Slit

SLIT

by

David Dvorkin

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 by David Dvorkin

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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BIRTH AND DEATH OF A RAZOR

Jimmy Temple was walking south on Central when he died.

He was heading home on a gray and colorless evening when the razor flew from an alley and sliced into him. Jimmy saw it just before it hit him. It wasn’t a solid object. Rather, it was a ripple, a blur, like a heat haze or the thinnest imaginable sheet of cellophane passing over the mouth of the alley. Then it was in him, slicing unstoppably, penetrating through skin, muscle, and bone.

A moment before, he had been wondering if this was all there was to his life. He had been thinking that there must be something more, something great, even wonderful, something that he couldn’t quite glimpse — out there, just beyond his grasp. Now he was frozen in mid–step, blinded, deafened, every cell of his body screaming with a pain he had never thought possible.

The razor took instant control of his nervous system and held him pinned in place while it completed its work.

The crowd of homebound pedestrians flowed around him just as it did around other inanimate objects. One or two of them glanced at him in annoyance, but most of them were as absorbed in their own inner dramas as Jimmy was.

He heard a voice speaking. It was a pleasant, well modulated, cultured voice. There, it said. That should be sufficient for now. You can start walking again.

The pain stopped. Sight and sound returned. Jimmy resumed walking, but not because he willed it. Something was in control of his movements. No, not something, someone. It was the voice in his ear. Jimmy knew that the voice controlled him.

Who are you? he said out loud. At least he could still speak. The voice wasn’t controlling that. An alien?

A young woman walking toward him looked frightened and swerved aside, giving him a wide berth.

The voice chuckled. Jimmy. Yes, that’s it. That’s your name. Jimmy. Please don’t speak out loud. It attracts attention. I can tell what you’re thinking, Jimmy. If it’s easier for you, concentrate on what you want to say to me. I’ll hear you.

Jimmy walked steadily, his body moving forward, headed toward his apartment. He tried to stop walking, but he had no control over his legs.

He turned his head from side to side and looked at the people sharing the sidewalk with him. At least I can turn my head, he thought.

He tried to call for help. He wanted to shout, Get the police! Get an ambulance! No words came out.

Now, now, Jimmy. The voice was inside his head now. It was a thought, but not his own thought.

That won’t do, the voice said. Don’t waste your time and mine. What could the police do for you, anyway? Imagine how they would react if you told them what you’re experiencing.

Who are you? Jimmy asked again. This time, he thought the question instead of speaking it aloud.

Your owner. Your master. I’m a razor. I don’t have a name.

You’re inside me, and you can read my thoughts? This isn’t real.

Oh, Jimmy, it’s the most real thing that’s ever happened to you. I’m sifting through your memories right now. You’re quite a boring person, you know. That’s about to change. You’ve just begun the most exciting part of your life.

I’m dreaming.

You might wish you were, but you’re wide awake. You’ll learn that you were dreaming before. This is the beginning of your awakening.

All this time, Jimmy had been trying to regain control over his movements, but without success.

Stop doing that! the razor said sharply. It’s annoying and distracting. It’s also useless. He sighed. At least, Jimmy experienced it as the sound of a sigh. I have a lot of work to do with you before you’re worthy.

Worthy of what?

You’ll see. Ah, here we are. Home at last. Be it ever so humble, and I see from your mind that it is. Let’s go upstairs to our apartment and kick off our shoes and have a drink.

This is my apartment! Jimmy said. It’s not yours.

What’s yours is mine. Tu casa es mi casa. You are my property now, Jimmy.

I’m not anyone’s property.

The razor laughed. It was a pleasant sound, as pleasing and well modulated as the being’s speaking voice. That delusion always lasts for a while, the razor said. But it does finally go away. Move along, my boy.

Jimmy’s hands operated without his control, shifting his briefcase from the right hand to the left, taking his keys from his right–hand pocket, selecting the proper key, and opening the building’s front door.

His legs took him up the staircase at a steady pace. He realized that his right knee no longer hurt. He had done something to it while playing basketball at the gym a couple of days earlier, and climbing the stairs had been painful ever since then.

That’s right, Jimmy, the razor said. You see? You’re already a better man. The improvements will just keep coming. This relationship will be very beneficial for you.

Yeah? So you’re like some kind of supernatural charity? You’re doing this to help me?

The razor laughed but did not answer.

* * * * *

Upstairs, inside Jimmy’s apartment, the strange unreality continued.

The razor knew his way around the place. It — he? the voice was male — knew the apartment as well as Jimmy did. That no longer surprised Jimmy, who was surprised only at how quickly he was adjusting to the situation.

Of course the thing knows the place as well as I do, Jimmy thought. He knows everything I do.

The thing? the razor said. Hmm. I suppose it’s better than what some of my previous human ... friends have called me. It’ll do for now.

Previous? You’ve done this before?

Oh, Jimmy. Did you think you were my first?

I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know what you are or how you’re controlling me or what you did to me. You haven’t told me anything. I know that I want you the fuck out of me.

Relax and enjoy it. You’ll come to love it. You’ll have to. We’ll have a drink and I’ll answer some of your questions. You have wretched taste in alcoholic beverages. We’ll have to upgrade your supply, but it’s too late for a shopping trip now. What you’re going through takes a toll on your body, so you’ll have an early bedtime tonight. Tomorrow is a new adventure.

Tomorrow is another day at work.

You won’t be working again, Jimmy.

Of course I will. I have to pay my bills.

I see that you’re all caught up on the current batch of bills. That’s commendable, my boy. You have more than a month before the next payment is due on anything. That won’t be a problem.

A shiver ran down Jimmy’s spine. What does that mean?

Silence, the razor said. It was a cold, inhuman voice now, empty, dispassionate, utterly different from what Jimmy had heard before. Jimmy found himself unable to form a sentence in his mind. His inner mental voice was frozen.

Silence, the razor said again. This time, the voice was once more pleasant and cultured. Let’s see about that drink.

Jimmy’s voice unfroze, but he was too cowed to speak.

Jimmy walked into the kitchen and took the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet to the left of the sink. He got a large tumbler from another cabinet and filled it three quarters of the way up with bourbon.

Are you crazy? Jimmy said. That’s too much. I’ll be unconscious.

You’re a changed man, now, Jimmy. You’ll see. Drink up. I’m suddenly in the mood to have my stomach filled with bad whiskey.

My stomach. And that’s good bourbon.

It’s my stomach now. I permeate your body. Every cell, every organ is mine.

For how long? Jimmy asked, his mental voice tinged with desperation. When will this end?

When you’re worthy.

For just a moment, Jimmy was sure that he was dreaming, that none of this was real. Or maybe some friends of his were playing a very elaborate joke on him. Then he heard the razor’s laugh, and without his volition his hand raised the glass filled with the impossible quantity of bourbon to his mouth. He took in a big mouthful and swallowed it.

He knew it would take his breath away and leave him gasping for air, but it didn’t. It was pleasant and mild when it filled his mouth, and it felt like water going down.

He swallowed another mouthful, then another. He kept going until the glass was empty. Then he refilled the glass and drank that one down, as well. By now, the bottle was empty.

Normally, he never drank this way, and he had always felt contempt for those who did. He always sipped his liquor and held it in his mouth to savor it. Even when he drank slowly, it didn’t take much to make him dizzy and give him a headache.

He stood holding the empty glass, waiting for the dizziness to begin, along with the first hints of a headache. Neither came.

There. You see? the razor said. Tomorrow we’ll buy something worth sipping. We’ll begin your education.

I can’t afford anything more expensive than that bourbon. And you just drank all of that up.

You have a nice sum of money saved up.

I can’t spend my savings on alcohol. I need that money for emergencies.

There will be no more emergencies. Come, now. Let’s go sit in the living room and chat for a while.

Jimmy walked into the living room and sat down in the armchair under his own volition. He was growing accustomed to his strange situation much faster than he would have thought possible, and he realized that he was looking forward to having a relaxed conversation with the razor. In a way, it was like having a new and intimate friend who was always there when you felt like talking.

Friend? the razor said.

Jimmy shivered