Jack in the Box (2 page)

             
The man walked into the next room and closed the door.

             
I got out of bed and walked over to the door. I opened it and closed it behind me. The man wasn’t there. I was standing in a room, identical to the one I was just in, minus the bed and trash bin. An empty room. Four walls, a door at each wall. I didn't know which door he had gone through. I walked into the next room. An empty room. A door at each wall. It looked exactly the same. I ran into another room. The same. I rushed through door after door, turning left and right. Every time I ran into a room, I became more and more scared. No matter where I went, every room was the same.

             
I didn’t have dinner that night.

two

             
Every door.

             
Every room.

             
Everything.

             
The same.

             
Each door was at the center of each wall.

             
The knots in the wooden doors were identical.

             
Each door had a brass handle with a keyhole. And a small dent on the right side.

             
A single light bulb was in the center of every ceiling in every room.

             
Nothing distinguished one room from another. As I wandered through them, I became very tired. For some reason I felt like I had never gotten any sleep, even though I had just woken up from sleeping a few hours ago. Or had I even been sleeping? My brain was continually working, trying to figure out a solution, while my body was ready to collapse. My body won. I remember losing consciousness in a room with a door at each wall. In other words, I had no idea where on earth I was. If I was even on earth. No dinner, no bed. . . but at least I had my sanity. The latter was questionable.

             
I woke up, so desperate for food, so desperate for a bed. My body ached from sleeping on the cold, hard floor. But as I woke up, I felt what I was lying on. Not the floor. It was soft. I was in my room. In my bed. A great feeling of contentment overwhelmed me.

             
Now all I need is. . .

             
The sweet smell filled my nostrils.

             
Food.

             
I sat up to see a table a few feet past the foot of my bed. I remembered seeing it the day before; I just hadn’t taken notice of it then. On top of the table was a plate. I got out of bed and seemed to float over to the scent. I sat down in one of the two chairs at the table. On the plate were hash browns, an omelet, and five strips of bacon. Next to the plate was a glass full of orange juice.

             
"Better not have pulp," I said before taking a sip. It didn't. Awesome.

             
I began to eat. Such a great feeling. My mind escaped from reality, escaped from the fact that I was completely lost in this place, that I didn't know who I was, that I didn't know why I was here. The sense of peace from such a simple necessity as food was great.

             
But reality didn't go away.

             
I still didn't know where I was. Well, I knew that I was in a room with four doors, next to a room with four doors, next to a room with four doors, next to. . .

             
I still didn't know where I was.

             
"Welcome back," said happy man as he entered the room. He handed me the gun, notebook, and pen. "You left these here. Try not to do that."

             
"Thanks." I took the items and placed them under my chair.

             
"Did you enjoy your breakfast?" He asked me.

             
"Yeah, a lot. . . How did I get back in here?"

             
I figured out that this guy frowned whenever I asked questions. “There’s certain questions that I just can’t answer, Jack.”

             
"So, if I'm supposed to catch you, why are you in here?"

             
"You are not allowed to attempt the task during meal hours. We all need to eat, Jack."

             
"Okay." I examined his face. "Okay. . . Brian."

             
He looked at me with a confused look. "What?"

             
"That's my name for you. You made a name for me, so I've made a name for you. Brian."

             
He looked down for a second. He looked back up again and said casually, "Okay, that's fine, Jack."

             
"Did you already have your breakfast?"

             
"Yeah," Brian replied. "You were out cold. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I had mine an hour ago.

             
I drank the last of my orange juice. "Can I ask you a question?"

             
"Just did. Will that be all?"

             
"I’m serious. Why won't you tell me what's going on here?"

             
"You're not allowed to know. Well, that’s technically not true. You are. But I'm not the one allowed to tell you. Once - that is, if - you find out, some answers will come."

             
"Then how do I find out?"

             
"It's all part of the test."

             
The test. He said it with seriousness. As if it were some official title.

             
"And the test is to catch you." I looked up at him for confirmation.

             
"Right you are, Jacky. Speaking of which, it's about time for me to head on out." He walked over to a door, the same door he went through the day before. It was to the right of my bed. "See you back here at lunch."

             
"And when is that?" I asked, already anticipating that he would not answer.

             
"Noon." He walked through the door and closed it behind him.

            
 
He answered? Sweet! Wait
.
I looked around the room. No clock
.
How do I know when noon is
?
"Great, thanks." I put the pen in the left pocket of my jeans and the notebook in my back pocket on the right side. I left the gun on the bed. I di
d
no
t
want to use that thing. I opened the door, walked into the next room, and closed the door. He wasn't there. Of course. I wondered how I would be able to even find him, much less catch him. I thought about what he had told me the day before.

             
Each door leads to a different room. You may not mark a door, you may not break a door, you may not leave a door open after entering.

             
Was he lying? Were they really all different? Because every room pretty much looked the same to me. The only one that was different was my bedroom, but that was just because of what the room contained. What about marking a door? Would I get in trouble for breaking his “rules”?

             
I looked at the door in front of me, across from the door I had just entered through. I took out the notebook and pen. I drew several squares on the first paper. In the center square, I put an H for “Home.” That marked my bedroom. Now what? I couldn’t make any room distinguish itself from another. I sat down. I don’t know why, but I felt as though life was being pulled out of me. I shouldn’t have already been feeling tired. I had just gotten up a few minutes before then. I got back up. Willed myself to move. I looked back at the pad. There was no way of figuring out what else to put on the paper. This was hopeless. I put the pad away. “All I can do now is guess.”

             
I walked for a little while. No matter which door I went through, the next room was always the same. I changed directions every now and then. Sometimes I went back through a door I had just closed to see if anything had changed. Everything that happened was the same as the day before, except this time I didn’t freak out about it. I knew that the rooms were like this. I might as well have been in a box. Nowhere to go. No one to talk to. Except Brian. But I never saw him, which bothered me. Not because the game of tag was intriguing to me, but because I wanted to escape the place. As I went from door to door, I wondered if Brian were always one room away from me. Leaving a room right as I entered it. Dodging me just by a little bit every time I opened a door. The thought irritated me, and made me go through each room more quickly. But I didn’t go for very long. The feeling hit me again. The feeling of imminent collapse. I was losing consciousness. With no idea why. I tried to push myself. Tried to keep going. The last thing I remember seeing was the floor.

→

              “Good morning!”

             
I opened my eyes. I was in bed again. And there was Brian, with his happy face, which was already starting to irritate me.

             
“Better get eatin’. You slept longer than usual.”

             
“You’re always the one who wakes me up.”

             
He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, then paused. “. . . Oh yeah. Well, either way, you’re awake now. Eat up.”

             
I went to the table. My mind said I shouldn't be hungry. But my body begged to differ. It seemed like I had just eaten. But it was morning again. It was the next day. Had I really slept all day?

             
Several pancakes were stacked on a plate. Maple syrup ran down the tower of goodness and a square of butter rested at the top. A glass of milk sat next to the plate. I couldn't ignore it; I was hungry. Again. Even though I did not like it there, I had to admit that the food was awesome. Or at least the breakfast. I didn’t know about the other meals.

             
Brian sat down in the chair across from me. He didn’t have any food in front of him, but he did have an empty plate. I figured that he had  eaten already. "Enjoying it?" he said.

             
“You know it,” I said with my mouth full.

             
“What?”

             
I swallowed and took a sip of milk. “Yeah, I'm enjoying it."

             
“Oh. Good! Well, in a few minutes. . .”

             
“You said I slept longer than usual.”

             
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Yeah. . .”

             
“I’ve only slept here two times. Maybe three, but I’m still confused about the day I woke up in this place.”

             
“Okay. . .” He looked down at his fingernails as if something were on them.

             
“You said ‘more than usual.’ Like I’d slept here several times or something.” I leaned forward.

             
“An
d
yo
u
say this like it’s some sort of a surprise to you.” He raised his head and looked at me. His eyebrow was still up. Suddenly Brian was the one quizzing me.

             
Our eyes locked. Mine were wide open, staring straight into his. His stared back, but while I felt like I knew nothing about this man, he seemed to know everything about me. “What do you mean?”

             
He smirked. It wasn’t an obnoxious smirk, though. He raised his lip just a bit, and had an honest look of care. Amused at the question, but still sympathetic.

             
I waited for him to answer. He sat back in his chair, but maintained eye contact. “What I mean, Jack, is that you shouldn’t be surprised about something if you can’t remember it.”

             
I sat staring. It seemed he would finish by saying more. But he didn’t.

             
I cleared my throat. “So, I’ve been here a while?”

             
“Honestly, Jack, how do you even know if you weren’t here your whole life?”

             
I’d never thought of that. The idea made me nauseous. Even though I didn’t know any place besides where I was, I felt that something more existed. Something besides the rooms I was confined to. “I can't tell you how I know, because I don't know. I don't remember."

             
“Exactly. If I told you that you were a hairy cyclops before you woke up here, you would have no reason to deny it, because you just don’t know.”

             
He was right; I didn’t know. I didn’t know what a Cyclops was either, but still he was right. I figured then that if he were to say something about life before this test, I would have to believe him. But what if he lied? What if he were purposefully fabricating my past? Was it just part of the test? I gave myself a migraine.