lab coat. I feel a stabbing pain in my temples, and then become drowsy. By the time the car rolls to a stop, and shuts down, I'm fast asleep, ending this Sunday.
At the edge of my consciousness I'm aware I'm home. Patrice is no longer mad. I get the inclination that I'm asleep at my desk. With familiar surroundings, an idea buzzes at my brain. Maybe those Senators and Congressmen, turned down by StraightSoul, were turned down BECAUSE they were a danger to a trillion dollar company.
And why would the President single me out? And my firm? This case? Specifically in legislation? Was he bribed? Threatened?
I knew Senator Kindle, personally, back before he was President. I remember something from the commercials, something important.
I'm positive I'm in my study, but crack an eyelid to be sure. My oak desk, and my study's wall greet me. The blurriness, of last nights rains, recede. A quick flick of the wrist and the remote dials through a kaleidoscope of images. The well-worn, eternal commercial plays.
Standing in the foreground is the Presidential Seal of Approval. Mr. Lab coat & stethoscope, with salt and pepper hair speaks with his false honey smoothness.
"Presidents, Congressmen, and even trusted academic scholars agree. They all recommend our product."
That's it! screams my mind. Kindle's a client! Nothing like a threat of electronic Hell, to keep him in line. Or, maybe, shut our case down, by an Act of Congress-
I ransack my desk, finding the brochures. I'll apply; sue to apply if I have to. With a smarmy precordial gadget, implanted by Stanley, recording my thoughts, then I'd have them. I'd have them when it was my turn to be threatened.
Blinding, screaming, pain, that waters my vision, strikes out the thought. It was a bleeding pain that drips ice into my brain. Reaching up shakily to touch my nose, I suppose, somehow, it should be broken. It was as fresh and new as I could expect, though my temples shout for relief.
My world shrinks and focuses on the wall's view screen, as the pain eases a bit.
"And with StraightSoul, you get our million dollar, million year, guarantee. Simply the best offer ever made, anywhere!"
The middle-aged man, in the commercial, looks to be a scientist, or doctor, or something. He has a white lab coat, stethoscope, and salt & pepper hair, that's too slick by half. His voice drips a honey smoothness, while his eyes convey honesty. I couldn't be sicker to my stomach. My temples throb. I've seen this one before, several dozen times.
The man strides to a bank of square black boxes that twinkle with blue, green, and red lights. It stands several times his height, against a wall of black granite. Granite is used, I imagine, to convey the permanency of this offer. I wonder if a place like that really does exist outside whatever studio it was shot in. The throbbing in my temples dulls a bit. I've been at it for what seems an eternity.
END
About The Author
DC Vermillion lives in NW Ohio with his wife and three children. When he isn't writing SciFi or Fantasy, or working as a maintenance electrician, he enjoys his family, gardening, and reading just about anything.
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