My Brains!!! ep 11
At some point I realized I was alone. I don't remember losing consciousness, but there was a lapse of time at some point. I came to, standing in a parking lot. It took a moment to orient myself, especially with the declining sunlight, but it came to me that I was at work.
The edge of my hand hurt like I'd been karate-chopping something. I rubbed it, heading to the rear entrance. The handle was broken off, tossed on top of a bush over where the smokers normally congregated. No problem, though—the door was slightly open.
I nudged it open with my foot, not wanting to touch anything police might dust for fingerprints. I didn't know why, but I had a bad feeling. Something had happened and I had been there, but couldn't remember what my part had been.
My mind drifted back to Oscar-the-Cat.
The smell was the first thing to hit me. It was heavy, earthen, wrong. It was like a blend of several different familiar smells into one big stew of a scent I couldn't place.
It was dark in here. I flicked on a light and immediately wished I could turn it off. I mean, I could have, but the image couldn't be turned off in my head. It was as stained as the streaked walls.
Guts in all varieties were splattered from floor to ceiling, from wall to wall. It was a four-thousand square foot office. Over thirty employees. I couldn't help but hope someone had survived; I checked the cubicle nearest and found the goo that had been Bill. It still had the remnants of his shirt with his signature, tight-knotted tie around the collar.
I guess I didn't need to call in for today.
They had to have missed someone, but a picture began to form in my mind of the man in the hat and the three others with him scanning the thoughts of each person before they made them explode.
Why did you think that? I wondered, stepping over Amy Winsted's leftovers (I recognized her wavy brown hair) on my way to the kitchen to get a drink.
Because I had been here.
My brain was ironically silent.
Someone, maybe Hugo Reyes or Chris Jones, dripped off the refrigerator as I opened it. I grabbed somebody's Mountain Dew, popped the can open, and chugged the whole thing.
The thoughts kept coming to me. I belched. They had been searching… for everyone… who knew… about me. I belched again and realized I needed to go. Names, addresses, families. They'd systematically scoured everyone's brain and then popped them like balloons once they knew what they needed. Somebody's skin was stuck to the rectangular metal plate on the door of the men's room. I reached above it and pushed my way in.
It was like they were erasing me. The thought was amazingly self-centered, but it made sense if you didn't take into account that I had credit cards, a social security number, a mortgage, a relatively recent criminal record, and a driver's license with my picture on it.
What else could they have wanted?
I nudged Craig in IT's lower torso off the urinal and unzipped. I wasn't sure, but there wasn't a doubt in my mind my wife and daughter were next.
I looked down at my hand. It was swinging around like any moment it would leap off my wrist.
The story. All this time my brain had been trying to write it. I didn't consciously remember it, but the little I'd looked at was familiar.
