15 Chapter 15: Heaven 2.0, Part 3

Gretchen's mind spun, the gears in her skull grinding against each other. "The user agreement was five pages long, and encrypted with legalese," she said. "No one ever reads those."

"The background check showed that you have a five percent chance of having ovarian cancer by the age of sixty, a ten percent chance of having arthritis by the age of seventy, a perchance towards depression, an alcoholic great uncle - it runs in the family, you know - a susceptibility for respiratory infections that could possibly lead to emphysema..." His voice trailed off. "Frankly, Miss Healy, the quality of the remaining years we've purchased from you is suspect, and we feel you've broken the good faith of our contract."

Gretchen stared at him. "I'm healthy," she said. "Those possibilities are all typical for anyone."

Oshiro tsked. "It is now noon," he said. "You have thirty-six hours to choose. Either we repossess Wynette's soul, or the remaining six years you owe us, plus a ten-year early payment penalty. The choice is yours." He picked up his briefcase, and walked past her.

"Wait," Gretchen said. She heard the door open and close. Hisao Oshiro was gone.

She slumped on her couch, panting and heaving, until she had the strength to pull herself to her feet. She staggered to the kitchen, and poured a cup of water. It was not until the cool liquid touched her lips that she realized how parched she was. She gulped it down, did the same to a second cup, and then a third. Once she had quenched her thirst, she booted up her laptop, and searched online for "Eternal Solutions."

The search came back with three pages of reviews, either on business rating sites, or various pet-themed blogs. They all sang Eternal Solutions's praises. None were specific about the company's actual practices, and Gretchen noticed similar patterns among them. Although the posters had different names, locations, and genders, the phrase "Finally gave me peace" was used in half of them. "I can sleep again" was another popular one, along with "I'd recommend them to anyone suffering a companion's loss." Gretchen groaned, running her hands through her hair.

She switched to forums to find discussions about the company. At first, she only found more of the same: a flood of glowing compliments. However, every forum had at least one comment that had been replaced with "Deleted by admin."

Gretchen searched through the directory of forum members. One was a contributor in every thread, but had no visible comments: Dogsbody12. She sent him a message: "Eternal Solutions harassing me. I need help."

The reply came back instantly: "Where are you?"

Gretchen glared at the screen. "Where are you?" she wrote back.

There was a pause. "Are you near any major city? New York, L.A., Chicago?"

"I'm relatively near New York."

"Is Maplewood, NJ a long drive for you?"

She hesitated. Maplewood was a hell of a lot closer than Manhattan. "I can manage," she typed.

There was a fifteen-minute delay. She wondered if her co-conspirator had left. "Meet Hounddog69 at the preservation dog park in two hours. Blue scarf. Good luck."

"Blue scarf? It's spring."

There was no answer.

The drive to Maplewood took twenty-five minutes. Gretchen parked near the dog park, and lay back in the front seat, rubbing her eyes. She still had five minutes to meet Hounddog69, whoever that distinguished gentleman was. She shouldered her purse, slid her hand inside, and touched the cool metal of her pepper spray can. Keeping her fingertips on it, she exited the car.

The park was nearly empty. She saw two men with a Yorkie, smoking cigarettes and laughing. Neither wore a blue scarf. A slender woman with black hair and a five-year-old boy took turns tossing a ball to a Dachshund so fat that its legs barely touched the ground. None of them had scarves. Gretchen tried to ignore the ball of anxiety that was forming in her stomach. The preservation was huge - was there more than one dog park in it? Her eyes darted from bench to bench.

On the furthest one sat a slender girl of about thirteen. She had an aristocratic face, framed by long, blond hair tied back in a ponytail. At her feet was an albino Boxer with a blue silk scarf around its neck. Gretchen approached. The girl met her gaze with a look of annoyance.

"You're two minutes late," she said. Gretchen opened her mouth. "Never mind," the girl said, "sit down." Gretchen did as she was told. "Pet Hound-dog Sixty-Nine."

Gretchen looked at the Boxer. It lay on its side, poking its nose into the grass, its eyes lazy and content. "Will he bite?"

"She," said the girl. "Can't you see the nipples?" Gretchen frowned. The dog was clearly a bitch. "And no, she won't bite. Boxers are naturally sweet. They have to be trained to be psychos. People who do that should have their livers ripped out."

Gretchen looked at the dog again. "You named her Hound-dog Sixty-Nine?" she asked.

"Just pet her, would you?"

Again, Gretchen did as she was told. "Don't stop," the girl said, staring off into the trees. "Scratch behind her right ear, by the scarf." Gretchen's fingers found the spot, and felt something small and hard wrapped in the silk. "Take it," said the girl, "but don't be too obvious."

"Are we being watched?"

The girl shot her a look that would have curdled milk. Gretchen did not know whether to like the brat, or to slap her. She tried her best to pretend that she was rubbing the albino Boxer behind the ears as she maneuvered the object out from underneath the scarf. It was a USB drive. She slipped it into her purse.

The girl stood. "Come on," she said, tugging on the leash. Hound-dog Sixty-Nine seemed to roll her eyes as she got to her paws.

"Wait," Gretchen said. "What do I do with this?" She reached out, and touched the girl's arm. The girl whirled away, her eyes wide.

"Don't touch me," she said. She whipped a pair of pink-framed sunglasses out of her shorts pocket, and slid them over her face. Gretchen stared at the girl as she walked away. Then her stomach dropped.

"Oshiro!" she called after her, remembering the icy torture of years being torn away. "Did he, I mean..." Her voice trailed off. Neither the girl nor the Boxer stopped.