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Uno and Fog: Red Letter Day

May 18, 2019

I woke up and called in sick to the office.  Agnes, my personal administrative assistant, also know as secretary, also known as the one that knows what’s going on my schedule, told me she would take care of rescheduling my meetings for the day.  I thanked her and got off the phone.

While I can accelerate my metabolism and heal faster than a normal, its not instantaneous.  What takes someone a week, I can heal in a day if I eat, a lot, and have a nearby power source to siphon off of.  I can accelerate someone else’s healing too, but it has to be something they would have healed on their own eventually.  Cuts and bruises were in my bailiwick, as were bullet wounds to a certain extent.  Not a fatal wound, not cancer, or heart attacks or any number of diseases, but I could speed recovery after surgery. I’d spent a summer volunteering at a hospital, told my father I wanted to go into medicine, and tried to see who I could help.

Somebody, somewhere probably sees that as illegal human experimentation which is one of the many numerous reasons I’m not sanctioned.

Regardless, I should be well on my way tomorrow, but today I wasn’t going anywhere.

Despite all the battering I had taken, especially with my feet, I am in a pretty good mood.  I’m still alive after all and that wasn’t a certain thing yesterday.  I hadn’t stopped the old god from arriving, but I’d postponed the inevitable clash, and hopefully Ms. Teri or some of the other mystical powerhouse would be able to handle the problem.

I did think about the amount of pain SHE had inflicted on me and The Fog and wondered if I could do something similar.  I knew there wasn’t a pain center of the brain, so it wasn’t as easy as SHE made it appear.  I’m not sure I wanted to experiment with it.  She had inflicted enough excruciating pain that it was the only thing that existed when it happened.

I can see the interrogation advantages it might give someone, but learning to do that was another level of sadism I didn’t want to indulge.  I consider the other end of the spectrum, inducing pleasure.  I realize that would be considerably easier to do, but not without its own moral and ethical problems.

Putting someone to sleep or giving them nausea was one thing, this was something else entirely.

I set the idea aside and went about looking for food, healing takes a lot of it.  There isn’t any food in the fridge, just some alcoholic beverages, assorted condiments and stuff I should have thrown away some time ago.  Delivery was going to be the name of the day.

I look at the red envelope.  Something I had been putting off until now.  I sweep the penthouse looking for bugs, but don’t sense anything.  I didn’t sense anyone else there either, but someone had been in here when I had showered, left the envelope and gone without saying a word, or leaving a trace.

It’s an unsettling feeling.  It’s almost certainly someone endowed with gifts, but there were people like The Fog that could have done it as well.  The timing was troubling.  Did it have to do with what happened in the park?  At the old god’s behest or her followers, if they existed.  Or did it have to do with what The Fog referred to as the Cabal that as watching us last night and appeared to be pursing, or at least following, Ms. Teri and Evil Soccer Mom.

I take the envelope and feel it in my hand.  The paper is thick and sturdy, but I feel lumps inside of the paper.  I consider if this might be a letter bomb, but what’s the point?  If someone wanted to do me harm, they could have in any number of easier ways, especially since they demonstrated and ability to come and go into my penthouse.

I vowed to up my security.

I put a thumb through the paper and open it up.  Inside is a key with the number ’23’ inscribed on it and nothing else, which is extremely annoying.  Its obviously a key to something, almost certainly a safety deposit box, but without the name of either the bank, post office or other depository, I have no idea where this goes.

I look inside the envelope for anything, a scrap of paper, a note of written on the inside of the lip of it.  Nothing.

Someone wanted me to have this, but didn’t want to leave any hint what it went to.  Was it some kind of test?  A precaution against it following into the wrong hands?  Some silly game?  Was I expected to recognize it, because I didn’t.

It occurs to me that I know someone that is just obsessive enough that he might know where the key goes.

Conveniently he lives downstairs.

 

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