Tamara stood on tiptoe and flipped the switch on the flickering Open sign, officially closing Reused Realities to the public. When it came to repairing and refurbishing virtual reality systems, Tamara needed interruptions at a minimum. Besides, switching between the real world and the virtual almost always jeopardized her productivity.
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“You’d be suspicious if you filled a bin with glass jars then came back two hours later to find it almost empty.”
“Maybe the pickup came early.” I headed for the mail boxes.
“Almost empty, almost.” Mr. Hammond hobbled after me. “They don’t pick up half a bin at a time.”
As I finish the preparations to remove the sweet child I had raised, my eye catches on the glinting of the crown. I want to smash it. If he hadn’t been royal, he’d be alive. The crown seems to agree—if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was weeping.
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The tall stranger sauntered through the dark alleyway. His long fingers trailed across the rough brick of the buildings on either side of him, and his arm span filled the alley. He moved at a lazy pace, no hurry to be anywhere. His stroll this evening wasn’t about destination but discovery—about finding someone, finding the one, the perfect specimen to assuage tonight’s hunger.
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“Please look at me, not my body.” Dave’s voice came from behind her, rather than his open, motionless mouth.
She turned back towards the amulet. Two googly eyes glued to a fist-sized rock stared back at her. Karen squinted. She gave the rock a tight smile.
“You look different, honey.”
“Do you remember your name?” A woman’s voice echoes in my mind.
My eyes open. Fluorescent lights stare back at me from the ceiling as my surroundings begin to register. I am lying on a steel gurney, wearing a dingy set of medical scrubs.
“Nelson. Nelson Duran.” I cock my head at the sound of my own voice. Is that right?
He glanced at her, the painting, her.
“It’s almost done,” he said. She took a step away from the wall, but he rushed to press her firmly against it. “No. I’ll turn it towards you.”
“You’ve got to be pulling my ever-loving, god-forsaken tail.” Jasper Throe grumbled upon seeing the Gray Book. He unceremoniously plopped down the groceries.
The apples were going to be awfully bruised.
This vellum-covered grimoire had the audacity to splay itself on his kitchen counter as though it were a cookbook.
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