The Fix

By J. N. Sadler

Synopsis
The world was broke. Times were hard. The future was narrowing, darkly. Janie Girard lived alone in her world like others who had become single and frightened. The fact that the now-impoverished government was posturing for an out-and-out war between all peoples was evident. She was a young widow who lived with Captain Johnny, her Cockatoo, and her tenant, Everett Abraham. They shared her run-down Victorian house, in a once-beautiful, affluent neighborhood, full of foreclosed, empty houses.
On a bus, Janie discovered that she had a “twin”. Dee Mackey, her “other”, lived with her husband Tate, a disabled veteran, who was being treated by Dr. Frank Laramy, a court psychiatrist that dealt with the hopeless and criminally insane. He told Tate that he was working on a remedy to cure his ills. He also would replace the eye he had lost in the war by using a serum made from various DNA particles found in human, plant, and animal cells. He promised him a new life where nothing would harm him, and success in whatever endeavor he chose would be possible with his “Mega Mix.”
Laramy was a lunatic, himself, and an impassioned amateur geneticist. He mixed cell fragments of random life forms to make myriad one-of-a-kind beings. He had no idea what an unstoppable fix he was creating. When his “things” got out of control, his mission became evil; he morphed into one of his own creations, regretting giving being born the first time

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483602332

J. N. Sadler

Janet Sadler is a resident of Havertown, Pennsylvania. She has published two volumes of poetry with her illustrations: Headwinds and Full Sail and has been published in many small literary magazines. Once member of the Mad Poets Society in Media, PA, and also the Overbrook Poets in Philadelphia, she reads her poetry at local venues. She was the former poetry director at Tyme Gallery in Havertown, PA and at Baldwin’s Book Barn in West Chester, PA. She has authored thirty flash fictions novels. Twenty-seven titles have been published through Xlibris and can be found at Xlibris.com, under J. N. Sadler Author’s email address: [e-mail]

Book preview

The Fix

J. N. Sadler

Copyright © 2013 by J. N. Sadler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 11/17/2021

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

CHAPTER 1

Janie Girard walked wearily through puddles on the sidewalk and stepped high onto the public bus that would take her to her suburban home. Her neighbors had lost their properties through foreclosures, and their houses stood abandoned with sale signs posted on the lawns. She was widowed, mid-forties, graying auburn hair, sometimes glasses, and resided in a Victorian house that had fallen into disrepair. She lived with her Umbrella Cockatoo, Captain Johnny, and a man that she had taken in a few months ago from the homeless roster in the city. She had seen him many times on her jaunts to town on the bus. He was leaning against a wall of the pet shop, reciting poetry and raving about the injustices of the day. She would give him a dollar. He would bow to her. Oddly enough, he had a good set of teeth and a bright smile. She thought maybe he was an undercover FBI agent or a newly-ousted homeowner who had lost his family and his job.

He was Everett Abraham, an educated man, divorced with no children. He had been in the restaurant business, but it went bust when a lawsuit hit him for serving bad clams. The eater of the tainted mollusks died. He lost his wife and his business all because a seafood junkie came in on a bad day. The victim’s wife made a fortune out of his misfortune.

Janie remained in her house, managing to keep up with the escalating costs, living day by day on her family’s dwindling inheritance. She had been poor once. The wiles of survival were engrained in her head. For whatever reason, she had to live.

It was still raining. Since the price of gasoline was so high, she could no longer afford to use her car. Living had become an uncertainty. The newly-formed government was run by irresponsible greed-mongers. There were no longer Mom’s apple pie or a fair shake in business; no good jobs to be had, and education was now affordable only for the wealthy progeny of the irresponsible greed-mongers, whether or not they were college material.

Colleges and universities had become corporate entities, determined to eradicate any traces of God or religions whose creeds took precedence over politically correct dictates. American youth was into the adoration of sports figures or rap singers. Humanity was coked up on itself. Old glory was tattered and left out in the rain. Hope was a waiting game. Janie prayed for the resurrection of America, her great nation, still beautiful.

Oh, Lord! Janie thought. It was astonishing how much the woman in the next seat resembled her. Janie looked down into her lap at her pants that were streaked with paint, and her wrinkled coat; her shoes were scuffed. She was sitting next to a better-looking, younger version of herself. The woman who resembled her was dressed in expensive classic slacks and trench coat. Her shoes were shiny, like they had just been polished. Her auburn hair didn’t have gray streaks, and her make-up gave her a dewy complexion. What money could do to keep one looking young! She must use the most expensive creams and cosmetics, Janie thought, and had professionally colored and coifed tresses; but why take a bus, if she appeared to have enough money for those things?

A high-school drop-out on welfare drove the community transport vehicle. The upper middle-class now lived in little disintegrating universes, not in community housing.

World travel had become illegal. Terror lurked in crowds and on dark corners. Almost everyone carried a gun. Janie’s small hand gun was broken. She was out of bullets, anyway. Living alone was a bitch, especially without a good fix-it man.

The woman sitting next to her didn’t acknowledge her uncanny resemblance to Janie. The other passengers didn’t notice, either. They were working their fingers feverishly on miniature keyboards, communicating with friends, family, or their twitter pals, in text.

It would be awkward if she spoke to her. She didn’t want to be taken for a crazy. She had learned to curb conversations with strangers. She breathed in a deep sigh and tightened her grip on the bag from the pet shop. The captain would love these new seeds. They were mixed with dried mango, his special candy.

She wondered what the woman’s name was. Now she knew how other people saw her. Where was she going? They say everyone has a look-alike, but in the same vicinity?

The woman gave Janie a patronizing smile. Then, she cast her eyes in another direction, readying to exit the bus.

Manor Junction! called out the driver and slowed down, pulling the bus over to the curb.

The woman stood up, clutched her package to her chest, and walked to the front of the bus.

Janie decided to follow her. This was too important a coincidence to ignore. She headed for the exit door, too.

Her double had already gotten off and was walking briskly down Wynnemore Circle, where a row of the most expensive suburban family homes lined the street. Each house was either brick or stone with brightly colored shutters, expensive manicured lawns, and lush flower gardens. It was the epitome of America’s fading dream, money being the only commodity that counted.

Janie stepped down and casually strolled behind her, slowing down when the woman she was following turned her head. She boldly waved at her. The woman turned back without returning the greeting and walked faster to the house at the end of the winding way to a large estate, set back from the end of the road. There was a wrought iron spiked fence that surrounded the house and its huge spread of grounds. Gigantic rhododendrons climbed high on the other side of the fence, making a total view of the house impossible. There was a security sign on the gate.

The woman was still blind to any resemblance to Janie, who was slinking through the back yard of the house next door. The woman turned around again and was relieved to see that Janie was not there and thought that she was no longer being followed.

Janie imagined maybe this woman that she followed was her twin who had not died at birth, yet was never mentioned. Maybe it was a ghost coming for her. Or, maybe there was an important message she had for Janie from a mirror-world.

She was aware that her sense of reality was off-kilter. She had no one to reflect her thoughts, living walled-in in the attic of her home, purposely isolating herself from others. She was suspicious of everyone and everything since her husband, Dirk, hung himself.

She stopped on the path that wound around the elegant house and decided to go home. This was ridiculous. Did the woman really look like her, or was she imagining things again?

As she gingerly picked her way through the wet underbrush to the street where she could catch another bus, she thought about how she had never met Dirk’s psychiatrist. Dr. Laramy was treating Dirk for his hoarding tendencies. Their basement was full of all kinds of junk that Janie would never let him bring into the upstairs rooms. It was a disease with him that he developed when he lost his job. He felt they were going to need old, used mattresses and headboards, blankets, newspapers, cushions from broken chairs, and moldy books in moldy bags. She didn’t know where he got these items.

They weren’t speaking before he ended his life. He frightened her. Dirk said he wanted her to come with him to his appointments; that Dr. Laramy was eager to meet with her, too. She emphatically said no. No quack was going to rearrange her marbles.

She declared the basement off-limits. It was a colossal pile of germs and filth. He even slept down there after a while on one of the old, pee-stained beds. She thanked God everyday that he ended his life. At least now, she could bide in the shelter of her loft with Captain Johnny. It was a good thing that Everett came along. Good for both of them. Mutual need was a great reason for togetherness, in spite of what anyone told her. She found that only Assholes gave advice. She disliked using profanity, but recognized this word as being a proper noun in the current vernacular.

CHAPTER 2

In the foyer of the great house, Dee Mackey, the other woman who Janie followed home from the bus, placed her package on the side table. The hallway was vast. The floor was marble. A bouquet of white lilies and daisies was centered on the hall table in an exquisite tall crystal vase. Their scent filled the air. She inhaled and smiled.

Tate! she called out. Her voice echoed. There were high archways on her left and right that led to the living room and dining room, respectively. Straight ahead, were two staircases that led to the second floor. Tate! She called out again to her husband.

There was a stirring upstairs. Footsteps became louder until a figure appeared on the second floor landing and leaned over the railing. He was average height, mid-fifties with a beard. His glasses caught the light and made it look like he had headlights for eyes. His posture was slightly bent.

I thought you would be gone longer. Didn’t you stop to see Frank?

He wasn’t home. But, I got you what you asked for. He left the package between the doors. I put it on the hall table. Have you had breakfast yet?

No. I was busy with my writing. I have more to do. I hope you don’t mind, but I want to finish this while I am in the mood. I’ll be down later.

His wife was disappointed. His writing took precedent in his life. She walked slowly toward the kitchen.

He shuffled back across the hall to a room he used as an office. It was large with dark wood-paneled walls. He had a mahogany desk with a banker’s lamp. His computer was set up there. Papers spilled out of the carved ivory waste can. A wall-to-wall Oriental rug stretched beneath the leather couch and chairs. Floor lamps offered light. The long green drapes were still drawn. He had worked all night on the preparation of the article that he planned to present to the National Geographic Society.

Before taking his usual place in the leather desk chair, Tate crossed the room and pulled open the curtains. Light flooded the dusty