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We have known each other since college. We dated for six months before he met the love of his life and knocked her up. A real romance for the ages, that one. He pretends not to be cooking meth, and she pretends that a pharmacist makes enough to afford twenty acres on the verge of the city limits where she can ride horses.
“Really long time, no see!”
Derrick greets me with a friendly eagerness.
“Too long,” I agree. “I was wondering if you could tell me what’s in this pill?”
He takes it from me and holds it up to the light. Looking past him, I see pink trim and a LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE sign painted on the wall. The she-shed is the perfect place for a meth production business. All the glassware and what not packs down into storage units made from upcycled pallets. It’s very chic.
“I have no idea what this is,” he announces.
“What, really?”
“It’s not a medication I’ve ever dispensed,” he says. “See these silver flecks? They’re quite strange. I don’t think they’re actually organic. And the pill itself has maker marks on the sides here. See?” He points at a thin join seam around the edge of the pill.
“What does that mean?”
“It means these were made in a private laboratory, and when I say private laboratory, I mean these are homebrewed. This is the sort of thing they sell idiots at festivals. Have you been to any festivals lately?”
“I wish. Never mind, thanks for the help.”
My boss is in collusion with a pretend doctor to get me to take some shit that he says will make me more sane. I don’t think that’s the case. I think he’s going to kill me. I think I know too much. Or maybe I’ve gone all paranoid and delusional.
No. I’m not the paranoid one. They are the paranoid one.
It makes sense now, why there are so few older accountants. He sends them into space and then offs them when they return, pocketing all that sweet, sweet alien money.
I have no proof of this besides the pill sitting on the formica between us, one rogue piece of evidence which freaks me out even as I find myself unable to look away.
“Let me take half,” Derrick says. “I can run some tests and see if I can work out what’s in it.”
“Okay. Check for poison.”
“You think someone’s trying to poison you? Are you okay, Tania? If you're in trouble, you can tell me.”
Suddenly, I find myself suspicious of him. I don't know why. Maybe his expression looks too earnest. Maybe he's somehow in on it all. Conspiracies surround me, hidden lies and unknown truths posing a threat to my very existence.
I have to try to keep it together. If I end up in some kind of facility for people who don't interact with reality well, then I won't be able to help myself. I have to stay sane. Even though I don't know what’s going on, I am going home with another piece of the puzzle, more clues for my blues.
At three in the morning, though what morning I cannot specify, my phone rings. I answer it, hoping that by some strange coincidence, it is Tyrant.
It is not Tyrant.
It is Derrick.
“Hi Tania.”
“Derrick, hi. How are you?”
“There’s cyanide in that pill, Tania. Not enough to kill you immediately, but enough to poison you. If you took those regularly, you’d be very ill within a couple of weeks, and likely dead within a month.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. Whoa. You should be careful. Someone’s out to get you.”
I hang up, in case someone is listening in on the call. I’m not paranoid. They’re actually trying to get me. Mr. Rogers is trying to kill me. He’s probably been working on it all along, ever since I got back.
I have to play along, and then I have to escape.
I could run away somewhere in the world, but who knows what alien technology Mr. Rogers has access to. He might be able to find me anywhere. In order to be truly safe, I have to get off the planet completely. I have to find an alien willing to swing by and pick me up.
I don’t know that Tyrant fits the bill, but I do know that he is the only alien I know. I saved him once. Now I need him to save me.
10 The Escape
“How are you feeling today?”
“So much better, thank you,” I smile at Mr. Rogers, who smiles back as if he has a clear conscience. What a monster. “The doctor was very helpful. And now, I have so much work to catch up on.”
I work all day, repressing the urge to go absolutely batshit on my boss. I bury myself in work, preparing accounts which matter to someone who doesn't know that there are aliens out there.
“Five o’clock!” Mr. Rogers announces. I am buried in paperwork when he enters my little office, so it’s not hard to make being busy believable.
