I bounce on my heels, trying to warm myself and think. I look down at the cement. It hasn’t been well maintained toward this end of the plaza. The edges have cracked into little chunks. “Excellent,” I breathe. I grab the biggest one, and without stopping to think, pitch the rock forward. My Vertix is running out of funds.
A thundering smash echoes in the night as the rock hits the glass of the front door, but it doesn’t break. I bite my lower lip and pause, straining my ears for any hint of an alarm or squealing tires. The only sound I hear is my ragged breathing. “Come on, one more time,” I say, trying to psych myself up.
I crouch down and retrieve the rock, holding it tightly between my hands. The rough edges scrape my skin but I like the feeling. I feel powerful. I cock my arm back again and release, sending the rock flying with all my might. This time it collides with the glass and continues through, shattering the thin window. I flinch away as shards of glass rain down on the sidewalk before me, filling the silent night with the sound like a high-pitched wind chime.
I wait for a moment, but again, no alarms sound and no spotlights flood the plaza. No one is here. No one cares. I can’t stop my smile as I close the distance between myself and the shop. I reach my arm in the rough hole the concrete has made and try to angle toward the handle. I should have aimed my throw better.
I step closer to the door to reposition my arm and feel a sharp bite at my wrist. “Yikes!” A thin cut is trickling blood down my arm. “Forget it, just get inside before some third-rate security guard drives by,” I mutter. At last my fingers find the lock and with a definite clunk the lock gives way. “Yes,” I cheer, pulling the handle once more.
This time it swings open. Excitement rushes through my veins, prompting a small burst of adrenaline. Within Acceleration, the fire burns brighter, stronger, mirroring my emotions. Good, now get inside and get on with it, the devil coos.
I nod to no one and cross the threshold as a thrilling shiver ripples down my spine. A little bell, similar to the one in the perfume shop, laughs, as if it’s welcoming me inside, or delighting in my impending doom.
Away from the dim solar lights, the shop is pitch black and my imagination leaps at the possible creatures crouching behind the shelves. Thank God, I’m connected, otherwise I’d never have the guts to come in. I walk quickly through the store, scanning the aisles. Most of them hold antiques, interspersed with electronics and clothes. I find a Nivo 3, a Torch, a new Comet 4, and an old iJewel. I clap my hands together like a scheming child, my previous doubts long gone. If I take all of these I can connect for weeks! I just need to find someplace to sell them.
The smell of moth balls triggers another memory, of a dark shop with a similar odor. That little store near the park, the one with the gross guy. I can take these to him. The devil chuckles and continues whispering, his forked tongue flicking my earlobe like a snake. Find a bag, hurry now.
“Okay,” I agree. Quickly, I sort through all the junk surrounding the technological treasures until my fingers scrape across soft cloth. I lift a creepy Barbie doll with a black eye off and hold up a reusable bag with a picture of the Earth on it and the word Peace.
Perfect. I yank it open and shove my treasures inside. There are no thoughts, no regrets. The fire burns brighter in my right eye as I knock chipped wine glasses and ceramic figurines aside in my quest to acquire everything and anything that might be worth something.
Grab, drop. Grab, drop. Grab, drop. Too soon the bag is full and I can’t fit anything else inside. I slip the straps over my shoulder, clutch the bulging bag to my body and head for the front door. A carefree giggle escapes. I did it, I actually did it! I gloat.
I shouldn’t celebrate until I’m home though. Paranoia rears its head and I scan the parking lot. Still deserted.
I push open the door, the tiny bell announcing my departure, and step into the frigid night once more. I can’t feel the numbing cold as adrenaline continues to pump through my veins, raising my body temperature to a toasty ninety-nine point four, according to the Vertix. I feel powerful, alive, and thanks to my midnight stop, I’m going to be able to feel whatever I want tomorrow.
Maggie, your funds are approaching the minimum threshold, the Vertix warns. I will power off in one hour and eighteen minutes.
I hike the heavy bag of goodies higher on my shoulder, smiling as the weight digs into my thin flesh. “It’s okay, I have a plan,” I assure it.
Bang, bang, bang.
My knuckles rap on the glass door to Paul’s Pawn Shop for the fourth time. The windows are dark and the door is locked, but according to the sign on his door he’s open Tuesdays. Without my Vertix I have no idea what time it is, but it must be past opening time.
The steady itch that has haunted me since I was forced to disconnect intensifies. I try to ignore it; if I start scratching, the itching will spread. I squint through the glass at the cloudy clock on the far wall, above the cash register. It might be quarter past nine, but I can’t be sure. The sun is shining, so it’s time for him to open.
“Hello!” Bang, bang, bang. “Hello! Paul? Open up!” Bang, bang, bang. The heavy cloth bag bumps against my hip bone as I pound on the door again, not giving up. “Geez, where is everyone today?” I glance around at the empty streets. Only a few cars drive by, the traffic nothing like a typical Boston day.
Bang, bang, bang.
At last a light clicks on near the back of the store and Paul’s large frame lumbers into view. He passes by an old popcorn machine and moves a dingy metal sign out of his way to make it to the door. His thick-lidded eyes glance up and for a moment he stares at me through the dirty glass.
I wave after a few awkward seconds. He probably doesn’t even remember me. “Can I come in?” I ask, gesturing to the bag at my side.
Paul’s wiry eyebrows crease and he withdraws a large set of keys from his back pocket, shaking his head as he fits the brass key into the lock. My heart pounds and the itching spreads upward between my fingers, begging for relief. I grit my teeth as Paul opens the door a crack.
“We’re closed today,” he mutters. “Christ, it’s freezing.”
Is it cold? I’ve been out here for so long I must have gotten used to it. “Hi, it’s Maggie. I don’t know if you remember me. I came in a few weeks ago—”
Paul’s eyebrows arch. “Maggie,” he repeats. “I remember her, but…you don’t really look like her. Anyway, we’re closed.”
“Well I wanted to pawn some stuff. Are your hours wrong? You’re acting like you just woke up,” I say, pointing to the red and white hours listed on the sign.
“No, they’re right. Typically I take Christmas off though,” Paul replies, fixing me with an exasperated expression.
“Christmas?” I repeat. “Oh wow, that’s today? I knew it was close I just—okay, sorry to bother you, but do you think—while I’m here?” I nod to the bag again as I give in and scratch the skin between my index and middle finger, inviting the fire to circle around to the front of my palm.
Paul shakes his head, the sunlight glancing off the shiny bald patch in the center. “Jesus you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me. Get in here; I’m freezin’ my nuts off.” He holds the door open so I can slip inside. The shop is warm and my toes tingle as blood rushes back to them.
“Thanks,” I whisper. “So, ah…Merry Christmas.”
“What do you want?” Paul says, ignoring my sweet greeting.
I shrug the full bag of goodies off my shoulder and plop it on the counter while I take in Paul’s appearance. He’s wearing red and blue flannel pajama pants and a sweat-stained gray t-shirt. His five o’clock shadow looks days old and his eyes are red and bloodshot. Why is he so touchy? Looks like I’m interrupting one heck of a Christmas morning. I smirk, carefully extracting the expensive toys from my late-night haul.
“I want to know how much you’ll give me for all of this,” I say, gesturing to my loot with one hand as the other fingers the back of my empty neck. “I need cash.”
�
��Right now? Geez. I don’t suppose this can wait until tomorrow. Like I told you, I’m closed. I don’t even have any cash down here,” Paul says, scanning the electronics display on his counter. He picks up the peach Vertix and turns it over.
“Please, you don’t understand,” I beg, involuntarily tackling the growing itch snaking its way up my forearm. Scratch, scratch, scratch. My skin feels raw beneath my assault. “I really need to get this done today. Bad…bad things will happen to me if I don’t,” I admit. Scratch, scratch, scratch. I pull my hand away from my arm and see a bright crimson color pooling underneath my dirty fingernails.
“You owe your dealer or something?” Paul asks, arching his unruly eyebrow as he sets the peach Vertix back down in exchange for the Torch.
“No,” I shoot back, sticking my fingers into the sleeve of my coat to reach my inner elbow. Scratch, scratch, scratch. “I don’t have a dealer.”
Paul nods. “Ah, that’s right. Your guy is a little more corporate, huh?”
“I don’t know what that means. Will you take this stuff or what?” I ask, feeling irritated as the burning itch climbs to the base of my neck.
A wheezing sound escapes Paul’s lips and it takes me a second to realize he’s laughing. “Damn girl, only you junkies can come in here on Christmas, make demands, and not feel a shred of remorse for ruining my holiday with my family. Fine. I’ll take it if it’ll get you the hell out of my store,” he says, inspecting the Comet 4 with interest.
“Great! I think two grand is a good deal for both of us,” I announce, tapping my fingers on the glass counter. I’ll grab the cash, find an ATM, and then I can connect in no time.
A thunderous laugh bellows out of Paul’s mouth, his stomach heaving up and down so hard that he knocks the counter, shaking the items inside. “Two grand, huh? What dream world are you living in sweetheart, because I’d like to book a one-way ticket,” he spits, his laugh sounding similar to that of a braying donkey.
“What do you mean?” I say, my neck twitching to the left. “All this stuff is close to brand new!”
“Aha and where did you get all of these fancy gadgets?” Paul asks, leveling me with his beady-eyed stare.
“I found them,” I answer, which isn’t necessarily a lie.
“Yeah, right. Do you think I was born yesterday? I know these are hot. I won’t be able to sell them for weeks,” Paul says, beginning to shove the electronics back into the bag. “I’ll give you three hundred for everything.”
“Bullshit! Why does it matter how I got them? The point is I have them. I should receive adequate compensation. You’re ripping me off!” I yell as the itching moves to my forehead. Scratch, scratch, scratch. I dig my nails in even deeper, anxious to eradicate the source once and for all. Scratch, scratch. I pull my hand away and water drips into my eye. Is the ceiling leaking?
“Jesus, stop. Just leave it alone,” Paul says, throwing a gray rag at me. “You’re making me sick.”
I grab a rag and press it to my eye, trying to blink out the water. I pull the dirty washcloth away and see it’s smeared with blood. “What the hell, Paul? You have a body up there or something?” I shout, glancing up again. “I got blood in my freaking eye!”
“You can thank yourself for that, sweetheart,” Paul answers curtly. “What a fuckin’ mess. I never should have let you in. You got a cut on your arm too,” he says, pointing to my other wrist. “How’d you get that one? It looks deep.”
I shake my head and press the cloth to my eye again, frantic to clear all the watery blood out. “Does it matter?” I answer, overcome with a desire to punch him in the face. “Just give me it all back. I’ll take it to someone else.”
Paul complies and hands the bag back to me. “Good luck finding a pawnbroker who’s open today, darlin’, especially one who will take business from a tweaked-out junkie.”
I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him and snatch the bag out of his hands. The heavy weight catches me off guard and I stumble forward, smacking my already bleeding head on the edge of the counter. It doesn’t hurt, but it sets off a new cannon of symptoms. My quiet stomach kicks into gear, threatening vomit at any second.
I drop the bag on the ground and race for the door, thankful Paul didn’t relock it after me. I bang through the door and fall to my knees on the sidewalk. I manage to crawl several feet but then lose it. Pale orange stomach bile erupts onto the sidewalk, splashing across a subway grate. I continue to dry heave, gasping for breath in between the microscopic amount of food heaving out of my gut.
Exhausted and freezing, I climb to my feet, using the nearby charging station to steady myself. My head rolls back and I stare into the beautiful blue sky. I need an escape…I need my Vertix. Inhaling the crisp air deeply, I spin around and turn back to the shop. Paul hasn’t locked the door yet.
I march inside, grab my bag of loot and wipe the remnants of sickness off my chin. “Have a good Christmas,” I mutter at Paul, ignoring the look of shock etched into his dirty wrinkles.
“Hold on a second, darlin’. What was that?” Paul asks, an edge of concern lingering in his voice.
“Nothing,” I reply and hoist the heavy bag onto my shoulder, heading back to the door.
“Wait, wait. Hold on. Maggie, hold on,” Paul calls. “Did you just get sick out there?”
I sigh. “Yes,” I admit. “But I’m not cleaning it up. Most of it fell down into the subway anyway.”
Paul is quiet for a second. “Does that happen to you a lot?”
“Yeah, every time I’m not connected. The itching is worse though,” I reply. Why is he asking me all this? What does he care?
“Darlin’ I think you need help. It’s not normal to react that way,” Paul begins.
“Whatever, it’s none of your business. I’m sorry I even came here,” I say over my shoulder. Just a few more steps and I’m out of here.
“Wait, stop!” Paul shouts, his booming footsteps pounding the gritty carpet as he follows me. I glance back at him, wary as he advances. If he tries to attack me I have no hope of fighting him off. I’ll be lucky if I can even swing the bag. Paul sees my fear and puts up his hands. “I mean you no harm, Maggie, I just…I can’ let you leave, not in your condition.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “As soon as I get my money I can reconnect.” I put my hand on the door, but Paul grips my other arm, not with enough force to hold me back, but enough to get my attention.
“Please, here, I’ll give you some more money, just calm down for a minute, all righ’?” Paul says, his tone almost pleading.
“More money? How much more?” I ask, my hand still on the door.
Paul shakes his head and waves me back to the counter. “Let me take another look, come on.”
I follow him to the back of the store, wiping my forehead again. My gray coat sleeve is splattered with dark red spots.
“Here, have something to eat while I look, okay?” Paul sets a sleeve of saltines on the counter. Several are missing but the rest look fine, delicious even. “Go on,” he says, noticing my hesitation.
I tear into the crackers, eating as quickly as I can swallow. Each cracker falls into my empty stomach with a hollow thud and I devour the entire sleeve in under three minutes.
“Here, I bet you’re thirsty too,” Paul says, setting a red Solo cup before me. I glance inside and see it’s filled to the top with a clear liquid. I pour the water down my throat. It tastes like Heaven.
“Thank you,” I say as Paul hands me another sleeve of saltines. He doesn’t reply, concentrating on the electronics in the bag. I finish the second sleeve too, this time almost tasting the little grains of salt. There are crumbs all over the counter, the floor, and the front of my coat. I look at Paul instead of brushing them away. “You said you’d give me more money. What’s your offer now?”
Paul sighs and rubs his eyes. “I’ll give you nine hundred, which is more than generous considering how you likely came to acquire ‘em.”
My eyes bulge. It
’s not two grand, but it’s not three hundred bucks either. “Why’d you change your mind?” I ask, shoving another cracker into my mouth.
Paul shrugs and nudges the Torch, making it spin several times on its back. “Honestly? If your last resort is me for money, then you have a lot more going on than I originally thought. You’re half-starved and look like a zombie. I hardly recognized you when I saw you standing out there,” he says. “I got a daughter ‘bout your age. If she was in as bad a spot as you seem to be, I’d want someone to help her out, too.” Paul leans over the counter and points his thick finger in my face. “But you better use this money to go buy food. And real food, none of that pop-up crap or pixie sticks. I know you gotta use it for your next hit or however you Wireds do it, but please, start taking care of yourself, before I open CNN and see your face trending under recent bodies found.”
I nod. Money, help, hit. “Thanks, Paul. I really appreciate it,” I say with a forced smile, shoving the last cracker onto my tongue.
“Yeah, yeah,” Paul says, unlocking the register and pulling out several large bills. He counts them out and lays them atop the numerous cracker crumbs. “There, nine hundred dollars. Just please, remember what I said.”
Again I nod, my eyes focused on the green bills under his fingers. “Thank you, Paul. I will.” I scoop up the money, my feet ready to start tap dancing despite a sudden flare of itching. Get to an ATM, deposit all of it, then I can connect! Then I’ll be safe.
“All righ’. I have to get going. I’m due at my brother’s house in twenty minutes,” Paul says, motioning toward the door.
“Okay, yeah no problem,” I say, shoving the money into my sweatpants pocket. “Merry Christmas, Paul!” I run out the door, back into the frigid morning air. The sun has risen even higher in the sky, its bright light making even the piles of dirty brown snow piled along the curb sparkle. I walk with a skip in my step, eager to get on with my day, but something Paul said makes me stop.
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