1. Falling Apart

"I'm telling you," Lacey said, leaning on the copier and waving a finger casually in my direction, "you should totally come. You said yourself that you don't have any plans."

"I don't," I sighed, glowering into my coffee cup; were we going to have this conversation every year? "But that doesn't mean I want to spend my evening hanging around being awkward at people."

"Oh, come on," she said. "You're not that bad at socializing."

"In small groups, maybe," I retorted. "Not a company-wide party. Besides, this is the Halloween party we're talking about."

"What's wrong with that?" The microwave pinged, and she fetched her cinnamon roll out of it; the breakroom was filled with the scent.

"You know what I'm talking about," I sighed. "Stuff tends to happen at Halloween parties."

"Thf'f—" She swallowed. "That's what this's about? C'mon, everyone knows that kinda thing's harmless; besides, it goes away, eventually. …Usually."

"Tell that to Gary." I sipped at my coffee; it was cooling quicker than I'd anticipated.

"What? Gary's fine, Connor. He telecommutes now."

"Yeah, 'cause he's forty feet long and tends to light things on fire when he sneezes."

"He's said outright that he wouldn't trade it," she countered, taking another bite of her pastry. "Plus, he gets a stipend from the DNR for helping cull the whitetail population. Dude literally gets paid to eat, on top of his regular job."

"I just…it's a complication I don't need in my life, alright?" I took a long pull off my coffee. Whatever forces were responsible for the "Halloween phenomenon," I had no intention of letting them throw a monkey wrench into things. "I have enough to deal with as it stands."

"See, that's exactly why you should come," Lacey opined. "Getting to be something else for a while's a great way to de-stress, if you come at it with an open mind. I was a black cat for like three days a couple years back – I've never been more relaxed in my life." She grinned. "Honestly miss the ears 'n tail, but I s'pose if I kept those I'da had to have all my jeans altered."

In spite of myself, I couldn't help picturing her with cat ears the same raven-black as her tresses accenting her head, and a tail slinking 'round from behind her. It would've been a good look, I had to admit, but…I bit my lip. That was fine for other people; it just wasn't me. "I don't wanna be anything else," I said. "I've been one thing for like my whole life, and I'm still trying to get the hang of that."

"I keep telling you, you're doing fine," she said, shaking her head slowly. "If anything, it's taking on too much responsibility that seems to get you in trouble. It's okay to let someone else take some of the weight off your shoulders."

She did keep telling me that; but what else was I supposed to do? I'd been through the fun of being "let go" for "inadequate self-improvement" more than once, and with all the assorted clowns I'd had to work with over the years, it was hard to entrust other people with things I should be taking care of myself. I stared blankly into the bottom of the mug as I took another sip; it was officially cold.

"…Maybe," I said, not really meaning it. "But we really are slammed right now, what with the integration project. Even if corporate would let us bring on the help we need, it'd be a bad time to be out of commission for most of a week."

"Ugh, I wish I could dispute that," she groaned, and polished off the cinnamon roll. "But even so. If anything makes a project late more certainly than not getting the people you need, it's having the people you've got burn themselves out." She shrugged. "I'm not gonna say you have to come, if you really don't wanna, but you can consider taking care of yourself a standing order from your team leader."

I sighed, and poured myself another cup of coffee. "…Copy that."

---

The weather had really taken a turn by mid-October, and the sky was cold and gray when I left work. A stiff breeze swept across the parking lot, and I shivered and pulled my hoodie tighter; it'd been too warm to break out my heavy winter jacket, but we were definitely getting there. I loved the thing – it was old and ratty, but big enough that even at my stature I was swimming in it. It was comforting to have that layer between myself and the outside world, like a suit of armor…

I flicked on the radio as I drove home, but it was no use – I just couldn't stop thinking. A litany of things I had to get done at work cycled through my mind: test cases we hadn't hit yet, documentation review, e-mails I still needed to write, other projects that'd been back-burnered for months now, ever since the acquisition…ye gods, all that and she wanted me to go to a party!?

And a party where I might end up incapable of performing my job for days afterward, at that. Okay, the company had to make accommodations for long-term disability – Gary'd been issued a ruggedized PC and an industrial-strength macro-sized keyboard and mouse – but corporate wasn't gonna go to the trouble if you were, say, a cat for a few days. No, they'd just give you paid leave…and then complain about all the work you hadn't done when you got back…

I squirmed, feeling my stomach knot. Okay, I'd been in my current job for over three years without any real warning signs, but I still dreaded performance reviews thanks to prior experience. It never seemed to matter what you did or didn't accomplish, and there was no way to know how much effort was enough; if they wanted your head, they'd find some way to justify it…

Besides, I didn't even want to go. Why would I want to be something else? I was I fine the way I was, wasn't I? Or, well, I knew what I was used to dealing with, at least. And even if I wanted to escape from reality, there were simpler and less potentially life-altering ways to do it. No, I definitely didn't need to risk giving myself a whole new set of challenges to struggle with on top of everything else…

Plus, I really did feel awkward in group settings; or, really, with social norms in general. Trying to look people in the eye made me feel uneasy and self-conscious, but you're expected to meet their gaze, or they'll think you're shifty and evasive; and I could never figure out what to do with my hands, but you come off as nervous and weird if you're constantly fidgeting. Wasting an evening just to stand around feeling like a twitchy, gawky freak? No thanks.

With a weary sigh, I parked the car, went inside, and put a frozen lasagna in the oven. I didn't really like them – they were too damn sweet, like they added corn syrup to the tomato sauce or something, and it was practically impossible to avoid burning the roof of your mouth with molten cheese. I could've made a better one, for God's sake. But that took time, and I had too much to catch up on; besides, I could save half for tomorrow and not have to go out for lunch.

I cracked a beer, sat down at the kitchen table with my work laptop, and tried to hammer through some test cases while I waited for dinner; I had another to go with the lasagna (I burned the roof of my mouth,) and kept at it until I felt my brain reach that tipping point where I was too fried to do brain stuff reliably.

I finished out the evening sitting on the couch and spacing out, trying to make myself relax with generically "relaxing" music, which I didn't really like and wasn't at all relaxed by. Then I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, stripped to my boxers and undershirt, and collapsed into bed. I laid there for a long while, waiting for my brain to get the message and wind down, before finally fading out, alone in the cold, dark apartment.

---

It was on the twenty-fourth that it happened.

I'd woken up with a massive crick in my neck. I got these, from time to time, but this was a real whopper; on top of my general exhaustion lately, it was nearly enough to make me knuckle under and call out for the day. I must've slept funny; I had a vague recollection of unsettling dreams and a lot of tossing and turning, but no details. Indigestion, probably; I really needed to find something comparably quick-'n-easy to switch out the lasagna for…

I fumbled my way through the shower, trying with limited success to reach behind myself without setting off any further cramping; the hot water soothed my neck muscles, but only a little. Dammit, I didn't need this; I had enough to worry about as it stood, and it wasn't doing my concentration any favors. But, well, it wasn't like I was sick; I just had to wait for the pain to go down, and I'd be able to buckle down and get to work.

It took me longer than usual to get out the door, and that meant I missed my chance to beat the morning rush. I managed to make it to the office without incident, but it was nearly 8:05 by the time I got situated at my desk – the first time I'd been late in, what, six months? Granted, I put in more than enough overtime to make up for it, but I felt residually uneasy all the same. I squirmed a little as I got comfortable in my chair; it felt like I didn't fit in it quite the way I was used to, like the back was slightly taller than I remembered. (Was I slouching? I didn't think so…)

I settled in and got to work, but even I had to admit that I wasn't exactly at the top of my game. I was tired and my neck hurt; I might've even felt a little nauseous, but I couldn't tell if it was from stress or lasagna. My brain was functional, technically, but it was hard to stay focused with all the distractions my body kept pestering it with.

Worse yet, as the morning dragged on, even my physical coordination started to suffer. I found myself having moments where my fingers fumbled or my hands just wouldn't respond, like they'd suddenly forgotten who it was they were supposed to be listening to. God, I wasn't having a stroke, was I? Probably not; I didn't smell anything funny, and they say you smell burnt toast or whatever when that's happening. But it was affecting my ability to work; every time I fat-fingered or typoed something, it was one more thing I had to go back and correct…

Ugh, I did not have time for this. There were at least half a dozen unfinished drafts in my mail client, and upwards of fifty tickets in the support queue alone, to say nothing of the open test cases; I felt my blood pressure spiking at the thought of it. If I could just make it 'til lunch, I'd have a chance to catch my breath and decompress; but there was a prickling sensation at the back of my neck now, and I just couldn't friggin' concentrate…!

While I was trying to psych myself up to stick it out 'til lunchtime, Lacey moseyed over to my desk. "Mornin', Connor," she said; then she glanced down at me and cocked an eyebrow. "…Uh, pardon my French, but you look like shit."

"I'm fine," I sighed, really not in the mood to have one of these conversations again. "Just got a crick in my neck, that's all." I grimaced and hissed involuntarily as it twinged again.

"Are you kidding me?" she said, incredulously; a shadow flashed across her soft brown face, and I could swear I saw lightning flicker in her eyes. "I can see you're sweating, dude. Didja think I was joking about burnout…?"

Was I? I felt my forehead. God, she was right; cold sweat beaded the back of my hand. I stared at it for a moment; it looked funny to me, somehow, but I was too caught up in…everything right now to put my finger on how. "Look," I groaned, "I'm gonna take lunch pretty quick here, I promise. I'll have a chance to catch my breath then; I just gotta—"

"Oh fertheluvagawd," she sighed, putting a hand to her forehead. "Connor, do I have to spell it out? You. Are. Not. Well. Even I can see that. I appreciate your dedication, honest, but nobody works well when they've reduced themselves to a living corpse, alright?" She took me by the shoulder, and got a funny look for a moment, like it didn't feel quite how she expected; then she recovered.

"Listen," she said, "nobody's using the corner office right now. I want you to go in there and rest for a bit; give yourself a chance to recuperate. When you've gotten your head on straight, then we can talk about whether you're in any shape to be at work today."

"Honestly, I'll be—" I started, but she shot me a Look.

"I'm not funning around here, mister," she said. "You're too much of an asset for me to let you run yourself into the ground, even if I wasn't trying for basic common decency. C'mon, up."

She prompted me with a nudge to the shoulder; I didn't like the idea, but it was clear that trying to argue with her was getting nowhere, and my head was too muddled right now to come up with a coherent counterpoint, anyway. I tottered to my feet, but it seemed that I'd somehow put my legs on wrong this morning; my knees were wobbly from all the discomfort, but the proportions seemed all wrong, too…

Lacey clearly noticed; she put an arm under my shoulder and helped walk me to the corner office. We kept it reserved for private teleconferencing, normally, and it was indeed empty at the moment. I stumbled inside as she let go of me, and stood there for a moment breathing raggedly.

"Jesus, Connor," she said, "you're shaking like a leaf. Seriously, are you okay…?"

"I…" I began, but caught myself. Even with everything I had on my plate, even with the constant nagging sense of deadlines creeping up on me, there was a part of me that was just. So. God. Damned. Tired. of deciding that this was fine and normal…

"…I feel like my most of me is on fire," I groaned. It was true; my neck was killing me, the prickling sensation was flaring up to a whole new height, and there was a tingling throughout the entire rest of my frame, like I'd somehow slept on my entire body funny and it'd "gone to sleep…"

"This is not normal," she said, sounding genuinely worried; then she frowned. "…Um, Connor? You, uh, you look…different."

I blinked. "Different how—!?" I said; for some reason, my voice broke at the end of it.

"Look, I'm gonna call the hospital—"

"Wha—!? N–no…!" I yelped. The last thing I needed right now was to be laid up for days or, hell, weeks. I could get through this; I'd take a rest here, hold my head up straight, and get back down to it. I could, I knew I could, if I could only make my body obey, if I could just pull myself together…!

Then I felt it: a sudden, cataclysmic spasm that started in my shoulders and spread throughout to wrack my entire body. The prickling at the back of my neck erupted into a flame that seared my whole being, and then—

When I was a kid, I used to experience moments of what you might call "dissociation." I never could figure out what triggered them, if anything; all I knew was that I'd occasionally be going about my business and suddenly experience a sort of detached perception, like my mind's eye became a separate entity, observing from a distance the action of someone who was still me while I was something else. Sometimes it felt like my consciousness was attached to my body by a tether, like a balloon, and without it I might just float away…

What happened next was a little like that.

The pain in my neck was gone.

And so was my neck.

The pain in my body was gone.

But my body wasn't.

The tether was gone.

And I wasn't floating.