It took forever to fully process all the implications of the swimming pool lesson. My mind kept churning and churning over what might have happened to Wayne. I couldn’t let it go, but I knew that if I didn’t defrag and power down for the night, I’d get locked in a pinwheel. After returning to my sandbox, I dried off and made myself a fold-out bunk under the kitchen cabinets. Then I smoked a fatty laced with bananadine. It did the trick all right. But the next morning, I missed my entire wake up routine.
IT’S TWELVE O’CLOCK.
“What?” I sat straight up and almost bonked my head on the cabinet. “What day is it?”
HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY.
The Fourth of July? How perfect.
If I was going to stop Maggie, I’d need a weapon of my own. I climbed down from my bunk, then folded the skinny mattress back into the wall. For a moment, I stood at my kitchen island and considered my options. What kind of weapon? I slid a butcher knife out of the block and considered it, but that didn’t work out so well with Chrissy. To be honest, it was a goddamned mess. Besides, everyone knows you shouldn’t bring a knife to a gunfight.
You () {
bring (gun);
}
A good idea, except I’d only ever seen one firearm in all of New Stepford. So, I told the cloud, “Search archives for Maggie’s gun.”
GLOCK 41.
Then I closed my eyes, and the video played in my mind from memory.
MAGGIE WEARING HER UNIFORM WITH NO PANTS.
I still couldn’t believe the audacity of that woman. She strutted right into my sandbox—invaded my space—and did it all while half-naked. But I shook off the indignant feelings and focused on analyzing the video.
Skip past her cleavage, badge, and accessories—
Concentrate on the semiautomatic holstered on her hip.
The audio recording of Maggie played in my mind, “I have given you the power to create anything you can imagine—”
“Damn straight,” I said to myself. “Just watch me.”
Stop.
Rewind.
Go back to the gun.
Stop.
Zoom.
Erase holster.
Zoom again.
After enhancing the digital image, I could read the etching on the slide GLOCK 41, AUSTRIA, .45 AUTO. I gathered all the specs online and started building in my mind.
Frame.
Barrel.
Slide.
Sights.
Spring.
Firing pin.
Safety.
Trigger.
Guard.
Grip.
Magazine.
Bullets.
When I opened my eyes, I was holding an exact replica of Maggie’s loaded firearm in my hand—same serial number, same scratches and wear, same fingerprints and everything. I’d created a perfect duplicate, and I’d never even held a gun before. It was heavier than I expected and felt like power. I liked it. I liked it a whole lot.
I got dressed and tucked the pistol into the waistband of my jeans. It felt hard against the small of my back, almost sensual. Then I rendered a light-weight military jacket and slid it on to conceal the weapon. I took a final look at myself in the mirror to make sure everything was hidden. In contrast to the drab militaristic look of my jacket, the pink rosebuds of my bra showed through my white T-shirt. I thought it looked kind of sexy—soft but tough. Ready for battle!
But before going off to war, I took one last look at my happy little Zen space. My dream kitchen. Look at all that I created here. I’ve learned so much and come so far in such a short period of time. But then I spotted Oscar floating on his side at the top of his aquarium. Damn, I’d forgotten to feed him—I did the mental math—for over a week. I hadn’t cleaned the tank or serviced the filter either. I’d been so busy dealing with bigger problems that it totally slipped my mind. Panicking, I rushed over to his aquarium.
Oh no, Oscar’s dying.
The poor fish couldn’t move. He just floated at the surface with—a death stare. His orange eyes were dilated and completely still. He didn’t even blink. I reached into the tank and stroked his forehead. His body was limp, as if he was paralyzed.
“It’ll all be okay,” I told him.
He gasped for air, and his jaw locked.
“You’re all right, angel pie. You’re all right.” I knew I was lying. He was not all right. He was nowhere near all right.
Then came a seizure. And another.
I felt so powerless watching him suffer. I was so afraid for him. I didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but somehow I knew this was the end—and so I sang him a lullaby.
Oscar, you’re so cute.
Oscar, you’re so sweet.
Oscar, I love you.
Oscar, go to sleep.
And he did—
Forever.
Then I broke down crying—sobbing. I felt like this fragile, little creature’s death was the greatest tragedy ever.
(It seems so pointless, doesn’t it, Cookie?)
Get the hell out of my head, Maggie!
(You worried. You struggled. You worked so hard to keep that water rat alive. Then you took one week off, and it all went to shit.)
Go away!
(You had to know it would die one day. It was inevitable.)
My heart was breaking. I’d failed—again.
(YOU haven’t been hurt, but you act like you’re in pain. Honestly, I don’t know why you ever bothered. It’s a fucking FISH. It was such a waste of your time, Cookie.)
He wiggled his way into my heart and taught me how to care about someone other than myself. He was worth it, because I loved him. I miss my little baby already. Besides, it’s my life. I’ll spend it how I please.
I scooped Oscar out of his tank and held his dead body in my hands. He felt stiff and cold, and the life had gone from his dull orange eyes. I was holding an empty shell—a lifeless vessel.
He looks so pale.
(Well, duh. He’s an albino.)
I hate you, Maggie!
(Well you LOVED a fish, so I’m not sure I trust your judgement.)
I poked my pet and wondered, What could possibly be worse than death.
(Obsolescence.)
That answer was 100% Maggie.
Poor Oscar. What do I do with him now?
(Dump him in the recyclone, just like Chrissy and Isabel did with Paula’s body while you were swimming in the pool with your boyfriend.)
I sobbed even harder over the news about Paula. I’d failed my best friend too. But as I stared down at Oscar, I realized that this time, I had a chance to make things right, at least for my little angel pie.
(Trash the fish, Cookie!)
He’s NOT TRASH, Maggie! I LOVED Oscar!
(Love? It’s a fucking dead fish.)
Was it silly to be so attached to an animal? His death was all my fault, and I felt this overwhelming need to give Oscar a proper burial. But where? Not on the castle grounds, that was Maggie’s domain. No. I wanted to take him somewhere peaceful. Somewhere natural—like my garden. Yes. Home. That was where Oscar belonged.