Free Idempotency by Joshua Wright Page A

a middle finger." Frank raised his hands in the air and shrugged, then said, “That’s it, Dyls. Didn’t really give a flying fuck after that; still got my paycheck yesterday, and that’s the only flying fuck I care about.” Hands still in the air, Frank started flapping them a little and gyrating his hips in his chair. “Get it? A flying fuck?”  He then nearly busted a gut laughing at himself.
    Dylan giggled reluctantly. “Seriously, how did you get out of the mail room? What dirt do you have and who do you have it on?”
    “I got some dirt on your mom last night. I sprinkled it all over her.” Frank was still chuckling at himself and flapping his hands as he said this.
    “That doesn’t even make sense, Franklin,” Dylan responded flatly as he stood up.
    “Get the fuck outta here, man. It’s Friday, check out early. Go out with Kristi.”
    Dylan winced at Kristina’s name. He knew she was going to have a problem with him going out of town for the weekend. But he’d deal with that later.
    “See you next week, Frank.” He flung his jacket over his shoulder and headed back to the elevator, avoiding his own office.
    Dylan hadn’t spent more than thirty minutes at his apartment, before a soothing ring echoed ubiquitously throughout his apartment. He winced.
    “Miss Home, who’s outside?” he asked his home, already knowing the answer.
    “Hello Dylan. Kristina Hollerith awaits outside. Shall I let her in?” The voice was effeminate, soothing, and ambient.
    He’d had a passing thought on his way home that he should text her, or even vidChat, but the excitement of the day’s events had made him scatterbrained. Or so he told himself—perhaps subconsciously, he was simply avoiding her.
    “Yeah, let her in.”
    Dylan hustled over to an antique serving cart to serve himself up a stiff double Armagnac. His small glass tinkled as he poured the golden liquid. No sooner did he place the glass atop the decanter than the front door to his apartment popped open at Kristina’s presence.
    “Hey, Dyls. How was your day? I didn’t see you in the office—did you come in? Are you ready to head out?” She peppered him with questions as she barged in. “I went ahead and made reservations to that new pub you wanted to try; you know, Ampersand & Ampersand—” She paused as her eyes trailed to the luggage on his bed. “What’s that, Dylan?”
    He let out a deep breath as he wrinkled his face apologetically. “I’m sorry, Kristi, I didn’t have time to text—“
    “What is that, Dylan?” More quivering. Her short hair bobbed energetically atop her thin frame.
    “Shit. Kristi, I’m sorry. I have to go to Seattle. Tonight.”
    A thick silence settled over them. Dylan could hear her breathing, which wavered as anger twisted around choking tears. He suddenly became numb, and goose bumps tingled his arms. This was the moment; he had been here twice before in his life—the moment a serious relationship dies. He thought morosely that this time seemed easier than the last time, and easier than the time before that.
    “Dylan, why Seattle? Are you just trying to avoid me? You don’t have to fly a thousand miles to do that.”
    “I’m not trying to avoid you, Kris—“
    “Please, don’t patronize me, you owe me that much. You’ve been so distant these past few months. What’s so important in Seattle?”
    “It’s—it—” he stammered, then recovered. “You’re just going to say I’m crazy.”
    “Try me.”
    “It’s . . . I was contacted by someone . . .”
    “Yes?”
    “Someone claiming to have information on why—on my—”
    “What? Spit it out.”
    “My deathTrip. Someone contacted me claiming to have information about what happened. They had details about it, Kristi, that only I would know. They claimed it was . . . nefarious in nature.”
    “Seriously?” Kristi dropped her small purse to the ground. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Dylan. No one can possibly know about your