The Heart Goes Last by Margaret Atwood Read Free Book Online

“Don’t go out there, Stan, he might …”
    “I can handle it,” says Stan. “He’s my brother , for fuck’s sake!”
    “Don’t leave me alone in here!” she says fearfully. “It’s too scary! Wait, I’ll come with you!” Is this an act, to keep him tethered so Con can’t spirit him away to a den of vice?
    “You stay in bed, honey. I’ll be right out outside,” he says with what he hopes is gentle reassurance. Muffled sniffling from the bed. Trust Con to turn up and mess with everyone’s head.
    Stan slides himself out the door. “What?” he says as irritably as he can manage.
    “Don’t sign into that thing,” says Conor. He’s close to whispering. “Trust me on it. You don’t want to.”
    “How’d you know where to find me?” says Stan.
    “What’s a phone for? I gave it to you! So I traced it, dum-dum. I tracked you on that bus, all the way here. Lesson one, don’t take phones from strangers,” says Conor, grinning.
    “You’re not a fucking stranger,” says Stan.
    “Right. So, I’m telling you straight up. Don’t trust that package, no matter what they tell you.”
    “Why not?” says Stan. “What’s wrong with it?”
    “What’s wrong with it is, unless you’re top management, you can’t get out. Except in a box, feet first,” says Conor. “I’m just looking out for you, is all.”
    “What’re you trying to tell me?”
    “You don’t know what goes on in there,” says Con.
    “Meaning what? Meaning you do?”
    “I’ve heard stuff,” says Conor. “It’s not for you. Nice guys finish last. Or else they get finished. You’re too soft.”
    Stan juts out his chin. That would have been the signal for a scuffle, once upon a time. “You’re fucking paranoid,” he says.
    “Yeah, right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” says Con. “Do yourself a favour, stay outside. Listen, you’re family. I’ll help you out, the same as you helped me. You need a job, some cash, a favour, you know where I am. You’re always welcome. And the little lady, bring her along too,” Con grins. “There’s a place for her, any time.”
    So that’s it. Con has his poacher’s eye on Charmaine. No fucking way in hell is Stan falling for that one. “Thanks, buddy,” he says. “I appreciate it. I’ll think about it.”
    “Like shit,” says Conor, but he smiles cheerfully, and the two of them do the back pat.
    “Stan?” comes the anxious voice of Charmaine from inside their room.
    “Go comfort the little wifey,” says Conor, and Stan knows what he’s thinking: pussy-whipped .
    He watches Con walking away, with his two bodyguards; they get into a long black car, which slides off into the night, silent as a submarine. Most likely the same car he saw at the trailer park. Guys like Con who score some money always want cars like that.
    Not that Stan would mind having such a car himself.
Twin City
    The next morning they take the final step. Stan barely even read the terms and conditions, because Charmaine is so eager to get in. After all, they’ve been chosen, she says, and so many have been rejected. She smiles mistily at Stan as he signs his name on the form. “Oh, thank you,” she says. “I feel so safe.”
    Then the workshops begin in earnest; or, as one of the leaders quips, they’ve had the shop, now they’re getting the work. They are about to learn so many astounding new things, and it will require their full concentration. Men’s workshops over here, ladies over there, because there will be different challenges and duties and expectations for each, and besides, they’ll be separated for a month at a time when they’re in the prison part of this project – a feature that will be explained more fully to them shortly – so they might as well start getting used to it, their first workshop leader says with a chuckle. Anyway, abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, as he is sure they know from experience. Another chuckle.
    Be a loner, get a boner, thinks Stan. A rhyme of