Finally, the store was empty.

Ty started programming the kiosk to print live composites, per Damon's detailed instructions.

That morning, Ty had been compelled to pocket Damon's journal. He was glad of his prescient feelings, otherwise, he wouldn't be on the verge of pressing "print" on a scan of himself.

Why are you doing this? a voice inside asked.

I need someone dependable to watch Helia, he answered, well aware that he might be completely bonkers.

Bullshit. Drop her off at a babysitter.

I can't afford it.

Ask a neighbor, a friend.

Damnit, I'm fucking curious, that's why, Ty admitted to himself.

The voice didn't answer.

His brain shifted gears while a memory invaded his thoughts. At nine-years-old, he had been the sometimes babysitter of three-year-old Damon. One of those parentless-afternoons, Damon sobbed like his dog had died. When Ty went to him, Damon popped his thumb from his mouth to point at the fish bowl. Damon's imaginary dog was fine; it was his fish that had taken a dive.

Both Nemo and Nemo Two floated at the top of the bowl. Ty was sad, but it wasn't long before an idea struck him.

"Let's dissect them!"

"What's 'issec'?" Damon cocked his head to the side, thumb back in his mouth.

"I'll show you."

Ty gathered various tools, among them a hammer and power drill. Despite Damon's objections, Ty cut the goldfish in half, drilling their eyeballs, and taking apart their tails. Damon, overtaken by curiosity, joined in the autopsy. He sawed at Nemo Two with great concentration for a three-year-old.

Soon, all that was left of both Nemos were mutilated fish parts. Ty gathered up the bits soberly, flushing the remains down the toilet. Damon watched with a silent question in his eyes, but he hadn't the maturity to articulate it. Ty knew the question, but he hadn't known the answer then.

Why?

Because I can.

At the last minute, Ty changed the specifications for his composite. Changing a few measurements wouldn't be adequate, but his rash idea would set the thing apart from him indefinitely.

Ty's finger hovered over the print button, depresses, and then the moment passed. The outcome was as anti-climactic as it had been back in Damon's bedroom, with the printing plate standing empty.

You didn't read the tech notes right, the Jimmy Cricket within him mocked.

The sight of the empty composite slab brought reality back. It was late, and he should've been home by now. He had wasted more time planning a fantasy dependent on his clone. Tomorrow, he had the whole day off, ample time to find a sitter.

On his way out of the Good Time store, Ty texted Jennifer.

-How's Helia? Are you sober?

He didn't receive an answer.

~*~

A/N: Dedicated to a sci-fi pal and WP friend, krazydiamond

Winner of multiple Wattys, published author, and so much more, Kristen Jaques is a WP writer you should be following, if you aren't already. 

Read up on her candlepunk epic, Edgewise: 

https://www.wattpad.com/story/73740764-edgewise