Chapter Whatever: The Price is Wrong 

Chapter Whatever: The Price is Wrong

Ansel rubbed his eyes.
This had the startling result of making that orange/black effect referred to in the opening pages. It also had the what-was-now-becoming-less-startling-but-more-annoying effect of changing the scene.
Ansel appeared to be in a KMart. At least that's what the greeter, a beautiful hispanic woman with a pierced nose, was welcoming him to, with a beautific smile and a flyer thrusting from her hand. "Welcome to KMart! Computers on sale today! Blue light special!" Ansel was getting dizzy from all this. He started to close his eyes for a deep breath,then thought better of it. "Don't I know you?" he said to the woman, who looked suspiciously like Flo. She winked and said "Only 12 minutes left on the Blue Light! Don't delay!"

Ansel took the Calming Breath and headed for Electronics.

The very first laptop was glowing the same spooky orange black. It blinked at him as he passed, a startled electronic lizard.

PASSWORD PLEASE.

Ansel leaned forward, and tentatively tapped a key, as if
it might explode.

TRY HARDER!!! the screen flamed.

Ansel typed WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? the screen went dim. A bored salesboy in a blue polyester vest glaced at him, then went back to his half-hidden issue of Sports Illustrated, Swimsuit Edition. Ansel thought.

He typed.

www.verything.com

NOW YOU'RE TALKING! the screen read, in a font that could best be described as Times New Psychotic.

It flickered. A picture of Ansel, pre-chemo, faded in, dissolved. A picture of Flo, post ankle-wrapping, faded in.
Ansel again, at least it seemed to be Ansel, in his twenties maybe, drinking coffee and staring off at nothing. Fade out. Ansel again, maybe 18, in the mountains somewhere, laughing. Flo pouring water on his head.

The screen went black.

Then: a phone number.

Ansel was reeling.

I THINK YOU BETTER WRITE IT DOWN, flashed the screen. The number came up again. Ansel felt in his pajamas for a pen. There was none, of course. LOOK TO YOUR LEFT. A pencil lay next to the keyboard. Ansel looked around. Even the bored clerk had moved on. He picked up the pencil, wrote the number down. The screen dissolved to black. Ansel hit the keyboard. Nothing.

I think, thought Ansel, I had better find a phone.

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