Part 10: Lording Over the Illogical
It was the third glance, third slowly altering of the path coming in his direction, that alerted him that he was out of sync with his outsideness. Winston attached his constant smile on, the Winston smile, as he adjusted his walking stance and glide. He let her get to him, and that was unbearable. His research let him down, and that was more unforgivable than anything else.
He read the reports, the files, the blogs, the intel, her records, and they all pointed to a Grand Fool, with the power to mock and one of wit, outsmarting those into thinking they are not as sharp as they really are. ZsaZsa (Winston pronounced it in his head the way he felt was the correct way, the S stated proudly) was not that; she was the antithesis of Fool, a nonthinking primal blundering cretin , both during their Skype conversation of sixteen minutes and fourteen seconds of blathering on her part, and in person. Thinking of her “in person” made Winston shivered, and in shivering he lost his step, and his constant smile, only for a second or two. But, it was enough. A boy of about 4 saw Winston as he truly was in that brief flash, and he ran screaming for his mother, unable to tell her what got to him so. Among the pulsing sobs and wracked breaths, the “there there”s and pats on the back, the boys’ mind went to a very dark place, for just a little bit too long. (ps..we won’t meet this boy again in this story. Be afraid. Be very afraid.)
It was simply this annoyance, this arrogance in pride of her own base vileness, that caused Winston to “fix” her drink. Although he was annoyed with himself too, though never would he be admitting it. Ever. He kept things just SO, and this..this was inexcusable. He felt most of the blame, yes, most of the blame must fall on those who sugar coated their reports, their discussions and findings. Can’t label her unfairly, no no no. Must push on through, she’ll grow out of it, poor thing, and with her father like that! “Damn them,” Winston allowed a growl inside to sizzle.
She had gained weight from her last file report that he surveyed. It didn’t reach her face, but spread out in various nooks and crannies. As he approached his car he removed his polished car key and remote, blinked the car into life, and got inside. He sat behind the steering wheel far longer then he normally would (two minutes and 30 seconds even!) hoping that the dose he concocted was still strong enough to do it’s job. The extra body mass…another important piece of information that was infuriating Winston to no end. He hit the steering wheel twice, honking the horn once, ignited the car and zoomed off, at precisely the speed limit of 25 mph.
As he turned the corner, heading back to his office, he knew he could not make this mistake with the next one. No, files were good, but he wanted first hand experience with Daniel Killigrew. An excursion was in order. Winston’s constant smile found it’s place again.
[A darkened room. Four small eyes peering in, noticing nothing moving much at all. If they knew the symbols, words, they’d know they were looking at a bed, and on the bed a body, and on the body a sheet, and the sheet moved slowly up and down, up and down, as the body on the bed under the sheet in the darkened room had an Endotracheal Tube inserted in the body’s mouth and throat and the Endotracheal Tube was taped on in quite a face squishing fashion in that such a thing might have hurt if the body on the bed under the sheet with the… oh, you get it. She wasn’t conscious. Eyes swollen and closed, hands frozen as if gripping a steering wheel, she slept the sleep of the awake and cognitive challenged.
The owners of the four small eyes passed nut meat back and forth between them. They waited.]