A high-pitched burbling comes out of Freddie’s mouth. It’s quickly replaced by an intelligible voice, but it sounds as if it has been digitally processed and harmonized several times over. “Hi there,” he says, extending a hand. Clutched inside that hand is a Rice Krispies Treat. “See it? Huh? Huh? You can have it, if you want.”
Toby doesn’t reply, and Freddie pats Toby on the head. “It’s okay, little persie. I bet your friend would like one.”
A flick of Freddie’s wrist sends the treat arcing through the air. Matt promptly snatches it and devours the snack in less than a second. A moment later, Matt is smiling, drooling, and bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Freddie leans close to Toby’s face and locks his eight eyes with Toby’s two. “Do you understand me?”
Toby’s brain begins to reengage, but barely. “P-Persie?”
“Persie. Person. We’re friendly here at your new home, Toby. We are family after all.”
Freddie’s words ring in Toby’s ears. The thought of his wife and children spurs him into action. He shoots up and pushes away from both Freddie and Matt. His eyes dart around, searching for the exit. “Get away from me.”
Matt’s face sours. “Dude, knock it off.”
“Shut up. I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“You don’t want to go,” Freddie says. “We’d miss you so.”
“I said shut up,” Toby yells. His eyes catch sight of a nearby pen, and he scoops it up. Small, red, and plastic, it’s not even remotely as dangerous as a knife or a gun, but as far as Toby is concerned, he can slay a dragon with it. “Let me out. Now.”
Freddie shakes his head, and though Toby isn’t sure, he thinks he can see a hint of sadness in the arachnid face. “Aw, you must be hurt and scared,” Freddie says. “I understand. I can make it all better.”
Toby jabs the pen in the air a few times and inches toward the doors. “Come near me and I’ll punch this right through your fat, hairy head.”
“You’re not being a good Toby, Toby,” Freddie says. His voice is soft, but holds an edge of command. “Now sit.”
Toby ignores him and continues to move. “I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but I’m ending it now.”
Freddie looks behind Toby and makes a gesture with his hand. In a flash, Toby is hit from behind, and he finds himself pressed into blue-purple carpet. Shouting fills the office air, both his and others. Hands wrestle his own behind his back and bind them together.
“Get the hell off me!” Toby screams, still trying to break free.
Something pushes into his back with the weight of a dozen elephants and knocks the air out of him.
“Calm down, persie. This is for your own good,” Freddie says. “This will only hurt for a second.”
Toby gasps for air and manages to spit out a gratifying, “Fuck you.”
Freddie makes a garbled call from his mouth and the pressure on Toby’s back is lifted. Before he can get up, he feels a pair of pricks in his side. A heartbeat later, his body goes rigid, and his muscles spasm. Forty-two convulsions later, it stops.
A boot prods his ribs.
Toby lies still, his mind unable to register anything else.
* * *
When Toby’s brain awakens, he realizes he’s seated in a high-back, leather chair inside an office. A wall clock says it’s four in the afternoon. Plastic ties cut into his wrists and bind them to the armrests. Given the pain racing up his legs, he suspects his ankles have been bound as well. In front of him is an oak desk, void of anything save a desk lamp and a Fisher-Price telephone. On the other side is Freddie, who has his hands behind his back and is stroking his chin with the digits on his tail.
“Do you like your office?” Freddie asks. “Look how big and shiny it is.”
Toby ignores both the spaciousness of the room and the sheen on the walls. Instead, he pulls against the restraints with all his strength and succeeds in having them dig more into his skin. Finally, Toby stops his struggle and looks Freddie square in the eyes. “Let me go, you freak.”
Matt appears at Freddie’s side and shrugs apologetically. “My bad, man. I told him not to flail.”
Freddie turns and pats Matt’s head. “You concerned about your buddy? Don’t worry. He’s in good hands.”
“I want to go home!” Toby shouts. When that doesn’t get a reaction out of either Freddie or Matt, Toby thrashes around. The restraints still hold, still cut into his skin, and after a great deal of exertion, all Toby’s managed to do is drench himself in sweat.
Freddie sits down on the edge of the desk and sighs. “Settle down, Toby, or you won’t get a secretary.”
A growl slips from Toby’s mouth.
“Look at all the fun persie stuff we have for you,” Freddie says, leaning back. “We’ve got apartments to sleep in, movies to watch, a gym to use, and a mall with all the stores you love.”
“I’ve heard all this before,” Toby says, eyes narrowing into his best death-to-you look he can muster.
“Of course you have,” he says. “But I bet you didn’t know we have all the paperwork you want, did you?”
Toby, caught off guard by the bizarre comment, momentarily loses his hostility. “Paperwork?”
“Oh yes, Toby,” says Freddie. “We’ve got more forms than you can dream of that need to be signed, stamped, and filed. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
Toby shakes his head. His muscles twitch, but he doesn’t pull against the restraints. Brute force, he’s beginning to realize, is going to get him nowhere. He’ll have to figure another way out. “Going home sounds wonderful. You can’t keep me here.”
“Of course I can,” Freddie replies without missing a beat. “Beings from across the galaxy pay good money to come find you in your natural habitat. That’s something even you can understand.”
Toby’s stomach flips several times over. His body numbs, and the only thing he can feel is his heart hammering inside his chest. His eyes glaze and his voice is but a whisper. “I can’t spend the rest of my life in a zoo.”
“Don’t be such a pouty little Toby,” Freddie says, merrily. “We’re not a zoo. We’re a preserve! The best one in the galaxy!”
“My wife...” Toby says, still drowning in thoughts. “My kids...”
“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Freddie says, getting up and snaking his way in front of the desk. “Your wife is probably mating with another office manager this moment. And guess what, Toby? I’m going to make you the VP of Communications and Investment Opportunities for the Acquisition of Hostile Companies. You wouldn’t want a boring family to mess that up, would you? Look how long this nametag is.”
Toby snaps back to the here and now at the alien’s offer. His body dumps adrenaline into his system like a B-52 dumps munitions on goat herders.
Toby surges forward. The ties cut deeper into his arms, drawing blood. At first, Freddie is expressionless, but when the chair cracks and Toby jolts forward, Freddie straightens and rises high on his tail. Towering over Toby, he grabs him by the shirt collar and pushes him down. “Listen to me, Toby,” he says. “If you don’t settle down, I can’t let you work with the others.”
“I don’t want to work with the others.”
Freddie leans in. “Employees that can’t get along get terminated.”
The alien’s warning is not lost on Toby, and he forces himself to relax. “Fine,” he says through gritted teeth.
“You’re not going to be a bad Toby once I let you free, are you?”
“Do I at least get a secretary today?” Toby asks, hoping his budding deception will play to his advantage.
Freddie nods. “I bet Matt will give you one of his, won’t you Matt?”
Matt jumps up from a seat he had taken. “Whoa! Dude!”
“Down, persie,” Freddie says without even a glance to the protesting surfer. “I’ll get you a new one. Maybe even two.”
Matt raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the offer. “Two?”
&nbs
p; Freddie strokes the back of Matt’s head and scratches him behind the ears. “Soon as the next batch gets here, you bet.”
“That is pure sex,” Matt says, beaming. He throws a nod toward the door and continues. “Take Clarice.”
Freddie produces a Rice Krispies Treat and places it on the table. “See Toby?” he says, nudging it forward. “I’m here to help.”
The ties around Toby’s wrists loosen, and he pulls free. He has no idea how it happened, for both Freddie and Matt are still a good pace or two away, but he’s grateful nonetheless.
Freddie nudges the treat. “Go on, boy. Take it.”
Toby warily takes the treat and pops it into his mouth. Saliva pours into his mouth, and a bit even escapes the corners of his mouth as he chews. To his right, a dozen people are pressed against the outside of the office’s full-length window, staring at Toby with curiosity.
Toby’s mind finds a warm, happy place and settles in, thinking about blankets fresh from the dryer and sips of hot cocoa. His gaze drifts from the window to Freddie.
Freddie. Good ole Freddie. Such a nice, caring fellow, even if his looks would have caused Medusa to faint. But looks aren’t everything, Toby reminds himself. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and Mrs. Freddie, whoever she was, was probably fond of him.
“One more treat before supper?” asks Freddie.
Toby licks his lips at the thought of dinner. Certainly meals here must be marvelous if the treats are so delicious. He doesn’t want to spoil his appetite but decides one more snack wouldn’t hurt. “Yeah,” he says. “That would be great.”
Freddie turns to Matt. “Fetch Clarice so she can meet her new boss,” he says. “Have her pick up a treat along the way.”
Matt nods and bounds out the office like a puppy.
“I have to go now, Toby,” Freddie says, patting Toby’s head. “Clarice will have you completely ready for the start of a new season.”
Season? The thought churns in Toby’s mind as Freddie leaves the room. He’s not sure what season it is, or if it’s important, or if he should even care. To the latter, Toby decides he doesn’t. Whether Freddie meant football or basketball, fall or winter, Toby lets the topic drop from his mind. All he really wants is another treat.
* * *
Toby’s office door opens and in steps a young woman. She sports two-inch heels that bring her to a whopping five-six in height, a tan skirt that is mostly stain-free, and red hair put in a smartly made bun. Her face, light-skinned with a few freckles, is blank.
At first, Toby wonders how long it’s been since she smiled. When she turns to face him directly, however, all thoughts vanish. He’s stuck staring at a jagged scar that runs from the top of her forehead, through a dead right eye, and to the bottom of her right jaw.
The woman places a snack on his desk and says, “Your Rice Krispies Treat, Mister...?” Her voice trails. Toby doesn’t answer since he’s still gawking at her scar. A puzzled look crosses her face. “Would you like to stare at it more, Mister...?”
“No,” he says, face reddening from embarrassment. “Sorry. Call me Toby.”
“Okay, Mr. Toby.”
“No, just Toby,” he says. “Mister is my father.”
The woman perks in posture and tone. “Father? You have a father?”
“Of course I do. Doesn’t everyone?”
The woman laughs. “Of course you do,” she says. Her words come faster now. “Everyone has a father. Everyone. You too. We all do. But you know who he is, don’t you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he replies. His brow furrows. Anger builds. Krispy-induced euphoria starts fading away. “In fact, I’ve got a wife and kids too.”
The woman grabs his hand and shakes it vigorously. “Clarice,” she says. “My name is Clarice. He said you’d come, said if I waited long enough you’d show. You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for you, Toby.”
“Who are you?” Toby asks, instinctively grabbing the treat off the desk.
“No!” Clarice shouts.
But it’s too late. Toby has the treat crammed in his mouth and is chewing slowly. Happiness washes over him, and he manages to get out a garbled, “What?”
“Oh no, no, no,” she says. “This is bad. You can’t leave me, too.”
Toby finishes his snack. “Is something the matter?”
Clarice grabs him by the shoulders and looks square in his eyes. “Your wife. Tell me about her. Quick.”
“Oh, she’s nice,” Toby says. He looks down, sad at his empty hands. “Do you have another treat on you?”
Clarice mutters under her breath. Toby isn’t sure what it was she said, but he hopes it doesn’t have anything to do with a Rice Krispies shortage.
“So, about that treat...” says Toby.
“Treat, yes,” she says, letting go of his shoulders and backing up. “I can get you a treat. I will. Just...just don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
“Please do so.” Toby eases into his chair and kicks his feet up on his desk. “You are my secretary, after all. I can’t be doing all this paperwork on an empty stomach.”
“Coffee too? We’ve got good coffee. Great coffee.” she says. She nervously bites the knuckle on her fist and taps her foot.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You want coffee,” she says. “You have to have it. Have to.”
Clarice exits the room, and Toby looks outside his office window as he awaits her return. The crowd that was watching Toby has now moved several feet away while Freddie stands nearby with another alien by his side. This creature looks similar to Freddie, though it’s taller and has tentacles dangling from its shoulders. Freddie and Mr. Squid (for that is what Toby names him) meander through the crowd, talking amongst themselves and occasionally poking the office workers with a finger.
“I brought six,” Clarice says, drawing Toby’s attention. She slides a plate full of yummy goodness onto the desk with one hand while holding a large Styrofoam cup with the other.
“Thanks.” Toby takes the nearest treat and shoves it into his mouth. “What are they doing out there?”
“Inspection,” she answers. “Inspection for the season. They always do that the day before. Always.”
“Will they come in here?”
“Everyone gets inspected. Everyone has to be perfect.”
A dozen heartbeats later, Freddie slithers in with Mr. Squid in tow. Clarice stiffens, and her face loses all emotion. Toby snacks on another treat and decides all of the world’s problems could be solved with the right amount of sugar.
“Up, Toby,” says Freddie.
Toby instantly obeys.
Freddie and Mr. Squid talk back and forth in a high-pitched, barely audible language that feels like a cat is scratching the inside of Toby’s ears. Eventually, Mr. Squid extends a tentacle. It slips around Toby’s ribs and up his back. Toby giggles as it slides through his hair.
“Good, Toby,” says Freddie. “Good, good boy.”
Mr. Squid uses his other tentacle to gently push Toby’s head back and open his mouth. For the next several seconds, Mr. Squid looks inside before sticking an appendage in and tapping a few of Toby’s teeth. Though awkward, the ordeal ends and Mr. Squid and Freddie exit the room, chattering away in their alien language.
“Here’s your coffee,” Clarice says, setting it on the table.
Toby smiles. “That went well, don’t you think?”
Clarice glances over her shoulder. She then turns back around, the nerves in her body and voice instantly resurfacing. “Drink the coffee. Quick. You’ve got to be quick.”
Toby picks up the cup and opens the lid. Inside is the darkest liquid he’s ever seen. “Black?”
“Very. Very black.”
“Could you add some sugar and crème?” he asks. “Maybe dissolve a treat or two in it as well?”
Clarice shakes her head. “No. No. It has to be black. He made me promise it would always be black.”
Toby balks.
“Please drink it. There’s not much time left.”
Toby takes a sip, remembering that the last time someone had him try something--namely Melissa downstairs--it turned out well. The liquid is smooth and coats everything it touches. The taste is bitter. Unique. Toby takes another sip, a larger one. Finally, still curious about it all, he downs the whole thing in a few gulps. His belly questions his judgment.
“Oh, Toby,” Freddie says, making an unexpected return. “I have something for you.”
Toby leans forward, not because he’s interested in what Freddie has to say, but because a cramp is now building in his abdomen.
“Toby?” Freddie says.
Clarice steps to the side and not a moment too soon.
Toby opens his mouth and empties the contents of his stomach. Neither desk, nor floor, nor Freddie is spared.
“Oh, god,” Toby says, horrified.
“Toby!” Freddie barks.
Clarice quickly positions herself between the two. “I’ll take care of him, Freddie,” she says. “I’ll make him clean. Clean is good. Sexy.”
Freddie backs up and looks himself over. “Good girl, Clarice,” he says. “Be fast about it, will you? The nursery’s been slow, lately.”
“I will,” Clarice replies.
Freddie leaves, flinging bits of puke off his body as he goes.
Toby wipes his mouth and winces as a headache forms. “Oh, god, I feel like crap.”
“Come on,” Clarice says, pulling him by his belt loop and leading him out. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”
Chapter Three
Clarice pulls Toby down the hall and shoves him into the elevator. Its doors close, and it begins to rise. The sudden shift of the floor causes Toby to stumble. He catches himself on his knees, and his stomach empties once more.
“Dear Jesus,” he says, staring at his hands. Bits of goop cling to each one, but it’s not the vomit that’s bothering him as much the fact that portions of his hands are stained an inky black. “I think I’m dying.”
The doors open, and Clarice yanks him out of the elevator and into a long hall painted a light yellow that smells like cleaner. “You’re not dying,” she says, dragging him along. “Not dying at all.”
Office Preserves Page 2