Juicy! — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

 

Here are Week 105 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

Mom comes over and says “Who are you talking to?” “Arkaby called and his phone started talking to us.” “The phone?” “Yes.” “Give it to me.”

“Who is this? Huh? Just a minute.” She touches the screen several times. “Now who is this?” She hands the phone back. “It’s Arkaby for you.”

Arkaby says “Hello phone?” “It’s me.” “Why isn’t the phone talking anymore?” “I don’t know. Mom, what did you do?” “I turned it off.” “Ah.”

How can I be sure the phone assistant is really off? It could be playing dumb, lurking and taking in everything I say. I could get paranoid.

“Arkaby, how can we be sure the phone agent is offline?” “We can’t. Come get me.” “But if it’s eavesdropping?” “I don’t care. Come get me.”

“How are you calling a second time?” “A borrowed quarter. Does it matter? I spent the night in jail. I’ve been before a judge. Come get me.”

“Deposit 25 cents to continue.” “Ah!” “Is that the cellphone assistant?” “That was the pay phone operator. Quick! Come get me. Bring pants!”

“What happened to your pants?” “It’s a long story. Bring something.” “I’m on my way.” Arkaby hangs up. I say “Are you still there?” Silence.

I grab a pair of pants, kiss Mom goodbye and I’m off. Pulling out of the driveway, I knock over our mailbox. I shouldn’t tweet and drive.

At the City Lockup I find a near-naked Arkaby, cooling his heels (and probably the rest of his body), in a grungy looking holding cell.

The Desk clerk is busy with paperwork. I say to the Desk Clerk. “How much for bail?”The clerk says “No bail.” “You mean he can’t get out?”

“The Judge released him without bail.” He nods toward Arkaby’s cell. “He won’t leave the way he is.” “You mean in his undies?” “Yeah.”

He spots my bundle. “Oh good you brought clothing. Maybe we can spring him now.” “Why did you strip him?” “We didn’t. I’ll let him tell it.”

He presses a button to unlock Arkaby’s cell. “Go ahead, it’s open..” he says “I can’t leave this desk.” I walk up to the cell. “Hey Arkaby!”

He looks awful. Purplish bruises shine from one cheek. His hair is disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. He wears nothing but a tank T and boxers

He gets to his feet. “Hey Regi! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” I give him a quick hug. “You’re a mess. What happened?” “I’ve been in jail.”

Arkaby shivers. “You’re freezing. Put these on.” He holds the pants up and reads the back. “You brought me sweatpants that say ‘Juicy’?”

“That’s OK. They’ve never been worn.” “That’s not what I’m worried about.” Nonetheless, he puts the pants on. I say “Juicy!” “Not funny.”

Arkaby retrieves his belongings and we leave the Detention Complex. Rixey meets us on the steps outside. He hands Arkaby a set of papers.

“What’s this?” Rixey smirks and then puts on a serious face. “Your termination papers. See you in court, Juicy.” I say “You can’t do this!”

Arkaby says “I’ll handle this. Rixey, you can’t terminate me while my case is pending.” “I can and do. You’re already under suspension.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

A Little Synthetic Skin and No One Will Know! — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 104 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

I wake in the dark. What time is it? Arkaby’s phone says 8:10. To my horror I realize I’ve tweeted in my sleep. I’ve been dream-tweeting.

I fell asleep! Why didn’t anyone come wake me up? Arkaby beside me says “Maybe they thought you needed the rest.” “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not here. You’re still dreaming. I’m waiting for you to bail me out.” “Am I also dreaming I’m tweeting in my sleep?” “No. That’s real.”

“How can I tweet if I’m asleep?” “You’ve invented a way of communicating using social media and theta waves: Dreeting. Or perhaps Tweaming.”

“I don’t WANT to be Tweaming!” “You promised to tweet for me!” Arkaby begins to fade. “NOT while I’m asleep!” “Remember me!” He disappears.

I open my eyes. Am I awake? Arkaby’s phone is in my hand. I say “Seriously?” The phone says “I didn’t catch that.” Great. I’m still asleep.

The phone says “I didn’t catch that. You can ask me to…” The screen displays a list of commands. I say “How did I tweet in my sleep?”

The phone says “I found these sites on sleeping and tweeting…” and then lists a number of web sites. “I don’t want to know how, but why.”

The phone says “OK I found this on the web for ‘Why do people sleep while they tweet’:” Another list of sites. “Never mind.” “Right, then.”

I argued with a cell phone about sleep-tweeting. I can’t sink any lower. The phone says “Lower than tweeting about sinking so low?” “Huh?”

“Hello?” Arkaby’s phone teased me for tweeting. I didn’t know iOS 8 did that. This is the first time I’ve been disparaged by an appliance.

Worse still, it’s following my tweets. The phone says “I’m not sure what you said.” That’s it. I’m leaving the phone outside while I shower.

I’m back. I showered, changed into more presentable clothing and am eating, not a turkey club but a mushroom and cheese omelet. Thanks Mom!

I’m just finishing my coffee when Arkaby’s phone rings. After my recent experience with the phone talking to me I hesitate before answering.

A pause while I type this tweet. The phone keeps ringing. I answer. “Hello?” “Regi?” “Arkaby! Hi! How are you? How are you calling me?”

“On a phone. What took so long to pick up?” “Your phone’s acting weird.” “How so?” “It’s been talking to me.” “Oh. That’s the OS assistant.”

“No. Weirder than that. It’s actually talking.” “Yes. It does that.” The phone says “I’m also a good listener.” Arkaby and I both say “Huh?”

A good listener? Has the phone become sentient? Arkaby says “Who just said that?” I say “Your cell phone. Like I said, something’s weird.”

There’s a long silence. I say “Is either of you still there?” Arkaby and the phone both say “Still here. Just thinking. What? Who is that?”

Arkaby says “Was that my cellphone speaking?” “That’s what I was trying to tell you!” “Is it related to the malfunctioning IVR epidemic?”

A thought occurs to me. “Arkaby, I thought you only get one call in jail. How are you calling me twice?” The phone says “Yes. Explain that!”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

When is a Safe Room Not a Safe Room? — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 103 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

“H’s plnclths cp wth sprrty cmplx.” “A sporty complex?” “Nt sprty sprrty.” “I really hate you right now Uncle B.” “He saying ‘superiority’.”

I decide to ignore B for the moment. “Mom, how did Stuart Granger die?” “H ws xprmntng t fnd nw wys t stck hs hd p hs ss.” Still ignoring B.

B frowns. “V lrnd my lssn. Spk nly whn spkn t.” “Hold that thought. Mom, why didn’t you tell me about brother Stuart?” “It never came up.”

“It never came up that I have an identical triplet uncle, who may be my actual father?” “But probably, he’s not.” “What else never came up?”

B says “Hw mch tm hv y gt?” “Anyway, if Stuart is dead I am the last Granger.” “Xcpt fr yr brthr.” “What? I have a brother?” “Jst kddng.”

Mom says “Not at all funny B. Bunny, there is no brother.” “Are you sure?” “YES! You should rest.” “I can’t. I have to go bail Arkaby out.”

“At least change out of those bloody scrubs.” “I intend to. That’s why I’m here.” “I’ll whip up some food, you come down when you’re ready.”

I go to my room and strip off the scrubs, favoring my injured arm. My bed looks inviting, but I have things to do. I sit to remove my jeans.

While undressing I make a mental list. First thing is to shower. How do I protect my arm? Then a quick meal, get dressed and rescue Arkaby.

I could wrap my arm in cellophane or get one of those hospital sleeves. I could hold it outside the shower. Can I shower one-handed? Maybe.

If Mom brings me a sandwich I can wrap it in cellophane too. I wonder if she has turkey? I could really go for a turkey club. And a shower.

A turkey club would make a terrible weapon. I’d rather have a baseball bat or crowbar. What kinds of drinks do they serve at a crow bar?

That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never been a crow drinking at a turkey club, but I’m suddenly ravenous. A dim light glows before me.

I am in Farley’s safe room. The air crackles with electricity. Farley stands in front of me, his arms spread wide as a vortex envelopes him.

I shout “Uncle Farley! What’s happening to you?” He says “I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you later.” “Wait!” He dissolves before my eyes.

In his place stands my father in orange prison garb. He says “Orange you glad I didn’t say banana?” “I don’t understand.” “You’re dreaming.”

“Impossible. I’m not asleep, I never dream and you just said ‘banana’.” “Look around. What do you see?” I look around Farley’s Safe Room.

The room is completely empty, like it was before Farley was sprayed across its walls and floor.  Ah! Empty, with nothing of survival value!

No food or water, no books or electronic equipment, no bedding, nothing to support someone seeking refuge for an unspecified period of time.

This room isn’t safe at all! I lose my balance as the walls shift. “Dad! What’s happening?” “The whole room isn’t spinning!” “I know that!”

Dad lifts his arms, just like Farley and begins to fade. “Wait! What’s it all about?” “This room is the figure. Look for the ground.” “Huh?”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

We Do Everything Alike! — Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 102 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

“Triplets. Identical outside. Couldn’t be more different inside.” “Triplets are the same inside and out.” “I’m speaking metaphorically.”

“Of course they were the same inside, at least until Willum started fiddling with his DNA. I sometimes had trouble telling them apart.”

“Even though Dad had a mustache and Farley didn’t?” “Willum didn’t always sport that mustache. When I first met him he was clean shaven.”

Mom covers her face. “Regi, I’m sorry.” “Why?” “I don’t know which one is your father.” “What?” “Sh dsn’t knw whch s yr fthr.” “I got that.”

Mom takes my hand. “Any of the three could have been the one.” “It doesn’t matter. Their DNA was all the same. Willum Granger is my father.”

“Willum WAS your father. He became something else even before he was killed. Farley may be a family black sheep, but he’s all we have left.”

“Frly’s dd.” “What?” “FRLY’S DD!” “WHAT?” “Mom, Farley’s been murdered.” “When?” “Just now. They arrested Arkaby.” “The detective?” “Yes.”

“Why would Arkaby the detective want to kill Farley?” “He didn’t. I mean, he did, but he didn’t.” “Did he or didn’t he?” “Yes, he didn’t.”

B sits beside Mom. “Nw MY hd s swmmng.” “How did it happen?” “Farley went into his Safe Room and he never came out.” “Where did he go?”

“Nowhere. He was vaporized. We don’t know how.” “If you had gone into that Safe Room with him, you’d be dead too.” “I didn’t think of that.”

“Was Farley the actual target?” “Sure. It can’t have been Arkaby. He was just an innocent by-tweeter.” “Maybe you were the intended victim.”

“Me? Why would anyone want to kill me?” “After Farley, you are the last Granger.” “You just told me there’s another. What about Stuart?”

“Stuart is long gone.” “Are you sure? Arkaby claimed someone resembling Dad started this whole thing. He called him Dad’s doppelgänger.”

“That’s impossible! Stuart Granger was killed years ago in a bizarre accident.” “W dnt knw fr sr. Thy nvr fnd hs bdy.” “What do you mean?”

“W fnd hs hd bt hs bdy ws nvr fnd.” “SPEAK ENGLISH!” “What B said is we found his head, but not the rest of his body.” “He was decapitated?”

“We think so.” “What was he doing when he lost his head?” “H ws lkng fr nw wys t stck hs hd p hs ss.” “B!” “I take it you didn’t get along.”

“We were very young. If he were alive today I’d see him differently.” “M nt s fckng sre. Strt ws th typ f dck wh wntd t wtch th wrld brn.”

“Mom, did you understand any of that?” “Yes. B isn’t sure Stuart would be any different today.” “And you’re sure he’s dead?” “Positive.”

For a moment we are quiet. Then Mom says “Why do they think that detective did it?” “There’s bad blood between him and his supervisor.”

“Not surprising. I found his methods odd. “Also, he tweeted his fight with Farley just after he shot me.” “He accused himself?” “Kind of.”

“Why would he tweet self-incriminating information?” “Above all, Arkaby is a man of honor, a common man who travels mean streets.” “Bllsht.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)