“I’ve doubled your personal security and stationed more legion troops downstairs.”
Ms. 45 pokes her head around the door. Vetis takes a step back. She waits a couple of beats and moves down the hall.
“Thanks. I’m feeling pretty well protected these days.”
It’s the middle of the night when the bedroom phone rings. It’s never done that before. I’ve never used it. I pick up the receiver on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Still alive and kicking, I see.”
“Who is this?”
“Puddin’ ’n’ Tain. Ask me again and I’ll tell you the same.”
“Fuck you. I’m hanging up.”
As I put down the receiver the voice comes again.
“You’re always so serious. So linear. You’ve got to get into the spirit of things.”
I almost recognize the voice but not quite.
“What spirit is that?”
“That you’re nothing. You’ve been flailing at the universe your whole life, and where has it gotten you? You’re not really the Devil. You’re not Sandman Slim. You’re not a man and you’re not an angel. Some people live in gray areas but, friend, you are a gray area.”
“Am I supposed to understand any of that?”
“You could always kill yourself now and save us the trouble.”
“What would that solve? I’d just end up right back here. Did Brimborion put you up to this?”
“What do you think?”
“I think he’s hiding somewhere nursing his hand with whiskey and a Valium chaser.”
“There you are.”
“Am I supposed to be spooked by this? You sound like someone’s dad hard selling Girl Scout cookies.”
“You’re not the only one with peepers, you know. Don’t think because you watch the world, the world doesn’t watch you back.”
“I’m going to find you, you know.”
“I’m counting on it.”
There’s a click and the line goes dead.
Crank calls? Is this how things work from here? This isn’t Hell. It’s junior high.
I wake up hurting. The hangover is gone and now I can feel every bit of the beating I took last night. My jaw aches and my ribs are bruised. Every time I move, the armor presses on them and makes me wince.
Something shatters down the hall. Glass and metal. Something heavy hits the floor, like a car falling through the ceiling. I grab my knife and run toward the sound.
Ms. 45 is lying on her side by one of the big picture windows in the front room. The glass dome holding her brain is smashed. Pink meat and spinal fluid leak onto the tile floor. I stand by the body listening. Ready for whoever got to her to come for me.
I don’t hear a thing. It doesn’t make sense that someone could get in here but they did. The peeper by the hall is gone, so I can’t play back whatever happened.