammed. The rich have their secrets. Let them. There’s nothing we can do.”
“Ms. Charlemagne, these secrets of theirs could involve hurting or kidnapping innocent people. The goth girl! Denise! What about her? Couldn’t I call the cops or something? Give them a tip?”
She shook her head. “What they’re doing is their business. We shouldn’t intrude. Even if one of them hops bodies for kicks. They aren’t hurting anyone.”
“A majority of the people who were hopped lost their jobs! This is–I mean…What the fuck?” I felt exasperated. It was clear Ms. Charlemagne wanted to help, but I knew.whatever I was looking for (The truth, justice, the answer to the mystery, or just an end to my fixation) didn’t lie with her. The answer to my hunch was most likely found with the best lead I could conjure. The Cretheth estate. That was the best place. I mean, I didn’t have enough money to go to Israel, so..this was the best I could do.
I paid my bill and left. I didn’t want to write about our conversation after I had made that realization–mostly because it didn’t matter much. I knew where I was going, and I knew it wasn’t to drink with Jay (He’s good for the first few pints, but after that somehow the conversation always turns towards the subject of his wife and I didn’t want to put myself through that again).
My apartment was a mess. Organized chaos. On the floor were multiple books I had read but never put away. Most were classics. Others were gifts I had never bothered to put on a shelf I had already exhausted with literary weight. I didn’t mind it much. I had cooked up some chicken the previous night. It’s half-eaten remnants sat in some tupperware in the fridge along with a can of peas. Dinner. My mattress looked comfy enough. A start, certainly. Work was a few hours away.
“Phone calls…early mornings…Fuck…” My mind wandered over to other things. “You’d think if I really did call in a tip, I’d be some kind of hero?” Something flashed in my mind–something something Morality 101 with Professor Hawthorne. Do the good for the reason that it is the right thing to do, not for personal gain, otherwise it is not truly good and, by extension, we are not just people. “Nahh, I think so either.” I told myself. In my last moments of consciousness, I figured I’d deal with everything after work. It didn’t take long before everything drifted from darkness to dream.
Santa Monica was a nice enough town. It was a tourist spot for people who liked the cozy weather. I had an apartment on ninth street. There was a local’s bar on fourteenth, a brewery on sixteenth, one near the beach (That one was focused on daiquiris. Not my jam), and an Irish-themed one more inland. There was an office I reported at on weekdays. Seven to five. I talked on the phone, wrote up reports on how product x sold more than product y, and went to office development meetings for my time out of the cubicle. I just space out and try to get my work done well enough, then I can focus on more important things. Things like how I’m going to get to Bodega Bay to scope out the Creneth place–wait, that sounded wrong.
To be quick and concise, all I want to do is see if the rumors are true. I’ve never…broken into a house, and I don’t plan to. That’s illegal. I’m just looking for something. Something to tell me I’m right. Maybe I can get the neighbors to—nope, those are all guys with armed guards. I can see them from the sidewalk. Oh, shit, yeah, in medias res and all. I took a bus to get here. Cost me some fifty bucks for a round trip, but I told myself it would be worth it.
Bodega Bay is a great town, but it’s just not a place I could afford to live. Okay, maybe that’s a bad term. I can’t afford to live in a lot of places. New York, Los Vegas, Los Angeles, Portland, Wisconsin, Idaho…and probably the whole of Canada. No wonder they decided to shack up here.
The mansion itself was…huge. It’s sheer size shattered any of my previous preconceptions as it appeared as a goliath among men. I could have only imagined the thousands of manservants and maids keeping the place in shape. Beyond the gates, I could see the vast, open land behind the mansion. There was a shape in the distance. Some subtle shape that moved and pranced on nimble feet. I couldn’t make out exactly what it was, but my mind immediately shifted to that same creature causing the uproar at the races. There, in all his far, far away glory, was Strider, rider in tow.
In front of me laid a large, ornate driveway with what looked like an automatic gate system. I made the move to advance, approaching the gate with a tinge of fear and overall sense of adventure. It felt as if I were trespassing upon some grand, holy ground. The intercom buzzed to life as I finally made my approach.
“I’m busy. Make your sales pitch and go away.” The voice spoke with a firm, but undoubtedly polite tone.
I paused, dumbfounded. Did he think I was some kind of door-to-door salesman? My eyes flick downwards, my mind scanning for those impurities in clothing destined to make a bad impression. No stains, but the tie did give off that “salesman” look, I supposed. My thumb pressed in the intercom’s speech button.
“I’m not a sales marketer. I want to set up an–”
“I don’t care who you are, I’m busy.” The voice on the intercom was forceful this time. “I don’t have time for appointments, I have my future to worry about. Come back tomorrow if you need to, but not today.”
“How about I meet you for a meeting at three then? Three o’clock tomorrow?”
“Three is fine, damn it, now go away!” The voice shouted in barely-concealed annoyance. My hand drew back from the intercom. I knew that if I pressed that button again, I’d have the cops called on me for sure. Two fingers flew to my forehead as I instinctively performed a small see-ya gesture. My legs led me off and took my leave. A wave of relief washed over me, and my heart rate returned to it’s normal rate. I looked back out past the gates and into those large, green, idyllic fields. Somewhere, that horse was practicing for another cup win. Part of me did want to see the training happen, greatness in action and all, but I knew it was best to gather up my supplies to find out, once and for all, how my scattered puzzle of a conspiracy connected together.
I brought with me the same backpack I had brought to Ms. Charlemagne’s place. All my evidence; the map, pages and pages of forum text, testimony, everything. Even so I woke up and found myself doubting everything that was happening. Here I was, some schmuck with barely a bed to my name, I managed to land an audience with one of the richest men in the world…or it was a trap and I’d get lured in and arrested by fourteen security guards at once. 50/50 chance, really.
The train ride may have only been ten minutes long, but it felt like an eternity to me. I couldn’t place my feelings. One, I was on my way to see a mysterious, wealthy man who stayed inside all day, with hundreds of rumors floating around about…I mean everything about this guy’s life. The news said he was married, but there are pictures in the tabloids of women who weren’t his wife exiting his house, and this factoid was separate from any information about a possible body-hopper.
I approached, and the gate opened automatically. Looking around, I stepped into an outdoor minibar. The drinks looked freshly stocked. There were seats outside, but I could see none of them were meant for me. The Man Himself was flanked by two large, muscular bodyguards. Markus Creneth wore an immaculate suit, surely tailored to fit his tall, broad figure. A clean shirt, a business tie, and a matching jacket/slacks combo, all neatly tied off with a pair of dress shoes. The two men who flanked him were…brothers, as it seemed. Nary a difference between them, each wore a dress shirt, sunglasses, and havana shorts. They reminded me of blank slates. The bald, muscled figures donned a collective sneer, probably expecting the billionaire to wave his hand so they could toss me onto the street. From the corner of my eye, I could see that they had handguns holstered on their hips. My second glance confirmed something different; their guns were brightly-colored, like that of a 1960’s spaceman’s gun. Of course, I realized that this was something more dangerous than a real handgun. At that realization, my blood ran cold. Mark saw my apprehension and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. The two guards turned away from me and looked at each other, surely sharing a joke at my expense.
“Mr. Creneth, I presume?” I spoke first, unsteady, yet holding a semblance of confidence. The Man Himself offered me a smile, reaching out his hand to shake. I shook it. His grip was firm.
“You wanted an appointment, here I am.” He spoke with a certain charisma, one that I knew would tempt me to let down my guard.
“Yes. I think we should take it to a more “private” place, though.” I spoke with a measured tone. It had only then occurred to me that Mr. Creneth may take my statements as a challenge, or worse; a threat. I couldn’t let his men use that gun on me, otherwise…I didn’t want to think of it. “I have documents that…just..uh…I have questions about a series of events that had happened a few years ago. I assure you that–” My mind raced for something to assure him of so that I wouldn’t get zapped immediately ”–that I don’t plan on publishing any of it. Strictly confidential. I may not be the only one to come across patterns like–well…A series of…events. Inside! Just–away from the guards with guns.” Within the chaos of my brainspace, I had no good feedback towards my speaking abilities. I could no easier explain it to him than I could to my therapist.
He still listened, and I still spoke. “There was a long line of missing people. Each man was found where the next disappeared. A woman–the last one–named Denise Harlow, a goth girl was taken away on your street. You–I ain’t just picking you out of the blue, I swear, but there’s a bunch of rumors around, especially since Strider won the–I mean, long story short, you might be harboring a body-hopper.” I heaved out those last few words, and I saw that he had long since stiffened. His eyes glazed past me, towards one of his guards. I looked over as well. One of them was looking down, the other had his hand over his face, letting out a loud sigh. I turned back to Creneth, whose gears turned in thought. It was doubtlessly clear he was picking his next sentences very, very carefully.
“I think you’re a conspiracy theorist.” Markus began to say. “What you’re saying is that either I, or someone I know, is being taken over by some kind of body-hopping criminal. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.” Now I spoke with self-assurance. “Let’s go inside. It’s more private there.” Markus agreed in his own silent way, and beckoned me to go within his ornate halls.
The interior of the mansion had high walls and ceilings, it’s walls decorated with oil paintings and abstract art. The two guards walked behind me, and I could feel that one of them always had a hand on his hip, fingering their holster. I could only pray his impulse control wasn’t lacking. I stuck close to the Man Himself for that very reason. Eventually, he led me out to a small parlor, with light green couches and a coffee table within it. We sat on opposing sides. The two guards were out of sight, but I was certain they lingered.
“Do you have a list?” he asked. “Of the people who were hopped into?”
I nodded. “I have every single one, plus a few others who aren’t connected to here. They went on a trip to Israel and…poof. A week got taken off of their lives.” Those seats felt amazing. I unpacked the map and the info on the body-hopped folks from my bag. “Majority of them got fired from their jobs when they got snatched. Person in them simply walked away.” Mark took interest and slid the papers over to examine them. I had a feeling I wouldn’t get those back. “Strippers, escorts, a few up-and-coming rich guys, and Denise as the main cover body…Hell, she’s seen taking people from all over the state. I don’t think it was her though, if you get my drift. She was found close to your house, like at the end of the block.”
Mark nodded and affirmed my statements a few mhmms as he attempted to multitask his focus. His gaze shifted between the files, the pictures, and the guards behind me. His hand went to the bridge of his nose, kneading into his brow. He remained like that for a minute, and then his face became more pronounced as if he were going to dramatically reveal some grand secret.
“You aren’t exactly far from the truth. In fact, this ‘body-hopper’ of yours went after me as well.” He looked up, but I saw his eyes weren’t focused on me. “My money, to be exact. Little did he know that although my lavish lifestyle was initially funded by my inheritance, years of busting my ass allowed me to really “make it”. He had a small smirk on his face, the reason why I honestly couldn’t tell. Without warning, he stood up and brushed past me. He sauntered over to his guards at the door and said “Follow me. I want to show you something.” The two guards who were at his ears muttered their concerns, but he raised his finger, silencing them as I approached with the apprehensiveness of a stray dog in sight of a clean bowl.
“What happened to the body-hopper?” I asked. He didn’t answer. He just started walking off. I looked to the guards, and the friendly one gestured that I follow him. The other one (the one who wanted to zap me) looked like he was sulking.
Markus led us in the same formation, him in front, me following, then the two guards. As I was keeping pace, it only then occurred to me how complex the layout was of this place. We went in several squares, hallway to hallway, left, right, left, left, right right, left. The layout appeared labyrinthian to untrained eyes such as my own.
“Is it just you and your wife in here? Who all cleans up, Keeps the place free of cobwebs?” I asked.
“We all have our family of people here. For me, there’s Andrea. The rest all come and go.” he said. I immediately thought back to one of my local tabloid papers. The title was “Trouble in Paradise?” and the picture was of a Latina woman (not Markus’ wife) exiting the Creneth family’s summer house on the island of Costa de Costa. The photo was snapped by one Benjamin Drivelby. The story became more interesting the following week. Reporters got sent down there to hunt for scoops, and the next issue had a story about a fisherman seeing tentacle aliens attack a latina woman…on the same island…on the same day. I kept my mouth shut. The last thing I wanted to do was accuse the man who could zap me anytime he wanted of having an affair.
After a long time navigating the wide, tall halls of the Creneth household, he led us to an elevator. It was large, but it had a rank smell, like that of an animal. Nobody paid it any mind, so neither did I. Creneth pressed a button hidden on the side of the elevator and the entire thing began to descend beneath the ground. Part of me wanted to think there was some kind of fossil between the ground floor of the estate and the cold, vast, metallic bunker that lay below. The elevator opened, and I was greeted by an arsenal of outfits. They struck me first as bodies; an intimidation tactic, but when my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the emptiness that was behind their faces. I felt mute; in a state of shock so grand that it put my previous injuries and accidents to shame. I could not speak, nor hear the monologue Markus had prepared. I could only stare in an agape awe as body upon body, head upon head rested along the walls. There were tables as well. They looked akin to display cases, showing off the couple’s collection heavy-duty sex toys. At once, Markus’ motive became clear. I became aware that they used these…suits…to get off. Of course, that still left the mystery of the body-hopper. My mouth spoke with my mind on it’s lips: “Are these real people?”
Markus let out a deep, baritone laugh. “Some are, if you pretend well enough. If you mean actual people though, no. These aren’t people.” A slight wave of relief washed over me.
“You have quite the collection. I’m…impressed, to say the least.” My thoughts traveled back to the map. One line. All the way to Bodega Bay. Ending at this house. I knew perfectly well there was something I missed. A clue that had slipped by. After all, the line I was making didn’t exactly match up. People were body-napped all the way to the mysterious Creneth household. The Creneths have those weird guns. The Creneths have…artificial suits. Suits of people, but not skinsuited people. At this point, I would have loved to smoke a cigar, like some vigilante, pragmatic, gumshoe detective. Of course, this was no dime-store comic, I wasn’t a tough guy by any standards; I had been in a fight once in my adult years (ending in a black eye and a lifetime ban from that one Irish-themed pub), and I knew I didn’t have the upper hand. I was at Creneth’s mercy. I didn’t know why he had shown me this, but I was sure it connected back to something I had previously seen. I just had to figure out what that something was.
“These aren’t suits made from zapped people, yet your guys have…those guns. Seems like a contradiction.” ..body hopping…my brain buzzed with thought. I stopped partway through the hall, near an exhibit of a realistic dildo, and turned back to the two guards. I had realized something peculiar; something I had missed when I first realized their weaponry. One of them had his hand on his raygun. He was waiting for the order. The second one froze, but his body language quickly shifted to be more like his compatriot. The thing was, if this bunker was supposed to be a big secret, then why didn’t they have standard-issue handguns? They didn’t look to be guarding the vault, merely Creneth himself. Since that was the case, why didn’t they have regular handguns? On second thought…how many people know about this place? All the security guards? These were questions I couldn’t solve, only hypothesize about.
“Let me get this straight.” He turned to me with an annoyed expression. “I’m not here to answer all your questions about my private affairs. I’m just showing you that there is, in fact, no crazy conspiracy theory going on here outside of me having kinky fun in secret. That’s all. As for why they have skinsuit guns, I do like security, but I do NOT like murder. Nor do I like complete strangers digging into my business.” His gaze turned sour. “I only showed you this because I pitied you. Don’t make me regret it…”
“I won’t.” I promised. My eyes darted towards the guards. It was eerie how similar they looked. They could be twins…or something more suspicious. “Your bodyguards look very similar, do you often hire families?”
Mark nodded. “James and Andrew are brothers, yes. They do a good job so I keep them around.” I found it to be an acceptable answer.
“That’s good. I only ask because one of them seems trigger-happy; or at least very, very close to pulling the trigger on me.” Whenever I looked at that guard, I felt some kind of adrenaline course through my veins. I felt like I was a mouse in a trap, and it was second away from going off. Markus shot back. “Andrew follows orders, and I haven’t ordered him to fire, at all.” His steely gaze fell on the guard, Andrew was his name. Andrew’s hand left the comfortable position it had on the holster and met with the other one, leading to the guard crossing his arms.
As much as I found this show of power interesting, I knew I wanted my questions answered as fast as possible. I kept the talk going.
“Is there a limit to how many questions I can ask, and are any subjects off-limits, exactly? I’d hate to…” I let out a small cough to emphasize this bit. “…get on your bad side.”
Creneth gave me a smirk. “This amuses me. Proceed. When it’s enough, I’ll tell you.” I shrugged and offered up the most obvious bait. “The body-hopper. Did he find this place too?”
“He got here as my assistant. He didn’t walk out of here. Fill in the rest.”
For me, this answer was vague. Too vague to be conclusive, but I was sure the implication was this guy was on the wall somewhere. My eyes scanned the bodies on the wall, trying to spot the difference between real people turned into suits and the artificial suits themselves. Of course, this extensive search ended where the suits began, and that was those space-rays that Mark had dubbed “skinsuit guns”. I hadn’t ever seen those things in person, but I did hear people losing their memories in Israel, then waking up in airport bathrooms to go back to the states. Memory loss was certain. I spoke before I knew I was speaking. “How much of this am I going to remember?”
At this point, Mr. Creneth gave me the most unnerving smiles I had ever seen in my life. It was some Cheshire Cat smile. A smirk that told me that if I tee’d him off, even a little, I could expect to wake up in some unknown place, my body having been abused to oblivion.
“Now that you know the truth, what exactly are you going to do with it?” He tossed the question in the air. It took a few seconds of solid thinking before I could properly catch it. I spoke slowly and deliberately.
“If I were bold, I’d say that you didn’t tell me the truth. Not all of it, just some of it. I’m not bold. I’ll believe you at face value. Anything if it meant I wasn’t going to end up like…” I found that I was unable to finish, too unnerved by that smile that reminded me too much of some serial killer. I had to gesture around at the suits on the walls to get me point across. “Of course, that wasn’t the question.” I forced myself to say. “As for what I’d do…” I thought of those women on the Israel trip, how nobody should have that done to them. “I could use a vacation. Somewhere warm. Somewhere where they’re using people as suits. Maybe I could…bust the operation with some advanced engineering.” It was a bluff. I glanced over at the raygun. I didn’t know how they worked, but the best I could do was bullshit. “It’s not every day I get to take time off from work.
Markus chortled out a mean laugh. “You say you’re not bold, but you want to take down a group of people who can make you disappear without leaving a trace…on your own?”
I nodded. “The reports all say they met a tour guide. Same description all across the board. She’s female, but odds are she’s a male in a female…” I looked around. “…skinsuit. Sick bastard. He gets their money and their identities.”
He nodded along, smiling as if I was a child explaining how he was going to make a cardboard spaceship. “Turn the guy into a suit…and then what? Go on, I want to see you continue, what then?”
Bullshit, bullshit, and bluff. “Memories!” I half-shouted. “Some models (was I going with the model excuse? Yeah, I was.) help you actually..replace the person. That’s why the tour guide shtick works. I could use the guy’s memory to track her coworkers down. Find out the buyers. Shut the operation down from the inside.”
Mark still held that same smile. “By informing the police?”
I nodded. “That would be a good idea…of course, I’d have to ensure that the suiting group don’t bribe them or use a double agent of some kind.” I hastily tried to change the subject. “You’ve clearly used this technology before. Would you be able to see their memor–” I immediately stopped, realizing that this could be misconstrued as an invitation to experiment on me.
Creneth answered. “If you wear them, you are them. All memories and mannerisms included. I’ve been quite a few people, actually.”
When he said that, he inadvertently gave me an unnerving thought. “But has anyone been you?” I asked. To my horror, he nodded and gave me another smile. I continued. “Is anyone in you right now?”
He began investigating himself, patting around himself before laughing at me. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m still myself.” This gave me some measure of relief. “No disappointment here.” Of course, my mind was still overcrowded with ideas and theories. My head turned to the guards. The body-hopper came in, but he didn’t come back out. Maybe it didn’t explicitly mean he was a skinsuit…
“You said the body-hopper didn’t come back out. Why didn’t you call the cops on him?” My eyes felt glued to the guards. Creneth bent down and I could feel his hot breath on my ear. I felt frozen. Terrified. “Is…is he on your payroll? Do you have some personal vendetta against him–m-maybe he took over a family member you disliked and you kept it that way…?”
His next words chilled me to the bone. He whispered it directly into my ear. He was deliberate and concise. Without a doubt, the question terrified me: “Do you want the truth, or do you want your memories?” After saying them, he leaned back up, and I could feel his imposing presence behind me.
“My memories.” I said. It was common in those stories, when knowledge was the boon of an adventure, for the man in question to go too far in his search. Lose what was most important for something that was unworthy of the pain. What was the point of the truth if it meant losing everything else? With all due luck, I’d figure out enough of it on my own.
“The memory loss rate with those guns…Andrew! Show your model for our guest here!” The trigger-happy guard pulled out his raygun and showed it off, waving it about. “Older variants erased five minutes. My refined variants can erase…how far back does your investigation go?”
I stared at that gun until Markus made a gesture. Then Andrew returned it to it’s holster. “Point taken.” I uttered. My knuckles whitened as they tightened their grip on my backpack, filled with everything I had found over the last few days.
Mark nodded in affirmation. His tone turned icy. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking you hold a single card here. You’re here as long as I find you entertaining.”
I tried to find the words, but I stumbled over every one. “Y-Yeah, I’m not-not deluded. Just–I just wanted to ask about…that…all. No harm done. Unless you-you have anything else to add, my q-q-questioning is concluded.” I think I was shaking at that point. I say “I think” because all I can remember of my state at that moment is pure terror.
His icy stare blew up–blew up into an uproariously loud laughter. “Okay, that’s enough. I’ll admit, I watched a Bond flick last night. I felt like being a Bond villain! You can relax, I’ve been messing with you.”
I know I’ve seen my share of movies, and…this was either a bad practical joke or just a group of red flags. I slipped my backpack off and dug into it, hurrying, hurrying, hurrying to find the flyer I wanted. I found it and pulled it out, nearly ripping it in two. It was a black-and-white print (I couldn’t afford color print) of a trip to Israel…in the body of a woman. “This-This was what I was saving up for. There was a tabloi–article on it. That’s what started this chase. It-It just isn’t right. I figured I’d borrow one of those…” I gestured to the skinsuit gun. “…and put a stop to it. Uh..I’m sorry I pried into some of your business.” My gaze fell on the guards, my mind thoroughly shaken.
Creneth thought to himself for a minute before speaking again. “How about this, I let you leave with your memories intact and I will handle this…business in Israel, but…” I listened and nodded along. “You are going to leave all your evidence, your phone, any electronics you have on you behind.”
That was a blow. Of course, he had the cards, and I’d be fucking myself over more if I didn’t do what he said. “Evidence…” I said to myself. I began pulling out all the papers I had on me. Even my precious corkmap. My phone, too. Everything I had as evidence.
As I unpacked, Markus monologued. “Keep in mind, this is the nicest outcome for you. If I catch wind of you snooping around this kind of thing again…I could be anyone, anyone you know and make you disappear. I’ll do whatever I need to to keep my hobby…a secret.” I felt embarrassed, afraid, and above all, humiliated. It was a rotten feeling, and I promised myself it wouldn’t come to this again.
“How would you like, say…two million dollars?
I didn’t hear him at first, my mind going crazy with fear and anxiety. Then I heard the words “two million dollars”. “Two million-whazzah?”
Creneth repeated it, his voice as crisp and clean as a new dollar bill. “Two million dollars. Consider it an extra incentive to keep your mouth shut. Take it or Leave it.”
I began to speak before stopping myself. “You don’t need to pay me to be all hush-hush…” Then my common sense kicked in. “…but I’ll happily accept. No more snooping around your place.
He corrected me. “Any place. You’re done with skinsuits and body-hoppers in general.” That let me down, but I nodded anyway. I felt numb, and my brain made attempts to wrap itself around the prospect. “Thanks…thank you..uh…good luck with all…this…” I motioned with my arms at the walls and let out a small laugh, trying to defuse the uncomfortable state I felt trapped in. Mark adopted a stern look, like that of a parent entrusting his kid with a responsibility he was too young to handle. “ I’m putting my trust in you. For your own sake, do not let me down.”
I struggled to make known that A) I was already aware of the stakes and B) I felt “grateful” (as grateful as one could be in an impossible situation like this one) that he would let me keep my memories. “Alright, I understand. You don’t need to…agh…I appreciate it. I won’t…”
“As for the Israel situation, I’ll handle it myself. Trust me.”
I nodded with a subtle impatience. “See if you can find out who purchased the suiting experience…at the girls’ expense…for your own kicks, of course. Don’t let my opinions sway you.”
He nodded and ruminated on the prospect. I stood there, my backpack next to me, looking dumb. The guards stood still, like stones. I turned towards them…blocking my exit.
“Were you done with your questions,” Mark spoke. “Or did I scare you off?”
My eyes stared at the exit with a longing. “A bit of both…a bit of both. If I did ask more, I figured it would get me…” I made a handgun gesture and whispered a soft “Pew”. I tried speaking more, but the only thing that came out right was a “Whelp it was nice to meet you, James, Andrew.” The rest was me repeating “exit” under my breath for what felt like an endless amount of time.
“Wise choice.” Mark affirmed. “Let us lead you out.” I followed along as Markus led me, mercifully, over to the front gate. “As for the money, I’ll just find you and get it to you in a few days.” My eyes drifted past his gate, into his vast backyard. Strider wasn’t back there, running and jumping like he was the day before.
“Before you go, what’s the password to your phone?” I gave him the code. He waved me away and looked at me with a sardonic grin. “Thank you, good luck with your journey home.”
“Thanks..I don’t have to worry about public transportation, at least.” I tried to laugh, but it wouldn’t come out.
“I’ll visit you in a few days to deliver the money. Personally.” I winced when he said that last part. I took my leave, getting out of there as fast as possible.
“The best part is…” He called after me. “…you won’t even know what I’ll look like when I visit! I could be anyone! Anything! Keep that in mind, goodbye!”
I felt like I was about to throw up. The sounds of traffic awakened me to the sound of my escape and I ran over to the bus stop, desperate for some sense of freedom.
“Y’know Doc, I’ve learned a lot over the past day or so.” Here I was again, my sight dancing between Karen’s noticeable cleavage and her own gracious, kind-hearted eyes. I couldn’t help but shake, and it wasn’t any normal shiver. It was those “shakes” that made your hands and body restless in anxiety. Karen noticed it as well.
“John? You’re shaking. Is everything okay?” Her voice made her sound concerned. I knew she was. God damn it, I wish I could tell her everything. Pour out my goddamn heart as if I were puking my own guts out. “I did more…more digging.” I managed to say. “I went to the source.” She gave me a funny look, as if I had told some bad joke or spit out some babbling phrase that meant something to nobody else but her.
“Wait, you went to meet with the Creneths? The Creneths?” I couldn’t do much but nod. I felt drained. Part of me didn’t want to talk about it out of pure fear, but…I had to tell her something. “John! Listen to me here, you look like you’re about to doze off on me.” Her tone sounded more concerned. Concentrated on me. I couldn’t meet her eyes.
“I saw things. I’m getting…I think…I think I’m in danger…I’m scared, God damn it! I-I just–” I freaked out, dropping my head in my hands to hide hot, stinging tears. I couldn’t speak. I felt my situation was worse beyond my most visceral nightmares.
“Jesus Christ, John…What happened?” Karen stood up and put her hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t even dig my head out of my hands.
“I…He…threats….can’t tell…He-He’s meeting me. I-I’m scared I’ll be-be…” Looking back, it was a pathetic scene. Creneth had shaken me up probably more than he had anticipated. Here I was, crying to probably the only person who cared….and she cared just because I paid her to.
“John, hey…look at me, head up. Head up, there we go.” I wiped my tears, picked my head up, and…her smile gave me a dopamine rush. “Erm…uh…yeah…” I started talking nwo. Talking fast. Faster than I could stop myself. “They have…tech. High tech. Rich-playboy tech. I saw something I wasn’t–wasn’t supposed to and now….Christ…now I’m being paid to keep quiet and I’m scared shitless that something is going to go wrong and zap! I’m done!”
Karen listened to my distress with quiet patience. It was only after I had stopped speaking that she gave her sage advice.
“John, if you believe these people intend to hurt you, I would recommend either leaving for the night or calling the police. The majority of your worries likely stem from some kind of anxiety. Clearly, you’re at your wits end. Here’s what I want you to do. Whenever you feel anxious or worried, close your eyes and focus on breathing. It would help your–What are those markings on your arm?
“I…lost…my phone, so I had to write a few things down.”
I cleaned up my apartment every night since I got back from Ms. Charlemagne’s . Between the supplies I had left in the Creneth household and the technology I had left at home, I had almost no leads left to pursue…at least no leads I dared to. I had to admit, the lingering thoughts did remain, but I ignored most of them for my memory’s sake. Andrew…his name reminded me of Mark’s wife, what was her name? Andrea..I stopped thinking for a moment, then tried to switch topics.
One guard was aggressive, the other, James, was passive. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Two million dollars though? That was a surprise. All to keep my mouth shut. I took it, I took it. In truth, I got scared shitless. “What do you want?” He asked. “The truth or your memories?” He threatened me. That meant I was close…I knew I was close..no…no..what good was the truth if I would forget it all? Besides, I have much better things to look forward to. The Israel skinsuit story. Creneth said he’d deal with it. I could stop worrying about it and focus on other things Like…an in-person visit. That scared me. He’d knock on the door, I’d open it up and Zap! Everything would be gone. Of course, between my visit to the mansion and his upcoming arrival, I felt more paranoid than anything else. There was no bigger fear than something, something going wrong and he’d pull the trigger. I had to focus…focus on something else. I’d save up, I told myself. I’d put half of it in the bank and the other half I’d buy a small house with. I’d quit my job. Work somewhere else. Move. I honestly didn’t know, but I knew I had to think up something, otherwise…
Somebody knocked on my door a few days later. I knew it was him before I even opened the door, mostly because the only other person who knocked on my door was the landlord for rent, and I had just paid up. The woman who greeted me was younger than I was; a teen mom, at least eighteen. Her hair was golden, and her eyes were blue, a blue deep enough to stare into my soul. If she were actually pregnant, I would have understood why. This girl Creneth wore would have been a knockout in her twenties. She looked at me with expectant eyes, as if she knew I’d recognize her. I half-expected to get memory-wiped the second the door opened.
“Are you…okay?” It was a stupid question, I know. Leave it to me to ask a fake teenager how her fake pregnancy was going. “I feel just fine.” She replied. “I wanted to mess around with you for a bit, but I guess I made my form too obvious, didn’t I?” I shook my head and allowed myself a smirk. “Any form you chose would have been obvious. The only person who knocks on my door is my landlord. The others send me bills via mail.”
“Ah…it’s a shame. Can I come in?” She inquired. I slapped my forehead and stepped aside. “Of course,” I said. “Where are my manners? Come on in Miss…?” I knew the answer was Creneth, but I wasn’t about to say it in front of the man who could make or break my memory. My heart was beating like a goddamn drum. I gestured to the couch, in case she wanted to sit down. “Seat’s all yours.”
She closed the door behind her and took her seat on my empty sofa. “So, first question, do you think I’m sexy?” She had the very same Cheshire grin on her face as Creneth when he had asked me to choose whether or not I wanted to remember.
The grin made me wince. A flash of fear that passed by, soon defused to brief annoyance. She didn’t look like much, after all. “No. Christ no, you’re pregnant–” I ran a hand through my hair, as if keeping my hand on my head would keep the nerves in as well as the common sense as to not insult the billionaire. I breathed out a sigh. “No, no ma’am. Next question?”
“Oh? Well this…” She gestured to her body, emphasizing her bloated, pregnant stomach. “…was just a request from someone that I complied with. If I wasn’t pregnant, would you do me then?” She began stroking one of her breasts, licking her lips as if this were a porno flick.
I took this as my cue to move away from her, pacing up and down the apartment. “I’d think about it. That’s all I’d do.” Growing uneased, I changed the subject. “What’s your endgame here? I’m quiet. No more skinsuits, you said. I got all worried about getting my memory erased, but here you are propositioning me of all things, with all due respect.” I shook my head, trying to figure out whether or not this was another ploy for silence.
“Nngh!” She seized with some kind of..I wouldn’t know how to describe it. Some kind of sensation. “Down, girl! Down! Ease up, now!” She looked at her belly, shouting at it before relaxing and looking straight at me. “Hormones sometimes get to me in these forms, but yeah, I’m just messing with you.” She chuckled at my sudden, near-silent counting. It helped keep me calm. She looked amused by it “So, have you thought about my proposal?”
I stared at her belly, then back at her. It felt like one of those comedic double takes, but this random…stomach seizing legitimately sent a chill up my spine. “I’m keeping quiet, I said that already.” I began. “I didn’t see a proposal to accept, only a promise of harm if I didn’t.” I kept going, struck by the feeling that something was very, very wrong with this situation. ” Hell, I thought you’d bring the money with you. I’m a man of my word, okay?” I sat on the opposite wall, keeping my eye on both the woman and her stomach. A perceptive man would have seen me shivering in deep unease. I counted to ten again just so I could try to relax.
She gave me a funny look, like I was a special kind of stupid. “I didn’t bring your cash. Just give me your account number and I’ll transfer it.” I took a quick peek at my arm (I copied it off the home computer; can’t have Creneth taking that away as well) and I blurted the number out. I couldn’t escape the sly smile she gave me, as if I had signed a pact with the Devil himself.
“One second.” She pulled out her phone and spent a few minutes fiddling with it before putting it away. “Now you can buy yourself a new phone, and a new house. Don’t spend it all in one place…” There was another moment when she breathed heavily and blushed loudly. Her pregnant belly had shook and shivered once more. Her arousal was apparent. “I think..” She uttered. “I think it’s best I go now.” She stood up before plopping back down again. “Oh, I almost forgot. Your Israel situation, it’s been…dealt with.”
Having seen her pregnant body move on it’s own for a second time, I was definitely freaked out. “Miss, I mean no disrespect by this but…” I took a deep breath. “…I think you should go too. if that thing in your stomach moves again and it isn’t your water breaking, I’m getting the broom and calling the police. Thank you very, very much for the money, but your autonomous stomach is freaking me the fuck out.”
“You have no idea what it contains…and you don’t want to. I guess you didn’t think you’d stumble upon anything truly scary, did you? I can let her out if you want more answers to your questions!” Her mouth drooled with anticipation.
I did a double-take. “Her?! You mean that thing in your stomach can reproduce?! No! The scary part comes from my memory being erased! I’m sorry, but I didn’t expect…a passenger to come with you!” I promised myself the second, the second something comes out of there, I’d get the goddamn broom and smack it out of here. No time to call the police. Christ…if she wanted to give birth, she could have asked me to drive her to a hospital first!
“Oh, she’s a very intelligent, sentient being, you know. She listens in. Sometimes, she can get a bit unruly…” She looked down at her belly and rubbed it in a tender fashion. “…but she’s a lot of fun to have around. When I make a promise, I keep to it. Stay on your side…or else I’ll let her out.”
“Why wouldn’t I stay on my side?!” This experience was more frustrating than annoying, but more frightening than frustrating. “Do you think I’m going anywhere near you? Thank you, it was good meeting you, Mr. and Ms. Creneth, but Jesus Christ…” I hugged the wall behind me. There was no doubt I was scared shitless. If Creneth had planned this as an intimidation tactic, it worked beyond his wildest dreams. At least there was the broom if shit went sideways.
“Sorry, she’s a bad influence on me. Have a good day–and I mean that sincerely. Enjoy your newfound wealth.” As she rose, she moved away like some eldritch being. “You know what?” She paused, to my terror. “I’ve been messing with you far too much. You look scared out of your mind. Here, have another two mil. On the house.” She fidgeted with her phone and smiled at me. It was something cheeky, as if it were all a fun game. Meanwhile, I hugged the wall, nodding breathlessly. “Yeah, thanks, thanks. Just please…take your…spawn….out of here.” A thought occurred to me: Markus and that wife of his (wherever she was), they didn’t have kids, did they? With all sincerity, I hoped not. I couldn’t imagine being brought up there. Too opulent. Too silver-spoon. And when they find out their parents’ kinks, god help them. Wait a second, their parents’ kinks. My mind whirred to life.
The pregnant girl gave me a triumphant smile. “You’re right. She’s a spawn of evil…a spawn I love. I used to think of myself as the normal one…but as it turns out, I’m not. Cheers!” She walked through the door and it slammed behind her.
The second it closed, I collapsed out of sheer fright. I think I spent the next hour or so on the floor, hands around knees in a ball, just…thinking in a puddle of my own tears. It was the worst kind of hell, to be trapped in your own mind. It was another to finally realize some horrible truth, but be unable to tell anybody. That hell would stay with me, but the addition of four million dollars helped me not mind as much.
Markus Creneth, that crazy son of a bitch, did marry a spawn of evil. It was now that I understood that the body-hopper really didn’t leave his house. She became his wife. I knew I had to leave. Get as far the hell away from them as I could. After all, I had four million dollars at my disposal. I had to use it wisely, buy a house, get a better job…get a gun…and I was set for life. The Israel situation was over. The Creneth family though… I hope to never meet them again as long as I live. Crazy, monstrous bastards. The first thing I was going to do was get out of my present shithole and buy something more permanent. A nice house to raise a family in. Then I’d get a gun. It’d be just for the occasion if a thing became loose in my house, something as..monstrous as that, I’d be ready. Of course, now that it was over, the fact that it happened didn’t matter now.
I cancelled my next meeting with Ms. Charlemagne, opting instead to send her a letter. It explained that I was doing fine, but I believed the situation had escalated and I was moving out. At the bottom of the letter, I had written my number. She called it to ask about my well-being. In truth, I just wrote it so I could stare at her cleavage during a dinner date. She thought I left my number for a business reason.
I sent a text to Jay as well, saying that I was moving out to the suburbs. He seemed sad that I was going, but I was happy as all hell to get away. I could use the break. Half of the cash I put in the bank, the other half went towards the house. I decided on a nice, calm place called Morningwood. It had that feel of community to it, and God knows I need it. The more people I could get around me, the better off I was in case…I got a surprise visit. Houses were cheap there. Three-quarters of a million a pop.
I had originally decided on a fixer-upper; some unlived-in two-story building that had it’s utilities touched up once in a while. I tried to buy it from a realtor, but he said it wasn’t for sale. When I asked what was for sale, he directed me to a pleasant house on the outskirts of town. Number 37. It looked cozy, so I bought it, full mortgage payment and all. I gave it a real summer-home aesthetic. The people in town were perfectly friendly. So much so that I got invited to a BBQ cookout on my first day in! I had missed the last cookout by a week or so, but that just shows how nice these folks were. The rest of my money went to some other stuff, like a punching bag (for the basement floor), a really nice lamp, a shitton of alcohol, and a neat handgun I told myself I’d head to the range with, but just kept it in my bedside drawer.
The amount of money still in the bank hadn’t changed, and I did end up drawing some out to send to my brother at Washington State. I told myself that even if it did feel like “dirty money”, I wanted to put it towards things I actually wanted. Even if I did fuck up and that family of rat-bastards came with their rays blasting, I was around people who I trusted to fight with me until the bitter end. Nothing could change that. Nothing in the goddamn world. I was away, I was secure, and above all, I was safe.
Sam Moose's Library 