Allister Boone by Jessica Tacu

Author:Jessica Tacu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jessica Tacu
Published: 2019-03-27T00:00:00+00:00

16

I was equally interested in being filled-in by Ann Singleton. Her small brush with death was enough to save her more than one more day because there she was, still alive after twenty-three. She was still very much suicidal; her brush with me didn’t open her eyes to any new possibilities or give her ambitions or make her feel grateful to be alive. She still wanted to die, and she still wished every day that a bus would hit her as she crossed the street, or a brain aneurysm would shut off her lights, or that dark mole on her back would turn to melanoma and spread like a California wildfire. Ann Singleton was alive for one reason: she was curious about me.

“Who are you, really, Mr. Boone?”

It should’ve made me nervous, but instead, the idea of telling her the truth about who and what I was, felt liberating.

But I did not forget Lucifer’s warning.

“What exactly do you mean, Ann?”

“You’re an enigma, Mr. Boone,” she said. (And I think…) She’d started to add to her comment, but instead, she leaned back again and decided on another approach. “Have you ever met someone who right away you didn’t trust? Or, someone who just generally gave you a bad vibe?”

“I give you bad vibes?”

She shook her head.

“No, it’s not that. It’s the opposite.”

“So, then I give you good vibes?”

“Well, no…it’s…” She leaned forward in the chair, her face hardened with concentration. “You give me ‘different’ vibes, Mr. Boone. I feel like I can trust you fully. But most of all, I just…well, I just feel like”—she leaned back again, crossed her arms—“Never mind.”

“I won’t think you’re crazy, Ann,” I told her. “If you feel like you can trust me fully, then you should be able to tell me anything without fear or concern.”

(Why do I trust him? I’ve trusted no one like this before. Not even Michael!)

She stood up and paced my office.

“Maybe I am a little nuts,” she said, not looking at me. “All the time, I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin, or like I’m…just not in the right body. I fantasize about the apocalypse. So yeah, I might be a bit on the abnormal side if you’re out there looking in at me. But I think I’m more in tune with reality than most people, and that’s why I am the way I am.” She stopped and gestured her hands. “There’s nothing wrong with me”—her hand jutted out, indicating the rest of the world—“they’re the ones that are sick, Mr. Boone. And you”—she looked me right in the eyes—“I get the feeling you’re not one of them. I think in a lot of ways, you’re…just like me.”

In some ways, yes, I was like Ann Singleton. Suicidal. Not comfortable in the skin we wore. Feeling out-of-place in the world. Knowing—although I knew for certain and Ann had only her hunches—that reality isn’t reality, and that everything they see and touch and smell and taste and hear is just another Blue Pill scenario.

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