Prospero's Half-Life Read Free Page A

the
first time.
    “ Well, this will give you something to do for a little bit,
anyway”.
    “ I suppose it will”.
    “ I’ll warn you, there’s a lot of bodies on my street. I think
that a lot of people thought that they could maybe get cured if
they made it to the hospital, or something”.
    “ That makes sense” he replied non-comittally. “Are you just
about done?”
    “ Sure” she replied pertly. “Want me to just leave it on the
back counter?”
    “ Ah”, he hesitated, and then mentally shrugged. “Sounds
good”.
    After making
sure that the front of the store was tightly locked, Richard walked
into the back to shut the music off and lock the electrical room.
He’d finished doing this and was halfway back through the back
warehouse when the PA came suddenly to life, scaring him close to
an early grave.
    “ Richard, I need to see you in my office”. It was the voice of
Mohammed, rich, dark, and cultured. He knew that some of the
associates knew it colloquially as the Voice of Doom. For a brief,
wild moment he considered ignoring the command and walking out of
the store without a second glance. He knew, though, that he owed
Mohammed at least a little more than that. In fact, he owed
Mohammed a lot more than that.
    He returned
briefly to the front of the store.
    “ You heard that?” he said to Samantha. It was not a question.
She simply nodded.
    “ Well, I guess I’ll be back, then”. A sudden wave of paranoia
washed over him. “You’ll wait ‘til I get back up here, eh?” he
asked her, trying to sound casual.
    “ Of course”, she replied, awkwardly. She met his glance briefly
and dropped it just as suddenly. Richard nodded to himself and made
his hands into fists. This was not something that he wanted to
see.
     

THREE
    Manager’s Row,
that area of the store where the offices and training room were
located, was chilly. At least, Richard suspected that this was the
reason that he was shaking.
    Mohammed’s
door was, like he had last left it, securely closed. When he put
his palm to the doorknob this time, however, he felt it turn
easily, and the heavy door swung open.
    “ Richard”, he heard that dark, cultured voice say again. “Come
in quickly, and shut the door behind you”. Richard shivered. There
was a cold, sepulchural tone to his voice now.
    The office of
Mohammed Malani was just as neatly put-together as it had always
been. The desk in the middle of the room was tightly organized; no
paper out of it’s place, no debris of eating or drinking. The walls
were lined with perfectly square frames. Some were pictures of
family: two bored-looking, physically attractive children and a
knockout of a raven-haired wife. Others were pictures of staff from
days gone by: Christmas parties, summer picnics, important staff
meetings. Richard was in more than a few of these, smiling and
silently glad-handing for all that it was worth. Yet more were
certificates and awards, for sales volume and community service.
Stepping in and seeing it, Richard felt almost normal. At least,
until he saw Mohammed.
    He was as pale
as his South Asian skin would permit, with blood-flecked lips and
those tell-tale crimson eyes. They looked as though someone had
taken his rich, expressive dark eyes and filled them to the brim
with blood. His hands lay palm-down on the surface of his desk, as
pale as his face but (as far as Richard could tell) unshaken.
Mohammed looked at him steadily, his bloodied eyes unwavering.
Richard felt awkward under that gaze, and felt a pang for days gone
past. Before this sickness, this Emergency, such a steady, silent
stare would have indicated that the recipient of the stare was in
some fairly serious trouble. Richard himself had been on the
receiving end of that stare a couple of times before, and even
under these radically different circumstances he felt as though he
were a child of ten again, called to task for breaking something
important.
    “ Richard,” Mohammed spoke. “I trust that