Part Nineteen
[Author’s Note: I rushed the original ending to the series, which I think shows, and I wasn’t satisfied with it, so I gave it some thought and decided to re-write it with a bit more development and a less jarring end. Be aware that this may take several more chapters, and the new ending will be completely different, but it felt like the original end was too messy. Honestly, I’m way more comfortable with technical writing than with creative writing, so this has been a bit of a learning experience for me. All that said, enjoy the new-ish alternative ending.]
Sam and Carl sat outside James’ office, waiting for the shouting to end. Whatever the argument was about was impossible to make out since both sides were screaming over each other. Sam looked over at Carl, trying to work out what his plan was. It didn’t make sense.
“Why are you even helping with this, Wittinger? Don’t you torture fluffies for money?”
“Sammy, can I call you Sammy?”
“No.”
“Okay. Samantha, the suggested legislation would give fluffies the same rights as animals, with an emphasis on protection from animal cruelty.”
“Exactly. Shouldn’t you be opposed to this?”
“What I do is only animal cruelty in the moral sense of the word. From a legal standpoint what I do would be legal to do to any animal. Well, besides people. Hell, Hollywood uses the same technology I do all the time in film. So if this legislation passes, I’ll be the only realistic option when it comes to treating smarties.”
“Don’t you make way more from abusers than people actually wanting to help fluffies?”
“‘Help’ is an interesting word for people who want to break a fluffy for their own convenience…Anyway, who says I’ll stop selling to abusers?”
“You’re literally helping make fluffy abuse illegal, Carl.”
“It’s only illegal if you don’t have friends who’ll make sure you never get caught, Samantha. Sounds like it’s quieted down a bit, let’s go see which one is still alive.”
The pair walked back into James’ office, which was now filled with sullen silence as Mikhael and James stared at each other with looks of hatred and contempt, respectively. Well, it was better than the screaming. Sam wasn’t quite sure why the pair hated each other so much, but she really didn’t want to ask.
“Well,” Carl filled the silence with an artificially cheerful tone. “Are we ready to get a move on? Some of my friends in high places are getting impatient. They want their money now, if not sooner.”
“I’ve managed to finish my research,” James’ tone was somewhere between prideful and spiteful. “Not that the fucking university helped. Fuckers wanted to keep this shit buried.”
“What research?”
“Mik, did you fill her in at all about the plan? Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. My research into the number of PIHS cases in areas where fluffy abuse was banned quickly after their initial release compared to areas where fluffy abuse was allowed.”
“Piss?”
“Pheromone-Induced Hyper-aggression Syndrome. I was working on a strict timetable, Carl, and unlike you some of us don’t think in marketing terms.”
“And what is this…PIHS?”
“Most people just call it zombie syndrome. It rewrites behavioral pathways in…interesting ways if the victim is particularly vulnerable to fluffy pheromones and doesn’t manage, or choose, to fight the initial urge.”
“I know what a zombie is, James. Why does this matter?”
“Because the rate is much lower in areas where fluffy abuse was banned. Because suddenly a lot of people who lost pets, family, or just property to PIHS will have someone who isn’t a drooling mess to blame.”
“I thought you said outrage wasn’t the goal,” Mik sounded irritated.
“It isn’t the primary goal, it’s just a catalyst to make things go faster. Just making a lot of money was enough to convince the less scrupulous people we need to help, but it wasn’t going to make this fast. But add something like this and suddenly everyone currently in office wants this pushed through before the election in a few months, because they can’t afford a scandal right now, and because their opponents are definitely going to promise to do something about the problem.”
“So the plan…”
“Is that Sam here tells her story, the people who need to have a while to make their little financial changes, and then I deliver my research into the public eye. Simple, if you don’t get into all the bribes and threats and bullshit Carl’s political connections are managing.”
…
The conference room burst into a cacophony of questions as Sam finished her story. Now she understood why James had insisted she practice so much; she wanted nothing more than to hide somewhere until the shaking went away, but right now that wasn’t an option. Silently, she waited for the room to quiet down a bit.
“How did you get away from the Rippers?”
“The what?”
The reported looked confused. “The men who broke in. Have you never seen any of the news coverage of the case?”
“I was a kid, I didn’t really watch the news.”
“You never looked up your case?”
“It…was too painful to be reminded,” Sam lied. The truth probably wouldn’t go over well.
“Then you don’t know the details of your assailants?”
“No, and I’d like to keep it that way, please. I have enough nightmares already. As for how I escaped, I didn’t. They just left.”
“The Rippers just left?”
“Look, that name doesn’t mean anything to me. What happened after…well, after everything is a bit hazy. I don’t know why they left, they just took my fluffy and left.”
“Would you say they attacked because of your fluffy?”
With an immense effort, Sam ignored the question instead of chewing the reporter out then and there. Another reporter managed to get a few clear words across above the hubbub.
“Why are you telling the story now?”
“Because I think I’m finally ready to. For a long time I couldn’t face what happened, but I think telling my story is important. Honestly, though, I was the lucky one.”
The storm of questions that arose from this statement didn’t abate for a long time.
…
Sam’s life became a blur of interviews and nightmares for a while, although as with all things the media attention on her was comparatively short-lived. Still, it seemed like it was forever before she could spend more than a few precious hours a day at home, resting.
TIme passed, and slowly the wheels of politics turned.
…
Sam was having a nightmare again, but as with the others lately, it wasn’t quite so bad. Somehow her guilt felt a little less biting now. Maybe it was just the passage or time, or maybe she was repaying what she felt she owed Blueberry. Either way, her nightmares felt a little less sharp, a little less real, than they had before.
She was awoken by a sound of shattering glass, a shout, and howls of pain. Pausing only to grab the aluminum bat she kept by the door, she dashed outside. Fortunately, she’d been so exhausted lately that she’d just slept in her clothes, so the cold wasn’t nearly as biting as it would have been in her pajama’s.
On one side of her house, by the window that lead into the saferoom, a man in a black-and-blue uniform stood over a writing figure on the ground. The grounded figure still howled with pain, and little wisps of smoke came from his clothes. Raising her bat, Sam approached.
“Hey there,” the uniformed man said when he saw her. “Please lower the bat. I’m here to help.”
“Who are you?” Sam snapped, not lowering the bat.
“I’m Terrence, but everyone calls me Terry. I’m with Aegis Securities, we’ve been contracted to keep you safe. Sorry about the noise, but I had to deal with this guy.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. He had a improvised firebomb, but fortunately I caught him before he could use it. He did try to hit me with it, though. I put him out, so he should be fine.”
“He doesn’t look fine.”
“I…may have waited a little while before putting him out. I hate arsonists. Anyway, the police are on their way, and after that if you don’t mind I need to get you somewhere safe. Aegis has a lot of safehouses, so it shouldn’t be too far.”
…
The next day Sam was back in James’ office, at an impromptu meeting. After last night’s events, she was exhausted and disheveled. Still, it could have been worse, so much worse.
“What happened?” Mikhael seemed worried.
“Someone tried to burn my house. Someone from some security company stopped him. Honestly, I don’t know.”
“What? Why?”
“Sorry about that,” James said. “We hadn’t taken into account that…” he paused.
“That you’d be enough of an idiot to use your real name in the interviews instead of a pseudonym like everyone else,” Carl butted in.
“Shut up. Anyway, Carl used his connections to get some security around your house. Somehow the arsonist knew their patrols.”
“Thank God for Terry,” Carl interjected again. “If he hadn’t had a bad feeling, who knows what could’ve happened.”
“Anyway,” James continued. “We need to get Sam somewhere safe. Fortunately, media attention has mostly died down so it shouldn’t be too big of a deal if you vanish for now.”
“I…okay, I understand,” Sam responded dully.
“What? Sammy, are you just okay with this?”
“Mik, I can’t take risks with my fluffies’ lives. He was right outside their window. They could’ve been dead by now. It’s fine, I’ll be fine, it’s just moving.”
Part Twenty-One
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Very interested to see where the new path leads.
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