I never leave anything on the nightstand. Ever. So when I reached for my glasses that morning, I was surprised by the piece of paper underneath them. A pamphlet for CyLife. Mandi, I thought. I put the pamphlet down again. I didn’t want to think about it.
It was my normal waking hour. 5:15 am, even without the alarm. Routine took over. Feed the cat. Shower, shave. Suit and tie. A breakfast of egg whites, fruit and low-fat cottage cheese. Then I remembered I wasn’t supposed to go to work that day.
Uncertainty crept in, and I returned to the pamphlet on my nightstand. Smiling, happy families. Survivors, supposedly. People who had benefited from CyLife’s “revolutionary techniques.” I wondered how many of them were actors. Maybe all of them. Charles had told me the procedure was experimental, but he wouldn’t tell me how many patients had survived the operation. That meant not many.
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