Chapter 2

The security guards let me go, their job done. They looked at me with a mix of pity and professional indifference before retreating to their posts. The party guests, sensing the disaster, started making quiet excuses and leaving in droves.

A sudden Texas thunderstorm broke, the sky turning a bruised purple-gray. Rain lashed down, ruining the white linen tablecloths and soaking the expensive floral arrangements. I stood alone amidst the wreckage of the party, the wreckage of the last five years of my life.

The Program's voice was gone, replaced by a silent countdown timer in the corner of my vision. 2:59:47.

And then, a new window opened in my mind's eye. A live feed.

It showed a hospital room. Jocelyn was there, at Matthew Clark's bedside. She was holding a wet cloth, gently dabbing his forehead. Her movements were tender, her expression filled with a soft concern I had never, not once, seen directed at me. She leaned in and whispered something to him, her hand stroking his hair.

I watched for what felt like an eternity. I watched her peel an orange for him, her fingers careful and precise. I remembered asking her for an orange once when I had the flu, and she had just thrown the whole fruit at my head, telling me to not be so useless.

The countdown ticked away. 1:45:12. 0:30:05. 0:00:03.

As the numbers hit zero, a wave of white noise flooded my brain. The images, the sounds, the feelings of the last five years-her laugh, her cruelty, the scent of her perfume, the pain, the desperate, stupid love-it all dissolved into nothing.

The world tilted. I saw the muddy ground rushing up to meet me, and then, only darkness.