Playing With My Toys

My friend Jason is sitting down across from me. There are no chairs allowed in my new home. Too dangerous, they say. Instead, we sit on the floor. It would normally be lonely and uncomfortable, but not today. Today, it is perfectly fine. Because today, my friend is here to visit. Not the warped friend, but free and clear in his own mind. It wouldn’t be a fun conversation, otherwise. When his cruel mistress visited before, I thought I’d never see my friend again. But here he is, old face and all. And, for an added bonus, he still does not wish to kill me. What fun this will be.

“So, how has your time here been?” he asks me, once more.

I reply to my friend with a thin smile. He’s curious. Something’s wrong. “Much like your last few years, I suspect. Utterly boring.”

“But you found ways to have fun, didn’t you?” he presses. Something is happening out there. That’s not good. Is someone else playing with one of my toys?

“They don’t let me play here. No toys around. Did you bring a game, I wonder? Some toys to play with?”

He shakes his head. “Not this time. And that’s not what I meant. You know it. Are you trying to say you didn’t have any fun this whole time?”

I shrugged. “Only in sleep. And the occasional visitor.”

“Visitors?” Jason asks, his head tilting as he thinks.

“You, of course. Your overseer once. Some of your friends. But it wasn’t as fun as it should’ve been. It’s hard to think right, sometimes. Hard to play with my toys. You understand that, though.”

He untilts his head. “My overseer?” he wonders aloud. Interesting. He takes no offense to the latter half of my statement. Perhaps he understands. Or he’s focused on something. But what could it be? Either way, an intriguing development.

“Your new jailor,” I tell my friend. He must find his own way to the truth. Otherwise he will never be free of his prison.

“You confuse our situations,” he insists. So he has focus. “Did you talk to the visitors much?”

“As much as I talk to you,” I posit. A slight smile creeps across my face. “Why do you ask, I wonder.”

“No, you don’t,” he insists. Quite strange indeed. Did he find some of my old stuff, maybe? Something is bothering him. Something I did. Very interesting. I wish I could think right. Then I could play with him properly. “How much did you tell your visitors?”

“Did something happen, Jason? Something you’re not telling me?” I ask my smile still there. I remember smiles are an important part of looking like you know everything. For figuring out what everything is.

“Why don’t you talk to me about those conversations, Olivia,” he requests.

“Even the ones that were with you?”

“Not those,” Jason says, too quickly. Something isn’t quite right there. “The ones I don’t know already.”

“Why not? Don’t you think they might be important?” I press him, curious about the lack of pause.

“I don’t have time for this. Which of my friends did you meet with?” he presses right back. So focused. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to admit how much fun playing with the toys is. I wonder sometimes, am I a toy in his game, or is he one in mine? Perhaps we are both toys in some other game.

“After you told them about me? A few of them came by. Once. To make sure it was true. To make sure you were truthful. Our friends don’t trust you, do they?”

“More than they do you,” he counters. Then, he continues, “What did you tell them?”

I smile my thin, knowing smile. “Little. They were not interested in talking, and I was in no mindset to play with them.” Then, I add, “But you took care of my toys while I was away, didn’t you?”

“What? No. Why would you think that? Why would I do that?” he quickly said. I hit a nerve. The biggest nerve my friend has. The truth.

“Why else would they imprison you like you did me?” I posit.

Jason again objects. “They didn’t. I retired.”

I smile and nod. “Of course you did. I forgot. Gods retire all the time. Perfectly natural.”

“Unlike you, I know when I’m going too far. When I make mistakes.”

I nod for my friend once again. “I’m certain you do. Because one who is omniscient and omnipotent can make mistakes, right?”

I can see it in his cold, mechanical eyes. He wants to know more. If he asks, I might even oblige him. But he doesn’t ask. His mind takes too long to warm up sometimes. Then, as though to silence him, the door bursts open and the little devil Angelica does walk in, with her monstrously absent face. “Who the hell is Quincy Wyman?” she spits spitefully, succeeding solely in stopping Jason’s satisfaction.

I recognize the name. It isn’t a friend. Why is the monster asking about the nurse? Curious. “You did bring a toy,” I tell Jason, “Though not one I much care for.”

Jason ignores my comment and looks back at the evil he created. “That wasn’t the ten minutes we agreed on,” he informs the little imp.

“I asked a damned question,” she says, “And I expect an answer.”

“Why does Mister Wyman hold such significance for you, I wonder?” I muse.

Jason continues to look at his now rabid former pet. “I was trying to work her, to figure out how she’s running the game,” he hisses at her, “And now you’ve ruined our trust.”

The young woman doesn’t even look at him. “She isn’t, though. Are you?” she asks me.

“I’m not what?” I ask right back.

“You have no idea why we’re here.” I can hear the smugness in her voice. The superior feeling the imp gets when she stumbles across a correct answer by pure luck.

“Wait,” Jason looks back at me. “You don’t?”

“I don’t what?” I repeat the general theme of my last answer.

The monster chuckles at me. “Our ‘omniscient’ ‘god’ here is struggling with being incorrect. I don’t think he thought of the possibility that you’re being used, too.”

“And you did?” I asked the imp. If so, she had a higher opinion of me than I thought.

She shrugs at that question. “No, but I know that I’m not always right. The old man has refused to learn that fact.” She is quite rude, especially for a nobody. That’s no way to treat a friend.

“So I ask again,” I repeat to the imp and my friend, “Why is Mister Wyman significant to your ward?” Nobody throws a knife at my shoulder. I try to catch it, like I used to, but everything is just a little too sluggish. I manage only to grab the handle after the blade impacts. Pain shoots through my arm. “That is quite rude,” I inform the imp as I remove the blade.

Jason for his part agrees with me. At least about the question. “Who is Wyman?” he asks Angelica.

I carefully slide the blade into my sleeve. The imp answers my friend’s question. “Staff here. Visited her a bunch. Also behind this.”

“Wyman is a fool,” I inform the pair, “He thinks himself smart, but he had trouble grasping the simplest aspects of most games. It took me hours to talk to him about anything.”

“Wait,” Jason says, looking between me and his pet, “What are you saying?” His eyes fall on Angelica.

“What am I missing?” I ask the pair.

Angelica takes the moment to gloat. Her absent face tilts ever so slightly in unwarranted superiority. Like she has something to feel superior about. “You don’t know?” the imp asks back, dripping in unearned smugness. “Wyman’s running the game now.”

I can’t help but chuckle. That’s a ridiculous thought. That simpleton couldn’t comprehend the game, much less run it. Jason asks the key question for me. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, after I learned she wasn’t,” the imp begins with a gesture towards me, “I looked in the logs. None of the non-staff made sense or visited frequently enough. Of the staff who visited, only one was absent at the right times to both hire Luis for the job and to pay him for it. Your ‘fool’, Wyman.”

I cock my head in her general direction. “I wonder, whatever did you do to irritate him so?”

“Based on how he’s treating our least favorite divinity over here? My money’s on beating both of you.”

“You didn’t beat me,” Jason responds to the accusation far too quickly. So she did beat him. And it’s a sore spot for my friend’s ego. Interesting.

“And only together, and with help, did either of you outplay myself,” I remind the pair. In my current state, I’m unsure whether I could outplay my friend, but I certainly could the imp.

There’s a slight pause, then Jason speaks. “Anyways, our friends are scared. Say he’s better than you,” he tells me. At my incredulous look, he adds, “Cross my heart,” along with the corresponding gesture.

“Well, that’s simply untrue,” I say, half under my breath.

Angelica shakes her empty head. “She doesn’t know a damned thing. Let’s head out.”

Jason starts to stand. “Thanks for the conversation,” he says to me.

I smile. “I wouldn’t be so hasty to leave,” I tell him. “You might end up missing a step or two.”

I can see in his mechanical eyes that he understands what I am suggesting. We both know, if the fool Quincy was able to play me, if he was able to figure out everything I know, even together, the god and his pet will be unable to find him. They were barely able to find me with help in both of their primes, and neither are there anymore. The imp will disagree with this course of action, of course, but that’s simply because she doesn’t understand. She’s a tool, not a friend. A friend would know, I will not abide another playing with my toys. Especially not if my toys think they’re better at it. Better for them. They need to be reminded. There is only me, above all others.

Now is time for waiting. The pair leave, upset about something. Likely that they, once again, were outthought. That must be a regular occurrence, though, so their level of anger seems unwarranted. Five minutes later, one of my jailors comes in, carrying my prison anew. This time, I am not going to let myself be caught. The imp has her uses, I suppose.

I use my bedsheet to make sure none of the blood gets on the staff outfit. Wouldn’t serve my purposes if any did. Lying the resting man down on my bed, wrapped only in my somewhat reddened bedsheet, I get dressed in the outfit of my new enemy and walk out the door of my room. To beat a foe, you must know your foe. Love your foe. Be your foe. That is what my divine friend lacks understanding of. He believes you can win a war without changing your own mind. I know better. Rather than meet up with them immediately, I head into the hospital. To learn. So that I might better match my style of play to my new foe. So I may learn whether I’ve truly found another new friend, or simply a pretender.

I enter the office, and none are about the room. It is their daily rounds. I find Quincy’s desk. It’s empty. Cleared out. He is afraid. Unworthy of fear. Fascinating. But he is careful, too. Not a trace of him, other than his name, is on or in or around the desk. He is through in his fear. He does not allow his fear to override his precision. Or perhaps, his fear is all encompassing. Rather than precision elimination of existence, it was simply a mass elimination. They are both possible. But what is clear is his fear. Fortunately, I care little about the information gained by investigating a tainted source, and any who play the game will taint their own life. I will find my information on him not from his stuff, but from his coworkers’. And, perhaps once this is over, I will be able to think right, once again.