Ever since Homo sapiens had first organized into hunter-gatherer societies, the vomeronasal organ had been waiting around for something to do. Before that time, the small wad of sensory neurons tucked away in the human nose served as kind of olfactory radar. It told people when danger was near, when an animal or other human was afraid, and sent strong signals to the hypothalamus when someone in the neighborhood was horny.
But the vomeronasal organ wasn’t vestigial as much as dormant; because Glio had been consuming Jared’s neurons at an alarming rate, the organ, compensating for the reduction in its owner’s brain power, was jarred to life. It grabbed every pheromone within a thirty-yard radius and flooded the olfactory bulb with information.
The smell filtering through to Jared’s brain was so strong that Glio felt nauseous. Somewhere in the immediate vicinity was a predator. For the first time ever, Glio lost his appetite.
***
Jared didn’t smell anything as he shook Ethan Overbee’s hand. Unlike Glio, Jared’s first impression of Ethan was, on balance, positive. Or at least he thought it was. He wasn’t sure.
At five feet eleven inches, Ethan was about the same height as Jared, and carried with him a youthful gleam that gave him an air of both mischief and charm. He had hair the color of oak and eyes to match. His angular face looked like something a Renaissance sculptor might have used as a subject. Jared thought all these things in an instant, and none of them consciously. They were simply filed away for future access, and for future dining by his unwelcome guest.
Jared and Ethan were meeting in the café at Powell’s City of Books. It was Jared’s favorite spot in all of Portland, and when Ethan had suggested a public meeting, Jared knew this would be the place.
When the owner of Powell’s tagged his store a “city” of books, he wasn’t kidding. The massive space occupied an entire city block and boasted half a dozen rooms, each larger than the average bookstore and each devoted to a collection of related topics. Even seasoned customers would use the maps provided at the front of the store, taking any help they could get to find that one literary needle in the overwhelming haystacks of words.
It didn’t take Jared long to spot Ethan when he entered. He was the only man in a twenty-block radius wearing a suit, tie, and matching handkerchief. With no body art, piercings, or conspicuously colored hair, Ethan would have stood out even without the Armani threads.
The two men exchanged pleasantries, ordered coffee, and got down to business.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to meet you, Jared. May I call you Jared?” Ethan began.
“I’m wondering about a lot of things these days. But if I recall, and I’m not entirely sure I do, you called about my eBay listing.”
“Yes, the listing. I’m sorry the auction was removed.”
“Yeah, damnedest thing,” Jared answered.
“Actually, I have a confession to make.”
Jared waited for Ethan to continue.
“I’m the reason the listing was taken down. I brought it to the attention of the eBay standards and practices team. I didn’t even know they had such a thing, but they do.”
“I’m sorry?” Jared was becoming more confused by the minute.
“I needed to eliminate the competition.”
Jared didn’t know what to think. Was this man telling the truth? Was Jared hearing him correctly? Was he even sitting in Powell’s at that moment?
“Why?”
“Well,” Ethan began, “I could say it was to control the price, and maybe that is partly true, but really, it’s because you and I need each other.”
“I need you?”
“Yes.”
Jared sipped his latte and waited for Ethan to continue.
“I can guarantee that you will die with a minimum of pain and discomfort, and I can assure you that your family will be well cared for.”
“I don’t suppose you can help me not die.”
“No, Jared, I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“You can’t.”
“No.”
“And how can I help you?”
“I run a television studio, and I want to televise your death, in prime time.”
“I’m sorry?”
“A reality series, Jared’s Brain or something like that. We’ll have cameras all over your house, filming twenty-four hours a day; we’ll edit it down to an hour each night. We’d need your family’s consent, of course. But they will be very well compensated.”
“A reality show? My life?”
“I could lie to you, Jared, and tell you how your story will inspire people all over the world, how watching someone die with dignity and with the love of their family will help others deal with their own trauma, that it will have a healing, cathartic impact on humanity. Hell, all that might even be true. But really, you’ll sell advertising. Lots of advertising.”
This raw honesty was a key part of Ethan’s charm. His ability to cut away the fat of an encounter, to leave only the essence of a thing, was what made him so successful.