SUICIDE.

THE CLERK SET THE GUN ON THE COUNTER. "There's a seven-day waiting period." Tommy peeled off an extra couple hundreds and slid them across the counter. The clerk hesitated, then pocketed the bills and loaded the weapon into a brown paper bag. "Some weeks are shorter than others." He added a box of bullets to the bag, then rang up the total. "You need any extra ammo?"

"No," replied Tommy. "One box will be plenty."

It was p.i.s.sing rain on the walk back to his apartment, the first time it had rained in the city for months. The water cut greasy rivers down his cheeks, tasting faintly of gasoline and ash. At At least least the the city's city's consistent consistent, he thought, even the rain's corrupt even the rain's corrupt. He ducked into a familiar coffee shop to douse the chill. He ordered what he always ordered and dug in his pockets for exact change.

"Can you believe those freaks?"

Tommy followed the kid's gaze out the front window, across the street. A pack of No-Faters gathered on the corner, their placards bleeding ink as they fought to keep a fire alive in a trash bin. One of them, a chubby white kid with unconvincing dreadlocks, pulled out a white card, the size of the index cards Tommy's students used to cram notes onto before exams, and tossed it into the fire. He stepped back, arms out, relishing the cheers of approval the protesters poured out at him.

"Yeah, you're home free now, a.s.shole," said the kid behind the counter. He finished with Tommy's order and pa.s.sed the steaming cardboard cup to him. "What's that s.h.i.t supposed to accomplish?"

Tommy shrugged. "It's a symbol. Rage against the dying of the light, that sort of thing. Just human nature."

"More like rage against getting a job, the stupid hippies." The kid flipped a rag off his ap.r.o.n string and wiped down the counter where Tommy's cup had spilled a few drops. "You wanna know what my card says? Burned to death. Bad news, right? Not exactly the finest hand in the deck, right? But I still smoke. 'Cause what's the point? Way I see it, the way we're gonna die is the way we're gonna die. That's the way it's always been, motherf.u.c.king death machine or no motherf.u.c.king death machine."

Tommy didn't say anything, just slugged back half the cup of coffee, letting it burn his throat, not caring. Outside, the rain had stopped as the No-Faters tossed another card onto the altar of inevitability.

He dropped the envelope into the mailbox. He'd written it all out, the whole thing, the night before in his motel room. As he watched Mel's address-her new address-swallowed by the box's maw, he marveled at how much life could change with the rearranging of a few letters and numbers. She should get it by the end of the week, but she'd already know by then. She would have heard about it on the news, or someone would have told her. He'd be the name on a thousand pundits' lips before rush hour. Lots of people asking why, but she'd be the only one with the answer. It felt right that way.

As he waited for the crosswalk light to change, he noticed the bar across the street. There was always a bar within walking distance of these places, without fail, or a liquor store. They were like remoras, feeding from the belly of the Death Machine wherever it sprang up. He could see a few of them in there now, heads down, that uniquely blank look on their faces. Some of them had their death cards laid out on the bar, staring as if waiting for the ink to shift, for the universe to hiccup, for destiny to laugh and admit, "Just kidding." Others laughed and caroused, to all appearances celebrating a promotion at work rather than a glimpse at their own end.

Tommy waited in line, smiled at the girl behind the gla.s.s part.i.tion, and forked over $11.50 for his ticket. The Death Machines were everywhere now-doctor's offices, mall kiosks. They were both wholly remarkable and thoroughly mundane. Not this one, though. This one was the first. The first Death Machine ever, entombed in a gla.s.s-and-chrome building that was half museum and half theme park. If you turned Auschwitz into a theme park.

Tommy ignored the huge plasma screens somberly reciting the history of this holy temple, the narrator's voice smooth and comforting as the screens displayed the most famous photograph in the world. The first Death Machine, its creators lined up behind it, grinning with the pride of those who know they've changed the world. He'd heard the rumors, of course, that the whole thing had been an accident, that they'd been trying to create something else and only stumbled a.s.s-over-teacups backward into their discovery. Either way, they were all rich as sin now, at least the ones that were still alive. Not so the older man with a smile like Norman Rockwell's grandpa, who had eaten a shotgun barrel six months after that photo was taken. Tommy wondered if he'd bothered to look at his death card first. Was it the knowing that drove him to that end, or the not knowing? Did it even really matter?

Tommy joined the queue that snaked its way up to the Machine. It was a weekday, so the crowds were light. It only took a minute or so until he reached the front of the line. The Machine's words greeted him, the same as they always greeted everyone. "Please insert your finger." It was a sentence that had become the punchline to a thousand jokes and monologues and headlines over the past few years, but Tommy didn't think any of them were funny. The least they could have done was polish up the death sentence a little. Maybe hire some New York Times New York Times bestseller to do a pa.s.s, come up with something really snappy, something to bring a smile to your face on the bus ride home. bestseller to do a pa.s.s, come up with something really snappy, something to bring a smile to your face on the bus ride home.

He winced as the needle pierced his fingertip, sucked at the tiny pearl of blood that peered out. The Machine buzzed, flashed "Thank you," and spit out the card. He took it and moved aside to let the redheaded woman behind him have her turn. She was young, maybe nineteen, and from the way she was shaking, she'd never done this before. He wasn't sure whether to envy her that.

He read the card, just one word. Seven letters, no subst.i.tutions. So final, and yet, in a way, so freeing. Tommy had never worried about car accidents or plane crashes or cancer. The same word that doomed him had also rendered him, in a way, untouchable. Was he only here because of the word? Would he have had the courage to do what needed to be done if the word were different? He smeared blood across the card, tossed it into a nearby trash can along with his doubts. He reached in his pocket, felt the shape of the gun, solid and comforting.

The red-haired woman stepped over, her eyes glued to the card, welling up. She was pale as her legs gave out and she lowered herself to the floor. He crouched next to her.

"First time?"

She looked at him, but didn't seem to see him at first. Then her eyes focused, and she brushed at the tears with the back of her hand. "Yeah. I guess I wasn't really ready for it."

Her other hand white-knuckled the card. Tommy could read part of her word, "Explo-", the rest eclipsed by her fingers.

"I haven't met anybody yet who is." He pulled a tissue out of the pocket without the gun and offered it to her.

"It could be wrong."

Tommy smiled. "It could be. They say it's infallible, but it only has to be wrong once, right?"

She smiled back at him, weakly, then looked sick to her stomach. She shook her head. "My mom told me not to get checked. She said it was better not to know. Now there's no taking it back, you know? It's like...now nothing else I do matters."

He stood up, one hand sliding back to his pocket, wrapping around the gun. He offered her his other hand, and she took it, her knees barely finding the strength to stand. For a moment, the curve of her face reminded him of Mel, and he felt his commitment wavering. Did he have the right? But then his eyes turned to the screen above, to the photograph, to the smiling faces. Did he have the right? Did they? They'd killed the whole world. She would die to-just maybe-restore it to life.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Alice."

His thumb caressed the back of her hand. "Alice, I want you to close your eyes."

On any other day, she might have been suspicious, but today he was human contact, he was comfort, and that was enough. She closed her eyes.

Tommy pulled the gun from his pocket, locked the hammer back. He thought of his word, and her word, and billions of tiny little soulless G.o.dd.a.m.n cards around the world, each with their own word.

It only had to be wrong once, he told himself. Just once.

He lifted the gun, aiming at the center of her forehead.

Except...

His stomach wrenched as a terrible realization hit him. He envisioned the hammer falling, the spark, the bullet driven forward by the explosion. By the explosion explosion. The Machine, the d.a.m.ned Machine, would still win by technicality.

He staggered back away from her, and she opened her eyes, confused. She gasped as she saw the gun in his hand. He spun, back toward the front of the line, toward the sound of the Machine vomiting up a new proclamation of doom. It wasn't too late. He could still beat it. He leveled the gun at the man at the front of the line, trenchcoat and wild hair.

"You!"

He heard screams from the crowd, the squawk of walkie-talkies and the clatter of security guards' booted feet. He only had seconds. He closed the distance, jammed the gun barrel against the man's head.

"What does your card say?"

The man's card lay in the machine's tray, face down, future unwritten. The man was calm-why was he so calm?

Tommy screamed: "Pick it up and tell me what it says!"

The man smiled at him.

Furious, frantic, Tommy grabbed the card, flipped it over, reeled from deja vu. The card read: "Suicide."

The man shrugged. His trenchcoat hit the floor. Tommy saw the wires circling the man's chest, through the gray claylike bricks, leading up to what looked like a TV remote in the man's hand. Tommy thought it was odd; it looked just like it always did in the movies.

"No fate," said the man, an edge of madness in his eyes.

Tommy wanted to laugh as the man pressed the b.u.t.ton. The Machine never said it was his his suicide. suicide.

It only had to be wrong once.

But not today.

Story by David Michael Wharton Ill.u.s.tration by Brian McLachlan

ALMOND.

Administration and Maintenance Log, Cleveland Office Feb 25 - No user requests. Tested samples 1-4. No problems.

Mar 4 - No user requests. Tested samples 1-4. No problems.

Mar 11 - No user requests. Tested samples 1-4. No problems.

Mar 18 - No user requests. Tested samples 1-4. No problems.

Mar 25 - No user requests. Tested samples 1-4. No problems.

Apr 1 - No user requests. Tested samples 1-4. Lab destroyed.

Apr 8 - No user requests. Tested samples 1-4. No problems.

Apr 15 - No user requests. Tested samples 1-97. No problems.

Apr 22 - No user requests. Tested samples 1-4. All predicted death by Mr. Potato Head.

Apr 29 - No user requests. No samples tested. No one is reading this log anyway.

May 6 - No user requests. I am beginning to suspect there's a fundamental problem with a machine that tells people how they're going to die, i.e. no one wants to know. However, we can all sleep soundly tonight knowing that, once again, Sample A dies by CRASH, Sample B dies by HEART, Sample C dies by SUICIDE, and Sample D dies by ALMOND, whatever the h.e.l.l that means.

May 13 - No requests. How much, exactly, did we pay for this, and why was that money not put toward raises for the lab techs?

May 20 - No requests. Almonds continue to be deadly.

May 27 - Machine continues to predict the deaths of the four test samples. I continue to write entries in a book no one else will ever read. In fact, I asked Paul why he thought we weren't getting any requests, and he said he didn't even realize we had a machine yet. Way to spend the grant money, guys. Does anyone other than me even know we've had this thing since February? The samples were all printed on these neat, white business cards, like the kind you write your phone number on in a bar. "Why don't we get together, baby? Just call me SUICIDE. Please don't say no." You couldn't make me try this thing on myself for a million dollars. I'm certain the result would be MACHINE MALFUNCTION.

Jun 3 - I'm starting to wish I would have taken the job in Tulsa. The sample results on this machine are A) kind of creepy, B) a waste of time, and C) annoyingly vague. These samples are all from people who died already, right? If the guy choked on an almond, shouldn't it say CHOKING? Or was he allergic? The other three are pretty straightforward, although now I think about it, CRASH could be a plane crash or a car crash. Or even a bike crash, I guess. They should send something that says how they died.

Jun 10 - I'm tired of looking at the machine, but there's nothing else to look at. Maybe it's supposed to wear down my defenses and get me to take the test, but I've made my decision. So I sit and stare at it. My planner is black with the blood of my tormented doodles. There is a brick wall outside my window. What's on the other side? My guess is that it's a locker room, and there are dozens of hot naked chicks inside, all with a thing for underpaid lab technicians who could, at the drop of a hat, tell them how they're going to die.

Jul 1 - One request. (!) Results were kept confidential. Tested samples 1-4. No problems.

Jul 8 - No requests. I'm a little intrigued by the idea that someone in town knows how he is going to die. The rest of us are going on with our lives, worrying about paying bills or finding a good school system for the kids, but this one guy is nervously eyeing the mixed nuts aisle in the grocery store, or whatever. He's got that little insight that no one in town (except me) knows about. I'm Alfred to his Batman, except I don't know what's on his card. Just that he knows what's on his card. Unfortunately, I can't think of anyone in comics who knows that someone has has a secret ident.i.ty, but doesn't know what it is. a secret ident.i.ty, but doesn't know what it is.

Jul 15 - Four requests. Apparently word is getting around. Three of them, all men, came and left, and I can only wonder what the machine says fate has in store for them. But the woman wanted to show the result to me. It was printed out on the same business card as the test samples, only hers said CANCER. She was really shaken up about it. I felt really bad for her, but then after she left, I thought what the h.e.l.l, lady, what do you expect? It's going to tell you how you die, right? You should probably be expecting cancer. In fact, it wouldn't be a bad idea for the machine to have a label on it that says "Warning: Expect Cancer." It's not like it says you'll get cancer tomorrow or anything. Seriously, we've had this thing for half a year now, and I see the first real result, and I think the whole machine is a bad idea. Plus, I haven't seen any evidence that it's even right! I'm the resident expert on this destiny-meter by dint of being the only person who's read through the manual, but I don't like it, and I don't know if it works. And I refuse to use it on myself. Tell me that's not screwed up. I wonder if the lab in Tulsa has one of these stupid things.

Jul 21 - From this spot on my chair you can see exactly 64 bricks. Sixty-four is divisible by two, four, eight, sixteen, and thirty-two. That's four to the third power, or two to the sixth power. There are 64 squares on a chess board, of which 32, or one half, are taken up by pieces in the beginning of the game. Every time there's a p.a.w.n exchange, one-sixteenth (or 6.25%) of the pieces are removed from the board, thus freeing up one thirty-secondth (or 3.125%) of the board. Just thought I'd share. 64. 64. 64. Oh yeah, and, apparently I wasn't the only one that lady talked to last week. Paul told me today that she currently currently has cancer. She was told by her doctor that it went into remission. I guess I can see why she was so upset. Well, all the more reason not to use the machine. There were another five requests this week, and I got to see a couple. The first was another CANCER (plus, the guy was totally a smoker), but I don't think I was supposed to see it. I just happened to see the card when he looked at it. And then, get this, the other guy got JOY. If you're gonna go, that's the way to do it, I guess. I totally want to hear about this guy getting smothered in an orgy somewhere. Well, I mean, not immediately. has cancer. She was told by her doctor that it went into remission. I guess I can see why she was so upset. Well, all the more reason not to use the machine. There were another five requests this week, and I got to see a couple. The first was another CANCER (plus, the guy was totally a smoker), but I don't think I was supposed to see it. I just happened to see the card when he looked at it. And then, get this, the other guy got JOY. If you're gonna go, that's the way to do it, I guess. I totally want to hear about this guy getting smothered in an orgy somewhere. Well, I mean, not immediately.

July 21 - All right. Being honest here, I guess I was thinking sooner rather than later. Pretty bad, huh? Does spending a long boring day with a death machine make you cavalier about death? Well, the guy will be happy at least.

Jul 22 - I just thought of "Almond Joy". Seriously, this machine is probably sponsored by Hershey's. On the other hand, between ALMOND and JOY, it's predicted cancer and heart attacks. Maybe it's sponsored by a compet.i.tor. Nestle or something. Their new slogan is probably "sometimes you feel like death by a nut, sometimes you feel like some other kind of death." If someone tells me that his cause of death is MOUNDS, I'm swearing off candy bars for good.

Jul 28 - Two people came in for predictions this week, and apparently they didn't want to share their information. Wusses. In the meantime, things here are ridiculously boring. I've spent the last three hours staring at a machine that wants to tell me how I die. Alternatively, I could look out the window, and stare at 64 bricks in a big brick wall. Why put in a window at all? Are there people on the other side of the wall, wondering what's in here? No, because that wall doesn't have any windows. So with the lack of things to do, my mind has gone to dangerous places. I have been sitting here thinking that Dr. Womack had a b.l.o.o.d.y nose this morning. It would be easy (if a little gross) to fish a tissue out of his garbage can and find out how he dies. I would know, and he wouldn't. And what if it were CHLAMYDIA or something? That's the kind of information I could use to get a corner office. Then I'd have something to look at, and I wouldn't have to sit and think about ways to blackmail my d.a.m.n coworkers.

Aug 4 - The woman with cancer came back in today. Her name's Beth. Her doctor said that her cancer poses no threat and now she wanted a second opinion from the machine. I told her that part of the machine's maintenance is rechecking the same four test samples and they've never changed. (I did not mention that I've been neglecting my samples testing for a while.) Beth wanted to try again anyway. CANCER, again. So many people are so fiercely private about their cards. It's really awkward that Beth shows hers off to anyone she meets, and then talks about it. It seems so personal. It's like finding your neighbors' secret s.e.x tapes. You're curious as h.e.l.l to see them, but as soon as you hit play, you know you shouldn't have. And then you give them back to your neighbor, but they see you leave it in their mailbox and they're like, "what did you think about the part with the trampoline," and you wish you'd never heard of videotapes or neighbors or s.e.x in the first place. Probably. Anyway, the conversation with Beth was uncomfortable. She said if she could start over again, she wouldn't have taken the test. She'd prefer not to know. I told her that I'd never seen any indication that this particular machine is accurate. If it were spewing out lies all this time, I'd have no way of knowing. They're just consistent lies, that's all. All I was going on to vouch for its accuracy was the pamphlet that came with the machine. I don't think my argument was as persuasive as her getting the same results twice, though. She wasn't very happy when she left. It's too bad. She seems really nice.

Aug 11 - Things are picking up again. Eight people. And now that Beth is gone, I find that my qualms about knowing other people's deaths have completely disappeared again. I'm just a peeping Tom. Bring on the trampoline!

Aug 18 - Our office has death fever. It's actually less morbid than it sounds. I just mean that a bunch of the folks here suddenly got really interested in finding out how they're going to kick the bucket. All right, maybe it's exactly as morbid as it sounds. I wonder if they all went out for lunch last week and talked about it over drinks or something. I never got invited. I spend my lunches with my good friends Bricky and the Fatal Fortune-Teller. A bunch of people came in as a group to get their death cards, so I got to watch them share. I've got some interesting coworkers: Paul is going to die by FALL, Tammy from HR got LIGHTNING, and Mitch got OVERDOSE. He seemed to think it was pretty funny, but Tammy got a strange look on her face. Mitch had never struck me as the kind of guy who would take drugs irresponsibly, but, you know, there are an awful lot of drugs around here in the office that he has access to. And he took a trip with his girlfriend to Amsterdam last Christmas. Hmmmm... Mike from accounting got the weirdest one: GOVERNMENT. How do you die by government? Will he commit treason? Get drafted? Maybe he'll happen upon who really killed JFK. Paul tried to get me to do it, but I refused. First of all, I still don't want to know. Second, I don't want other people to know. Third, I don't have any proof that this thing works. I don't know if they think this machine is like a party game, or if they all just really want to know how they die, but I stare at this thing every day, and I'm maybe a little scared of it.

Aug 25 - Apparently, getting your death foretold by a machine isn't covered by insurance. Paul was fuming yesterday, but I think he's crazy. Do you really want your insurance company to know how you are going to die? I'd think your auto premiums would skyrocket if your insurance company knew your death card said CRASH. They probably wouldn't cover you at all. In related news, inventory showed that one lab was missing over a thousand dollars' worth of stimulants. That's serious business. Everyone thinks it's Mitch. He looks miserable, but the question is: Is he miserable because he's been caught, or because he's stopped taking stimulants? Or is it possible that he's innocent, and he's miserable because everyone thinks he's stealing from the company?

Sep 1 - Mitch is gone. Whether he stole anything is still uncertain, but he apparently missed a conference when he was in Amsterdam with his girlfriend, and that's the official reason he's canned. Sounds a little trumped-up to me. No one made a big deal out of the conference then. I tried to talk to Paul about it, but he didn't seem concerned. Did he not make the connection between Mitch getting laid off and drawing the card that says OVERDOSE? Or is he just preoccupied by when and where he's going to fall to death? There's been a steady stream of people coming in asking for the test. I guess there was a bit on the news about it last night. Someone in New York took the test, and when she found out it said SUICIDE, she killed herself. Does that justify that the Morbid Medium Machine works? I think it means that people with suicidal tendencies shouldn't use the stupid machine. I was thinking it would be nice if the machine would print the number for a suicide helpline every time someone got SUICIDE, but I guess it would be pretty futile. I mean it doesn't say they'll attempt suicide. It says they'll die by suicide. Someone else got GOVERNMENT yesterday. I wanted to refer him to Mike, but there are confidentiality rules that I would be breaking. I'm like a priest. I store all these confessions, and I'm forbidden to say anything. A priest tells the confessions to G.o.d, and I tell the predictions to the maintenance log. Plus, I'm not getting laid, so that's another thing I have in common with priests. I wonder if Batman has a priest. Anyway, maybe Mike already knows this guy from their top secret anti-government cabal.

Sep 8 - Wow. A family came in today, with two kids, and only the father spoke English. He made them all take the blood test. They looked terrified. And every single one of them came up with the same result: FIRE. I told the dad, and he got this weird faraway look in his eyes, and then he got really mad at me. He threw the cards back at me and called me a crook, told me to stay the h.e.l.l away from him. Then he gathered up the whole family, all of them staring at me, and stormed off. I've been shaking for the last hour. I don't think he's going to tell his family. Well fine, I guess I'd rather not know, so maybe they're better off not knowing. But...how will not knowing help them prevent a fire? Or, if the machine really is accurate, is it too late to prevent it now?

Sep 15 - Well, the machine works, I guess. It's just got a sick sense of humor. The guy whose card said JOY died over the weekend. No orgy, no heart attack from winning the lottery. He was run over walking home from the library. By a woman named Joy. That's really messed up. I'm sort of freaking out over this. How does a machine know the name of the person who runs you over? And why wouldn't it say RUN OVER? The sample card said CRASH, not the driver's name. It's like it was toying with him. Is that what it was? A joke? A machine joking about death? It sounds stupid but why not? I mean, a machine isn't going to die, right? That's the big advantage to being a machine. Finally, after doing every little thing we've told them to do, a machine is lording something over us. Seriously, no wonder it says ALMOND. It delights in being ironically vague. I hate this thing. I'm sleeping with the lights on tonight.

Sep 23 - I had someone come in for a second visit today because-get this-he lost his card and forgot what it said. He forgot. Did I just meet the stupidest person in America? Is this person the reason that my instruction manuals are 60% warnings and all the good TV shows are canceled in favor of pap? I told him he should write it down next time. Speaking of how death makes people stupid, there was a new announcement from Tammy in Human Resources. All new employees will be subject to getting a readout from the death machine. I am required to pa.s.s on the results to her. Current employees are strongly encouraged to share their results with Human Resources, but it's not required. I don't like the sound of that. Also, I've gotten a ton of people coming in, with a lot of vague results. The JOY thing has me second-guessing all of them. One man got RAM. He was thinking goat. I'm thinking Dodge. So he'll probably get smashed in a battering ram, just to prove us both wrong. Another one was BLOCKAGE. Will his arteries be blocked? Will his way to the hospital be blocked? Poor Beth is probably going to be killed by someone born in July. And what about Fallin' Paul? I keep wondering if there's a way autumn could kill him. Tammy already knows his card, and Mike's, and a bunch of others. I've been trying to keep an ear to the wall to hear if anyone else who has taken the test will lose their jobs. I've heard that Dr. Caine drew SHIV. If that doesn't spell bad news for your future, I don't know what does.

Sep 30 - Someone managed to stump the machine, from the looks of things. His card said $NIKCLE. What does that mean? Death by aliens? I asked if he had any ideas. He said he was in a really bad car accident, and keeps having dreams about car accidents every night, and wanted to know if that's what would kill him. No, lucky you, you'll be killed by a $NIKCLE, which for all I know could be a new kind of car invented ten years from now. I called our distributor at EndVisions, and they're going to send someone out to see if there's a problem with the machine. I have taken the liberty of hiding this log in my desk, and getting a new one that makes it look like I've been running the same four tests every week and that we've had all kinds of users who always keep their results confidential (except for Mr. $NIKCLE). I'm a little worried that I screwed it up somehow. I guess if he gets mad, I'll blame it on the fact that I'm stuck in a room with no view and a death machine, and understandably, it made me temporarily insane.

Oct 7 - Well, I can take comfort in knowing that the EndVisions tech isn't any more knowledgeable than I am. Actually, I take no comfort in this at all. Neil, the rep who came in, had no idea why the machine would say JOY when it meant RUN OVER. Or what it means when the sample says ALMOND. I'm disappointed. I kind of trusted the distributor to know these things. Neil's pretty sure that Mr. $NIKCLE won't die from a car accident. He guessed the cause of death was a dollar, a penny, and a nickel, like he'd make a deal with a loan shark but end up being a day late and $1.06 short. So, like I said, Neil's no expert. Maybe this will be a mystery for the ages. He was impressed with my (fake) record-keeping, but even more impressed with the way the office has embraced the machine. He said that most offices don't usually use it on their own employees, much less factor the results into their hiring practices. He was even talking about using our lab as an example of EndVisionary Thinking in the next newsletter. Apparently Neil helps edit it. He asked what my card said, and I lied and told him ELECTROCUTION. His card said STROKE. He seemed proud of that fact. He plans to go skydiving next summer, since he knows it won't kill him. I immediately thought that he'd land in a lake, try to do a b.r.e.a.s.t.stroke, get a cramp, and die. I did not mention this to him.

Oct 14 - I was interviewed for a news story. Candace Harrelson, the reporter, wanted me to tell her what some of the stranger results have been, but I didn't tell her much. I said that some of the more typical results are CANCER, CRASH, and HEART. I also mentioned the ALMOND one, and they asked me to verify that one guy whose card said JOY. Candace came in knowing a lot already. I don't think I was much help to Channel 5 Prime Time News. Apparently the story is going to be about how the machine is sometimes cryptic, but never wrong. They've compiled results from machines throughout the country, and have two dozen predictions that have all come true. Candace even volunteered to find out her own results. They filmed me drawing the blood and everything. She was talking about how easy the process is, and how the results are printed up on a single business card, with the same results every time. I had to just sit there and wait for her to stop talking before I informed her that she's going to die by BULLET. For a second, just for a second, she got this funny look on her face. Then she wrapped up by saying, "A harrowing prediction. Will it come true?" It was completely professional-news-reporter sounding. Totally didn't match the shocked look on her face just a second earlier. My guess is the station will cut that part. She spent the whole report basically convincing the viewers that the predictions always come true, but she gets hers, and suddenly there's a question? I'm sure that part will never air. That's too bad really. So many people come in here, and they're all easygoing until they see the card. Then, suddenly, they're serious. Almost panicked. I'm sure I'll see a rush of people come in here after the story airs. I just wish they'd show that one second, where Candace Harrelson stops reporting the story and starts thinking about her mortality. That's what the real report should be about.

Oct 21 - I was right. I've been swamped. I watched the report, and sure enough, they cut the part where Candace hears how she's going to die. Instead, after the report, Mark the anchorman asked if she took the test herself, and she said, "Maybe. But I'm not telling." I guess she figures I won't squeal, since I wouldn't tell her her anything. Since the report, I've heard from the media almost as much as I've heard from new customers. The death machine is the talk of the town. It's bigger than Tickle-Me-Elmo. I can only guess how well Tell-Me-How-I-Croak-Elmo would sell. Some people are coming back for a second run. One guy came in with a little silver frame pinned over his breast pocket. When he got the result (HEART), he slipped it into the frame. I asked if he knew that his card would say HEART, and he said he'd taken the test before, but he thoughtlessly threw away the card. Now it's a fashion statement. He's planning to sell the frames with a fake HEART card inside. That way, if people are proud of their deaths, they can stick it in the frame, and if they get, say, BOTCHED PLASTIC SURGERY, no one has to know. If the frames sell well, he's going to try making custom T-shirts. anything. Since the report, I've heard from the media almost as much as I've heard from new customers. The death machine is the talk of the town. It's bigger than Tickle-Me-Elmo. I can only guess how well Tell-Me-How-I-Croak-Elmo would sell. Some people are coming back for a second run. One guy came in with a little silver frame pinned over his breast pocket. When he got the result (HEART), he slipped it into the frame. I asked if he knew that his card would say HEART, and he said he'd taken the test before, but he thoughtlessly threw away the card. Now it's a fashion statement. He's planning to sell the frames with a fake HEART card inside. That way, if people are proud of their deaths, they can stick it in the frame, and if they get, say, BOTCHED PLASTIC SURGERY, no one has to know. If the frames sell well, he's going to try making custom T-shirts.

Oct 28 - There has been a line going outside the door. I've seen so many death cards in the last two days that I can't even remember most of the weird ones. So here's a list of the ones I do remember, FEAR, TRAPEZE, GERALD, RELIGION, MINK, MARSHMALLOW, CAMCORDER, PIE, and RONALD MCDONALD. I want a custom made T-shirt that says RONALD MCDONALD. Seriously, after reading that one I was slightly tempted to try the machine myself. But then I got another visit from Beth. She wanted to try the machine again. We both knew she'd get the same result. It was like watching a car crash, and not being able to do anything about it. She said something to remind me just exactly why I didn't want to take the test. She said, "I'm the same person as I was in July, only now I've emptied my bank account talking to doctors and I have panic attacks in the middle of the night." That warning should be put on the front of the box. I told her so. It was nice to see her again. She told me about a dream she's been having, where the machine is just this spigot that attaches to your arm and slowly drains all of the blood out of you. I had a similar dream, where instead of getting a business card, your death was written on a big cinder block, and I had to swim across the river with it around my neck. Oh, I almost forgot the best card: DISK ERROR. I had to run that one three times before I was convinced that the guy would die from DISK ERROR and there really was nothing wrong with the machine.

October 30 - Another busy week. I actually ran out of blank business cards. I kept fifty people waiting while I sent Paul to pick up a new box from the store. I was waiting here for him to come back when I had my epiphany. Let me set the scene. I'm waiting in the office, alone, with all kinds of people waiting to get in. I'm trying to think of how many words I can make out of "Brick Wall". I cross out the letters as I go, and suddenly, it hits me. $NIKCLE is one word written on top of another. It's SINK written on top of ICICLE! The guy has two deaths, unless he manages to sink into a pile of icicle. So I thought about that for awhile, and here's my best guess. He said he was in a car accident, right? What if it was a recent car accident? Maybe he had a blood transfusion recently, and the machine tested the blood of two people at one time! How long does it take for blood to acclimate to a person? My guess is that one or the other will disappear in time, but for now, he should probably avoid sinks, sinkholes, and cold climates. I've got him coming in for a second test next month. I am now officially more knowledgeable than the product rep at EndVisions. Hope that knowledge won't give poor Neil a stroke.

Nov 4 - Why on earth is the government killing so many people? Candace over at Channel 5 did a story about it. There were a bunch of people who came forward and said they were disturbed that their card said GOVERNMENT and more than a little distrustful of our elected leaders.

Nov 11 - Neil showed up unexpectedly yesterday. I was excited to tell him about the double printing on $NIKCLE but he kicked me out of the office, said he needed to make some adjustments to the machine. It was a nice change of pace, to be away from the brick wall and the icy specter of death for a little while. I actually called up Beth, to see how she was doing, and we had lunch together. A good lunch. I like her. But get this: part of me doesn't want to get involved with her because I couldn't deal with it if she died. She'd have her midnight panic attacks, and then I'd get worried that she was dying. It's too stressful. I checked back in to the lab after lunch, and Neil was already gone. Great customer service there, Neil. It didn't take too much investigation to find out what he had changed. Now the machine, the Bucket-Kick-O-Meter, is hooked up to a phone line. His note said that it would make maintenance easier, and I should not unplug it for any reason. I can't believe that the machine of death gets its own phone and I have to share the one in the hallway with Paul. If the machine gets a window with a view better than a brick wall, I'm going to personally start telling people how they're going to die.

Nov 18 - I was talking to Paul about Thanksgiving. Get this: He canceled his ski trip this year. Fear of heights? I told him he's the same person he was back in July, except now he doesn't want to go skiing. I guess it didn't sound as profound as when Beth said it.

Dec 1 - Sad news. Mitch, my former coworker who got laid off, died yesterday. It was really sad. He couldn't get a recommendation from work and couldn't find a job. His wife left him, and he killed himself with aspirin and alcohol. Once again, the machine was correct. If he wouldn't have taken the test, he'd be alive today, I'm sure of it. Tammy and the rest of the HR people aren't beating themselves up about it though. She told me I don't need to report results to her anymore, because now the machine does it automatically. That's why Neil was in before Thanksgiving. If there isn't a database of results already, you can bet your a.s.s that Human Resources is starting one. Then she sent out a memo to the whole office that says everyone needs to retake the test. Dr. Caine is resigning. Seriously. I still don't know if he drew SHIV, but it sure sounds like it. Who is this going to affect? People who drew health problems, like HEART? People who drew deaths that imply they'll happen sooner than later, like FALL? Now I'm thinking about resigning, too.

Dec 8 - Not resigning. I bit the bullet and ran a sample, telling them it was my result. It said ALMOND. They wouldn't lay me off for ALMOND, plus I didn't have to, you know, actually take the test. Of course, this means that from this day forward, I can't test the ALMOND sample anymore, but I've long since given up testing the samples anyway. We closed the office to outside clients for a day so I could test everyone else. I guess I underestimated the contingent that didn't want to be tested. In fact, there were a couple of people who took the test and then threw the card away without looking at it. Mike was really resistant to getting tested again, now that it's a mandatory thing. I feel bad for him, since GOVERNMENT sounds like one of those deaths that HR would get really worked up about. I also retested $NIKCLE, but the results are the same. I told him that if he knew who donated blood to him, I could test that person and we'd know which applied to which person. Unless the donor has already died in a tragic icicle accident or something. I found that funnier than he did.

Dec 10 - I just now realized that I told Neil I would die by ELECTROCUTION and I told Tammy I would die by ALMOND. I hope they don't compare notes.

Dec 15 - The powers that be running the lab have been good enough to put off layoffs until after Christmas. Nothing like a little yuletide panic. Last year, our Christmas luncheon had fried chicken, potatoes, a bunch of pies; it was really good. This year, we're getting salads and low-fat, unfrosted angel food cake for dessert. For a healthy new year, they say. Beth called me and asked if I wanted to catch a movie with her. I said no. I just have too much stress in my life right now.

Dec 30 - A local news story made the national news this week. The mayor's cousin (or maybe second cousin) found out that his roommate was sleeping with his girlfriend. He also found out that his roommate's death card said PIE. So this cousin has been slipping pie crusts and pie filling into the roommate's food, hoping that will be the pie that kills him. He hasn't done anything to the pie, it's perfectly normal. The day after Christmas, roommate is eating supper when he finally notices a hunk of pie under his turkey. He gasps, chokes on his food, and he really does die. Now the mayor's cousin has been arrested for murder. All kinds of big-name politicians are in town, all with their own take on pie murder. The mayor is humiliated. Reporters from every channel have come in to talk to me this week, and I've seen myself on three different news programs. It's unreal. I feel like I shouldn't be interviewed by this many reporters without my own book coming out, or winning the Super Bowl, or something. After they turn the cameras off, I've asked each one if they've taken the test. (I've tested so many people in the last three months, I've honestly lost track.) Every single one of them said yes.

Jan 6 - Wow, Cleveland is the the place for controversy, and it's all because of Murder Pie. Suddenly, Congress wants to talk about the Buying-the-Farm-Reporter. The Op-Ed pages are filled with pleading to get the government to pa.s.s some death machine laws. The flames have been fanned by a person who took a bunch of hostages and died in a shootout in Texas. They tested him posthumously, and sure enough, the result said "SHOOTOUT." There's been a push to register people's death cards with local law enforcement, or even the federal government. I'm trying to get ahold of Tammy to approve some vacation time quickly, because I do place for controversy, and it's all because of Murder Pie. Suddenly, Congress wants to talk about the Buying-the-Farm-Reporter. The Op-Ed pages are filled with pleading to get the government to pa.s.s some death machine laws. The flames have been fanned by a person who took a bunch of hostages and died in a shootout in Texas. They tested him posthumously, and sure enough, the result said "SHOOTOUT." There's been a push to register people's death cards with local law enforcement, or even the federal government. I'm trying to get ahold of Tammy to approve some vacation time quickly, because I do not not want to be here when the s.h.i.t goes down. I've heard people are planning a protest for right outside my building. Why am I in the middle of all this? All I did was read an instruction manual, for crying out loud. want to be here when the s.h.i.t goes down. I've heard people are planning a protest for right outside my building. Why am I in the middle of all this? All I did was read an instruction manual, for crying out loud.

Jan 8 - Things are crazy. They're protesting right outside, and throwing things at cops. I am not going to sit here and protect the d.a.m.n machine. They can have it. I'm getting out of here...

Jan 27 - OK, so it's been a while, but now here I am. Tammy talked me into coming back, but I really don't know why I came in at all. Everything has pretty much gone to h.e.l.l. Here's what's happened: On January 8 about 2,000 protesters marched through Cleveland, opposing the death machine. Police showed up in riot gear to try to keep things civil, but the crowd turned violent. People started throwing things at cops, a bunch of people got arrested, protesters were burning effigies, cops were getting fire hoses. There was some kind of blast that took out a bunch of windows, and started a fire right here. The lab sustained some water damage when the firefighters showed up, but made it through in pretty good condition. On the other hand, the building next door-the brick building that was outside my window-was completely destroyed. It was a firetrap. The sh.e.l.l of bricks that remained has been torn to the ground. Apparently, it was thought to be abandoned but was actually housing a sweatshop, employing illegal immigrants, even kids. I'm almost certain they included the family that was in here earlier, the kids who didn't speak any English. The ones whose cards said FIRE. The remains of 27 people were found inside the building, and six more, including my coworker Mike, were killed in the protest. I got out of here just as things were turning really bad. I've been at home, left alone by the media and this is my first day back in the office. It is unworldly. I never thought something like that could really happen here. I always thought that chaos and disaster were reserved for other countries, or at least big cities like New York or Chicago. Even after all this time, it's like I'm walking in a dream. There is a bodyguard stationed outside my door at all times, but I am still alone in this room with the d.a.m.n machine. Now, instead of staring at a brick wall, I stare at scorched rubble. It's a huge, dirty, gaping pit, and every time I look up at it, I feel a wave of despair. I think about those poor kids. There was a sweatshop-a sweatshop in Middle America-mere inches from this room, and I had no idea. And now, because whoever was running it didn't give a d.a.m.n about their employees, 27 of them are dead. If a machine that can predict death can also bring about so much death, is it really worth it? I don't think anyone can convince me that it is.