Erasing his past with an unidentifiable device—that looked more or less like a shiny tie-clip—Andrew Fitzerbart, turned, smiled, and ooze-ingly strained “Hello.”
“Hello, Mr. Fitzerbart,” replied Cynthia McIntire, equally silky but with a pang of pure tin.
“Darling, it’s ‘Mr’ in the evening. Do call me Andrew,” he said, while fingering the shiny clip.
“Is this the sort of matter that keeps you a recluse?”
“Who says I’m a recluse?”
“I do hope you find there’s more company at these grand affairs than in your scrupulous hobbies.”
“But of course. I merely wish a moment of solitude as I dearly compose this awful letter to my dear aunt Harriet, who oh-so-awkwardly passed last May.”
“An exhausting affair, and how horrible was it for you to inherit the estate and all the gobbledygook’s that came with it,” said Cynthia, with a bead of sweat now noticeable on her inner cheek.
“Oh, you mustn’t think on it, Ms. McIntire. Not on your twenty second birthday party.”
“And the eve of our wedding,” she said, leaning in softly with her bent chin.
“Yes, the very eve of our wedding,” he said, leaning in the same.
“What are you working on Mr. Fitzerbart?” she said, her breath now caressing his every pore.
“For the last time, sweet Cynthia,” he said, getting so close he could count the veins in her eyes, “Call me Andrew.” And without a word Fitzerbart decked Ms. McIntire square in the face, sending her wig over her eyes, and her string of pearls across the marble floor.
“Or, should I say Mrs. McIntire?”
All at once, the veins in Mrs. McIntire’s face went purple, her cheek turned a burnt amber; the blue in her eyes shifted to a purple storm. She gasped. She bent. She bared her fangs.
“How did you know?
“I saw it in your past.”
“The device you’ve been working on? Impossible.”
“Not when I’ve increased speck capacity by a hundred and thirty seven volts.”
“No one could come up with a formula that would meld the ions and particles into a speck capacity that could sustain the energy of a hundred and thirty seven volts!”
“Well, I did.” said Fitzerbart.
And in one motion, Andrew clicked his heels, turned and walked to the door, left the room and erased his past with a click of a switch.