Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Brraappprrrprraarrpp!
A truck is angry at me, but it can’t do anything, because it’s a truck.
I’ve spent my whole life trying to be a good person, as if enough goodness would somehow erase the badness. It doesn’t really make sense, but that’s how it’s worked. And then they gave me whatever they gave me and I don’t feel guilty anymore. I feel animal. I feel instinctual.
I haven’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve to be hurt. I didn’t hurt anyone who didn’t hurt me first. But the people who did? I hurt them bad. Really fucking badly.
There’s something different inside me now. Something strong and wild, something that makes other people seem a little less like people and a little more like meat. But even meat deserves to be treated nicely most of the time, right?
I keep moving, ditching one car, and taking another. People’s keys are just in their pockets most of the time, and my fingers are light. I would never have dared do this in the past. I would have been horrified by what people would think. But I don’t care anymore.
I’m also very, very rich.
Like, insanely rich.
I’m rich in a way that most people will never be rich, and now I’m also feral in some way I never was before.
Mark. Molly. They’re still in my New York place. I know that because they answer the phone.
“Hey. So. Got kidnapped and experimented on. Don’t get caught. Don’t get kidnapped. Don’t get…”
Ding dong.
I hear the doorbell ring.
“What’s that?”
“Pizza.”
“Pizza could be a trap.”
Molly pauses for a second. “It’s not a trap. It’s double pepperoni.”
“Okay. Good. But be careful, okay?”
“We’re being careful,” she says. “We don’t want to end up eaten. Like pizza.”
Molly and Mark are having the best time making themselves at home in my palatial mansion. I’m happy for them. I’m also worried for them.
“I’m on the run,” I say. “So if anyone comes looking for me, I’m not there. I’m also not here. You don’t know where I am. Also, don’t answer the door or talk to anyone, okay?”
“Okay,” she says. It’s now pretty obvious she’s eating her pizza, unconcerned.
“I know it feels like being in a fancy house means you’re safe, but it really doesn’t.”
“Yeah,” she says. “So what happened, you got like, kidnapped or whatever?”
“Yeah. I got taken to a laboratory by the wolves. They’re really into capture play.”
“Yeah,” she says, unbothered. “Okay, so we won’t do that.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Try not to. Also, I need you to get my card couriered to me. I’m going to give you an address.”
After that scintillating conversation with one of the two people I can still probably trust in the world, I hang up.
I have to wait a day or two for access to my money. It’s going to be different when I get it. I’m going to buy a very fast car. I’m surprised I didn’t do that already. I’ve had a lot of money for a very long time. I haven’t had a lot of fun. I’ve been grieving for a long time.
Red and blue lights are flashing in my rearview. I pull over and keep driving so they can get past me. Must be an emergency somewhere. It surprises me when they tuck in behind me all snugly.
What are they doing?
I wind the window down, stick my arm out, and wave them on.
But they don’t go around.
Alright then. Guess I’m the escort. I floor the accelerator, creating a big cloud of dust and gravel on the side of the road as I careen back onto the tarmac, across the center line, and then right up and off-road. I used to do this in video games all the time, back when life was carefree enough that I had recreational activities.
Bump. Bump. Crash. Bump.
The terrain at the side of the road is rough as hell, so I swerve back onto the road. Just makes sense. I’m starting to feel hungry again, so I start rustling around in the bag of stuff I bought from a gas station. I got a whole lot of candy. I never used to eat candy. I was worried it would change the shape of my body.
I laugh hysterically at that, at how hard I fought to keep my body generally the same size, but now others are trying to make it massive and furry. I saw the notes when I was dealing with the people who held me in the lab. I know they were trying to make me a shifter.
I don’t know if they succeeded.
Gray
I am in a small police station in rural Louisiana, speaking to two men whose dueling mustaches are locked in a battle for dominance. They’re not kissing; they’re just both very good at growing facial hair. They could be related. They look very similar. They might also not be related at all. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. A father–son team maybe. I wonder what it’s like to work with a father who isn’t constantly undermining you.