Jack in the Box (20 page)

I leaned against the door frame. "I'm pretty sure ability is out of the question."

"No.." he put his head down in his palm. The other hand held his gun pointed toward the ceiling. "I mean it isn't right." He jerked his head back up. "We haven't even started, and we've caused some of the worst turmoil in history."

I could see the relentless regret that haunted him just by staring into his eyes. As his entire body shook profusely, it was clear that this wasn't just guilt. It was hopelessness. He had no solution. He had gone too deep. Even if he turned back now, what could he do? He was in the latter years of his life, and he spent them to aid in the largest mass murder in history. And he was out of the equation now in terms of operation. He couldn't do anything to stop it. And that is what so shook him. It was set in stone, and he had no way to chisel it out.

"You shook my hand on this, sir."

"Yes, but I didn't know!" his voice shook. He made a claw with his hand and ran it across the top of his head.

"You knew full-well. . ."

"The death of a man. Of a child. . ." he cupped his hands, as if to hold something, "It didn't cause any conviction in my mind on paper." He pointed out toward the bathroom door. "But when I turned on that TV. Watched the news." He shook his hands. "To see what's already happening rips my very being apart."

I looked to the side.

He put his head down again. "We can't kill them. We can't do this."

I scratched an itch on my cheek. "We can. And it's happening whether you agree with it or not. The entire world is in on this. Every other government has signed, and there's nothing you can do to stop it." I looked to the floor, exhaled. "I've been watching the world's leaders for a long time, sir. And now was the only time that I saw an alliance of perspective among them. That included you."

"I remember. . ." he groaned.

"I knew you would all agree, so I had to act and push for Project B. It's all part of the plan. You are not the working force behind this."

He lifted his eyes. His head shook. He tried to force out more words. He lips just quivered, and nothing came out. He squinted. Finally, he achingly said it. "Jack. We're working against that very thing we thought this would sustain. We're killing humanity."

I rolled my eyes.

"You.." he pushed me in the chest. "You really don't care?"

I flattened my lips. "This," I pointed at him, "is what so holds our kind back."

"No!" he yelled toward the ground. "We are the ones holding it back. People like me. Like you." He made a fist with his hand.

I scoffed.

He shook his fist and sobbed.

I looked around. The president saw it clearly. I really didn't care. I seemed preoccupied. As if this weren't important. It was a waste of time to me. I looked down at him when his cries started subsiding. "Sir, you are pathetic."

The president looked up. "I won't allow for this to happen." He shot his finger toward me. "I forbid you."

"Please," I laughed, looking up, "you gave up your power the second you shook my hand."

"I can't let this happen." He lifted the gun toward himself.

"Really? This is your solution?"

He stood up. Held the pistol to the side of his forehead.

"Go ahead. You won't save anyone with your own blood," I put both hands in my pockets.

The president breathed heavily. His eyebrows sank as agony turned to anger. "I can't let this happen." He dug the pistol in.

I smiled.

"Which means I can't let you live." And as the President of the United States said this, he whipped the gun toward me.

In the second that he moved I jerked out a pistol and shot the president in the chest.

His eyes flashed open. Mouth hung agape.

I shot again.

He fell onto the toilet seat.

Shot a third time.

A bit of blood flew onto my face.

Silence. I stood in absolute silence. The gun stayed aimed on him; my hand shook violently. After a few seconds I lowered the pistol. Put it away. I backed up slowly, turned around, and walked to the counter. Looking in the mirror, I saw my brown eyes. My pupils shone in the light. I lathered my hands with soap and washed my face off. Grabbed a paper towel. Wiped my face dry.

I walked out of the bathroom and slowly went to my office. Pressed a button on the telephone.

"Yes, Mr. Colson."

"Send a janitor to the men's room. There's quite a mess in one of the stalls."

→

"Due to natural causes, and to our dismay, our president passed away this morning." I looked down, averting my eyes from the camera. I was in a bleak room. At a large table. Looking back up, I continued to read the words off the teleprompter. "In the direction that this country, and the world, was going, the governments of the earth and I saw it best that we not stop, in spite of this tragedy. Collection for Project B is in two days. It is what the president would have wanted, and with it we will honor his death."

→

How will I pass?

The morning was typical. On the outside, at least. But there was less conversation. Everything we talked about was trivial. I don't even know how there could be anything trivial to talk about. The test was all there was. It was all we ever talked about. But this morning, we worked so hard to ignore it. It didn't matter, though. No matter how much we talked about food, I couldn't think of anything but the test.

How will I pass?

It was my only thought. I imagined the referee had woken up, which wa
s
no
t
good. But I had hopes that a five-ton beast would take longer naps than a human would.

I sensed that my father would walk out of the room soon. We'd been sitting there for about forty-five minutes.

My father stood up. Went for the door.

"Brian, when did you die?"

He stopped.

I slid my chair back.

He opened the door. "Before you."

I flinched to the sound of the door closing.

The room gave me a weird feeling. It wasn't cold in the room, but I had goosebumps. The referee wasn't in the room. I wasn't thinking of anything in particular. There was just a feeling. I couldn't put a word on it. I still can't exactly describe it now, but I didn't like it. There's only word I think of now that can describe it. Imminence. Something was going to happen. Not just something bad. Not just something good. It felt as though something good and bad were going to happen. I rubbed my arms. It was an odd feeling. But I figured that was all it was.

I returned to the room where I'd beaten the referee. Taking careful steps, I tried to feel around to see if the monster was in there.

My foot hit something.

I looked down. Nudged my foot forward. And I felt it again.

The referee was still asleep.

I walked to the side of the room. Took my marker out and drew a star on the wall
.
If I come back and he's not here, then he's awake
.
Simple enough.

And the only thing left to do was look for my father. I knew how to navigate the rooms. This second day of doing it made me even more comfortable. It didn't help me find him, but it gave me a better awareness of what was happening when I travelled in specific directions. For half of the day I had my compass out. Eventually, though, I was able to just know which direction I was going. It was starting to become second-nature. In the back of my mind I kept a grid of where I was in relation to my room. Different directions had doors with different functions. Now that I understood this, and was practicing it, getting lost was becoming a thing of the past.

I had been out a while. Thinking it was best to turn back, I began to make a journey back to my room. After a few rooms, I was struck with an odd feeling. It was almost nostalgic. A weird thing, since this was the very place I'd been working to get out of all along. I came across one of the papers I'd put down in a room all that time ago. Crouched down and picked it up
.
I've come a long way
.
But I didn't feel as though it were just me. There were several times that it felt as if something were directing me. When I went far in the wrong direction, it steered me in the right one. And I'm not talking about the direction I walked in the rooms. I'm talking about when I was about to kill myself. I'm talking about when all I could do was lash out at my father. When I considered murder. Something steered me right. I let the paper fall from my hand
,
But what was that something?

A comforting thought entered my head. That there was someone looking after me. At first I wanted to dismiss it as wishful thinking, but there was nothing I could argue against it. I would have said that I never saw this person, but I never saw the referee, and it was real. Sight wasn't a determining factor for me anymore
.
I don't know
,
I thought
.
Maybe when I get out of here, I'll find out someone was looking out for me.

I stood back up and went in the direction of my room again. There was only one thing missing for me to escape. A plan of action. I had to subdue my father. But I needed a plan. A plan for the when. The where. And most importantly, the how.

More walking through the rooms. It didn't seem like I had gone as far as I did until I had to make the turn back. As I travelled, I passed a few more of those papers I had put on the floor. After a few minutes, I went into a steady rhythm. About seven steps for each room. Seven steps. Open door. One step. Close door. Seven more steps. And so on. I was a few rooms away.

I passed something in one of the rooms. It wasn't another paper, though. I didn't disregard it. I'd learned that anything I found in this test was useful. So I examined it. It sat in the middle of the room. A key. A metal, lock-opening key. I looked around. I hadn't completely backtracked from the direction I came, I had just gone a way that I knew would get me to my room. That's why I hadn't seen this. Had this key always been here? Had I always gone around this room and never seen it?

I bent over and picked the object up. It hung on a key chain. A thought immediately came to mind
.
Try a door.
 
I ran over to the north door. Examined the lock. I lifted the key in front of my eyes
.
If this does something, I hope it's good
.
I lowered the key. Tried to push it into the keyhole. It didn't work. I frowned. Turned the key upside-down. Tried again. It wouldn't fit. The key hadn't been made to fit that lock. I lifted it back to my eyes
.
Why put a key in the test that doesn't work?

Something else hung on the keychain. A small label. I held it up with my fingers. Written in black ink
,
Desk B100.

"Desk. . ." I said aloud. My eyes popped open
.
My father's desk!

I jumped into the next room. Looked around frantically. I knew where my room was, but finding my father's would be impossible. I'd only been there once. There was no way
.
Except he led you to your room straight from his.

I squeezed the sides of my forehead. Pictured the day
.
Okay, Jack, let's see how far your visual memory can go back
.
I returned to my room
.
I'll have to take the directions he turned and reverse them. But I have to know which direction we came from
.
I tried to remember where the bed was when we entered.  Then, I shifted around in the room. Made what I saw match the memory
.
So, we came from this way
.
I pointed in the direction I remembered. It was North. We had come from the north door.

And so I went North.

By reversing the memory of that day, I was actually able to travel in the right direction. I followed the memory as it played back in my head.

If I was doing this right, I was a few doors away from my father's room. The thought of what the desk contained began to excite me. Would it have objects, or information? Maybe it would give me something so I could gain a way out. Or maybe it'd have more answers. Answers to who was holding us here.

I walked through the next door. One room away.

And the door to my right opened.

I took a step back. "You're awake."

The referee shut the door. "Yeah."

I slowly reached for my gun. Ready to make another light go out.

"I'm not going to try to stop you."

I held the gun behind my back. "Good."

The monster shifted on its feet.

"Why?" I said.

It exhaled.

I raised my eyebrow.

It didn't answer me.

I took a step forward. To my surprise, I heard it cower back.