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It was just a piece of junk e-mail, but Caspar read it avidly. Medical degree, instant, no study required, yours for only $19.95 plus shipping. It was like a dream come true.
Twenty-four hours and $245.95 later (those shipping charges can really sting you, huh?) Caspar was the proud owner of a medical degree, a gray piece of recycled whalehide, plasticized in the traditional manner. He had it framed the very same day ($34.76) and hung it on his bedroom wall, next to his whip collection, where nobody would ever see it. He'd figure out, later, exactly what to do with the degree. It was (in some way he was sure of this) the key to the future. But, meantime, he had his busy life to live. His sister's wedding, her third, was scheduled for the next day. "And, Caspar," said sister Melanie, seeing him come through the door. "What would you recommend?" "Recommend?" said Caspar, in confusion. "Yes," said Melanie. "Castration or a vasectomy? You're the doctor, after all." "I'm no such thing," said Caspar, out of a simple sense of self-preservation. "Of course you are," said Melanie, with a broad smile. "Let me introduce you to everyone. Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention! This is my brother Caspar, the doctor in the family!" That was when Caspar knew that his sister had never really forgiven him for the bucket of paint incident. "Personally," said Melanie, holding her fiance's hand firmly, to prevent him from escaping, "I'm recommending that Georgie here should get castrated. So final, don't you think? You do agree, Caspar, don't you?" "I think a new haircut should be sufficient," said Caspar. It didn't make sense, but he had to say something, and, on saying it, he fled. Melanie was a witch, an out-and-out witch. She knew stuff. There was no way to hide things from her. But, once out in the big wide world, Caspar was safely anonymous. He wandered down to the river, his favorite place. He liked to go there to watch the chemical scum drift past, big banks of it, sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes an oily kind of pink which made him think of evisceration. "Hey, doc," said someone. It was Hugly, as ugly as Caspar remembered him from those horror days way back when, back in high school. "What do you want?" said Caspar. They were adults now, right? Hugly couldn't treat him as if he was a bit of secondhand road kill. Not in the adult world. Could he? "Got a problem," said Hugly. "Mule got a bullet hole in her. Need to get the stuff out. Want her alive, if possible. She's still got some talking to do." Mule? Stuff? Caspar tried to pretend that he didn't understand. But a vision was forming in his head. Packages wrapped in latex, swallowed. A woman, very young, her forehead wet with the thick cold sweat of shock. Her skin soft, like tallow. She would die, she would die, whatever knife they used on her, whatever they came up with in the way of assisting technology, she would die, there was no way he could save her. "You got no choice," said Hugly, watching him. "You've been chosen, Caspar. You should feel flattered. Tell you what, she survives, I'll give her to you. After she's finished talking, that is. Follow me, Caspar." There were square-shouldered shadows waiting up the river, down the river. Hugly never traveled alone. Caspar was surrounded, trapped, no way out. So he followed Hugly, marching as bravely as he could to whatever his fate was going to be. |
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