Goldilocks Forever

Chapter 43

Walton, New York

February 2043

Beau woke to a howling gust of snowy air. He opened his eyes and jerked his head up—too fast, his head spun—and took in his surroundings. "Shit," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Toby sat in the loveseat, his bare feet on the coffee table and a small computer on his lap. "Oh." He leaned forward when he saw Beau awake and shivering in the cold. He got up to close the open door. "It was getting too warm in here. I thought the fresh air could do us some good."

Beau had enough wits about him to glance at the screen of the computer when Toby stepped away. Nothing but words, symbols, and numbers in lines of code. He could make out no discernable pattern or sequence. It was a foreign language to him.

Toby pulled the computer back onto his lap, typed in a few lines, and then looked at Beau. "You slept for eleven hours."

"Oh, shit." Beau rolled his head from side to side. The arm of the sofa didn't make a very comfortable pillow. He must have been exhausted. He didn't even remember falling asleep.

"You conked out. Right when I was getting to the good part." 

"Sorry. It's the medication."

"You need anything?"

"Yeah. A bathroom." He looked around for one.

"Behind you." Toby pointed toward the closed door beyond the living room. He kept his eyes on the screen as his fingers flew over the keys.

"What time is it?" Beau stumbled toward it. His legs were heavy like wooden stumps. His vision blurred, the peripheral edges darkening. He paused until the dizziness passed.

"Three-ish. Saturday."

"Shit. Saturday." Beau held onto the back of the sofa as he shook out one of his leaden legs. Needles of pain emanated from his hips as he moved. He winced and felt in his jacket pocket for the bottle of pills. Eleven hours meant he'd missed a dose. He shuffled the remaining paces to the bathroom.

"Hey," Toby called, watching his slow progress. "There might not be any tp." They both listened to the sound of Beau's heavy breathing. The short walk left him out of breath. "Better check."

Beau nodded and hid himself in the small pine-paneled bathroom. He leaned up against the pedestal sink, avoiding his face in the mirror. He didn't need to see it to know that his face was covered in dark stubble, what Carmencita called his "dangerous look". She'd loved his dangerous look, loved to rub her hands over his chin and then joke that he was her exfoliator.

He steadied his breath and ran the faucet, cupping the ice cold water in his palm. He drank a handful and then uncapped one of the pills, swallowed it, and chased it with another palmful of water. A third he splashed onto his face. That woke him up. That and thoughts of Carmencita.

He shook his head. Despite the hours of sleep, he still felt mired in both physical and mental exhaustion. What had he missed by falling asleep? Toby obviously had work to do. He could hear the clacking of keys through the door.

What did he remember from the previous night? He went through what he recalled of Toby's story like it was case notes and he was prepping for trial. Anna Bertram (he'd look up that name later), Infected, Las Vegas, Santa Monica, Sabian Fasano, the IDF, Vida, Burt.

And another name. Max something.

He splashed more water on his face and hair and then flicked the light switch. The bulb flickered and rattled back to darkness. Quietly, he unlatched the medicine cabinet. Nothing inside. Not even a hair brush. No toothpaste on the sink. No toothbrush in sight, either. No razors. No DNA.