Free The Good Doctor's Tales Folio Three by Randall Farmer Page B

kindnesses I chose to give him.  When I
spoke to him, I didn’t use a flat voice, a conspiratorial voice, or even a
seductive voice.  I used a sexually repressed voice, a
put-upon-by-my-lord-and-master voice, one that fit with the Catholic schoolgirl
uniforms I wore.  He would trust me and depend on me in no time.
    It doesn’t matter what’s really happening.  It only
matters what a person thinks is happening.
     
    After I put Joe to bed, I got some late dinner for
myself.  I cleaned up the kitchen until Keaton interrupted me by turning out
the lights.  I went to bed and thought about my plans with Joe.
    I always tried to keep myself distracted and occupied
with other things when low on juice.  Always, eventually, I would fail.
    Low on juice, in the dark, with Keaton only yards away,
the demons always came.  My head pounded and my body ached and I couldn’t get
comfortable.  The juice monkey tore through all my defenses and I couldn’t keep
the fears away.  Keaton might kill me any time she wanted to, and nothing in
the world could stop her.
    She would kill me, someday, in one of her psychotic
rages.  One day she wouldn’t stop at cutting my throat; she would finish the
job and behead me.  She would pickle my head in formaldehyde to serve as a
reminder to the next Arm she decided to own.
    I shivered, and tossed on my cold mat.
    I needed juice.  I needed it.  My head pounded
with need for it.  I swore the blanket felt rougher than before.  My skin
sensitivity was kicking in.
    Tomorrow would be worse.  I needed the juice.  The
craving burned inside of me.  When I closed my eyes, I saw my previous kills
waiting for me.  Waiting to supply me with the ecstasy.  I felt the surge as
the juice washed through me, burning me with the intense, overwhelming thrill.
    Another shiver went through my body and I rolled over.
    If I didn’t stop thrashing, Keaton would get pissed.
    She would kill me some day.  Catholic schoolgirl uniform
or not, official hunting territories or not, I still squatted on her turf.  She would kill me.
    Maybe she was lying in her bed, listening to me thrash,
and planning how she would kill me.  I nurtured no illusions she would be
gentle.  She would want to extract as much pleasure from me as possible.  She
could make me last for days.  That was probably why she wouldn’t let me hunt.  The
abuse always hurt more when I was low on juice.  She would want to be as cruel
as possible.
    I took a breath and told myself to calm down.  I wasn’t
thinking rationally.  I went through these fears every time I got low on juice.
    I took a deep breath and tried to blank out my mind.  I
concentrated on my breathing.  Out in the gym, I heard Joe snoring again.  I heard
Keaton’s breathing.  Awake.
    Between Joe and me, we kept her awake and pissed.
    Don’t think about it, I told myself.  Just keep still.  Think
about breathing.
    The past intruded again.  Odds were I screwed up when I
declared my independence and negotiated for a graduation requirement.  I should
have stayed broken, humble and stupid.
    I was always stupid.  Whatever I tried to do on my own
was stupid.  I never got anything right.  I screwed up my hunting.  I couldn’t
even do robberies because I couldn’t get my voice to sound like a man’s.  I
screwed up anything and everything I did.  Keaton should have killed me
already…
    Damn, low juice is a bitch.
    Breathe.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  In.  Out.  In.  Out…
     
    Keaton left the warehouse at about 8:00 in the morning. 
She had me blindfold Joe when we did our exercises, but otherwise we ignored
him.  I didn’t turn my attention back to him until Keaton left.  I took a deep
breath and tried to calm myself.  I didn’t need any low juice stupid mistakes. 
Damn, but I wanted to be out hunting.
    Joe still wore the blindfold.  His heart beat fast and
hard as he heard my steps coming toward him.  His body went stiff and alert,
his breathing faster