Chapter 1    

     Damien folds the yellow, stained bandages into a ball and drops them in a garbage bag, along with cotton swabs reeking of disinfectant. He washes his hands in the chipped porcelain sink of his father's bathroom. He sighs deeply, but quietly, and leans against the sink. After a few moments he looks up into the mirror. He sees a thirty-five year old man with bags under his eyes and sunken cheeks. He stares into pale blue eyes for some time.

    Eventually he runs a hand through his sandy-colored hair, takes a breath, and opens the door. Entering his father’s room, he gives his dad a brief smile and tugs the light blanket over the stitched-up stumps of his father’s legs.

    His father is bald, heavy set, and his flesh is starting to sag. He’s over fifty years old. “You know,” he says, “As a middle-aged man working in a warehouse, in a time where millions of people -mostly males- are shrinking off the face of the earth and robots are taking our places in the workshop, I was so lucky to still have a job at all. And then this happens. Why did I have to be a warehouse worker, son? Why did I have to pick such a dangerous job in such a time? Was it just my horrible luck?”

    Damien sighs and smiles sadly. "D'you need anything?"

    His father stares out the window of his second-floor bedroom. Thin, white curtains hang limply as the sun starts to set. He turns to his son. "No. No I'll be fine. Thanks."

    Damien nods, and leaves.

    He goes to stuff the bag into the garbage can out back, but it's full. He waves flies out of his face and looks at the backyard. The grass is long.

Chapter 2

   Damien stretches his back and wipes sweat from his brow. The afternoon sun beats down upon the new fence. It's crude, made of salvaged wood and chicken wire. He grabs the bag of nails and walks over to Pepsi. The dark brown, lab-collie cross paces side to side, straining slightly against her rope, panting eagerly. Damien puts the nails down and unties the rope from her collar. "There you go girl," he says. She runs excitedly into the yard and romps around in the tall grass. “Sorry it took so long, but I had to be safe. Now you can play in our yard at least.” Damien shields his eyes from the sun and smiles, watching her. On the other side of the fence, a faint, crackling hum pervades over the acres of trees, garden, and freshly laid green sod. In the distance an automated tractor trundles silently on fat, black tires, watering the new grass. Beyond this sentinel, Jacqueline's mansion looms on the rocky hill.

Chapter 3

    Damien hits the buzzer of the large, metal gate. A young female voice softly answers.

    "Yes?"

    "Um, Damien Reiner to see Miss Jacqueline."

    "Just a moment."

    Damien waits. Then the crackling hum stops, and suddenly the silence feels more oppressive than the static had been. He jumps slightly as the gates clang and swing open slowly on mechanical hinges.

    He makes his way up the driveway to the mansion, taking in the manicured gardens and fabulous view of the countryside. When he gets to the door, he pauses, runs a hand through his hair, and clears his throat. He knocks on the tall, black doors.

    A young woman in a sharp business outfit opens the door. She holds a tablet under one arm. "Mr. Reiner. So glad you could make it."

    "Uh yes, hello again. Marlee right?" Damien says.

    A faint, polite smile crosses her lips. "This way."

***

    The home office, like the rest of the house, is a beautiful contrast of airy, light grey walls and huge windows with the solid, shining black floors and decor. Green, leafy potted trees seem to pop with color.

    The woman behind the thin, black desk doesn’t look up as Damien and Marlee approach. Ice-blue eyes study a silver laptop monitor from behind square rimmed glasses. Her platinum hair is in a chin-length bob, with blunt bangs that meet her eyes. She’s dressed casually in a white blouse and black leggings, her feet bare.

    “Miss Jacqueline,” Marlee says. “Damien Reiner to see you.”

    After a moment, Jacqueline takes off her glasses and looks at them. “Damien. Hello,” she says. “Have a seat.”

    “Hello,” Damien says, seating himself in a black chair by the wall. The chair is comfortable, but lower than expected. He clears his throat. “Nice to finally meet you in person. Your house, everything here is beautiful.”

    “Thank you,” she says. She leans forward and rests her chin on her palm, studying him. “You know why you’re here, do you?” It becomes apparent Jacqueline has an upper-class English accent.

    “Um. You still want to buy my house?”

    “Mhm.” Jacqueline nods slowly.

    Damien sighs. “I’m sorry, but like I said, it’s not for sale at the moment. For personal reasons.”

    Jacqueline continues to stare at him from behind her higher desk.

    “Uh,” Damien continues, adjusting himself in the seat. “It’s, uh, we’re going through a bit of a rough time, my family, and while the money would be good, I think what we really need right now is… stability. Familiarity. Somewhere solid to stand on, If you know what I mean.” He wrings his hands.

    Jacqueline’s gaze doesn’t change. Damien tries to meet her eyes several times but fails.

    “So there’s no convincing you otherwise then?” she says suddenly.

    “Um, no I don’t think s-”

   “All right,” Jacqueline says, returning to her work station. “Good luck over there then. See you later.”

    Damien blinks, and looks around for some cue for what to do. Jacqueline taps her foot idly while clicking away at the computer. Marlee comes up beside him and gestures for him to follow her out, so he rises awkwardly. As he leaves he notices his own house in the distance is easily visible through the window.