Six weeks earlier: Sat., April 1, 8:42 p.m.
Feeling restless and irritable, Paul put Lilly on the leash and went out for a walk. He rarely left his apartment on foot after dark, but both his brain and body were too wired to sit and read. At the bottom of the stairs, he saw Mrs. Olson coming in from the garage, carrying a big recycling container. He turned and headed back upstairs to avoid her. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.
When the lobby was clear, he hurried outside. A little surprised by his behavior, Paul wondered if the MetaboSlim pills were affecting his mood and giving him a bit of insomnia. Still ten pounds away from his goal weight, he wasn’t giving them up yet. Maybe he could just cut back. He also hated to let go of the confidence they gave him. He liked his new assertiveness.
Paul jogged toward the nearby park, grateful the wind was neither bitter cold or suffocatingly hot, just relentless. April and its lack of extremes had become his favorite month. His thoughts, as always, came back to Camille. He loved her green eyes, slender neck, and throaty laugh. He loved being seen with her…outside the office. More than anything, he loved having sex with her and thought about it constantly. How had he gone through his whole life without that pleasure? They’d had two more dates and the sex was definitely getting better. Camille had come easily both times. He’d briefly wondered if she was faking it, then decided no. As good as the sex was, Paul wanted more than a bimonthly romp. He wanted a life together.
A little stab of guilt twisted in his gut. He hadn’t told Camille yet that he’d already uploaded her name and file into the replacement database. In the back of his mind, he feared she would stop seeing him once she knew. But if he wanted a real relationship, he had to tell her.
Paul reached the park and paused. Away from sidewalk and streetlights, the area was dark and unnerving. A sliver of moon gave off just enough light to let him see a homeless camp under a clump of trees. No one seemed to be around, or they were sleeping, and he was tempted to let Lilly off the leash for a while. He decided against it. His baby was too precious to risk.
Paul jogged around the perimeter a few times, then headed for home. As he passed a section of empty storefronts, a man stepped out from behind a parked car and blocked the sidewalk. The stranger was taller than Paul but thin, like a junkie. With his dark skin and clothes, he blended into the night, a surreal figure. Yet the silver gun in his hand seemed terrifyingly real.
“Just give me yo electronics, then go ’bout yo business.” His voice was low-pitched and casual.
Heart pounding in his ears, Paul stammered, “I don’t have anything with me. I’m just out for a walk.”
The man lurched forward and grabbed Paul by the collar. “I want yo iCom, yo Dock, whatever yo carryin’.” His breath reeked of booze and decay.
Before Paul could respond, Lilly starting barking with a high-pitched intensity. The mugger let go of Paul and gave Lilly a vicious kick. His little girl landed with a soft thud and went silent.
Rage and hatred unlike anything he’d ever felt exploded in Paul’s chest. He bellowed and swung wildly at Lilly’s attacker, landing a glancing blow to the side of the man’s head. The mugger reared back, stunned and angered. He brought up his arm and slammed Paul in the face with his gun. Paul grunted in pain, clutching his nose. The assailant punched him in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
Panic flooded his body. Paul felt certain Lilly was dead and he would soon be too. His last sexual encounter with Camille flashed in his mind and he was glad he’d had the experience. His attacker dropped down and straddled Paul, trapping him against the sidewalk. Bony fingers dug through his pockets, looking for loot. Humiliation and rage fought for control of Paul emotions. Yet he was trapped and helpless. He began to pray, something he hadn’t done in a long time.
“Fuck you!” The man spit in his face, outraged that Paul didn’t have anything of value. He pushed off and kicked Paul in the head, then ran away, cursing.
Paul let out a sob, then crawled to where Lilly lay. His baby girl was still alive, but she was broken. Paul picked her up and sprinted for home, blood running from his nose, Lilly limp in his arms. He would grab his keys and drive her to the Union Veterinary Clinic. Maybe they could save her.
Paul called in sick the next day, too grief-stricken to work. He hadn’t mentioned Lilly’s passing to Stacia. She was not the kind of boss who would understand. He opened one of his favorite comfort reads, but couldn’t focus. He watched a talk show on the NetCom and found it irritating. Paul iced his nose for another twenty-minute session and hoped like hell the damage wasn’t permanent.
As the day passed, his grief turned to rage. He fantasized about killing the bastard who’d crushed Lilly with the toe of his boot. He would buy a gun and patrol the neighborhood every evening until he found him. When he spotted the man, he’d rush him and shoot him in the balls. As the bastard lay dying, he would say, That’s what you get for killing my dog.
Paul paced the apartment and occasionally drew his imaginary weapon, pointing at the dark man with the violent streak. Pulling the trigger and saying the words gave him moments of reprieve from his grief. He decided he really did need a gun. Everyone else had one. He wanted to feel safe too. Paul rushed to his NetCom and searched for weapons. Page after page of photos loaded. He knew nothing about guns, and the information was overwhelming. Paul thought he would try a gun shop and get the advice of an expert.
As he perused the pages, he came across a Taser and decided it would come in handy. A few minutes later, his order had been processed. Paul felt better already. He thought he might get another dog someday, but not while his grief was still so raw.
First Isabel, then Lilly. Old feelings of abandonment surfaced, shaking his foundation. He couldn’t lose Camille as well.