night, letting him speak, listening to the
facts and his feeling about the facts, while holding his arm and
gazing into the humming wires of the watch stuck to his wrist. They
hadn’t gotten to sleep until the sun was first starting to shine
through the vertical venetian blinds adorning her living room
window.
John considered just how late they’d stayed
awake the night before and quickly covered the face of his watch
from view. He closed his eyes. Please, let it be later than
3:14 , he thought. If it’s later than 3:14 and I’m still here
...
He removed his hand from over his wrist and
looked at the time. It read 2:55 P.M. John paled. His mind swam,
fast muddling with thoughts of appearing back in Tallahassee with
Adam. He also imagined himself in the warehouse again, being found
by the police or the old, snooping women who’d betray him to
them.
John ran in a flustered panic across the room
to the back hallway of Ronika’s apartment. There were two doors at
its end. John banged on the one to his right with his fists and did
the same to the one on his left.
“Ronika,” he spoke loudly, “we don’t have a
lot of time!” He turned back to the right door to bang on it again
just as Ronika opened the left. She stood there in front of him,
rolled into a large white comforter and wearing her fox ears. John
whirled around to face her.
“Why are you banging on my spare bedroom’s
door? No one’s in there,” she said though a yawn.
John turned back to the other door and opened
it. There was a mostly empty room behind it, save a large,
queen-sized bed and a small television set on a barstool.
“If you had another bedroom, why did you make
me sleep on the couch?” he asked. The question had no anger in it,
just confusion.
“Sometimes I switch beds in the middle of the
night,” she answered casually. “Or the morning.” She took him by
the shoulders and gave him a light shove back to the living
room.
“I have to get dressed,” she informed him.
“We don’t have a lot of time.”
“I know we don’t have a lot of time,” John
grumbled.
“And no more shouting or banging, jeez,” she
called out to him before closing her door.
John walked back into the living room and
paced. He looked at the watch. Three o’clock. He checked the clock
on Ronika’s wall to make sure. 198 divided by 66 o’clock. He
was running out of time.
Ronika reappeared a moment later and leapt
onto the couch in the living room. She grabbed the pink blanket
John had used the night before and curled up into a ball. “So now
what happens is you disappear, and if things go like they did on
the bus, I pass out, or something. Right? I’m getting comfy.”
“This is serious,” John answered back, still
walking back and forth across the room.
“I know that,” she said defensively. “Would
you prefer I’m holding a knife or something when I go
unconscious?”
“What? No. Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m
nervous.”
“I know,” Ronika said warmly. “But, hey! I
just had an idea. Hold on.” She slid out from under the blanket and
bounced to her feet. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this last
night.”
She ran to her desk and leaned behind it to
the back of her monstrous computer tower. Her head reappeared a few
seconds later with an enormous grin slapped across the front of
it.
“Check this out,” she said smugly. In her
hand she held a small, boxy, humanoid machine. It was a robot.
“Mouse,” Ronika said.
“What?”
“This is Mouse. M-O-U-S-E. Multi-Option
Universal Service Entity. I built him ... sort of,” she explained,
handing it to John. “The casing, bipedal function, and so forth
were already there when I bought the little guy. But I’ve
made some significant modifications.” She tilted her head and
smiled.
“Are you going to try and use it to remove
the watch from my arm?” John asked excitedly.
“No!” Ronika reeled, shocked at the question.
She took Mouse from John’s hands
facts and his feeling about the facts, while holding his arm and
gazing into the humming wires of the watch stuck to his wrist. They
hadn’t gotten to sleep until the sun was first starting to shine
through the vertical venetian blinds adorning her living room
window.
John considered just how late they’d stayed
awake the night before and quickly covered the face of his watch
from view. He closed his eyes. Please, let it be later than
3:14 , he thought. If it’s later than 3:14 and I’m still here
...
He removed his hand from over his wrist and
looked at the time. It read 2:55 P.M. John paled. His mind swam,
fast muddling with thoughts of appearing back in Tallahassee with
Adam. He also imagined himself in the warehouse again, being found
by the police or the old, snooping women who’d betray him to
them.
John ran in a flustered panic across the room
to the back hallway of Ronika’s apartment. There were two doors at
its end. John banged on the one to his right with his fists and did
the same to the one on his left.
“Ronika,” he spoke loudly, “we don’t have a
lot of time!” He turned back to the right door to bang on it again
just as Ronika opened the left. She stood there in front of him,
rolled into a large white comforter and wearing her fox ears. John
whirled around to face her.
“Why are you banging on my spare bedroom’s
door? No one’s in there,” she said though a yawn.
John turned back to the other door and opened
it. There was a mostly empty room behind it, save a large,
queen-sized bed and a small television set on a barstool.
“If you had another bedroom, why did you make
me sleep on the couch?” he asked. The question had no anger in it,
just confusion.
“Sometimes I switch beds in the middle of the
night,” she answered casually. “Or the morning.” She took him by
the shoulders and gave him a light shove back to the living
room.
“I have to get dressed,” she informed him.
“We don’t have a lot of time.”
“I know we don’t have a lot of time,” John
grumbled.
“And no more shouting or banging, jeez,” she
called out to him before closing her door.
John walked back into the living room and
paced. He looked at the watch. Three o’clock. He checked the clock
on Ronika’s wall to make sure. 198 divided by 66 o’clock. He
was running out of time.
Ronika reappeared a moment later and leapt
onto the couch in the living room. She grabbed the pink blanket
John had used the night before and curled up into a ball. “So now
what happens is you disappear, and if things go like they did on
the bus, I pass out, or something. Right? I’m getting comfy.”
“This is serious,” John answered back, still
walking back and forth across the room.
“I know that,” she said defensively. “Would
you prefer I’m holding a knife or something when I go
unconscious?”
“What? No. Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m
nervous.”
“I know,” Ronika said warmly. “But, hey! I
just had an idea. Hold on.” She slid out from under the blanket and
bounced to her feet. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this last
night.”
She ran to her desk and leaned behind it to
the back of her monstrous computer tower. Her head reappeared a few
seconds later with an enormous grin slapped across the front of
it.
“Check this out,” she said smugly. In her
hand she held a small, boxy, humanoid machine. It was a robot.
“Mouse,” Ronika said.
“What?”
“This is Mouse. M-O-U-S-E. Multi-Option
Universal Service Entity. I built him ... sort of,” she explained,
handing it to John. “The casing, bipedal function, and so forth
were already there when I bought the little guy. But I’ve
made some significant modifications.” She tilted her head and
smiled.
“Are you going to try and use it to remove
the watch from my arm?” John asked excitedly.
“No!” Ronika reeled, shocked at the question.
She took Mouse from John’s hands
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