“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)