Choke - Chapter 83

   Panic's life was leveling out, and he was pretty sure he liked how it was leveling out. Instead of a dirt floor in his life, he now had a concrete slab poured in to replace the dirt floor. He was feeling good about it. When everything is going along fine and quiet, you don't walk hesitantly out the front door of your cabin. Nothing's going on, so you're not antsy about your movements. That's when it can hit sometimes.

   Panic walked out the door easily, and went and took a piss and looked around. Tonight? Pure heaven. They had lit up up a "cannon" and smoked some of it. They were going to roll around on the gigantic mattress on the gigantic rough wood framed thing they called a bed. They were going to have fun. Panic walked back in with a smile on his face to complete hell.

   Merry was kicking with her bare feet, and kicking hard. It propelled her backwards. It scrunched her up and curled her shoulders over her midsection. She was pulling at her neck with her fingers, and she was frantic. Her face was puffed up and blue, and veins stood out everywhere. She glanced up at him as he sprinted the couple of steps to the bed and grabbed her by the shoulders to see what was going on.

   It wasn't her eyes. They were completely bloodshot, and the pupils were already looking funny. The life was going out of them as they darted spastic, taking everything in. Her entire body was firing off with heavy adrenaline, making for a series of spasm-like motions.

   He held her as still as he could, taking a strong mount across her hips. Which wasn't very still at all, but it was all he could do. He stared at her chest. He ripped her T shirt to instant shreds so he could as accurately as possible, see if she was breathing. She wasn't.

   Next stop airway. No breathing? Choking. Wait for decreased strength and movement, and go in to dislodge the food. As her movements and seeming life drained away, he grabbed her mouth and pulled his thumbs and fingers close on either side of her cheeks, drawing her mouth open. He wiggled her head for a shaft of light to fall just right, and he drove his fingers down her throat. She was so out of it, her gag reflex was barely detectable.

   This didn't make any sense, not only was there no food, there was a closed up hole where the throat should tube up…

   "Shit… shit… shit…"

   He jumped up off of her, and ran over to a box with tools in it. He picked up two sets of hand pliers. He jumped over to where another box had things like deodorant, soap, shaving razors… he grabbed the first disposable razor that caught his eye. He dropped it on the ground and stomped it, and ground his work boot back and forth to crunch it up.

   He knelt down and sorted through the broken bits of plastic, to see a mass of the razors themselves. When he was young, single blade disposable razors were all the rage. Then two blades were better. Then three, then four… and it never really would end. So, he had no idea exactly how many razor blades he was looking at, but it was too many. He would have preferred single blade disposables right now.

   He took both pliers, and ripped the blades apart. He picked a long chunk, and put the pliers next to each other, gripping the long, thin razor up against one another. They weren't straight across the razor either, they were askew but touching. He worked pressure on the pliers and broke the hard thin metal with a snap.

   Because the pliers were askew, it made a pointed, slashing break line instead of the chisel shape if he had gone straight across to break. He grabbed a pencil and lashed the razor shard to the eraser end of the pencil with a roll of duct tape. He came marching over to her, less than half a minute later. All but menacing her now, with what looked like a tiny prison shank.

   He squirted some of her little baby oil bottle she carried, onto his finger. He rubbed low in the hollow of her throat, and concentrated on what he was doing. He didn't dare look into her now dead, lifeless eyes. He took a quick deep breath, held it, and shoved. He didn't falter until the little blade had no resistance and the skin around it gave way and was done stretching apart. It was a tiny slit. He pulled out and made it a little cross-hair.

   She jerked and spasm-ed as a quick whoosh mixed in audibly with the wet fart noise. She lurched and shook, as each wet fart and whoosh was forced. Her eyes were wild, and looked like they would jump out of her skull and run around on their own. He held her by the elbows as hard as he could, and bore down on her.

   "Stop! You can't touch it! You'll ruin it! Stop! I have to finish it!!"

   She gave a quick nod, and had her shaking hands up. The occasional fart came out of her neck hole, and a mist of blood. It took her a great effort to overcome the little flaps on the hole, in or out. Panic was off of her and back, breaking open of all things, a finger stylus for touching touch screens that had been laying out. It was just a plastic tube with a spongy end on it. Now, it was a broken in two plastic tube shard, that Panic twirled into the bloody x on her throat, and grabbed her wrists as hard as he could.

   Air whooshed in and out the little tube.

   "You can't touch it. Let me do it. Okay? If you can calm down, we'll be home free. I know, I know… each breath just a little slower and longer than the next… the more you slow down and lay there, the sooner you'll be able to get all the air you need. Don't talk. Breathe. Do it…"

   She shook her head a couple times, and laid down. Her eyes were starting to dart around less, and settled on him. She took one hand and on the palm of the other hand, she tapped her fingers. Phone. Text. She wanted to talk.

   'Bigger tube too small'

    Her eyes pleaded with him. He shook his head yes and went and came back with a slightly bigger tube. He had broken her lipstick apart. He told her to lie back, and stay calm. She would hold her breath for a couple of seconds while he changed tubes. He asked if she was ready and she shook her head yes. He listened as a big, slow hiss went in… then he pulled it gently out. He shoved her back onto the mattress forcibly, and grabbed her face and yanked her head where he wanted it, quite dispassionately.

   He carefully worked each slit of the x that made the flapped hole, and twirled the lipstick tube in.

   "Okay… let's see if it holds…"

   The hiss had been replaced by a much deeper and throatier 'wah-h-h' sound. She nodded her head a couple times.

   She typed out "better".

   "Your throat closed up. Quick. Do you have any bad food allergies? We eat seafood, peanuts… anything?"

   She shook her head no.

   She stared at him and pointed at the cannon they had been smoking before he went out for a piss.

   She erased the text and typed out "poison".

   "What did you eat? You had to eat something to have an allergic reaction… did a bug bite you…"

   She shook her head slowly no a number of times, she had eaten nothing. She pointed at the cannon again, and stabbed her finger back at the screen. With just the word poison on it.

   "But I'm not poisoned? I smoked it with you…"

   She raised her hands up in exasperation. Then pointed at the cannon before erasing and typing.

   Save it evidence.

   "Okay. I'll save it. Look… we can't sit here fucking around like this. This is temporary. You need a real one put in. You need to be where they can feed you oxygen. All right? You understand that?"

   She shook her head yes.

   Panic got his phone and she put her hand over it, shook her head no.

   "You have to go to the hospital. It's not optional."

   Merry gave him a very firm look, held a finger up to say "wait a second" and erased and typed out…

   'Jane Doe'.

   "Oh. Of course. Good thinking."

   She held her palm up and out, stabbed it at him to say "duh".

   "Okay… I'll handle this… relax."

   Panic dialed Rob.

   "Yeah… it's late."

   "I know. Get up, get down here now. I'm taking Merry to the emergency room, and you're taking us. Move. We're riding in the back of the truck."

   Rob was there in a surprisingly short time. He barely had time to put one of his big, loose T shirts on her. Very slow and careful. To replace hers that he had just torn to shreds. Panic showed him Merry, sitting there with a black slightly square tube hanging out of her neck.

   "Me and her, will ride in the back of the truck. Kick everything out the bed. Don't drive crazy. We're in no danger at the moment. Drive slow and careful. You drive and bounce us around? That tube comes out? Drive easy. Okay?"

   Panic helped her up with her arm around his shoulder, and walked her over to the back of the old work pickup to the tune of tool boxes and what not kicked out the back of the truck bed and down onto the ground. Panic hoisted her up under her shoulders, and Rob grabbed her hands and wrists and continued to haul and help her up.

   Panic ran and grabbed blankets and pillows, and they laid her down on them in the middle of the truck bed, and Panic half laid and half knelt around and on her.

   "Go. Easy. Here…"

   Panic handed him the phone, he already had poked into GPS. Rob drove off, slowly. He reassured her, and made sure she could breathe the whole ride there. Rob parked right at the emergency entrance, and banged on the doors that were locked. Rob really wasn't a man for the charades game that ensued. He punched the sliding glass security door in frustration.

   They both came walking ever so slowly. Panic held his FBI ID up to the glass, and pointed at the women with the big black tube poking out of her throat. Rob gave the big glass a final shuddering kick to show his displeasure, even as the fat woman was mashing the big industrial button. They each took an arm over their own shoulders and walked her in and up to the first desk they saw.

   "Okay, I need to know--- hey!"

   They both looked at one another, and instinctively started walking right back with her, without saying a word. They passed another little desk and the two security guards sitting at it. They both scanned around. You could go left, or straight. Straight said no admittance, straight said emergency personnel only. They went straight over the protests of the two guards now following them.

   They didn't stop walking her back, and Rob simply chuckled and said…

   "Guys? This woman is breathing out of a tube shoved through her neck. If you want one too? Try to stop me…"

   The guards walked behind them and shut up.

   Panic pointed at the first open gurney he saw, that had clean looking paper down it.

   "Get her up there…"

   Rob started to raise his voice and say a few fairly unsavory things, and a man strode over.

   "All right. I'm on it… what do I have…"

   "Near as I can tell, her throat closed up all of a sudden. When she went night night, I could work."

   "She seems to be breathing through it okay… pulse seems steady…"

   He started issuing orders, and other people around him started following them. Rob looked at Panic, who raised his hands up. We're out of here. They walked back out to the little desk, and the guards followed them. Panic started talking to the lady, and Rob turned around and glared down at the security guards still silently following him around.

   "When I asked you if you wanted to see what it was like, to breathe out of a tube in your neck? I might not have been kidding."

   They went back to their little desk and station.

   "Lady. Her name is Jane. Jane Doe. What's so hard about putting Jane Doe down on the paperwork?"

   "Insurance… we have to file a report to the police of all admissions with an injury…"

   Panic stopped. Took a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. He grabbed his ID dangling around his neck, and shoved it in her face, and started one more time.

   "The woman's name? Is Jane Doe. No known address, no known phone number, no known email. Pretend a homeless bum was brought in unconscious. Now, this will cost a couple, probably… several thousand dollars. Jane Doe's bill, will be paid in cash."

   "I still can't…"

   "Lady. Unconscious females come in here all the time, not all of them have IDs. What's one more? Now, I'm going to call someone to handle this, the proper way. Which I don't know what that even is, but… what I do know? Is that I'm not going to be the guy that fucked this all up. Now, wouldn't you like to the the lady at admissions, that when they talked to the nice FBI man, she didn't fuck everything up either? Come on… the patient is unconscious, a Jane doe, and by the time the patient is conscious? I'll have something proper for you. Okay? All we have to do, is not fuck this up. Between now, and then."

   He nodded, and got her nodding with him.

   "Can… I have your ID?"

   "Yes. Not yet. Let me calm down and make some calls. I just took a knife to a woman's throat, and it worked out okay. So, I'd like to take a little… breather. Okay?"

   She nodded with him some more.

   "It's really late. I don't care…"

   Panic grabbed a phone out of his pocket, and went through contacts, and found what he wanted. No one but him knew it wasn't his phone.

   "Yeah…"

   "This is your niece's boyfriend. You awake…"

   "Uh. What is it?"

   "She's okay now. She… had some kind of allergic reaction, or something. Her throat closed up. I opened it up. She's getting it replaced at the emergency room as we speak. For the time being? I'm trying to book her into this little day spa as a Jane Doe. I'm getting some static."

   "Is she really okay?"

   "Yeah. She's breathing now. The day spa people are working on her, she's fine now. Waving my ID around, and talking in riddles is only going to get me by for so long. Can you tell me what to say, can you send me someone… they're talking about a police report because someone came in with an injury…"

   "Yeah, I got you. First off? Use the word witness, and use it a lot. That should… work better. Until I can get someone there, that can handle it. Okay… remember when I was at the bar? They had a driver for me… they have a satellite office somewhere around there, it's where he came out of. I have his number. I'll get him out of bed, and driving there in his PJs. I can handle the paperwork for him later."

   "ETA…"

   "Ah… an hour, a little more? Just wave your ID around, use the word witness a lot, and hold the fort down. If someone calls the police? Refuse to give them anything except your name, rank and serial number. My guy can handle it. You need anything else?"

   "Hmm. Yeah… it's a weird one, though."

   "Shoot."

   "I never knew about any food allergies with her. You?"

   "No. That's like… a bad heart. She would never be… you know… with a bad food allergy. No way."

   "Well, it looks like she had one. Moving right along. Poison. Can I get… a lab guy… somehow… off the books, for now."

   "You got a sample?"

   "Yeah."

   "Food, or drink."

   "Neither one. Smoked it."

   "My niece, is going to be the first person to have died from smoking a joint? Get serious."

   "Look. I smoked it with her. Nothing happened to me. I turned around? She's convulsing."

   "Then it's not poisoned…"

   "She keeps typing the word poison. I say it looks like her throat closed up on a bad food allergy. That's all she had right then. Now, due to the nature of what the sample is… perhaps you can see what I mean, by off the books."

   "Yeah. Stick the sample up your ass. Not literally. I'll get you somewhere to go in the morning. I'll call you on this number. Call me if anything with her changes."

   "Thanks."

   "No problem. Sit tight. Cavalry will be there soon."

   That was that. Rob looked at him, seated next to him. Rob smiled and waved all friendly at the two security uniforms, who looked away.

   "Well?"

   "Okay. Got a guy coming right up out of bed to handle this, supposedly. I was told to use the word witness a lot. The witness this, the witness that."

   "Okay. Jane Doe is out of fashion, the magic word is witness. Gotcha. That it?"

   "Keep our mouth shut, except to say witness. Some guy's coming in from the FBI satellite office to handle the witness situation. All I know. Sorry to wake you up for this. I'm staying here. If you wanna bolt, go ahead."

   "I'm up anyways."

   Panic went and talked to the lady at the desk again, but had started using the word witness. He wanted informed the instant the witness was stabilized and not being worked on, conscious or unconscious. That, seemed fine. Telling the same woman that an FBI agent was on his way here as they spoke, calmed her down even more. He sat back down with Rob in the waiting chairs when his phone beeped.

   "Guys in his car, he'll be about an hour he says."

   Panic went and told the woman that within the hour, a full FBI agent would be here, to handle the witness and the paperwork around it. When an hour was creeping around, the woman came and got Panic and Rob after a brief phone call she received.

   "Sir? Your witness is about to get worked on. I'm going to take you up and let you speak to the surgeon before they start. Follow me."

   "Rob? Stay here, if you see anything that looks like it could be an agent rousted out of bed, grab him and tell him to wait for me. It'll probably be the guy that drove that Mike guy from Washington around the bar scene. So, he might look familiar."

   "All right. Go."

   She took him up the elevator, and to a small room the doctor was waiting in. He had his gloves and mask on, holding his hands up in the air to keep them clean.

   "This the guy?"

   "Yes."

   "All right. Situation is stable. Situation does not appear to be deteriorating. Fairly routine. We're gonna put her under. We're gonna size up a temporary trake to fit that hole. We're gonna shove a camera on a long, thin tube down into the lungs, look around. Make sure what's going on in the throat, isn't taking out lung tissue. You following me?"

   "Yeah."

   "All right. While I'm in there, I'm sure she aspirated blood down in. I'm gonna see how bad that is. I'll spray a tiny jet of sterile water, and suction the water out. Tiny version of Mr. Sucker at the dentist. This, will take the blood clots out. I already cauterized a little artery that was weeping at the entrance hole. If you need to speak to the witness, before we put her under? Now's your chance."

   "Risk?"

   "Very, very low risk. This is routine."

   "How long's the trake staying in?"

   "How long is her throat going to be clamped up like a vise grip. I'm a doctor, I can't predict the future. Three minutes. Three hours. Three days. I have no idea. I can tell you this, though. I get this with food allergies here and there. I've never seen one clamp up so big and so tight. That's all I know. The back of her tongue swelled up right along with it, it helped close the airway off. I can tell you what. I can't tell you how or why. I would feel a whole lot more comfortable getting patient records, and seeing a known allergy of some kind."

   "I can tell you for sure, there's no known allergy like that. That, comes from someone that knows her medical history."

   "You want to see her before she goes under?"

   "If I can."

   "Put this mask on. Follow me. You have a minute or two."

   He touched her face, and put both hands on her cheeks.

   "You'll be okay now. I talked to the doctor. This is just routine now. Go to sleep, and when you wake up? I'll either be there, or I'll come running. All right?"

   She shook her head, and grabbed one of his hands and squeezed. He kissed her forehead and walked back out.

   When he got back downstairs, Rob was talking to the two guards. Reasonably politely too, which was a new change for them.

   "Right. Now, there's no other way in and out after dark?"

   "If someone's coming? They'll end up here. Staff can go out, if they don't hold the door open past the delay. Staff can let other staff in and out that way. But, no one can get in after dark, without staff waiting on them at the door. Your guy? Will end up here, unless he knows someone."

   Panic tapped Rob on the shoulder, and pointed. A guy at the little walk in entrance waiting room, was waving a badge case around. He looked like he had jumped out of bed and threw his dirty clothes back on, which was likely exactly what he did.

   Panic waved him back, and he came over.

   "FBI. I got a call to get here. Told there was a witness."

   "Amen. You remember us?"

   "Oh yeah. Bar scene, right?"

   "Yeah. Remember the victim there? The witness?"

   "Okay. Jane Doe witness. No problems. I trust the guy that called me, that it'll get authorized in the morning. I was told to stay and wait. To handle the paperwork and the account. To see the witness discharged, with my own eyes."

   "You wanna go sweet talk the admissions lady? That one in that little window. Right there."

   He went and had a quiet conversation with her.

   "She's happy now. She has an account number to write down for prospective payment. She can't use it, until I give her a code to authorize it. She's happy. I told her I don't need to talk to her until she has a bill for me to see."

   "I don't care about the money, I care about the Jane Doe part."

   "All good. If no one here already knows her, and she doesn't tell them? She walks out of here a ghost. Anything else?"

   "Hey Rob. We got a buddy. Let's show him the exciting collection of vending machines, until the cafeteria opens up."

   The three waited, and made periodic trips to the snack machines. The woman walked over, and told them the procedure was completed, it went well, and they could follow her to get an update. They all three went, and found a doctor and a nurse in a private room.

   "This whole witness thing? We put her in a private room. It costs a few extra bucks. If you don't want that, we can move her."

   "Money's fine. Private is good. How did it go."

   "Went fine. I looked. I sprayed. I suctioned."

   "How long till she wakes up?"

   "She should come out of the anesthesia in a while."

   "Why is she restrained?"

   "Because. They pull at the work in their sleep. She has to sleep in restraints. If I had to guess? She'll sleep through the morning. That, is an oxygen delivery tube. She barely has to breathe, to get plenty of oxygen. When she wakes up though, she's going to try to cough. It's going to feel like she's choking, it's going to look like she's choking. Press the button, and go yell for the nurse. They know how to teach her to cough. She needs to learn how. When she can cough right? She can go home."

   "Throat?"

   "Still closed up tighter than a virgin's ass on her first porno shoot. I shot her up with enough shit to release it, and it isn't doing jack shit. It looks like a bad allergic reaction. It's been treated like one. It isn't responding like one, though."

   "She'll be okay then."

   "Anyone know how long she was unconscious, before she got opened up? You've heard the phrase time is money, I'm sure. Here, money is brain damage."

   "She was still moving when I found her. She's strong. I had to wait for her to pass out, before I opened her up. Unconscious? Maybe a minute, if that long."

   "She popped right back up when you opened up?"

   "Immediately."

   "Big blast of air, blood, fluid?"

   "Yeah. Till I got the first tube in."

   "First tube?"

   "Yeah. It was tiny. I grabbed anything. She wanted a bigger tube. So? I gave her that one she came in with."

   "Unconscious for the second one at all…"

   "No."

   "No brain damage then. You need at least a couple minutes after unconsciousness starts. She learns how to cough, her throat releases? She can go home, with instructions. She'll have to come back to get the trake out, and get a couple stitches to close the hole. She'll have a small scar there. That's all. She's on sugar water drip. She's on a strong saline drip, to help with any infection. I have her pumped full of antibiotics, because god only knows what you cut her with and where you got the tubes. I highly doubt it was surgically sterile."

   "No, it wasn't."

   "You can stay in the waiting room. You can stay in here."

   There were two chairs already there, and they went and got a third out of another room. Everyone got comfortable, and they agreed to sleep in shifts.

   "It's a private room. You guys… wanna have a cart or two, to lay down on? We have extras for moving people around. Better than a chair."

   The doctor arranged for two mobile gurneys to be brought in. The person up, used a chair closest to the bed. The other two could lay down if they wanted to, or make use of the extra chairs during the day.

   Merry slept through the night, because the anesthesia and other drugs rolled her into sleep easily. When she opened her eyes in the morning, though, she went spastic. She pulled at her restraints, and her eyes darted around frantically. Panic held the call button down, and ran and screamed for the nurse, who came running.

   The nurse put one hand on her chest, and twisted the valve on the trake. She lifted her finger up and down over the hole, timing it to the rumbles in the chest as she tried to cough. She first calmed Merry down and got "Jane" through it, then explained how she had to learn to work the hole with her finger, to cough on her own. Safely. The nurse made rounds twice and kept coming back and working on this.

   "Okay, Jane. I can let your hands go. You can't pull at this stuff."

   "If she falls asleep? The restraints go back on. They pull at it in their sleep, and it's a huge mess. You don't want that."

   The nurse helped her sit up further, and showed them all how to move the bed parts up and down. She also showed them how to crank the "tiny beds" up and down mechanically. Tiny beds being the gurneys they had been gifted. They could turn them into something similar to an animal directly crossed between couch and lazy chair.

   Though Merry, or "Jane" as she was known now started initially texting emails that never got sent and were constantly re-erased… the FBI agent that had been sent to watch over them gleefully handed over his laptop.

   "Now, I know what you're thinking. Panic? I'm going by your ID badge, and having previously seen you talking with Mike from DC like you were teasing your beer buddy… I know, this is an official laptop. I will tell you, that if I intended to capture and save these little typing sessions? I would tell you to use this little note editor…"

   "Now, if I wanted to type and erase and type more, on my own personal thing? And not have it recorded? I would use this one, here… Not being rude, I'm not a computer geek. I know what's happening? I don't know the how."

   Panic shrugged.

   "Let's say I'm half a computer geek. What's the difference, between both those editors."

   "The one text editor? The one on the desktop. That's part of the standard… package. If my connection ever blows while I'm filing a report or whatever… I have names of things I have to type into boxes to re-establish. I could show you… there. That's the web address I go to for official. If you look here, you can see a totally different web address where I go for, that's my personal web address."

   "I follow. You aren't scared I got to glance at the web address you use?"

   "You can fucking write it down, I don't care. You can visit the main sign in page? All day if you want. The automatic passwords from the software in that little 'box' on the desktop? Is all tracked and it looks like … huge, long email… it's every keystroke and a description of what program was running and any key got pressed, any mouse click and on what."

   "You're saying, that all the software in that frame, uh… box on the desktop. All feeds an extensive log file, right? And it works automatically on that web address. You're also saying, that the web address you claim is yours personally, doesn't make the… big email."

   "Right. You can see here… the web address says f-b-i… right in the web address name. Now, you look at the one I say is mine? tonyangatan@vision.com… I mean, it could all be an elaborate double-blind I'm trained to pull on you? Or…"

   "Or that's the one you use for personal connection. I'm enough of a computer geek, that I like your description. If I accept that you're a non-computer geek. Do you get a little spastic when your laptop starts acting up? I can't get a whole year out of a new laptop, before it's locking up and rebooting and shit."

   Panic regarded the agent's face and eyes as he explained…

   "No. I start screaming at it when it pulls that shit, like, once a year or so."

   Non-computer techs were expert users when they did what they were used to doing everyday with their work laptops. When the hiccups started though, they freaked. Panic judged he saw that in the man's face and eyes. A slight fear the laptop would get possessed with some digital demon for no reason within a year of the techs waving their magical digital wands over it periodically.

   "Jane? Now, I know you've never seen a real, live FBI laptop before. This guy filled me in. If you use this software, the big stuff in the box, on the desktop? That's all official FBI shit, and it all gets logged and saved. Now… if we use his email text editor, he uses personally? Your little love notes to me when we talk dirty? Won't get logged and saved. Okay?"

   Jane gave him a lingering, eerie, vacant mean eyes… and gave a slight curl at the corner of one tight lip, as she flipped her middle finger defiantly right into his face.

   "The witness… as you can see, has some slight authority issues, and in general doesn't trust cops. It's a rare medical condition called cop-itis…"

   Jane glared at him, and gave a substantial puff out of her tube, indicating audibly that she had gone 'hmm'…

   "So, use this email to type to me, okay honey?"

   Jane smiled and nodded and still glared sweetly at him.

   "Tony…"

   "Yes…"

   "Do you have any compelling need to watch what we type to each other?"

   "No. You two can have a private conversation. That's your business. Also? I was asked nicely to… extend you every courtesy possible."

   The two could type in silence and keep erasing it like a small blackboard.

   "okay good morning sweetie."

   "you save the canon"

   "plastic baggie"

   "you ask about that"

   "you know who said he will send me a guy for that"

   "telling you its poisoned"

   "honey do I look poisoned"

   "where did you get the stuff for the cannon was it mine"

   "what you rolled it"

   "no you did"

   "you didnt roll it"

   "no thought you did"

   "okay thats weird"

   "it is weird"

   "i am fine though"

   "i am not fine though"

   "i will get a call or text about where to take it to analyze it"

   "you telling me that canon appeared out of thin air"

   "yeah i didnt make it"

   "it poisoned me and you are immune"

   "man in white lab coat will figure it out"

   "you go and handle it personally"

   "okay if you dont need me here"

   She shrugged, then typed…

   "very sweetie pie of you but you speak geek handle personally"

   "okay i promise"

   "now how the fuck do i eat"

   Panic inhaled and exhaled. He knew the answers.

   "you have three options"

   "whats behind door number one"

   "you dont eat this passes"

   "door number two"

   "sugar drip like for coma people"

   "ouch door number three"

   "feeding tube"

   "is that what it sounds like"

   "yes"

   "i can go a couple days without eating"

   "two maybe three"

   "long time for allergic reaction to go"

   "long time to not eat right when you need to not become weak"

   "you asking for sugar water drip or feeding tube"

   "you already have sugar drip"

   "so feeding tube"

   "yes"

   "give me a day or two to decide"

   "okay"

   "can I say something funny"

   "watch how funny or it will be a long apology later"

   "i want one of those rolling mechanical small beds at home"

   "why"

   "ha ha four point restraints"

   "ooh baby"

   "pose-able table"

   "i see your point"

   "are you mad"

   "no"

   It was morning though, and the phone beeped. Panic read the text message. I am your lab guy.

   Panic handled it silently, by text. Then he kissed Jane and went.

   "Rob? She wants me to see to something. Would you stay here, with her?"

   "Sure thing."

   "You don't wonder how long I'll be?"

   "No."

   "Couple hours I'm guessing, at the outside? Not sure."

   Panic waited down in the emergency waiting room before his text came in a while later. He walked outside and talked to a man through the window. Then he walked around to the passenger side and hopped in and they went off.

   "So I'm your laboratory tech. Matt. Matthew Lowery. You, are Mister Panic."

   "Just Panic, no mister to it. Short for Colonel Panic."

   "You were a Colonel?"

   "Never once. Inside joke."

   "All right. Panic it is. Here's the deal. I like you. You have friends. I'm making major brownie points, helping you out. Brownie points I like where they're going. So, believe me when I tell you, what do you need. I was told, you have a sample."

   "I do."

   "On you, or we have to go and pick it up?"

   "On me."

   "I was told to not ask any questions about it, and would I please look at it off the books. You don't have to tell me, but, once I start playing with the sample? We won't have any secrets in the end. The hell is it? I'm used to doing food and drink for shit like this."

   "People poison each other in this country across state lines often enough that there's a whole system in place for it?"

   "It happens enough, that it's a routine thing. Yeah. My lab tries to identify all kinds of things, so, that's what we do. We try to identify the unsub."

   "The unknown subject?"

   "No. Little FBI joke? Unknown Substance. Unsub, get it?"

   "Clever."

   "So? What are we looking at."

   "You're like a priest. Off the books."

   Matt chuckled.

   "The phrase every courtesy ring a bell? The more 100 over 100 correct intelligence I can get, the easier it is to figure out what the unsub is. I ain't filing a report. And yeah, that's been authorized."

   "Scenario. Two people, theoretically, live at the same location. Each one of them? Thinks that the other rolled this big pot cigar and left it laying out."

   "Okay."

   "Neither one did."

   "Did… the victim smoke it?"

   "Yes. The victim did. The other person there? Did too. They didn't feel a thing. The victim dropped over. Throat closed up. Got lucky and got medical attention before brain damage set in."

   "You're saying, that my sample? Is a large pot cigar."

   "Yes."

   "Okay. I'm playing along. Well, I ain't never once ran across a single story of a person taking a couple puffs off of a pot cigar, and they drop over dead. I'm thinking… mixed in, sprayed on. Like that."

   "I would agree."

   "Now, while I'm dreaming up poisons that would do this. How does one person inhale it and the poison drops them. The other person doesn't feel a thing. Even if the two people had two different tolerances to the substance… a lethal dose can be counted on to at least make the other person violently sick. This is the mystery part."

   "It is."

   "Okay. I'm thinking peanut allergy. You spray some peanut oil on, they smoke it, they drop over. How am I doing?"

   "No known food allergies. Nothing like that."

   "No other food or drink. We're not wasting our time on the pot cigar, when there's a water bottle or a beer can somewhere?"

   "No. Just the cigar."

   "No… bug bites, nothing."

   "Nope."

   "I was told this was a witness. Jane Doe. What are the poisoning symptoms. Any hallucinations…"

   "Smokes some? Drops over strangling to death not very long after. Throat closed up and the tongue and tonsils and everything swelled and hardened up and closed tight."

   "I do a lot of toxicology. This picture you're painting? Is drifting back to the peanut oil sprayed on for a peanut allergy to kill someone. I'm not saying it's peanut oil, I'm saying that fits this scenario. Not a lot of stuff that kills one person, and doesn't touch the other."

   "It's like a bad allergy attack, but times ten."

   "That sounds like not poison. That sounds more like my peanut oil theory. Selective poisons? I don't know of any off the top of my head. Now, strong allergens? Those, exist."

   "You sound like you make good clinical sense. So, we're looking for an allergic reaction."

   "My guess. The only other scenario I came up with? And it's so far out there…"

   "Shoot."

   "All toxicology lab techies? Know about medieval, traditional poisons. Arsenic, for example. One can take tiny doses that will do nothing, and initiate a tolerance plan. You would be surprised how quickly you can raise a tolerance with Arsenic, if it's pure, to have zero ill effects for the person with the tolerance? And be clearly lethal to the other person with a standard virgin reaction."

   "Nothing like that, I don't think."

   "Then… without a tolerance con going on… I can't think of anything, other than strong allergens. Most of my allergens though, go in as food or drink. Smoked? Not a lot of data on the subject."

   "Think you can ID something, if its been fucked with?"

   "Oh yeah. Lab's got all the toys a small lab can have. There's even a gas chromatography down the hall, if I need to go to that extreme. I can identify element by element, what the components are. Then? I can back track into what the chemical compound or compounds are. I only have to get close to the formula, before something will stand out."

   "How much lab time do we get, to play detective?"

   "Well… it's my day off. And that means, I have the run of the lab and all the toys. Busy all morning, but, we wait in lines. Lunch hour? We got a ghost town to work in, anything we want for one hour only. Then busy again… and dead after regular work ending day. Yes, we can stay as long as we want to. I can work all night, if I want those brownie points that bad. And? I do. I won't lie to you, toxicology has very little ladder to climb up. We all like to network for our career."

   "I'm just glad you're on board. Hey. Will you at least let me treat you to lunch and stuff? Come on."

   "Whole steak and cheese sub within your budget? I like mushrooms on the steak."

   "You can have double mushrooms if you want. It's fine."

   "So, I get major outside brownie points. And I get free steak subs with mushrooms? My day's just getting better and better. See… we have grades at work."

   "Like… A through F?"

   "No. More like grade one. Grade two. Grade three. Grade four."

   "Which one are you."

   "We all start out at grade one. You either get up onto grade two sooner or later, or, you kinda wash out. You're a permanent gopher."

   "You're a bright guy. You made grade two."

   "Yeah. Then? Well… there's grade three. Grade ones? They come and go. If they stay, permanent gopher. Grade two, is more or less a permanent grade one. We don't wash out. The trick is, to make grade three. Then you're like… a team leader. Several grade ones and twos? Now report to you. So, you can see the two's are all cutting each other's throats for grade three spots."

   "You want to make grade three then."

   Matt shot him an easy shit eating grin over briefly, he was driving in highway traffic.

   "Some Grade two's? Just competent Grade one's. Grade two's that are good at keeping one's and two's around them from having to repeat tests? End up leading a little team of their own one's and two's."

   "You're a three."

   "Yeah, but… I'm a newly minted Grade three. Less than a year. If you're wondering? It's almost impossible to make Grade four without serious gray hair. Outside brownie points? I wouldn't mind getting into another lab. Do good there, now I can move up and see if I can get into lab management."

   "You want to break out of being a sergeant with another stripe every now and then. Break into being an officer. I dig it. Dedicated career man."

   "I have two main things in my life, Panic. I have my career? And I have my girlfriend. That's about it. All my time, all my effort… goes into one of those two things."

   "Kids?"

   "Kid. One. She's five. Maybe I should have said I have work and family, those are my two main things."

   "Same difference. Everything's good with your girl, huh? That's good."

   "I know… not everyone's happy, these days. Me? I'm happy enough. Helping you out? Helps my career out, maybe. That's good for my family, too."

   "You didn't get here this quick from DC…"

   "No way. I work, at a broad spectrum toxicology lab. At one time? Many clients. Over the years, though… it whittled down to one client, and stayed like that. That one client, I'm sure you know which one."

   "The FBI."

   "Bingo. The FBI? Has two parts. Agents and techs. Teams and laboratories. My lab is part of the technology side of things. So… getting into another lab, similar but different from mine? I can try to get into a DC lab. Or? One on the Virginia farm."

   "Virginia farm?"

   "Batch of labs, like mine. They all work for the FBI and other agencies, all located in one big industrial park. If you're a lab tech like me? That's heaven. Short commute. Good pay. Affordable country housing."

   "Good plan. Career and family move."

   "Yeah. I pull that one off? I'm super-dad around the house. Wearing a cape and everything. City paycheck, country prices."

   "Helping me, might help you with that?"

   Matt smiled.

   "We all test and they go over our file once a year like a clock. It works like a clock, too. Slow and predictable. You have an outside recommendation in your file? It's fucking special. It can sometimes jump the clock forwards. Last time I got an at-a-boy like that? I made Grade three that year."

   "You got verbally promised an at-a-boy. Every three at-a-boys trades in for a grade jump. Gotcha."

   "Well, that's just it. I got the call, early on my day off. My boss wanted to know if I wanted to help someone out, from DC. I said, right in bed… do I wanna work on my day off to try to help someone in DC out… let me see… and my girlfriend? Is shaking her head yes and smiling, I know it's okay. I said sure."

   "Sounds like how those kinds of things happen. Sure."

   "Well, that's just it. It is. But… before I can get into the shower, my phone rings again. Another guy, I don't know. From DC. He thanks me for agreeing to help out and all that."

   "Okay."

   "Then? I get out of the shower. Another call. I don't know that guy from DC either… but, he's happy too. So… this whole deal sounds to me, anyways… like a triple at-a-boy, all in one. Then? My boss calls me back again once I'm in the car. He reminds me, that if this takes longer than my days and nights off, I can finish it on my paid time."

   "So… I was keeping track. Isn't that four at-a-boys?"

   "Hmm. Three at-a-boys, but, one of them? Is a double at-a-boy, I guess. So, you wouldn't know this, but… Grade fours? They only work on their own, important, one thing at a time project. They rerun all their tests. They compile an official set of reports on it. The kind of report that makes it official for court, if it comes to that. So, we're going to get you your answer. As quick as I can. Then? I'm going to send you away with your answer, that you can count on… while I run more tests, and rerun all the tests, and draw up a big report on it. Do you know how fun that's going to be for me?"

   "You get to wear a gold star around work for a couple days."

   "Right. I'll look an awful lot like a lab tech going places, rather then just a lab tech waiting for the clock hands to move once a year. Maybe have lunch or dinner here and there with the other fours there."

   "Glad I got someone good, to play with my sample."

   Matt was silent but smiled…

   "There's another three like me at work. He was busy, he couldn't do it."

   Panic chuckled.

   "Is he better than you?"

   "I don't know. We go back and forth. Neither one of us can make the other look bad. But, he's been there longer than me. He has more friends. That makes him a little better than me, even if we're equal."

   "Then, you're equal… you just want it more."

   Matt smiled.

   "He blinked. Boss called me next. I didn't blink. Hey… when the carrot's dangling, you grab for the motherfucker, right?"

   They small talked about everything else under the sun on the long drive, simply because they couldn't extract anything else from Panic's honest description of what he thought he knew.

   When they finally got to the lab, the man introduced him and explained he was on a personal project.

   "We once all pitched in, and tried to identify a secret recipe for something we wanted. I'll give you a hint: movie popcorn butter."

   "You bust the secret formula?"

   "Unfortunately, we did manage to untangle pieces of it. Sadly, we all got too scared to ever eat it again. Do you eat popcorn butter at the movies?"

   "Yeah."

   "Then, may I suggest, you don't ask what's in it. If you want to enjoy it in the future. It won't kill you unless you eat it every day."

   "Good to know."

   "All right. Sample? This is the examination table. You can fuck around with a goddamn human body part? We're used to it. So, you're little cigar? Isn't going to raise an eyebrow. The only other scenario I can come up with, tolerance wise? Would be heroin. One addict could conceivably tolerance-kill the other."

   "Nothing like that. If it were any kind of opiate? The, um… second person would have been hit like a ton of bricks. Opiate naive."

   "And… we're right back to door number one. An allergen with a potentially violent response."

   The tech scalpel-ed open the pot cigar that had been smoked some, then stubbed out as the choking started small, and got warmed up.

   "That's weird. Look…"

   Panic looked. The big pot cigar spilled it's guts out to the scalpel, and a tiny rolled pin joint had been inside. The tech carefully separated all of the outside paper, emptied and scraped gently clean. Made another careful pile of the main pot cigar contents. Then a last pile had one thing in it, a pin joint. They scalpel-ed it and made a small pile with it. That new pin paper on the other end of this little examination conga line.

   "If you had to, oh, rough guess… is this how the… two people usually smoked a pot cigar?"

   "If you mean, pin joint hidden inside the cannon paper? No. Never once. What would the point be?"

   Matt smiled.

   "Let's look at a tiny sample of both kinds, the big pile and the little pile, see what we see under some magnification. This is shredded leafy material."

   "Here. 40x. Here's the big pile. See that shit? That's typical pot residue. Dries to crystals like you see. Now. Look at the other. Here's the little pile, same magnification."

   "Darker. Totally different, very even texture. The big pile? Different size pieces. The little pile? All one dry size. Doesn't even look like pot to me, but, it could be just leaf material. Don't see much leaf anymore. It's all weed fruits, or it gets made into the other products. Like edibles."

   "Do… you know how to smell pot? Or, should I sniff it."

   "Hmm. You? I assume you're the other person in the story. If you were immune, I'd be more comfortable if you smelled it. Big pile, then little pile."

   *sniff*

   "Big pile? That's weed."

   *sniff*sniff*

   "Not great, not complete schwag. A little above schwag. Eh, half decent smell."

   "Glad you knew nothing about the subject."

   "Yeah."

   *sniff*

   "Doesn't really smell like pot. I know leaf can crumble up and smell funny and look like that. Like you said, I ain't seen leaf in years. My impression? It ain't pot, I don't think."

   "Well. I'm afraid to smell it. What if I have the same allergic reaction. I could die, right?"

   "I have a scalpel. I'm the one who cut the throat open, so the victim could breathe. Go on. It's safe."

   "No thanks. Do you agree with me then, we'll initially concentrate on the inner, hidden smaller joint? Because it looks off, it smells off. And hey… it was hidden."

   "Your logic is convincing."

   "Well. That's 40x again. Kinda looks like ground up… grass, almost. I mean grass you walk on. Mower clippings in a free for all yard."

   "Higher?"

   "Here's… 100x… see, I can't even see any reside on the leaves. Doesn't even remotely look like any pot leaf. This? Has some kind of… uniform… almost like a shellac over it. That's a thick, dried oil, I'm guessing. Or a hard wax coating. Can't tell. Find out though."

   He took several teensy, tiny samples. Put them into tiny zip and close baggies, and dropped them off for various grade one's to let him know when they had a chance.

   "If we go and do an early lunch? We'll be ready for our hour of power when everyone else goes. I'm on day off syndrome, so…"

   "Good. You're waiting on tests anyways."

   "I am. We go, do our thing. We'll come back right before ghost town starts. Some tests might even be back. We're at examination table 17A. A sticky note is an informal response."

   "Let's go eat. Walking, driving?"

   "Just around the block. Walk."

   They walked to lunch. Matt showed Panic the place he wanted most to work at, the Virginia farm industrial complex. They looked at properties for sale in the surrounding small towns on Matt's WiFi tablet.

   "Well, that's the kind of place I get, if I get to work at the farm."

   "That's what you want?"

   "Sure. No neighbors. Costs less. Me and the mom can go do stuff once in while. My five year old girl? Can grow up in a better place than we are now. We rent a small house in the burbs. It's no shit-hole, but… definitely better for the mom and my kid. I think."

   "You grew up in the country, then. You wanna get back to it."

   Matt laughed.

   "Nope. Big town or a small city. Honestly? I don't even know what I'm supposed to do, if I get there. Never lived in the country. Did you? What's it like."

   "Me? Hmm. Small town. Not quite country, but, country is next door in that small of a town. Right now, though… I live in the country. I like it."

   "Okay. You're in the country now. What do you do?"

   "What do you mean? I have more privacy to fuck my girl. There's trees around."

   "No, I mean. What's different about the country. Living there."

   "Oh. Well… you said the burbs. I bet you have to worry about your tiny little yard. How's the grass look, compared to the other lawns, right?"

   "Oh yeah."

   "Girlfriend probably plants flowers, to try to keep up with the other flower pots up and down the street, right?"

   Matt thought about it.

   "Yeah."

   "In the country? You give three shits about the lawn. You just cut it. It's too big to fuck around with it. You just cut the sum-bitch, and weed whack around a few things."

   "Sounds like I push a lawn mower every weekend…"

   "No. You now need a riding lawn mower. You could pay someone to come and cut it every week or two, but… cheaper to just buy a used riding mower and cut your own grass."

   "Okay. I could see that. What's mom doing different?"

   "You wife plants flowers? In flower pots? Maybe a tomato plant or something?"

   "Yeah."

   "She plants a whole row of flowers. You plant a whole row of tomato plants."

   "Less to do when you go out, though…"

   "Yes and no. People come over now. You? Go over there sometimes. Instead of meeting another couple at the restaurant? You meet in the backyard for a family BBQ."

   "Five year old grows up better."

   "Instead of worrying if she gets on heroin from hanging out with bad kids? You're worried if she hangs out with the kids that smoke cigarettes now, or sneak a beer."

   "Everything's dialed back a notch from the city."

   "It is."

   "Sounds like I cut grass and take care of a small crop. I'm a tiny farmer."

   "No. You… do something with the guys around you. You can go shooting. Hunting. Riding quads with the boys."

   "I don't go shooting and hunting. Not against it? Just never did it. Would be fun to get a used quad though. Seen videos. Looks like fun."

   "It is. Look, you'll have animals getting into your shit. Into your garbage. You get a 22, and you shoot at them. You have fun hitting paper? You can kill the animals getting in your trash. That? Will make you brownie points with the country guys around you."

   "Yeah, I don't wanna be the city family living in the country."

   "Just don't put statues in the yard and make it perfect. Rows of flowers and tomatoes instead of potted plants. Cut your own grass, and shoot the animals that tear your garbage up. They're pests. You'll fit right in. Be shooting beer cans, riding quads and side by sides around in no time. Take your kid fishing."

   "See? It sounds good. You don't like the city, do you?"

   Panic smiled.

   "No, I don't. Never really big on the city in the first place. The more I see of it? The less I like it."

   They timed it so they got back about 20 minutes before ghost town. Some of the tests came back as post its, and Panic's pet grade three assessed them.

   "Sodium positive. Calcium positive though. Which is weird… some kind of… alkaline salt of some kind? I don't know. Let's start to ballpark it."

   He tapped a tablet that was at every station including theirs. He pulled a list down with his finger, and it popped into a multiple list exploded out to pick around. He started ticking off Sodium and Calcium, and the millions of hits went down. He added the Ph post it information, and it went down a lot further.

   "Well. I been doing this a long time. Honestly, if you don't start getting anywhere quick? Rule number one. When you need a rule number two? It's gas chromatography. It straight out identifies every element in the substance. We can pick out something from that."

   "That a one hour procedure?"

   "For me? Yeah. I'll run it multiple times. Takes longer to set up; running it's a breeze."

   Matt hadn't put gloves back on after lunch. He didn't think he was working around Fentanyl or anything like that. He used his thumb to slide the stuff onto a sample card. This involved multiple thumb sweeps, and backing the card up slow like a pro, while sweeping the last crumbs up. Then fingertip getting the rest.

   Matt started fidgeting halfway through the chromatography tests. His thumb was itching. He didn't think anything of it. By the time the test was done and they went back to their cubbyhole to ponder results… his thumb itching had increased to a mild fire itch. The fingers he scratched with, were now irritated like his thumb had started up. If they increased to the thumb's now fire level pitch? It would hurt. He immediately went to the wash off station, and worked water over his thumb in particular, and his fingers too. Even soap and water had limited benefit. He tried a little bit of bleach. He said it helped. A little. Coworkers teased him for chem burning his 'tiddly-winkers' as one girl put it.

   "Whatever that shit is? It's got some kind of hard oil base. It's hard to get off. Bleach barely touches it. An oil base… with a wax property… goes as a salt compound of some kind…"

   "Can I touch it?"

   "Be… my… guest… misery? Loves company…"

   Panic rolled it around all his fingers. Nothing ever came of it. Whatever this deadly stuff was? He was clearly immune.

   Matt now had much more data to tick things off of various lists. It seriously strangled the number of hits.

   "All right… I'm going to take off the Ph restrictions. Reason? This could be concentrated or diluted, we have no idea. Hence, our Ph results could vary widely, over concentrated to dilute."

   "You're the boss in that department."

   "Hey… poison ivy? One of the possibles. A lot of the others… weird stuff to run across… poison ivy? Fairly common, out in the sticks."

   "Okay. Can you confirm it?"

   "I'm calling it? For my best early guess. It looks like it matches, every single element we ID'd… that lines up nicely with our… initial visuals of the unsub too. Dried leaves. With some weird coating, not consistent with the other pile. Which we both know, will test out to be pot."

   "Will it take a while to confirm it."

   "Couple hours, if we had ghost town. Very slow until quitting time."

   "Why do you seem happy about it?"

   "Because. We have a destination in mind. It's the most common substance by far, among all the other exotic compounds. This destination? Is testable, by many different tests. As we meet each one, our conclusion will get narrowed down, if we're right. If, in the end? We meet every condition, we'll have ID'd it. One off? We find out what it is, but we're close. I'm betting every test positive, for poison ivy. We'll see."

   He doled out the teeny amounts needed for the lists of tests. It was tedious to sit there for a couple hours, and have results trickling in. When work ended, Matt started zipping through his own tests. Not held back in a queue, alone, he was impressive. He had done all these jobs as a grade one and two, and now a grade three and oversaw other grade twos as well as all ones in his presence.

   Every test ticked off in favor of poison ivy. When not one single test was coming back negative, Matt started to call it. They broke for coffee and a snack, then Panic ordered them hoagies and pizza takeout from a menu paper. He had his usual. Whole meatball hoagie. Extra sauce, extra meatballs, extra cheese. Garlic bread. French fries. Anchovies on the side. They each got what they wanted on a two extra large pizza and two hoagies and side dishes and drink deal. They each had their own two liter flavored sugar water with caffeine.

   When fewer and fewer tests were left, and every one positive, it was like watching the end of a political race where the loser slowly lost time and came up short. They ended up about 10:30 at night and had the last test, all in favor of poison ivy. It wasn't a full lab workup by court standards, but it was a good answer none the less. It just wasn't official.

   Panic peeled off several 50s and told the guy.

   "Enjoy your brownies. Here's some candy money. I don't wanna get hammered and waste the rest on strippers, it's just not my thing. Might be your thing though. Or? Do whatever. Thanks."

   "Oh, I can't wait to meet you again. So, does poison ivy, prepared deliberately, fit into your scheme of things?"

   "Well. Anything I scheme up, better include it. Make the case fit the facts, not the other way around. Eh. Out in the sticks? Yeah. It's plausible."

   "You got anything else to go on?"

   "I don't know yet. Till I get back and see. I'm hoping to get lucky."

   "Good luck."

   "Thanks…"

   Panic got driven home and dropped off, in his own relative silence. The man forgave him his brainstorming and let him stew. He dutifully reported back by getting dropped back off at the hospital. He walked in after normal hours, but didn't have to deal with any guards, other than to gift them half a pizza and half a big hoagie. He hadn't remembered until he was back, that he didn't want to eat in front of her, nor have the food around for her to see and smell. So, he quietly and efficiently found his room. Well, not his room. Jane's room. Jane Doe's room, was gifted with 24-7 visitation. He typed his synopsis he had been given, for her eyes only.

   "who though"

   "dont know yet"

   Another round of injections around the neck failed to produce the release. They recommended muscle relaxants. They went with that on top of it. She got sleepy, and he stayed awake hovering over her. When she woke up, they talked with their faces and eyes. Then she took another, longer nap. By evening, a stronger, hopefully more local, muscle relaxant was put into service. A third prick made one side of the throat go down. A little. The doctor made multiple tiny injections on the opposing side of the neck. It had the same small effect.

   Mary suddenly got a tiny bit of opening, the first convoluted tiny path between her mouth and her lungs that was clear. The doctor, now informed off the record and informally as treating inhaled burning poison ivy? Went and got a gigantic horse needle and plunger. Got a surprisingly large container of a mild cortisone, and went to work piercing swollen throat tissue and the back of the tongue with the mild cortisone solution.

   Jane did not in the least enjoy the bug's eye view of the giant needle and the giant reservoir and plunger looming over her face and stabbing at her throat. It felt like the needle should pop out the back of her skull, and bug pin her onto the hospital bed for display when dried out.

   When this procedure was continued several hours later, they were finally confident enough to close the trake and see what air came in the throat. It wasn't much, and she was told to open up the trake and gradually close the valve as her throat came up to speed. Limited improvement was judged to be preferable to no improvement though.

   The next morning, the big shots to the throat and tongue bore more fruit. She was able to drink small amounts of liquids and kept Panic on a slow assembly line of things to drink. Small teas, small coffees. Small milkshakes. Any fruit juice that was sweet. They all played 500 rummy at one point. Had enough fun to play a couple of 1000 games. Then, the muscle relaxants tapped her to sleep again for the night. Two out of three slept in short shifts and rotated.

   Instead of the normal procedure of strapping patients for sleep, and leaving them alone to fall asleep restrained… Panic watched her fall asleep, and gently tugged them slightly tight in her sleep. He removed them as soon as her eyes opened.

   When she was falling asleep, and they were as alone as they could be with two people sleeping nearby… Panic tried to cheer her up by whispering into her ear.

   She smiled weakly. Then pulled his neck down for her now husky whisper voice with the damaged throat.

   "I'm over the bad part…"

   She typed out the rest to avoid a long conversation.

   "When I went out. I couldn't move, and I saw you coming at me with something in your hand. Then I went out. Floated. I felt like… I was floating up to the ceiling. And bumped it. Then, it was blurry and I was looking down. At myself. Eyes open… dead. Then… there's blood and air if I rip my lungs open hard. It hurt to try to breathe, until the tube goes in. I snapped back for that fun part."

   "You made it. Some more cortisone shots, and that seems like a fun procedure you enjoy."

   She croaked softly…

   "It's big fun."

   "Get some more sleep. We might get out of here tomorrow."

   Three ragged ass men, two in work clothes and one in a much rumpled, cheap, off the rack suit… walked out, all on their own power even though haggard looking, two and a half days later. A woman that looked dog tired and exhausted was supported with her arms over the shoulders of two of the guys at any one moment. They had a large supply of antibiotics and pain pills and muscle relaxers given to them. As well as a date to come back for the fun of removing the trake and stitching the hole up. Same day surgery, though.

   The agent gave the desk woman a code when he drove personally back in to handle just the payment, as that was most likely the last procedure to appear on the final bill. He was considerably more presentable. Sleep, bath, shave, hair fixed and suit and clothes all fresh from only a half a day's use instead of almost three straight after being dragged out of bed in dirty clothes grabbed at blind in the first place.

   Panic slipped him some candy money and had to about fight with him to take it.

   When they were home, Jane turned back into Merry. She fairly quickly revived from the trauma of strangling to death. She did latch onto Panic and hug him a fair bit tighter to sleep for several nights, before she loosened into her familiar gentle but insistent hug. Then she began to act a little more like herself, a thing that increased millimeter of personality trait by millimeter of personality trait.

   "So. I was trying to bribe the surgeon."

   "To do away with me, so you can have the cat all to yourself, and not be bothered by me getting in your way any more? Hmm?"

   "No. I can't do without you. I just wanted my own little throat hole, I could sort of… you know…"

   "That is… I don't know what."

   "The surgeon called it… unprofessional."

   "How do you say it? When I'm 100 over 100, we'll talk about you getting a little throat hole. To… you know…"

   "You can do that?"

   She gave a weak smile, and wiggled her hand in the back and forth see saw motion. Sort of but not really, it said.

   "Don't worry about that now."

   "If you pull fucking train with milkshakes in my throat, lots of little ones, not one huge one… space them out… you stand a way better chance of getting your own… you know… hole for that. Soft ice cream too."

   "I like orange sherbet and french vanilla ice cream."

   "What kind of asshole doesn't like chocolate."

   "I'll get you chocolate. I'll get you one of every chocolate they have, just to see. And I'll make milkshakes out of the ones you want. And did you say 'pull train' on your throat? Or did I get that wrong."

   Merry smiled.

   "Sorry about that. Poor choice of words. But, think of every ice cream, every milkshake… as a lottery ticket for your little throat hole… experiment."

   "How about a bed like those little bed carts we slept on. Position it… all those restraints…"

   "Mm. People would laugh."

   "We tell them it's for my home surgery hobby. I'm the surgamatic 9000. I slice, I dice, I poke nice."

   "How in the hell did you know to do that?"

   "I told you, I've seen it done once before. Guy got shot in the neck. Medic traked him like that in the field, kept his ass alive till we got back. After the trake, he blocked his throat to keep the blood from filling his lungs up. He clamped some of the blood off, and it was enough. I didn't have to clamp anything just right, I just had to do a quick trake. I had it easy compared to the medic doing it."

   "Are we gonna talk about this?"

   "I wanted to wait till you recovered, before you had to think about it any more than you already do."

   "I can breathe fine now. It feels like someone… I don't know… cut my throat open with a chainsaw, is what it feels like. But. If you don't mind my new frog croak voice…"

   "Mind it? I kinda like it."

   "Too much sweetie pie routine, dear. But thanks."

   "Seriously. Husky, sexy bedroom voice. I'm hoping that's permanent. It gives me shivers, and you're not even talking dirty yet."

   "Uh, right. Anyways… go."

   "Talk about it?"

   "Yeah…"

   "What do we know?"

   "A cannon just magically appeared. I thought you made it, you thought I made it."

   "Any cop would say oh, you wacky kids, all high-ed up, you forgot you rolled one."

   "Yeah. Except we have lab proof that it had a pin joint of most likely poison ivy hidden inside. We didn't make that."

   Panic wondered aloud…

   "Who did. Who even would, though. We list your enemies, Jane Doe."

   "Half the DC police force is always a handy suspect…"

   "Hmm. The one, last, renegade. Never discovered, a criminal mastermind. He strikes now. He's secretly a genius cop, hiding it all these years. Yanking the strings of power."

   Panic yawned dramatically at his brainstorm idea.

   "Okay, it's a little thin. Not like it isn't possible."

   "You make any other enemies, Jane?"

   "Hmm. Two skanks. Donut slut and bar whore. You know, mister Panic… you were the other target."

   "Yes. Robbie? Has been waiting all these years, to finally come and get me. I'm terrified. What fights have you seen me in since we've been in this town? I haven't had to go cave man on anyone."

   "Renegade DC cop. Two skanks."

   "The bikers?"

   "What. All my friends. I'm their poster girl. You've seen me there, how many times now. Pffft."

   "Okay. Something… political? Just one of the bikers has some reason, to get the bar skank to… what?"

   "I can't come up with that something. And? I would like to."

   "Which one do I look into first… the renegade DC cop theory, or, pick a skank theory."

   "Honey? Whoever did it… knows that we smoke pot."

   "Bar skank. Donut slut wouldn't know, why would the renegade DC cop know?"

   "So, out of three bad suspects, only bar skank knows we smoke pot."

   Panic thought about it.

   "That's thin."

   "It is."

   "Thin isn't good. But… thin is still something to beat on, till we get something good to shake out. The other two? I can't get to thin. Can you?"

   "Three bad suspects. Two with nothing, one with thin. What choice do we even have."

   "Okay. I'll buy that. How do we learn all about the bar skank. I want clay to make bricks. Are you gonna… let me go prancing on your laptop?"

   "Oh. That reminds me."

   "See? I like the deep, sexy voice. Reminds you of what?"

   "You thought you were very clever, showing me how an FBI laptop works. Funny."

   "What did you want me to do, say no no no, my girlfriend is a whiz with an FBI laptop already, glad there's nothing suspicious about that… so, I went the exact other way with it. I pretended you were just another dipshit girl that can barely send an email. Which buries the thing deeper."

   She stared at him, detached.

   "What?"

   "I'm trying to decide. Whether you're in sweetie pie mode trying to sugar me up, or you're teasing me and getting one over on me."

   "I love hearing your rusty bedroom voice, when you interrogate me like that."

   "Now then. If you aren't lying to me. Then, you made me look like an idiot with the laptop just to further keep me knowing how to scoot around an FBI laptop a secret? That's very sweet. Also very clever."

   "And? I got you back for being too clever at the nail salon."

   "Okay, I admit I was having too much fun with it that day."

   "So, I'm not in trouble?"

   "You sound like you want to be in trouble."

   "Meanwhile, back at the ranch. Thin for bar skank. What move to make first. I was thinking, me and Rob go take a look at 4:00 am. Night vision, cameras and pictures and video. See what we can see through the windows. Get the vehicle plate, the address. We'll… probably want to go in when we know she's not there. Skykid on a 5 minutes away road watch. No tossing the place. Neb-nose around."

   "We both know we're not allowed to do that."

   "No. I know better. I just end up with intelligence I ain't allowed to have. But, if I can get anything? I bet I can sit down and gin up a story that squares up and just happens to accidentally put something I find incriminating, on display."

   "The chief?"

   "Awful friendly. Bends over backwards with my property owner. Seems to for me, to hear him talk loose around me."

   "He originally would get the impression I was a snitch. After the bar scene? I'm a witness now, instead of a snitch. It explains his earlier 'every courtesy' calls he got."

   "Plus, he then saw my FBI neck ID several times. I just wore it and never talked about it."

   "Yes. You made all the local cops jealous. It was very sweet."

   "My point being, that also leaves him with the possible impression he got your courtesy call's because of me. He just sees an ID, and sees me talking with FBI agents like we work together."

   "Better than being thought a snitch. Although, I do have permission to be chummy with pigs for my DC pig roast, the boys call it."

   "So. It makes it very likely, that we can simply chat for information about bar skank. The right tone, the chief will probably dump intelligence on her. We can't possibly know what she's like as a person."

   "It's not illegal for you to investigate into anything. Within reason."

   "I wanna keep this quiet though. As quiet as I can for as long as I can. Question. Would the attempted murderer not be wondering if you were even alive right now? How would bar skank know any intelligence on that. She wouldn't expect the Jane Doe routine at all. If she doesn't see anything in the papers, she's gonna wonder."

   "You want me to play dead."

   "Maybe. Me and Rob are gonna do the night look around spot check anyways. That's secret. Talking to the chief? Is not secret. I'm waiting on that. What about your famous uncle, my famous IA plug in. Can we get phone, internet. Like that."

   "Probably. Most likely. Yeah."

   "Is that secret? Or… just quiet."

   "Secret if I want. Quiet, too. What do you want?"

   "Thin skank. I never would of thought of this in a million years. It was clever, if I pretend it's her. She doesn't impress me at first look as clever. I expect… internet searches for home made poisons, something like that."

   "Oh. Okay. You and Rob go play, then we'll get that quietly."

   "Then? We have time to craft what we ask the chief, and how we frame it. Sorry. I just like to plan, for when I go from reasonably secret, to reasonably no longer a secret."

   Merry bit her lip, and calculated.

   "All sounds good. If we can't find anything, we move on, right?"

   "No. I wanna spend time, money and manpower, and piss it away on something thin that gives me nothing. Of course if we find nothing, we move on."

   "Anyways. Thanks for pretending to like my frog croak voice."

   "I'm not kidding. The deep, rusty thing is a slight turn on."

   "How bad? Science girl glasses on bad?"

   "Not that bad, but… I can't wait to hear the deep, sexy voice with the glasses together."

   "Hmm. I sound too… butch."

   "It's a feminine deep. I'm telling you."

   "Oh. So I sound like a gay man. Wonderful."

   "Actually? I'm not sure what a gay man sounds like trying to use his bedroom voice."

   "Now that you point that out? Good."

   "Does this make you rethink your violent streak?"

   "Hmm. First of all, you know I can't be too nice. I'm supposed to be a tank."

   "Granted."

   "I even let the bar skank go, and went and got one of the boys to straighten her out. I was trying to be nice. All I notice? Is the one I knocked out is the one we don't have a thin thing for. Maybe if I had slapped both of them around, I wouldn't sound so much like a frog."

   "Hey. Skykid will like it. Frog voice. French. Get it?"

   "Yeah, I get it."

   "How do you want to handle things, if we get anything solid on one of these suspects."

   "I'd like to have ten minutes alone with them, and it ends with my hands around their throat, to tell you the truth."

   "I mean… try to jail her? Or…"

   "Oh. I wasn't thinking like that."

   "I was. If something comes to threaten my cat? I toss it's carcass over the hill with the rest of the exterminated critters. What do you imagine I would be capable of if someone tried to kill my human cat. So, if I ask if you were thinking jail or… whatever. You're thinking jail. I'm asking."

   "As… let's say rewarding and leave it at that. As… rewarding as that other prospect might be… I was thinking jail as a first option. Merry the adventurous wayward steakhouse waitress? I'm sure she doesn't like to be attempted murdered."

   "No one does, I guess."

   "I want to take a nap. Are you going to nap with me, before you go play peeping tom with Little Robbie. You have hours."

   "Remind me to text Rob later. Sure."

   They took a nap, and Merry wrapped herself around him and started drifting off.

   "I'm getting tired of people trying to kill me."

   "I'm starting to think you like it."

   "No. I don't want you to, but, just for fun… how would you go about taking the bar skank out?"

   "Well. Let's say, I found something on her. I was convinced. And, that I was inclined to… you know. Hmm. A girl… using secret recipes to kill. I'd probably go with the old cleaning products mishap."

   "I don't know what scares me more. That there's a way to kill with cleaning products, or, that it's so popular a thing it's like old faithful."

   "Picture this scene. Person, here a young woman. Is simply cleaning her apartment, house, whatnot. Familiar scene, no?"

   Merry nodded yes on his chest.

   "Sure it is. Now, let's say she has a stain in the toilet. Who hasn't seen a working old toilet without a few rust stains or something. What if she got tired of that stain, and when cleaning the bathroom… bombed a couple of products down into the toilet bowl to stew up, and really take a run at that rust stain, you know?"

   "Okay."

   "Make sure you don't mix ammonia and bleach. People throw some baking soda in. You don't even have to get the proportions right. The amount that exists? Will react off, until the proportion is missing."

   "What happens?"

   "Chlorine gas emissions. Lots of it, to be truthful. World war one mustard gas. In much higher concentrations, as measured in Parts Per Million. She only needs to be present in the bathroom with that in the toilet, with no signs of foul play."

   "Well, as fun as it would be to see her pass out from chemical fumes, we'll just be darlings and stick her in a cage to rot."

   "She wouldn't pass out. Not for a long time. She would cough up her lungs. Literally. Her skin would chemically rot off of her. Death would take some time."

   "Jail."

   "I know."

   "I hope they take this stupid thing out of my neck tomorrow."

   "They should."

   "I have big ass feet. I'm gonna have the weird throat scar now. I already sound like a bullfrog. This is ridiculous. I'm gonna look like Frankenstein."

   "You'll be fine."

   "Do you really like the frog croaking, or are you just being sweet to me."

   "Both."

   Panic woke up to something touching his leg. An open eye told him it wasn't the cat, it was Rob.

   "It's time."

   Panic nodded, and got out from under Merry and the covers. Panic had an address from Merry's laptop. They parked a ways off, and snuck in on foot.

   "No cameras. No infrared."

   They took infrared pictures on the car and license plate, and even got the VIN. They scouted the house and back yard. It was easy, no neighbors. No dog present to alert anyone. They scanned inside and recorded any window they could manage to get a peek into. With one standing on the other's shoulders, they just managed to hold the recorder up and around second story windows in case there was anything to see there. It was a tiny, older, rented house. Attic converted into a second floor.

   They moved around, and eyed up the basement door, and the front and back doors as well. To see where was the easiest way to get inside quietly, when they came back for a quick walk around inside. They left as furtively as they had come.

   In the truck, parked back at camp, they got to look on a tablet screen at what they had captured.

   Rob pointed.

   "The fuck is that thing…"

   "I don't know. Some kind of… hobby, I guess."

   "Looks more like a shrine."

   "I don't know. I have no idea."

   "What are we even looking for?"

   "I have no idea. Anything weird. Anything out of place."

   "A shrine isn't weird to you?"

   "We'll get a better look at it, when we go in. Won't we?"

   "Will you be…"

   "No. I won't be. That's Merry's call. She wants her in a cage, if I can pull that off."

   "You think you can? Put Speedy on that, that's his hobby."

   "Speedy has his own shit to do right now. I wanna see if I can get anything on my own."

   Rob sighed.

   "I know. It isn't business. It's personal."

   "You're damn right, it's personal. Do you have any idea, what it was like? To walk in on Merry dead."

   Rob was quiet…

   "I can imagine."

   "She looked like one of the village girls, laying there. The face, the eyes… oh, it's personal now. Trust me."

   "You need anything else right now?"

   "No. Thanks."

   Panic sneaked back in as stealthily as he could. He got back under the covers, and got Merry over and around him without waking her fully up. In the morning, Merry didn't want to get up, and wanted to keep her position on him in bed for a while.

   "Honey. We gotta get moving. You want that thing out, or you wanna keep it for a souvenir."

   Merry croaked out.

   "All right."

   They got up and moving around. They walked up for breakfast, and everyone was quiet. Skykid made her scrambled eggs, and she mashed them up to smithereens with two forks, and letting them cool to barely warm before gingerly attacking them slowly. No one said a word, as she picked at the ground up eggs little by little. Eating was a war of attrition now. She washed every tiny bite down with fluids.

   Rob stood in front of them, and they followed him to the truck. He drove them back to the hospital. Her same day surgery to get the trake removed had already been paid for. The same doctor that had worked on her that night and the next day or two… was actually a surgeon and handled it in a private room, off to the side of the main hallway.

   "Jane? This is all samples. Antibiotics, to stay up on top of anything. These, are lighter pain pills. For your throat, if you need them. You been gargling with the warm clove oil in water?"

   She nodded, and croaked out.

   "Tastes like shit."

   "Try a tablespoon of warm honey with it. Or warm milk."

   She croaked out "milk…"

   "All right. You? Are free to go, miss Doe. That raw throat? That will slowly pass. Be careful what you put in your mouth. The coughing go away?"

   She nodded and croaked out "yes".

   She went through the big bag of samples, and the home stitches removal kit. She came up with something from out of a box and held it up.

   "That? Is insurance. It's an allergy shot pen. Just in case. There's about forty or fifty shots in there, if you dial in the lowest setting. Works just like a sugar shot pen, if you've ever seen one used. If… anything would… happen? You could try about ten shots, on either side of the neck… here? And here…"

   Merry didn't ordinarily ever carry a purse. She had one on though, a used one from the secondhand store in town. Panic had picked it out for her, she didn't care what it looked like. Jane held her palm out, and took her gun out, that filled up most of the interior of her little purse. She put the pen down in, and put the gun back in again.

   The doctor just shrugged, and looked at Panic.

   "Insurance? Best carried with the other insurance information…"

   They met Rob down in the waiting area. Merry lifted her chin, to show him her little friend was now gone.

   "Thought you'd have a hole left when they were done. You know, handy way to chug a beer, place to stick a cigar…"

   She gave him the middle finger, then curled the edge of her lip up.

   "Really, you can't even hardly see it, it's so tiny…"

   In short order, on the drive home? Merry looked over at Panic.

   "Rob? Any chance we could pull in somewhere? I'm thinking ice cream. Milkshake. Fruit juice."

   "Sure. She has you so well trained, in so few days… she can download her instructions to you, I don't know, what do you call the invisible connection? Blue tooth? Yeah, Bluetooth. She Bluetooth's you instructions now. Is he right about the ice cream?"

   Merry put one of her overly dramatic acting class smiles on, and pointed at her throat. Croaked to go along with it.

   "Chainsaw used in there…"

   "No problem. So. Panic?"

   "What?"

   Rob smiled.

   "You're seriously going to take a run at an attempted murder case, personally. Without even calling Speedy?"

   "Yeah. Why not. Okay, I know I need Speedy's input. I give you that one. But… I wanna see how close I can get real quick myself. Then, I show him."

   "You? Are trying to show off, aren't you…"

   "Oh, okay. I am. There, I said it."

   Panic admitted it like a little kid, found out about the whole missing cookies incident.

   "So, I'm in on this too, until Speedy gets back and strangles all of us."

   Panic looked at Merry's overly expressive face. She nodded with her eyes, Panic chuckled.

   "She just Bluetooth-ed me, that it was all right."

   "We made an initial pass. Neither one of us saw anything bad yet. We just go and let ourselves in. Take a peek. There's no dog, and if we post Sky up, say, five minutes ordinary speed driving away on lookout? That's an easy margin to get out for a call."

   Rob calculated out loud.

   "We have two roads in and out of town. We have three operatives."

   Panic nodded.

   "Skykid. Me. You."

   Merry croaked softly.

   "Four…"

   Panic chuckled.

   "You? You're supposed to be dead, you stay out of this."

   Rob laughed.

   "Sky can't cover both roads back into town. One of us two? Posts up on the other. Simple. That leaves one to do casual entry and poke around a little while. The only real question is, me or you makes entry."

   Panic smiled.

   "I figured I would, if I ain't being greedy."

   "It's your case. You go in and nose around first. I can do it another time, or you can even take Speedy in if he won't shit kittens over it. We'll wire you up, and I'll record it. Like old times."

   Panic asked…

   "Is that everything?"

   "For now? Sure, Panic. I think it is. I'm with you about the chief. See what we can get secret, before we go public. Plus, you said you got your phone to work with other sources if you need it."

   They went and got soft ice cream, at a roadside ice cream parlor. It opened up out the back onto a miniature golf course, a game room, and some driving lanes. Merry and Panic roped Rob into miniature golf with the ice cream. All three of them had cones of soft ice cream. Merry also had a sundae, hold the nuts. She licked and ate her ice cream cone much like a young girl, then handed the cone part to Panic… he crunched it up and went back to his own hard cone. Merry's sundae was a little less cold now and starting to really soften up in the quickly warming air.

   They talked idly about their little case, but nothing else major came out of it. Merry got amusing and competitive with both the boys to make it more childishly fun to be playing miniature golf. They were far enough from town to not really have to worry about anything. For now. In general, Merry was going to stay out of sight so Panic could play her dead if he wanted to, if it aided the attempt to flush out the amateur killer. If anyone started asking how Merry was one too many times, it could be a clue for now.

   Later, they got back to the camp and split up. Panic had Merry back at the cabin finally. He got her on the laptop. Would she type up what she thought. Psychology or whatever. She typed away.

   "Profiling ain't what most people think it is. I'm thinking spunky amateur's first try. If it's her, I mean."

   Merry emailed Uncle Mike for her quiet request for a log dump of any of the girl's search page items she typed or clicked about. He beeped back he'd have it before the end of the day, and asked if she was okay and small talked with her amiably. He apologized for waiting until the weekend to come and see her.

   Merry laid down, and rested without sleeping. Panic sat and thought about the whole situation, and didn't come up with anything novel for the moment. He looked at his own cell phone, and at some of the pictures Merry had sent him. He had asked for pictures he could show people, not her special shaking the hair after the shower video. He thumbed through, looking up at her laying there on the mattress.

   The racquetball girls must have went through a take pictures period, because he was pretty sure that's where she was in two of the photos. One had her laying down on a gym mat, in one of her little workout shorts and top. She looked over idly and found the camera, her bare feet up on a bench, relaxing. She had her finger-less workout gloves on. The mated photo was basically the same shot, but she was posting her arms and supporting herself up, and wasn't looking over her shoulder to find the camera.

   He liked those two because other than that the light and everything had came together well, he liked seeing her legs and leg muscle out like that. Another one he liked, she must have been laying out, and reached back with the phone and snapped one. It was an odd angle, it caught her lower face and you were angling, looking down her body. She had thrown some light blanket of some kind over herself, it covered her from her chest to her thighs. She had one of her cheerful faces on for it.

   She was mercifully not one of the women that had to make a weird face in each and every photo shot and stick her tongue out and cross her eyes. While that was cute once in a while? Women had gotten to doing it in every single photo, and it was a pet peeve of his.

   He cycled between those three photos, and looking at her laying there. This, was what someone wanted to take away from him. They had damn near succeeded and he wasn't in a very good mood about it. Then, the flight of fancy, what if he got the person that had tried to kill her in his hands… and that went sour as well.

   He realized that he had never once killed a female before, at least none he knew of. They had all been men or older boys, and enemy combatants. Killing a female? Was one of his last taboos in his world view. He was surprised that once he thought about it? He realized he could do it. She was an enemy combatant, she had tried to kill his woman. He was highly surprised to find that once thinking on it, he wouldn't have any problem making her suffer some.

   He didn't like this, but there it was. He shook his head, this wasn't good at all. He didn't like being able to think like this, although it was logical. Thank god, he thought. Merry demanded she be put in a cage instead of… simply handled. He didn't know if Merry intuitively prevented that last taboo for him on accident, or even deliberately.

   Snapping a small woman's neck should not give him any pleasure to think about it, and he didn't like the image and his surprising lack of abhorrence to the whole concept. Throwing her still alive into a pile of wild pigs feeding on meat in a frenzy didn't make him wince either, and he had to go walk around a little bit and find something else to think about until those taboo thoughts went away.

   It didn't immediately work. He got the phone out, and started flipping through the pictures again. Marking some as favorites, so they could go on the little slide show when he requested it. I could simply break her neck and throw her down the stairs. Then burn the house down around her. Wasn't there another photo to put in the slide show? He found more.

   Merry was sitting there. Something childlike about her pose. Her left foot was on her right knee, all laid out flat around her upper body upright. Some shiny workout shirt, and workout pants that covered her to her elbows and knees. Like the other photos he liked, you could see the muscles but she wasn't posing by any stretch. The next shot was about the same, except she had grabbed her right ankle and drew it up. Some yoga pose she was stretching out with. He marked it and added it to his little show.

   The last ones, were a couple of shots he had taken. They were both on Rape Rock, in the heat of the summer. When the sun had decided to move into a position that made everything prettier, he had wanted a picture. She had given him her phone, then transferred the pictures later. He had watched her slowly changing positions in the sun, and when it took him he clicked a photo. One knee up, the other knee up, both up, both down… then, he found it. He was peeking up over the edge of Rape Rock. She was covered in oil, sweat and moisture over tan, glowing skin. Both knees pulled up a different amount, not all the way.

   Her leather loincloth wouldn't attempt to hide any of her except what kept the photo from being X rated. Her wet leather tube around her chest seemed almost an extension of her skin. She had looked over and been surprised he was peeking up, and she had sun dozing eyes transitioning from vacant to one of her more expressive masks she could pick from. Definitely that one, no doubt about it.

   He started his own personal slide show, and watched his favorites change around. It didn't completely prevent the errant thoughts from creeping in, but it definitely prevented him from picking them up in his head and playing with them. He could look at her dozing and back to the screen as he felt like it. Over time, that worked. The good slide show won out, over top of the taboo slide show going on in his head.

   Just like always, the taboo slide show didn't bother him. Not really. He was slightly annoyed by the fact that he wasn't bothered by it, and that was all.