The Very Last Days of Mr Grey by Jack Worr Read Free Book Online Page A

car, felt a sharp pain, pushed anyway.
    Nothing.
    He looked again at his car. The passenger’s side—the side he’d been hit on—it was facing him, and yet, he didn’t see any evidence of damage. It was completely smooth, completely undamaged.
    He told the police this, sitting there on the stretcher he didn’t quite remember getting on. Told them that the man who’d hit him must have run off. It was a big truck, he said.
    The two officers interviewing him exchanged glances, put away their notepads. One nodded at the paramedic to take him away.
    Mason wanted to say he was fine, that he didn’t need to go to the hospital, but he’d tried that, and they just nodded and told him how great he was doing, asked him again where his wallet was—in his car—and what his name and driver license number were.
    He saw the girl who had saved him as the doors to the ambulance shut. She looked up, in his direction, but not at him. At something past him, slightly above. And her mouth fell open.
    “This will help you relax,” a voice said.
    Mason turned to address this voice, and as he did he got the suspicion that the cause of this relaxation had already been committed to his bloodstream. Before his gaze had the chance to transfer from the opened-mouthed woman to the paramedic, his eyelids interrupted his view and his mind took him away.

16
    “Really high blood levels of…”
    “…shouldn’t be with that dose.”
    “Interesting reaction still…”
    “…and in any case…”
    Mason felt like he should be in pain. His bed was more comfortable than he was used to.
    “Nothing major, mind you. Trails, lights, elementary auditory, tinnitus—things like that.”
    “So nothing like thinking someone was coming at you then?”
    Mason let his head roll in the direction of the voices.
    Outside the door to his room, three people were talking. One looked like a cop.
    One of the ones in the white coats shook his head. “I suppose lights might be mistaken for that…” Mason recognized the man. It was the doctor who had given him that drug. Asshole! Mason tried to call out to him, but the only thing that happened was his right arm fell off the bed.
    “Who makes it?”
    “I can’t recall. Why?”
    The other person in a white coat, a woman, shook her head. “Whoever it is, they’re gonna have a hell of a lawsuit on their hands.”
    There was laughing. The cop looked at the woman as he laughed.
    The laughter faded to nothing, and once more Mason Grey was pulled into dreams.

17
Then - 18 years old

    It is summer. The summer before college, the summer of missed opportunities. The summer of almost hads and could have beens.
    Mason packs his room, leaving his childhood behind. The sky is dark outside, and waves fill the sky.
    It begins to rain, and Mason is a red figure crawling upside down on a net made of electricity.
    He sees himself in a suit, in a town square that is a movie set, because Mason never lived in what looks to be 18th century New York.
    They drive along the road, Mason’s mom and dad talking as Mason and his sister sit in the back, engrossed in their own things. His sister draws something which will only later interest him.
    He listens to the Strokes ask Is This It through too loud headphones as a very tall man in a costume perches on the hood of their car. His purple fur blows about, and Mason laughs.
    The thing’s flat face creases into something. Its eyes are lines. Mason screams.
    At the airport, his mom cries openly. His dad uses his hands to prevent any leakage of his own. They hug, and then Mason boards the plane. The flight attendant smiles. “Just in time.”
    Mason smiles too. His life is good. He’s young, has five hundred dollars—cash—and is on his own.
    He takes his seat, the pilot announces they are finally leaving, and Mason doesn’t have the self-awareness to feel embarrassed until much later.
    He looks out the plane’s window, at the terminal’s window. His parents are waving at him.
    He