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Twist
by
Myron Night
Chapter 1
I woke up screaming, my arms spinning like the blades of a fan, trying to push the dream away. That same dream.
My heart pounded. I had fallen asleep at my desk again. I looked around the office, focusing on the details, to bring myself back to reality. Sure, I knew every crack and stain on the walls of that crappy office like I knew my own name, but it was better than thinking about the dream.
The fly-specked, pitted walls, the bruised acoustical ceiling tiles, and the matted carpet the color of used chewing gum. Yeah. It was all there.
I pressed my palms down on the scarred green surface of the desk and forced myself to focus and breathe slowly.
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It was an ancient oak desk, from the office of an old-time public school. The top was covered with a green material like linoleum, the way they made them in those days. The desk was beat to hell, but substantial. It weighed as much as a small automobile. It was a comfort to me, like a grandfather. Besides, it had some real value, since there wasn’t that much oak around anymore.
I rocked back gently in the swivel chair, just to remind myself that I was sitting in it. It creaked slightly, a familiar sound, a good sound, like your dog sighing when you touched him behind the ears. If you had a dog.
The chair was of the same yellowed oak as the desk, with a slatted back, sturdy arms and rollers on the bottom. It cupped me like a large, muscular hand. On the other side of the desk were two straight-backed oak chairs. They were for my clients.
Not that I had many clients.
I scanned the reversed black letters on the inside of the frosted glass door:
ADAM TWIST
PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS
The words were silhouetted against the pale fluorescent light of the hallway. My shakes started to go away. So, the office was a rat-hole in the shadow of The Wall--so, I ate dog food out of the can
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