“Who is this boy?”
“We found him in the wild.”
“Does he speak?”
“No.”
“Then what are you wasting my time for? Kill him.”
“That’s the problem, sir.”
“How can that be a problem?”
“Sir, we can’t.”
Jake promptly busied himself and made a few phone calls, filled out some paperwork, and returned me to the custody of my good friend Officer Lawson. There he stood in all his navy blue uniformed majesty, the word stoic comes to mind.
Then we went for a drive, this time minus the handcuffs. Officer Lawson drove me to the city where my new caregivers apartment is located. Lawson never did try to strike up a conversation and expertly rebuffed my attempts at one. So I passed the hour long drive by observing the many changes society had made in ten short years, it is incredible. More cars, better roads, different advertisements, it is really quite the accomplishment. I had last seen the civilization of man in the year 2002. Truly incredible progress. A bit disappointed by the lack of flying cars, but I already knew those were pretty impractical.
Officer Lawson finally pulled into a parking lot and pointed out my new home, an apartment building. It seems classy, a good sign, it does have a bit of an ominous feel to it though with a black reflective surface covering every inch of it.
I was promptly marched through an empty parking lot and an equally empty lobby into an elevator. Lawson consulted a note, keyed in a code, and pushed the top button 35. Hm? The top floor, isn’t that usually occupied by rich people? Nice, I’ll have to remember to write a hundred thousand dollar check for my good friend, Jake the social worker. It shouldn’t take too long to save up such a small amount, after all, the stock market acts logically when I am the one playing it. Not that the money just falls into my hands, I still have to work hard on research and gathering initial investment. Not to mention finding someone willing to do business with a kid!
There were my original assets, but accessing those would expose me. I didn’t want that, at least not yet. Sure I had unfinished business with good old Alfy after what he pulled, but this was a rare opportunity.
“You’re on your own from here on kid, good luck.” Said Lawson as he gruffly patted my shoulder. My latest and greatest, ok maybe not greatest, chauffeur walked out of the elevator and let the doors shut with me remaining as the sole occupant.
“That is unusual." I muttered to myself. As the elevator smoothly ascended I got a bad feeling. Which is not a good sign. My bad feelings are never wrong. My affliction is one that reacts to what I truly believe, which means that my subconscious is where a good deal of the magic happens. Resulting in my vague feelings always being justified. I don’t know if the bad things exist before I get the foreboding premonition, or if it is my subconscious getting bored and deciding to mess with me. I'll have to give myself a good scolding if that is the case. Usually I try to just not think about it. But this feeling… it is unusually bad, anything could be about to happen.
The elevator doors opened, revealing a tall slender... woman? Girl? The age was difficult to pin down. She had shoulder length auburn hair and a muscle tone that said she worked out a lot. “Hello Joshu-” The beautiful girl in front of me started her greeting cheerfully but ended it part way in an overly exaggerated expression of horror as she swiftly backed away. Crap, this isn’t going to be pretty with a first impression like that. Actually, why is she suddenly coming at me with a stool over her head?
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"Diiiiieeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!”, my supposed caregiver rushed me and brought down the metal stool with all her strength toward me. It bounced off of my unyielding head. It, obviously, had no effect on me. Talk about making a first impression though! I guess there is no avoiding a little attention now.
“Well a good day to you too, designated female caregiver. Sorry about dropping in like this on you, but it seems you already know me? Sorry, I don’t remember you. No hard feelings?” My mysterious assailant then proceeded to attempt my murder with increasing venemance as she tried stabbing, strangling, shooting. She even culminated her rage by bashing me with a hastily constructed molotov cocktail. I’m getting some signals that suggest she may not like me? I had been patiently waiting for her to calm down but fire is a problem.
“Well, I guess there are hard feelings then. Fire is no good either by the way, but my clothes are on fire, and I do not wish to add another naked escape from a burning building to my long, long, looooooong repertoire. So, let's be reasonable and give me something to wea-'' My very logical request was answered with an inch deep layer of fire resistant foam that she sprayed all over my body and what was left of my clothes. See? Logic never works when it is important.
“Cover yourself with that you monster!” yelled my new friend as she ran away. What, am I supposed to wear fire resistant foam as clothing? Wouldn’t that be messy? I took it upon myself to find more appropriate clothing in the kitchen, there should be an apron or something there.
After I put on two aprons, one for the front and one for the back, I went in search of who I have tentatively named the “psycho homicidal woman'' to get the situation under control. “Hello! Are you still here psycho homicidal woman?”I called out to no reply. “We can talk this out, I promise I won’t make fun of you psycho homicidal woman.” As I rounded a corner I was suddenly drenched in some foul smelling liquid.
“I am NOT a psycho homicidal woman, you are just a MONSTER! NOW TASTE A FRESH BATCH OF MY SPECIALLY MIXED ACID!”, called my new friend the psycho homicidal woman as she ran away. I was starting to suspect the circumstances that led me here. Idly examining the dissolving aprons made me wonder. Does she not get the whole invincible thing?
Then I saw the floor start melting. Wait, what? “OIIIIII! CLOSET CHEMIST! YOU LIVE AT THE TOP OF A SKYSCRAPER! ISN’T AN ACID THAT MELTS THROUGH THE FLOOR GOING A LITTLE TOO FAR??” Isn’t this a serious situation? I hurriedly ran to the kitchen and back and applied a generous amount of the chemically base kitchen soap to render the acid harmless. Yep, It pays to have followed most of the sciences from the very beginning, including chemistry.
Finding myself, once again, without clothes, the acid having melted my aprons; I went to find a bathroom that would hopefully contain some kind of bathrobe. I found one down the next hall but, “..... Pink flamingo print? Really?” I question the fashion sense of any who would be willing to wear this monstrosity. But alas, I must wear something, being nude almost always makes things worse. I put on the hideous robe and went to open the next door, and the next door, and the next door, and the next door. There are too many doors. Exactly how big is this apartment? And why do all of these rooms look empty to the point of being sterile?
Idly wondering to myself the identity of little miss psycho, I continued to search till I found a bedroom. It was a nice bedroom with a canopy bed and a great view. My eyes stopped at the large number of boxes in one corner. Just moved in, that explains how empty this place is. I listened hard…. there. I can hear breathing.
I opened up the door I could hear breathing behind and saw blood. I apathetically watched the blood drip from the woman's wrist. “Rookie”, only one wrist was slit which implies that she fainted after the sight of her own blood. The slit wrist wasn’t even cut properly. It is a common myth that you should cut across your wrist, the proper way to do it is to cut down the wrist. All in all, it is unlikely that this suicide attempt would succeed, but she is bleeding. I checked her bathroom cupboards, “Good, she has a proper first aid kit.” I treated her wrist and went to retrieve the duct tape I noticed earlier in the kitchen. Word to the wise, always know the nearest source of duct tape. This was going to be fun.