2043 A.D. Page 6

  "That's better," he said, laughing. "Looks like someone is a bit chilly." He stared at her nipples, smiling.

  "Well, my outfit doesn't cover a lot," she said, glancing down at her chest. "As you can see," she added, looking up at him and defying him to make eye contact with her. "Is there any chance my friend and I can go inside where it's warmer?" They looked at each other and she asked, "And could you try to fix my top again, please?"

  Zeke put the back of his fingers against Jenny's breasts, pinched her nipples between his fingers, then grabbed the top with his fingertips and pulled it up just enough to cover her nipples, revealing the bottom of her breasts again. "How's that?" he asked.

  "I guess you're right. It is a little too small," she said, looking down at her breasts, then looking to the closed door, asking with her eyes if she could go inside. She pouted and said, "I guess I should go home and change if I can't get in where it's warm."

  Zeke knew the type he was dealing with and figured he'd let her in after he played with her for a minute or two. The girl was smokin’ hot and her outfit was tantalizing. The combination of the extremely soft, silky rabbit fur and her soft skin made him want to run his hands all over her.

  "Go get your friend. I want see how well her clothes fit."

  "Thank you!" she said as she flashed him a big, appreciative smile.

  "Hey, I haven't made up my mind yet. Is your friend as hot as you are?"

  "Hotter," Jenny replied, and spun around to go get Michelle.

  Zeke watched her ass as she went and wondered if she was telling the truth. If she is, he thought, this is gonna be good.

  Fifteen

  Drake looked in on an empty master bedroom. He glanced over to the open doorway to see what else was visible from his vantage point. He could just barely see a few feet of the hallway wall. That was it. He looked back at the room. Through another doorway he could see most of the left side shower door and the shower head, part of the toilet and the linoleum floor.

  To the right, there was another window that faced the backyard. From that window, he'd be able to see straight down the hallway and into part of the living room or dining room. But if he moved to that window he wouldn’t be able to see the bathroom at all. It frustrated him not being able to see or hear anything to indicate what the girls were doing. He also didn't know if there were better viewing possibilities on the other side of the house. Maybe from there he could see the dining room or another bedroom.

  This was the price he paid for his impulsive decision to follow them home without doing his homework. So far the night was a wash. He hadn’t seen them once since they’d entered the house.

  ***

  Despite being told he wasn't a prisoner, Deron knew he wouldn't be allowed to just walk out. As he approached the lobby, not sure what he was going to do, he heard the phone at the reception desk beep and watched the security guard touch his earpiece.

  "Yes, sir," the guard said. He touched his ear again, then swiveled his chair around to face Deron. "Let's not have any trouble," he said, getting up slowly with his eyes fixed on the teenager.

  "Dr. Fielding said I could go." Deron stopped about ten feet from the guard and looked at him with a challenge in his eyes.

  "Actually, he just asked me to bring you back to his office. So how’s about we do that and then you guys can talk about when you can go?"

  Deron took a deep breath and offered no resistance as the guard put his hand on Deron's shoulder and gently turned him around, like physically suggesting the direction Deron should go rather than bluntly forcing him. Deron took the suggestion and started walking, slowly. Dr. Fielding stood waiting just inside his doorway. He had finally lost his politician's smile and doctor's patience.

  "Thank you," he said curtly to the guard and stepped aside to let Deron enter. Once Deron had done so, he pointed a remote control at the door, pushed a button on it and slipped the small device into his pocket. "Now, where were we?" he asked.

  "You were just lying to me about how I wasn't a prisoner," Deron replied. "But I clearly am, since I'm not free to leave." Deron clenched his fists as anger flooded through him.

  "I didn't lie to you, Deron. You simply didn't give me a chance to explain the nature of your presence here. You are not a prisoner. A better way of looking at it would be to say that you’re an in-patient. And yes, I understand that your admission was involuntary, but that doesn't make you a prisoner. This is not a prison or a jail and you'll find that the accommodations are much closer to that of a very nice hotel than they are to a correctional facility."

  "I see," Deron responded. "If we change the words, we can change the experience. I'm sorry, but when I'm not free, that means I'm a prisoner."

  "Fine, Deron. You can choose to view your situation however you please. That is in fact the reason you’re here. Your "viewpoint" or "perspective" is what brought you to us. You are a patient in an experimental rehabilitation facility. "

  "What!?" Deron exclaimed. "You're going to experiment on me? Does my mother know about this?" Deron felt reality dissolving around him. He felt fear at the prospect of a suddenly bizarre and unknowable future. He felt extremely alone. Images of his grandfather and of Michelle went fleeting through his mind and before he knew what was happening, his eyes began to water and his throat constricted. To keep himself from crying, he focused on his feeling of anger instead. "What the fuck am I doing here?!" he demanded to know.

  "Please, Deron. Have a seat. Drink some water." The doctor placed a glass of iced water onto the coffee table that sat between his desk and a leather couch where he gestured for Deron to sit. Although Deron wanted to accept nothing from this man whom he saw as his enemy, he did feel wobbly and his throat was dry with a small knot of pain that kept him from swallowing. He walked over to the couch, picked up the glass of water and sat down. He drained the glass, set it down hard on the table, then glared at the doctor, whom he now figured for a psychiatrist.

  "I'm waiting," he said.

  Sixteen

  Charlie didn't know what to do with Feenix. If he had grass in his backyard, he would have buried her in it. But it was all concrete. He wiped the tears from his eyes and pulled the comforter up from the foot of the bed and covered his beloved dog carefully as if he didn't want to disturb her final sleep. The loss of someone he loved so dearly brought to mind someone else that he feared losing. Deron was still missing and no one knew why.

  He hadn't been overly concerned about his absence while talking to Kathleen, but now that Feenix was dead, his concern for Deron increased to the point of feeling almost urgent. It wasn't rational, he knew, but now he was afraid that something might be very wrong, and he needed to find out where Deron was.

  He thought of trying to call Kathleen again to see if she and Deron had returned home, but he decided to drive over and find out in person. If they were both home, as he hoped they would be, he could do with some company right about now. Besides, he'd have to tell them about Feenix and that wasn't the sort of thing you told someone on the phone. At least Charlie would never do that. Others would probably send a text message with a picture of the dead dog and a sad face emoji. Deron was almost as fond of the German shepherd as Charlie was and he deserved to be told in person about her passing.

  Without really thinking of what he was doing, Charlie took a blanket from the hall closet and used it to wrap his shotgun and box of shells, then carried the awkward bundle out to the backseat of his car. He had no reason for bringing it, but his mind was operating in crisis mode and he felt better having the shotgun with him - just in case. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he could be jailed just for having it, and there'd be additional charges for having it loaded, and in a vehicle where he could reach it.

  Deron was fairly predictable in his routines. If he wasn't home shortly after school let it out, it would only be because he had stopped at the public library or at a convenience store to purchase a paperback. He knew Deron could easily lose track of time when browsing t
hrough books and trying to make a choice, but he wouldn't fail to come home or at least call or text if he knew he was hours past the time he was expected.

  Therefore, Charlie knew something wasn’t right. He didn't know what or how bad it might be, but if there was trouble, he was going to be capable of confronting it. He couldn't imagine where Deron might be or in what circumstances his shotgun might be necessary, but he drove away from his house feeling a little bit better for having brought it.

  Kathleen's house was just a few miles away, and within five minutes of leaving his place, he was slowing down to a stop in front of her house. All of the lights were out except for one dim lamp in the living room. It appeared as if the house computer had turned on one lamp in an empty house at dusk. Then he noticed the light flickering. It wasn't a lamp. It was the television. The rest of the house was dark. Then the flickering blueish light from main room went out and the house was fully dark.

  Unbidden worst-case-scenarios flashed through his mind and he knew he had to look inside to make sure that nothing he was imagining had actually happened. He had never before thought of Deron as being depressed, but maybe he was, and maybe Deron had hung himself. Kathleen was not very stable emotionally and would lose her mind if she had found Deron hanging from a noose in the garage after she had ended their call earlier. Maybe upon finding such a scene she would go back inside and take an overdose instead of calling 911.

  He told himself to knock it off with the suicide thoughts. Kathleen's car was not in the driveway and if it was in the garage, then Deron wouldn't be able to hang himself. Geez! What was wrong with his mind? He had to get a grip on himself and quit assuming terrible things. Deron had probably just met a girl - God knows it was about time he did so, and Kathleen probably ran out to get some groceries, or some of those creepy tubes for the food printer.

  The house had probably just turned the TV off after some time because no one was watching it. Well, of course it didn't know if someone was watching the TV or staring at their navel, he told himself. But it knew from lack of heat and motion that the house was empty, and to conserve energy reserves, it minimized unnecessary electrical consumption, even though it was replenished daily by the sun and waste processing.

  He tried the front door before knocking and when it opened, his mind went right back to imagining the worst. This was not right. Dark house. No one home. Door unlocked. Kathleen may not have been born with his I.Q. but she was no dummy. Just like her mother, she always felt safer with the door locked. Locking it whenever she entered or exited was automatic for her since she was a child. Charlie didn’t know that the house had been instructed to grant him entry upon facial recognition.

  He stepped inside and yelled, "Lights!"

  His voice carried to every room in the house causing all the lights to come on and slowly reach maximum illumination. He looked to his right into the living room and saw that it was empty. "Kathleen! Deron! Anyone home?" He received no reply and headed left toward the bedrooms. He looked in Kathleen's master bedroom and found it clean and empty. He went through to the bathroom and it too was shining clean in the bright light, and empty.

  He walked out, manually hitting light sensors on his way, turning off lights as he went down the hall and into Deron's room. As he expected, he found this room empty too. He looked at Deron's desk, half-expecting, half-fearing there might be a suicide note. He probably wouldn't have noticed the corner of paper sticking out from under a large photo-book if he hadn't been thinking of finding a note.

  He walked over quickly and lifted the large, softcover book about a pre-war author named Stephen King. Charlie had bought the book for Deron on his last birthday. He picked up the unsealed envelope and saw that it was addressed to Deron’s childhood best-friend, Michelle Granger. Deron hadn’t mentioned her in quite a while. He wondered what had happened between them. He felt a little guilty as he removed the folded pages from the envelope, but he had to know if it was a suicide note. He began reading:

  Dear Michelle,

  I don't know why I'm writing this because I'll probably never give you this letter. But I guess I have such strong feelings for you that I've kept bottled up for so long, I feel like I have to get them out in some way, or I'll just explode from the mounting emotional pressure. Even if you never see it, at least I will have let out some of the pressure that builds and builds every time I think of you. When I'm not thinking of you, I'm dreaming of you. My mind belongs to you whether I'm awake or asleep and the only time I don't think of you is when I'm reading. And even then, thoughts of you invade my mind and the world I'm visiting and the image of your face imposes on the fictional scenes I try to lose myself in.

  I'm glad you'll never read this because if you did, you'd think I'm crazy and obsessed. In a way, I am. I'm crazy about you and obsessed with the thought of loving you and being with you forever. I know that someday we will be together again. I'm certain of it. Fate just hasn't let you in on its little secret yet. But I know. And I'll be patient as I wait for you to realize that being popular in school and hanging out with the “cool” people is just a temporary diversion.

  Charlie concluded that this wasn't a suicide note, and with Deron envisioning himself being with this girl forever, surely he had no plans of killing himself. In fact, this letter was not dated and Charlie wondered if Deron was with this girl right now. That would certainly explain why he'd been gone so long without notice. And what teenaged boy wouldn't lose track of time if he was with the girl of his dreams?

  Seventeen

  Jenny came walking back to Michelle with a huge smile on her face. "I think we're going to get in! The doorman wants to meet you. All you have to do is be really sexy and he won't be able to say no." Jenny laughed and grabbed Michelle's hand, pulling her back toward Zeke. "Come on!"

  Michelle forced a smile and began walking with Jenny. She didn't feel at all sexy. She was actually starting to feel sick to her stomach and she didn't know why. She only knew that nothing felt right. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to dance. She didn’t want to take Euphoria, the popular rave drug. She didn’t want to be in the clothes she was in. And now here was a guy who must be Zeke, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest and staring at her like a pig as she approached.

  "This is my friend. 'Chelle, say hi to Zeke. "

  Michelle looked up at Zeke and muttered, "Hi."

  Jenny nudged Michelle with her elbow, encouraging her to get closer and be a bit more persuasive about getting them inside.

  Michelle just wanted to turn around and leave and be anywhere but here with this bald giant looking at her like he wanted to eat her for dessert.

  "Come here, sweetheart. Convince me why I should let you in past that whole line of people. "

  Jenny pushed Michelle gently forward until she was within Zeke's reach.

  He reached out and put his hands on Michelle's bare waist then slid his hands upward, lifting her top. “Oh, baby. You are fine. Look at you!”

  Several of the males waiting in line were watching and trying to see what Zeke was looking at but could only see the two girls from behind.

  Zeke started fondling Michelle and the nausea she was already feeling became ten times worse. She hated Zeke. She suddenly realized that she hated Jenny too. She barely began to taste something sour in her mouth and before she knew it was going to happen, she vomited. She tried to turn away from Zeke, but still threw up on his right arm.

  "You fucking bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you!" Zeke yelled. Everyone in line was now looking at them. Michelle heaved again and threw up more onto the pavement. Hot tears began streaming down her face. She was coughing and crying and just wanted to be at home, away from all of these people staring at her.

  Jenny feared Michelle had just ruined their chance of getting into the club without waiting in line all night and she worked quickly to repair the damage and get them back in Zeke’s good graces.

  "Oh my god! I’m so sorry. Let me help yo
u. There's water over here." She walked to a spigot sticking out of the wall a few feet away and Zeke reluctantly followed after giving a warning glare to the people in line. She turned on the water and as Zeke put his arm under the stream, Jenny wiped away the vomit and looked at him with her best seductive expression. "I totally can't believe she did that to you. Please let me make it up to you. I am like, so sorry!" With his arm now clean and Jenny still running her hand back and forth across it, he looked at her and his anger began to transform into something else.

  "Yeah, you can make it up to me all right." He pulled his arm away from her and lowered the zipper on his fly.

  "Right here? In front of everyone?" Jenny asked.

  "Right here. Right now." He replied, looking at her with a mixture of lust and anger.

  "Okay" Jenny said, greatly relieved that she wasn't barred from the club and her night wouldn't be ruined by Michelle after all.

  ***

  Drake stood outside the window still peering in at an empty room, clenching his teeth in frustration. He couldn't believe he hadn't even gotten a glimpse of them in over two hours. Once, the blonde came back to go to the bathroom, but he barely saw her as she crossed the corner of the room. If they weren't so hot, and if he hadn't been so set on seeing them undress, he would've left by now. But he was determined to stick it out. The longer he waited, the more impatient he got and then the more impatient he got, the angrier he became. "Come on, you fuckin' bitches. Go to bed or take a fucking shower. Do something!" he muttered through his clenched teeth.