Page 6 of Unruly
I tap a pen on the table, staring straight ahead for a few seconds. I know why I’m motivated to go back. I still have the glowing embers of hope and ambition smoldering in my chest.The belief that one day I’ll figure it all out—find the right job, buy a house, fall in love—it’s still there. Still flickering. This offer, weird as it is, is the second chance I need to continue seeking those things. The alternative is to die with my hopes and dreams still unrealized. I can’t accept that.
I lift the first book labeled “Start Here” and flip open the cover. The beginning is a repeat of everything Farnsworth explained, but more detailed, describing what Above and Below truly mean, and pages on the different types of Horrors.
A shiver moves up my spine when I read about the worst of the worst: Category X. Extremely rare, fortunately, but difficult to banish. I hope I never get one of those assigned. They probably go to really experienced Chasers. That would make sense. I’ll probably get a jilted spouse or a haunted doll to get my feet wet. Chuckling at the absurdity of what I’m reading, I flip to the next page and continue.
Time is an abstract concept in this place. In the quiet, dimly lit room, I can’t tell if I’ve been reading for minutes or hours, but when I finally close the last page of the final book, I lean back, stretching my arms above my head.
“Finished?”
Farnsworth’s disembodied voice startles me. I look around, finding myself still alone.
“Yes, I think so.”
“I’ll be right in.”
I look around for the door and realize there isn’t one, then I gasp as Farnsworth appears in front of me on the other side of the table. He’s holding a tablet in one hand, and as he gazes at me, I notice for the first time the unique color of his eyes—like stormy clouds just before the rain pours down. He’s handsome in an unusual way, dressed in his vintage style, and extremely formal in his mannerisms. His lips are pretty though, full and lush under the barely-there stubble of a mustache. I’m curiousabout him. How long has he been down here? How did he get here? And why is he in charge? I get the sense that now would not be the best time to ask those questions though.
Farnsworth taps his tablet. “What’s the first rule for a society member?”
“The quiz is starting?”
“Indeed. Answer the question.”
Rubbing my forehead, I scan my memory for a response. “First rule. The living are on a need-to-know basis.”
“Correct. Your backstory you’ll tell your targets?”
“I’m sensitive and can sense the world beyond the veil.”
“Excellent. What special tools does a society member have in their arsenal?”
“Um, we can see spirits. Also, we can tell good from bad.” I pause, studying his face for a reaction but finding none. “We’re mostly immortal unless…” Oh, what was it?
Farnsworth tilts his head at a weird angle. “Unless?”
“Unless we’re expelled from the society.”
“How does one get expelled?” he asks.
“Breaking the rules. Failing to meet the required quota. And… there’s another one.”
“There is, yes.”
“Got it.” I snap my fingers. “Accidental trade.”
“Correct. Do you understand the trade explanation? It confuses a lot of newbies.”
I nod. “I think so. The spirits are tricky. Some may try to negotiate with me. I have to be careful with what words I use and what I agree to in moments of stress.”
“Correct.” Farnsworth narrows his eyes, studying me. “What questions do you have?”
“What’s it like at first? Do we get easy ones until we build experience?”
“No, sadly. It’s random for the most part. Well…” He pauses as his brow crinkles. “It appears random to us. We’re not privy to how the selection process works.”
“Not even you?”
“Not even me. You’ll likely get a mix.”
