The Replacements - Part Five

Music plays from above me as I stir awake, the morning sun filling the room and warming my bare skin as I writhe in my seat. Exhaustion grips me, my mind recoiling as I reach around for the blanket to cover my head with. A yelp escapes my lips as I smack my chest in my limp flailing, my arm squishing my rack of fat resting beneath the loose white singlet.

My eyes shoot open with a start, my whole body lurching up as the memory of my late night rendezvous snaps to the forefront of my mind. My legs shake as I stand on unsteady feet, the floor oddly warm beneath me as I find myself standing alone in the spartan apartment.

The white walls are bathed in orange light, a faint mist hovering beyond the window diffusing the sunrise in a deliciously lush fashion. Low-fi beats play softly from hidden speakers in the ceiling, the soothing tunes making the early morning almost pleasant.

"Holy..." I mutter, coughing as my soft and gentle voice comes out in a delicate whisper. The black silky hair hangs in my face in a messy tangle, the sight causing me to reach up with my delicate hands to pull knots from the strands and part it as I begin to move through the apartment with some sleep under my nonexistent belt.

Moving through the practically empty living and dining room I glance over my shoulder, spotting a sliding door by the wall that leads to a small enclosed courtyard.

A large vine-covered wooden fence wraps the small space, coming around past the glass walls to create a small lane by the side of the property. The courtyard is laid with smooth cobble stone from the apartment to the center, a small metal table with two wrought iron seats resting atop the stones.

Ferns and flowers separate the stone from the fence, native plants and lichen adding a pop of green to the gray and brown of the heavily planned and styled garden.

Walking back into the hallway I immediately turn to find myself met with the door at the end of the hall. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I nudge the door open, my gaze turning to a set of blinds that begin to open as it detects my presence.

A massive hardwood and wrought iron four poster bed rests pressed up against the right side wall of the rather bland bedroom. The walls and flooring continues as normal, the stained hardwood and stark white walls adding little beyond granting the space a more modern aesthetic.

The bed is a mess, the blankets tossed to the side and down the length of the mattress as someone had squirmed and kicked at them in the night before. My stomach sinks as I approach, the thought of how they had been made this way hanging on my mind like a anchor as I quickly straighten things out. The sheets are themselves a start starched white, mirroring the walls, while the duvet is covered in a plain black cover for contrast.

A set of large built in wardrobes sit on the opposite wall as the bed, the darkly stained wood with brass handles seeming to be handmade by some veteran carpenter. A small basket sits in the corner of the room, resting between the wardrobe and the glass wall along the back overlooking the enclosed garden, a plain blouse and small set of slacks sitting in the bottom without much in the way of stains or dirt on them.

As I finish making the bed I roll my shoulders and crack my back, stretching out my short body as I struggle with the aches wracking my shrunken form.

"Should have just slept here..." I mutter, fluffing out the pillows with a sigh as I fume at the night spent asleep in a chair.

To the right of the bed I spy a small wooden table with twisted iron legs, a large smart phone charging on the black mat resting atop the nice piece of furniture. With some great interest I snatch up the phone, unlocking it with my thumb as I begin to pace back into the hallway.

The phone is just as bare and spartan as the house itself, the background simply being a black screen to save on battery life while the home screen is bare beyond a simple stock ticker showing a barrage of watchlisted codes.

As I spin to leave I notice a small room to the right of the bed, the sliding door wide open to reveal yet another pure white room covered in tiles. The tiny en-suite matches the tiny young woman living with it, the small sink and toilet largely giving more space for the seemingly unused spa bath in the back.

Making a mental note to investigate it more later I plod my way back into the hallway, my hips swaying a little more with each step as some sort of muscle memory burrows through what was left of my own brain. My gaze turns to the second door in the long walkway, a short nudge causing it to open up into another larger bathroom.

This one seems like it has seen use, the soap scum in the large shower evidencing that Lin must have preferred the quick and simple method of washing up. The shower is tiled in black, with two heads and a removable one aiming down into the glass cube.

Turning my gaze down to the two rooms, both with doors leading off from near the front door, the phone buzzes in my hand as a message comes through. Leaning against the wall I wince, the cold surface stinging my exposed pale flesh as I read the message with a slight absentminded adjustment of my large glasses.

Racist Pig: Good morning Ms. Brigs, how was your weekend?

Racist Pig: I thought you were usually in the office by 6? Samantha was worried when you weren't here

I pause, cocking an eyebrow as I catch the name in her phone. I quickly open her contacts, finding little in the way of names beyond a series of accusatory titles. Handsy Fucker, Embezzling Dipshit, and HR Harasser just to name a few.

With short and careful steps I begin to tap out a reply, fumbling constantly and needing to delete what I had written as I struggle with the massive device and my small hands.

Me: Sorry, I've come down with the flu or something worse

Me: I think it would be best if I stayed away from the office

As I wait for a reply I open the door to the left, the one running along the same wall as the bathroom. Sadly, as I open it I find the room entirely bare and barren. The front window, facing out to the path and the rest of the apartments around the complex in the distance, lets in plenty of natural light that Lindsey simply had no purpose for.

Spinning on the spot I look to the last room, the green and red lights still steaming in from under the door. Opening the door I'm met with a slender strip of a room, a home office that was filled to the brim with screens and desk space. A dozen monitors practically line the wall, facing a set of curtains that run the length of the far wall and the front of the building, each screen tilting just enough to be seen from the expensive Herman-Miller chair sitting in the center of the room in front of a long hardwood desk.

Stocks and charts flash and flicker on the screen, some moving while others appear frozen based on their timezone. My jaw drops as I approach it, the blinds not moving and inch unlike the automatic ones from the bed room.

As I lean against the back of the chair I glance at the screens, stares at the spreadsheets and graphs in search of some meaning behind it all. After a few minutes I finally come to a conclusion, leaning back a little as I find Lindsey's system...