Page 49 of Stay in Your Lane!

My mind vacillated between that, my fluttery thoughts about my new boyfriend, and deciding on the best way to remove blood and viscera gunking up some of the machine’s gears. At least those first and last things kept me from whistling or humming like the giddy lovesick dumbass I was. I sometimes did that in houses when there was no one else around to hear me singing off-key to Taylor Swift or Eminem, but places like this weren’t private enough. This section of the plant was shut down and deserted until this equipment was back up and running, but an employee could still happen by. They were traumatized enough without wondering why the cleanup dude was singing happily to himself while he scrubbed up the remaining pieces of Jimbo the machine operator.

Focus on the job,I reminded myself,and on the unforgiving capitalist hellscape that views this man’s death as a financial inconvenience. Think about Everett later.

Everett. God, he’s so cute…

I bit back a smile and concentrated on chipping away at the mess. I was kind of glad no one had spelled out exactly what had happened to this poor guy. Given the gigantic industrialequipment and the sheer volume of gore spread out over a large area, I could guess, but I didn’t want the details.

All I wanted was to finish the job as thoroughly (for the company) and respectfully (for the deceased) as possible, then get out of here and go meet up with my new boyfriend.

After I’d completed a section, I paused for a drink and to check my phone. Safely away from the scene, I took off my gloves and respirator, downed some water, and pulled up my sleeve to check the small wound I’d covered with a Band-Aid earlier. I’d been distracted—gee, I wonder why—while I’d fed my fish this morning, gotten careless, and, well… Steve.

Just a minor bite, though, and it didn’t look like it was getting infected or anything.

You’ll have to try harder than that, you finned fucker.

Then I took out my phone, and on the screen, there was a text from Everett. I smiled as soon as I saw his name.

But then I saw the words, and I frowned.

Hit me up as soon as you’re done. Can we meet at Waffles?

He wanted to meet there? Not at my place?

My stomach somersaulted. Oh, crap. Did he want to break up already? Well, damn. This thing lasted less than twenty-four hours from start to finish. A new record for me, which was saying something.

But this wasn’t the time or place to hash it out, so I wrote back,Sure. I’ve still got a few hours here. Don’t know exactly when I’ll be done.

He answered back as I was taking one last drink from my water bottle.

That’s fine. Whenever you’re done. We should meet up ASAP.

My heart sank. He did want to break this off, didn’t he?

No problem,I wrote back, despite desperately wanting to do this here and now.See you soon.

I sighed as I put away my phone and water bottle. My good mood had fled, and I suddenly didn’t want to do anything. Not go to Waffles?. Not see Everett. Not finish this macabre task.

But I had a job to do, and I was going to be respectful of the dead, so I sucked it up, put on my gear, and got back to work.

There was a fair amount of the unfortunate operator beneath the machine. I couldn’t move the machine itself, but it sat up just high enough off the concrete floor that I could shimmy underneath it.

I double-checked that the machine was duly locked out and the power supply had been disconnected. There were two lockout tagout devices that would need to be removed before it could be reactivated. Short of supernatural intervention, this machine was staying dormant until I was done.

“Let’s have aFinal Destinationmarathon,”my ex had said.

“It’ll be fun,”he’d said.

“I should’ve fed you to Steve,” I muttered as I dug a headlamp out of my bag. With that firmly in place, I…

Checked the lockout procedures anyway, because those movies really had fucked with me. For good measure, I toed the cord a couple of feet away from the outlet. Couldn’t be too careful.

Then, with a bag of cleaning supplies, I army-crawled under the machine to get to work.

I wasn’t claustrophobic, but I hated this part of any job. It was murder on my neck and back, and when I got underneath things, I was usually the first person who’d cleaned anything in recent memory. The dust and cobwebs—blech. At least there weren’t any dead mice under here.

I was pretty sure that spider in the corner was a black widow, though. Luckily, there weren’t any chunks or bloodstains near her, so I’d leave her be as long as she stayed in her web.

“You stay in your corner,” I told her as I slithered past to get to a messy spot, “and I’ll stay in mine.”

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