“I will not tolerate this behavior any longer. It is not becoming of a senior agent, let alone any employee of Red Leaf Literary. If you’re on drugs, there are numerous hotlines I can refer you to. I don’t want to fire you, but I will if you do not get your act together. Is that clear?” Her gaze is unwavering.
I shake my head and raise my hands. “Ms. Robins, I apologize for my tardiness. I’m not on drugs, I don’t drink, and I’m not staying out late. I’ve just found that since I’ve become an agent, I tend to be under more stress and I think that might be messing with my head. I promise, I can clean myself up and be the agent you can count on once more,” I say.
Yeah right, I’ll believe that when I see it.
I frown. How did I miss her lips move? “What?” I ask.
Ms. Robins narrows her eyes. “Margaret? Were you finished?”
“Yes, but I thought—never mind. I thought I heard you say…never mind.” I shake my head.
“And while we’re on the topic of your work ethic. How are the schools coming along? I assume you have a schedule in place,” she says, her tone like ice.
Shit.
“Ah, the schools are still in the process of getting back to me,” I whisper, hoping she won’t detect my nervousness.
Ms. Robins sighs and leans away from the table. “Listen, Margaret, you’re a great worker, or were, and have had wonderful ideas. I just don’t want the pressure of this new position to get the better of you. If you need help or feel as if you’re falling behind, reach out and tell me, all right? Your biggest obstacle between failure and success is you, remember that.”
I nod energetically. “Thank you, Ms. Robins. I promise it will never happen again.”
“I expect that it won’t,” she answers. I don’t miss the warning. She inclines her head toward the door, signaling for me to get out.
I bow my head and exit into the hallway, letting the door swing shut behind me. I allow myself to exhale. Now that I’m out from under her strict gaze my breathing comes a little easier. I glance over my shoulder through the glass walls but Robins isn’t looking at me.
Hoisting my bags higher onto my shoulder, I take a few steps into the labyrinth of cubicles, trying to get a handle on myself. What’s going on? How could I hear her without her actually speaking?
“Hey stranger,” Jeremy’s deep voice whispers in my ear. I stumble, caught off guard by his proximity. Was he waiting outside the office listening?
I remember the meeting we just had and a sting of jealousy worms its way up my back and onto my tongue. It takes everything not to let loose my unkind thought. “Hello,” I whisper through gritted teeth, not slowing down my stride.
“Whoa, you’re in quite a hurry. Are you late for another meeting?” he teases.
I slow down and smack him in the arm, wishing his comment didn’t hit home. “Can’t you go somewhere else to gloat?” I grumble, picking up the pace once more.
Jeremy keeps up, his laid-back manner grinding on my nerves. “No, I’m quite comfortable here. So what’s the story this morning? Dog hit by a car?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
I grumble low in my throat and resist the urge to hit him again. “You know I don’t have a dog.” I hug the corner and pick up my pace. My cubicle shines like a holy beacon a few yards away. I look behind me and see Jeremy is still hot on my tail, a casual smile on his stupid lips. I narrow my eyes and focus back on the gray walls as I enter the maze-like row of cubicles, but suddenly my vision blurs, as if my contacts slipped out of place. But I don’t wear contacts and the sensation is alarming. “Stupid eyes,” I groan under my breath, squeezing the bridge of my nose in a lame attempt to clear the fuzziness. It doesn’t work. I raise my hand to feel the textured wall, guiding myself along until my sight returns. Why can’t I see?
“Actually, I didn’t know that,” Jeremy continues and I jump at his voice, already forgetting we were involved in a conversation, even if it is one-sided. “I hardly know anything about you.”
His voice is hardly registering. Is that my desk? That weird gray blob?
“But I plan to change that. What are your plans for tonight?” Jeremy asks, oblivious to my distraction. “Never mind, whatever they are, cancel them. I’m taking you out.”
At last I arrive at my desk and collapse into my chair without any attempt at grace. My vision fogs even more and a strange wiggling sensation erupts in the forefront of my mind, like an odd tickle. I frown and reach up, gingerly touching the skin on my forehead. For a second I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary, but then the flesh under my finger ripples. What the hell? I press my skin harder, testing, waiting. This time a definite bump ripples underneath my touch, moving swiftly above my right eyebrow.
“You all right? Do you have a headache or something?” Jeremy’s concerned voice sounds far away, somehow still reaching me through my dense fog.
“I don’t…know,” I whisper. My eyes roll up almost into the back of my head as the foreign object shimmies further down my face, slipping into the soft skin beneath my eyebrow. “Stop!” I gasp, pressing my fingertips into the top of my eye socket, but the strange wiggling continues and scuttles underneath my eyelid, crawling toward my eyelashes.
“What? I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude.”
“Ah! Please!” I shout, pressing both hands to my eye as the intruder pops out of my eyelid and swims across my eyeball. My breathing comes in shallow gasps as my hand flutters nervously in front of it. Do I touch it? What is this thing?
“Maggie?”
With caution, I touch the wriggling insect and feel it shrink away from my curiosity. My vision is still blurred, milky, but then the worm-like thing inches across my right pupil, effectively blocking out the dim shapes I can make out.
“No, get off me!” I shriek. I pluck the thick, squishy body between my index finger and thumb and yank it off my eyeball, letting it drop onto my desk. My shoulders twitch with disgust and my spine roils with revulsion at the tiny maggot crawling blindly across my desk. A maggot I just pulled out of my eye.
It’s not over. My forehead is pulsing like a night club as hundreds more of the awful things wiggle beneath my skin, pushing their way along my skull toward my eye sockets. Pain sears my mind as several of the maggots switch direction, burrowing deep into the soft tissue of my brain. The others continue on, racing for the exit. I rake my short nails across my skin, desperate to stop the maggots before they reach my eyes.
Warm blood swells around my fingers as my nails gouge shallow gashes into the skin, but I don’t stop. I have to kill the maggots. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to stop their path across my eyes, and scratch furiously in an attempt to slow their movement.
Warm hands wrap around my wrists and hold my arms in a steel trap. My panic intensifies. “No! Let go of me you don’t understand! They’re in my brain!” My teeth are gnashing together. I have to break free; I have to stop the maggots.
My eyelids are pulled back and all of a sudden, I can see again. The haziness is gone. My heart hammers in my chest and I gaze around at the people surrounding me, their expressions a mixture of confusion and disgust.
Jeremy’s hands are holding me, keeping me from attacking my skin any further. What am I doing? What’s happening to me? I open my mouth to speak, but then the creeping feeling of the maggots assails me once more and this time it’s not just my eyeball. Instead, there’s a gushing sensation, as if someone has turned on the water faucet in my head and hundreds…thousands…millions of sickly yellow maggots are pouring from my eyes, my ears, even my mouth. I start to choke on their little bodies, spitting them onto the floor in pathetic dry heaves.
Jeremy’s grasp tightens as I attempt to writhe and twist my way out of his grasp. Somehow, I find the strength to break his hold; either that or he lets go. I leap from my chair and fall to the floor. Filthy maggots are still coming out of me, covering the floor and making everything in my vision wiggle in a sickening way.
“Where is it? W
here!” I shout, crawling on my knees toward my purse, not yet buried by the maggots. I squeeze my eyes shut again and drag my hands down my face, stretching my mouth as wide as possible at the same time. Another torrent of foul-smelling maggots ripples out of every possible orifice until I resemble a walking corpse. This isn’t real, this isn’t real! I try to tell myself but it’s getting impossible to think as the maggots slide onto my neck, down the collar of my shirt. “Just find it! Find it fast!”
My hands plunge into my purse, feeling frantically for the little soft bulge I know is waiting for me. So stupid, why didn’t you put it on before! At last my palm bumps against the warm pocket and I dig my fingers into the soft fabric, hearing a soft tear as the pouch gives way under my brutal onslaught.
I push myself to my feet with my free hand and sprint through the gathered crowd, shoving people aside and spewing little white maggots with every step. The flopping bodies make it difficult to see, but I think I’m going in the general direction of the restrooms. “You’re almost there,” I chant over and over like a mantra. Just get inside and then you can lose it.
My feet carry me forward and somehow I manage to avoid any solid objects that would slow me down. As more and more maggots wiggle beneath my flesh, my eyes begin to burn and itch terribly. I twist my finger into the corner of my eye, digging my nail into the slimy liquid. If I can only stop the itching! I plunge my finger in even further, scratching the surface of my eye as I slam against the wooden bathroom door, shoving it open with my weight.
I stumble into the brightly lit space and collapse over the oval sink. A splattering sound catches my attention and I glance down as several yellow maggots spill onto the beige counter. Through the squiggling bodies I see bright red blood splattered on the white porcelain sink like a child’s finger painting.
I withdraw my finger from my eye, causing another strong trickle of blood to fall. I begin to shake and slowly raise my eyes to the large mirror, gasping at my reflection. I look like an animated corpse, dripping blood and worms all over my Tommy Hilfiger sweater. What is happening? What is going on?
Without waiting for my reflection to answer, I slam the Vertix onto my neck, gripping the edge of the counter with clawed hands as the sensors slide between my muscles and make the glorious connection. All at once, the haunting images, the rotten bugs, and the large gash in my eye disappear, rewinding the past until there is only a small scratch. Bright color floods my cheeks, brightening my dreary reflection as a warm wave of happiness wraps me in a comforting blanket. I sigh, content at last.
Welcome, Maggie. Is there anything I can help you with? the sweet voice asks, reminding me of a concerned mother.
“Take me to My World, I need to post about this,” I whisper.
Seconds later, I’m riding along a brilliant wave of color and sound while my synapses fire like booming fireworks on the fourth of July. My World looms big and bold in front of me and I add my comment into the living, breathing, pool of constant thoughts.
Was just on the verge of freaking out, but saved it in time. Is anyone else seeing weird stuff when they disconnect? I watch my words float away, linking up to numerous others discussing the same topic.
I’m right there with you girl! a woman named Stella replies. Yesterday I was tucking my son into bed and the blankets suddenly transformed into snakes! Something weird is happening for sure!
I don’t know what you guys mean? I go days without connecting and nothing strange ever happens, chimes in a man named Royce that I feel an instant dislike for.
Just because it hasn’t happened to you doesn’t mean it isn’t happening to others! Stella argues.
That’s not what I’m saying, I only—
“Maggie?” a soft voice whispers behind me.
I jump, spinning around as a loud, solid voice interrupts the smooth, quiet voices debating in my mind. Tamara, one of the other young agents, is standing behind me, still holding the door open as if she’s not sure if she should rush back out.
“Yes, hey, sorry, you surprised me. What’s up?” I ask, smiling as I step away from the swirling conversation.
Tamara looks uncomfortable and bites her lower lip, her pale brown eyes shifting to the door she’s holding. “Well, ah…we were just wondering if you’re okay. You ran in here pretty upset and you were bleeding…a lot.”
I frown and turn back around to face the mirror. The deep cut in my eye that had poured blood minutes ago is healed. The only evidence of my attempt at self-mutilation is that my blood vessels are very red, but not bleeding. My gaze lifts and I see what Tamara is talking about. My forehead is crisscrossed with dozens of angry slashes, some over an inch long. Dark scarlet blood has dripped down my forehead into my eyebrows and is now trickling down my cheek in macabre tears. How did I miss this?
“So—are you all right? Can I call an ambulance for you?” Tamara asks, her nose wrinkling in disgust as I smear the crimson rivulets with my thumb.
“No, I ah…I’ll just take a minute to clean myself up,” I say, trying to force a smile at her in the mirror.
“Okay.” Tamara nods and turns to leave, releasing the door behind her.
Alone, I take a deep breath in and let it whoosh out between my lips. “Look at you, Mags,” I say aloud to my still-bleeding reflection. “What was that?” I press my hands to my temples, recalling the frightening images of the crawling maggots. This time there is no fear, no sickness. The Vertix keeps the darker, uncomfortable emotions away, allowing only joy and relaxation to take root in my mind. “I’ll do a little more research. See if others are experiencing this,” I say, nodding to the scary girl in front of me. “It’s probably a vitamin deficiency. When was the last time you had a decent meal?”
Do you need some recipes, Maggie? I’d be happy to download cooking videos to help you, the soft voice of my copper baby whispers.
I turn on the faucet and put my hands under the cool water. “No…well maybe later.” I sigh, not wanting to hurt the Vertix’s feelings. “Be on the lookout for a recipe involving macaroni!”
Of course. You should clean your wound with warm water to flush out any growing bacteria, the Vertix instructs.
“Do I use soap?” I ask, pausing with my hands still in the warming stream.
As long as it’s mild, without any fragrance or dyes.
“It’s cheap, that’s pretty much all I know,” I scoff. “What the hell, it’s not like it can get any worse.” I hold my hand beneath the soap dispenser until a neat little pile of light pink soap builds in my palm. Gently I apply it to my raw skin, trying to remember what I must have done to injure myself so badly.
I wince as the soap stings but I think the slight burn is a good thing. I gingerly lather the soap, marveling at the dark pink bubbles running down my face. It’s a good thing I didn’t put make-up on today. My mind begins to wander as I stare at the frothing bubbles. I look like a rabid dog, fresh from a kill.
Hopefully only Tamara saw me rush in here. Did I run in? Why was I running? It worries me that I can’t seem to answer the thoughts in my head so I switch to something less stressful. Can you bring up Weather Cat? I promised him I’d check out his new resolution.
Numerous clouds containing different conversation threads evaporate into thin air and a delicious rush of dopamine infiltrates my mind as Weather Cat purrs to life. He opens his lazy silver eyes one at a time, looking bored as ever.
I gasp in astonishment. “Wow, Cat, you look beautiful!”
Weather Cat stretches, his light blue ears turning away as he arches his back. His navy blue tabby stripes seem to dance along his fur, blinking in different places like a subtle strobe light. Stretching complete, he sits and regards me with a regal expression.
I know, Weather Cat purrs. And you are?
His lazy voice blossoms in my mind, so much more intimate than before when we conversed through my iJewel. But his question makes me frown. “Cat, it’s me, it’s Maggie. I’m sorry I haven’t visited you since I lost my iJ
ewel. I feel like I haven’t seen you in years.”
Weather Cat looks away and picks up his paw, licking the soft fur with his sand-papery tongue. I haven’t noticed, he says in his typical bored tone.
My frown deepens and a deep sense of sadness overwhelms me. It doesn’t last long though; the Vertix registers my mood change and corrects for it. Weather Cat turns back to me, arching his dark navy eyebrow.
Ah, Maggie. Yes. How have you been?
A heavy weight lifts from my chest as I feel genuine happiness. “Great, I missed you. You were right, this beats the iJewel hands down.” I laugh.
Weather Cat stands, his long, striped tail flicking with contentment at my compliment. I know, I’m loving my new look. It’s so chic…not something I can say about you however.
Self-consciously I brush my hand across my forehead, trying to hide the awful cuts. “Yeah, I know, but it looks a lot worse than it is. I can barely even feel it.”
Mm-hmm, Weather Cat replies, narrowing his bright eyes. All the same, I’d at least dry your face before you go out in…public. Are you planning on going outside soon? Need an update?
“Oh no, that’s okay, I—well I can’t even remember what the weather was like this morning. Is there snow outside yet?” I ask, racking my memory of my hurried commute.
Not yet, but this weekend will be dropping in temperature significantly. You’ll want to wrap up in a good fur coat.
“Darn it, I hate the cold,” I grumble as I take Weather Cat’s advice and wipe the dark pink streaks of soapy blood off my face and neck.
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