Carl reached out their little hand to me, and despite myself, I took it. “I would never and could never use a human body to do something against its mind’s will. It is outside of my programming.”

“I don’t know if I needed to know all this,” I said.

“That’s why I didn’t bring it up. Patients are often upset hearing what doctors have to do to them while they are unconscious.”

Maya shot me a look, then crossed her arms. I think she wanted me to be more pissed off at Carl.

We traveled for a long time, the humming of the road indicating that we were now on an interstate. Then, after what might have been hours, Carl uncurled himself, stretched, and said, “It’s time for me to show you what’s in the crate.”

Over 50% of Luxury Apartments Now On the Market

The New York Times

The massive boom in construction of luxury apartments in the early 2010s was intended to capitalize on the billionaire class’s seemingly insatiable appetite for the high-rise lifestyle. But now, that growth is looking more and more like a bubble.

“Many of these apartments were purchased not as places to live, but as investment assets,” said Margot Laurent, senior economist at the New York Real Estate Board. “As the economy has eroded, illiquid assets like apartments have been less desirable, which has left many apartments not just vacant, but perpetually for sale.”

ANDY

“There’s a package in here for you,” Jason called. I mean, he probably did. I didn’t hear him. I was in the Open Access Altus Space building a tree so that I could put it into Breezy Spring Day. So far, I’d been able to hold on to my place in the top ten since launching, but that was only because I was working on building and marketing items like sixteen hours per day.

I felt the muted thudding of Jason smacking my chest and sighed.

“Exit,” I said, and I pulled off the headset.

“You have mail,” he said, throwing a padded envelope at me. “Also, you look like shit.” He flipped the light switch on the wall.

That was definitely true. I also had been outside for roughly the same amount of time I’d spent showering in the last three days, which is to say not at all.

“Thanks, you look cute,” I said, blinking in the light. He walked out of my room, knowing I was probably going to go right back into the Space.

Except I didn’t, because inside the envelope was a new volume of The Book of Good Times.

It told me I needed to clean myself up because I would need to be prepared tomorrow morning to complete a series of increasingly bizarre tasks. It knew I was busy, it said, but it promised this would be worth it.

Next thing I knew, it was 9 a.m., and I was standing in a $15M vacant apartment that was, apparently, owned by my good friend Josh Crane, who I was helping plan a party. I had no idea who Josh Crane was, but that’s what the book told me to say at the front desk of the building and it had worked.

Once there, I unloaded the contents of my bag (a bunch of sandwiches and other food) into one of the two fridges. My anxiety hummed. This was someone’s home and I had broken in. Though the place didn’t really feel like a home. It was too perfect. Too clean.

I walked around the four-bedroom apartment, ogling the views. It was fully furnished. The dining room table probably cost more than some American homes. Josh Crane had very good taste in art, or at least very expensive taste in art, so I was treating the place like a gallery when the elevator ding sent my heart into my throat. I wanted to run away, to hide, but this was what the book had said would happen, so instead I walked back to the landing.

There were two people, a man and a woman, and they were pushing … well, a beautiful, massive birthday cake. It was four feet high, with pastel frosting. Or at least, it was made to look like frosting. I was fairly sure that it wasn’t a real cake.

It was on casters, and it rolled smoothly along the gray-stained hardwood floor.

“Um …” I said. “Do I have to sign, or …”

“No,” the woman said with a big smile. “We have to go now.” It was only then that I thought for a moment I might recognize them.

Once the elevator door was closed, with my heart thumping in my teeth, I walked forward toward the cake. Slowly, deliberately, the top of the cake hinged backward, and April May slowly uncurled to standing. My body almost stopped working. Her hair looked lank and dirty. Her skin—at least the part that definitely was skin—was pale and drawn. Her eyes, though, were bright, and she smiled like she was seeing something she needed to see.

“Ta-daaaaa,” she said apologetically.

A laugh and a sob simultaneously exploded out of me, and then I fell to my knees and put my head on the ground, not sure if I would be able to stay conscious. I heard an unfamiliar noise coming out of my mouth, just a long low groan. She was there next to me then, wrapping her arms around me. I looked up and saw April’s face—it was divided in two. My mind couldn’t make sense of it. And then Maya was there too. Had she been in the cake? And then there was a monkey, and then my vision blurred and I heard a rushing noise in my ears. I put my head down just in time to pass out.

I woke up in a very fancy bed and turned to look out the window. I was, somehow, looking down on the Clock Tower Building, a building I had looked up at probably hundreds of times. The different perspective twisted my mind in a loop. I rolled out of bed to take in the view.

I had to pee. I also had to have a whole lot of questions answered. I walked out of the bedroom and into a hallway, which led me to the kitchen and dining area, where Maya was sitting at a table.

“Maya,” I said.

She stood up and ran over to me, grabbing me tight and holding on. “What is going on?” I asked.

“A lot. I don’t know where to start.”

“Is April—”

“She’s fine,” she interrupted, saving me from finishing the sentence. “She’s … a little different, but I think anyone would be. Her new skin … it’s just that, a prosthetic, because of the fire. It covers a lot of her body.”

That made me wonder if they were back together. Had Maya seen April’s whole body? She saw me wondering that and punched me in the arm. “Jesus. No, we’re not back together. I need to hear some words I haven’t heard yet. I honestly don’t know where she is on a lot of things. There hasn’t been enough time.”

“Where is she?” I asked.

“She went to take a shower. We’ve been on the run and haven’t had a chance to get clean in a while.”

And then a weight slammed into me from behind.

“AGGGUHHH,” I said, looking down to see April’s arms, one her normal color, the other stony and white with iridescent flecks in it. I could feel the wetness of her hair on the back of my neck.

“OK!” I said when the squeeze actually started to hurt. She let go and then came around to stand in front of me. She was wearing a thick, white, too-big bathrobe. I looked down at her, and she moved in again for a more proper hug. I tucked her head under my chin, and it fit perfectly, her wet, shiny black hair interlacing with the week’s worth of stubble on my chin and neck. Under the robe, I felt the reality of her body, soft and solid. My eyes were stinging with tears.