The Drafter

“I’m not running around his apartment naked,” she said, tugging open a drawer and pawing through the masculine stuff to find a scalpel, razor blade, anything. She blinked at the two-pack of condoms, thinking it was better than finding drugs. Then she found the drugs, taking a moment to study what they were, first relieved, then concerned when they weren’t recreational but medicinal, heavy hitters to put a person down fast.

No usable blade. She tried the kitchen next, pulling drawers out to expose the cavern behind them as she searched. She found the weapons cache behind the microwave, and she whistled, drawing Jack closer as she used a dishtowel to reach in and pull out the largest.

“That’s a semiautomatic night-fire scout,” the hallucination said, his gun envy showing.

“How do you know?” Peri said as she set it back in its cubby. “I don’t know that.”

“Your unconscious does,” he said. “You must have been listening when I made out my Christmas list.”

Maybe I was, she thought as she struggled to put the microwave back in place. But now she was curious, and she began searching in earnest, her anger fueling her as she found weapon after weapon tucked away behind drawers and false-backed cupboards. Ten minutes later, Peri came up for air, evidence of her rummaging subtle apart from the soot spotting the hearth from her investigation of the flue. She’d found a passable emergency surgical kit in the laundry closet, but that was the least of her new treasures.

They never should have left me alone, she thought, as she took the kit and a roll of paper towels and returned to the bathroom. Her heart thudded as she slipped out of Allen’s robe and carefully laid out what she needed.

Again Jack hovered in the doorway, brow pinched in concern. “Best to do it fast,” he offered. “Pretend it’s a dart. You’ve been hit with those before.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Peri awkwardly shifted her bare ass up onto the counter, twisting her torso to try to see. “Am I in the right spot?”

“Like I’d know?”

She sighed, feeling the muscle with one finger and holding the scalpel awkwardly between a finger and thumb. They were cramping up, but she held her breath and made a cut. Blood flowed, and she exhaled as she set the scalpel on a paper towel and grabbed an antiseptic wipe. She hissed as it met her skin, but the cut was bleeding like a stuck pig, and she quickly pulled several more paper towels free and applied pressure.

“Ah, babe …”

“Shut up,” she muttered, feeling ill as she dabbed the blood until it slowed. Fingers squeezed her skin, her stomach lurching when a rice-size piece of something slid out.

Lip curled in distaste, she set the tiny chunk of electronics aside as she managed a wad of gauze and tape. The cut was small, but a regular Band-Aid wouldn’t be enough. Only after she had Allen’s robe around her again and checked to see that her blood was on nothing but the scalpel and the paper towels did she look to see what she’d pulled out.

“They gave me a goddamned butt bug,” Peri said, nudging it with a finger before she cut another piece of surgical tape and stuck the bug to it.

“You did good, Peri. I’m proud of you.”

Pissed, she looked up at Jack. He was sunburned now, his blond hair streaked as if from the desert and dirt on his nose. Resolute, Peri padded into the bedroom and taped the bug to the underside of the bed. Carnac was under there, his eyes big and scared from her taking everything apart, probably. Her butt hurt as she got up off the floor, but she was more angry than anything else.

Peri quickly returned to the bathroom to gather the evidence of her surgery and take it to the fireplace. It started with a whoosh, and she sat beside her box of treasures that were not hers. Carnac leapt up onto her lap, and she absently petted him. With the tracker out, she could move freely, but she’d have to remember to take it whenever she left so as to maintain the illusion it was still in her. “How am I going to fix this, Carnac?” Peri said, brow furrowed. “Who names a cat Carnac, anyway?” she added, a hand running all the way to the base of his tail.

And then her head snapped up. Jack had named him. Carnac was their cat.

“Jack?” she whispered, not seeing him, and he appeared in the kitchen with a bottle of wine in his hand. “You named Carnac, right?”

He nodded, and she gave the cat a hug. She knew it. She didn’t know how, but she knew it. No one had claimed him. He had walked into her life as if he knew her because he did. He was her cat, and he was real. Those weren’t hourglasses on his collar, they were dagazes.

Silas said something about a chip with corrupt Opti agents.

“Check his collar,” Jack said, but she was already fingering the clasp. The little bell tinged to make Carnac jump away when the collar slipped free. “Opti couldn’t find it because it was on the cat. It’s the only thing that still exists from our apartment.”

“My apartment,” she muttered, standing up fast and slowing when her butt throbbed. There was a magnifying glass in the bathroom, and she turned the bathroom lights up high and angled it on the collar, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing. A feeling of desperation crept into her. Maybe it was hidden behind the embroidery, but she doubted it even as she felt for any telltale bump.

“The bell,” Jack suggested, and she twisted it under the light. Her breath fogged the glass. Impatient, she wiped it clear with the cuff of Allen’s robe.

“Something is stuck on the inside,” she whispered. A chip? she thought, eyes widening as she saw that was exactly what it was.