Jack in the Box (14 page)

"Well," he put his hand on his chest, "I myself didn't engrave it. . ."

"You know what I mean," I tilted my head forward.

"Just think of it as a. . . late birthday gift."

Birthday? I had forgotten about that. When I woke up in the test. Brian said it was my birthday. My twenty-ninth birthday.

"Thanks," I said slowly. I could've asked more questions. But the time had come to test again.

"No prob, Jacky," Brian exhaled. He stood up and left.

I leaned forward
.
Futility. That's all this is supposed to lead to. .
.
I wiped my face
.
. . . no. He wants me to believe that. He wants me to accept futility. It's part of the test or something. It's. . . it's because I'm passing.

It made sense. I started passing. So the test cracked down. It was hell, after all.

Still, though
,
I thought
,
I can manage.

Mid thought, a voice spoke into my ear.

"Finally," it said.

I turned and saw nothing
.
Oh no.

The referee picked me up by the arms. Carried me backwards away from the table.

I kicked my feet back into it.

Its only response was a grunt.

I jerked my arms away from it and broke free. But in breaking free I fell forward, onto my hands.

It grabbed my legs.

"No," I grasped one leg of the table.

It pulled me backward.

I fell onto my stomach. Grabbed another table leg. "No," I said louder.

"It's hard to keep you from passing while you're awake, Jack," it said. Loudly, in a confident voice. It proceeded to drag me and the table towards the door behind me. "Thankfully, though, the test gives me a reason to put you to sleep!"

It let go of my legs. I put both hands on the floor and started to push myself up.

The referee grabbed the back of my shirt and jerked me upward. Lifted me into the air. My stomach faced the floor. It spun me around and slammed the top of my head against the door. "Don't worry. These doors aren't very sturdy, they won't kill you," it slammed my head against it again.

"Stop," I tried to grab at it.

And again. The shock rang through my head.

"Stop!"

And again. The wood cracked more and more with each blow.

I squirmed. Tried to grip something. Tried to keep my head from hitting the door again.

Every time it thrust me into the door, my voice let out a noise in pain. I was helpless.

My head broke through the wood. Part of me was in another room, now. The broken pieces rattled on the floor.

The ref pulled my head back through and tossed me onto the ground. "You just broke a door with your head," it laughed.

I breathed out heavily. Groaned and held my head
.
What just happened
?
It was so fast. Thirty seconds ago I was sitting in my chair. Next thing I knew my head was pushed through a door.

It snickered. I heard satisfaction in its voice, "That's against the rules. . ."

And I fell asleep.

→

"So what's this about?" she said impatiently. It was a lady about five years older than me. Maybe more, but she had a young complexion. Brunette hair. Black shirt. We were in the same room the president and I had met in.

I sighed. "Miss Raze, we are conducting a. . . draft of sorts."

"Why? You're not the government. I've already served in the military, and I'm not planning on going-"

I cut her off, "-We know of your service. We also know that you were the CIA's. . ." I grinned. ". . . 'employee of the decade.'" CIA? Military? She had to be at least thirty.

"Trying to flatter me?" Miss Raze crossed her arms.

I tapped my foot. Looked down. In front of me was a telephone. I leaned forward and pressed a button, "We need you in here."

She kept her eyes on me. I could tell she'd rather be anywhere but in this room.

A few seconds later the president walked into the room. "Hello, Miss Raze."

Her eyes popped open. She turned in her seat. "Sir, what are you-"

"-I suggest you listen to what this man has to say," he pointed at me.

She froze.

He nodded at her.

She slowly lowered back into her chair.

The president gave me a thumbs up and left the room.

"W
e
ar
e
the government, Miss Raze," I folded my hands.

She put her hand on her chin.

I shrugged, "Actually, we are the world."

Miss Raze shook her head. "What is this?"

I pointed at her and smiled, "Miss Raze, I'm about to tell you."

She rolled her eyes.

"Based on our knowledge, which is very extensive, we are selecting a lucky few people to partake in Project-"

"-B, Project B, yeah, I've heard about your invention." she put her hands on the table. "But, uh, no one really knows what that is. . ."

"I will tell you," my hands tightened into fists, "if you let me."

She slumped back in the chair.

"We are letting you participate in it with a certain privilege over the rest of the world."

"Woo-hoo, you shouldn't have."

"But," I gritted my teeth, "I guess I'll just tell you about that later."

She scoffed.

I tried to relax. "Project B, or, its full name, Project Box, is. . ."

She raised an eyebrow.

The next few words seemed to come out in slow motion. They were words that would change me forever, even though they came from my own mouth. They were words that I needed to hear, but would wish I never had. I spoke with a steadfast gaze. Because of this dream, I would never be the same again.

". . . a test. It's a test, Miss Raze."

ten

She leaned forward. Narrowed her eyes a bit. She was interested.

"A test for the strong-willed," I clenched a fist, "and the efficient thinkers," pointed to her head. "And you have shown that you are both."

"I'm flattered," she slumped back again. "What if I don't want to?"

"I suggest you start wanting to," I laughed. Quickly I composed myself and said bluntly, "because you have no choice."

She breathed out through her nose.

I breathed a sigh of impatience, "We're going to need you to comply, Miss-"

"-Okay, enough with the 'Miss' crap," she pushed her index finger down on the table, "What's going on here? And why is the president. . ."

I leaned to the side and picked up a briefcase.

Her eyes followed it.

I plopped it onto the table. It popped as I opened the locks.

"What's that?" she said suspiciously.

My lips curled, "Your answers, Miss. . ."

She raised an eyebrow.

I cleared my throat."Your answers."

She picked up the folder after I slid it across to her. Examined it.

"You are now under United States custody."

That brought her eyes off the folder. "What?"

I closed the case. "Tonight, you will be transported to OTB's subject facilities."

Two men wearing black uniforms walked into the room. One had a bag in his hand.

"I've heard how you can get out of. . . tight situations," I stood calmly, "but if you want your answers, you will need to comply with what we're doing here."

She shot a glance at them.

They approached both sides of her seat.

She squinted.

I smirked.

Eventually, Raze slowly nodded and stood up. "Where are these facilities you mentioned?"

I adjusted my collar. "Undisclosed."

One of the men opened the door.

The other put the bag over her head.

→

I woke up screaming. My body was drenched in sweat. I squirmed to get the covers off and fell onto the floor.

"Whoa there, Jacky," Brian laughed, reclined in his chair. "Need me to turn AC on?"

I lifted my torso up with my hands, shaking. "It was me," I yelled.

Brian's eyes shot open wide.

  "It's becaus
eI
did it that I'm here; that's why I'm in hell," I said forcefully.

He leaned back. Crossed his arms.

"Isn't it?" I heaved.

He took a long, deep breath. Pretended to be disinterested. Picked at his teeth. "Punishments always fit the crime, Jack."

I let my upper half fall back to the floor.

"Your punishment is the very invention you made the entire world go through: this test."

I put both hands on the back of my head
.
No, no
,
I gripped my skull and squeezed it tightly
.
Dug my nails in
.
I killed everyone
.
My breaths were short and fast
.
Everyone. . . everyone died from the test except one percent. Everyone I ever knew. .
.
I squinted my eyes
.
Everyone. . . My parents. . .

"You had no apologies about it. Not an ounce of regret," he said with distraught eyes. His gaze was on the table. "No discrimination. Young or old, sick or healthy, it didn't matter to you. Everyone took the test."

The tears came. I had only cried one other time in hell. It was with a gun in my hand. Ready to blow my brains out. The tears of that day were different than now. They were almost therapeutic. I felt relief of my built up emotions. I cried because of difficulty. Because things weren't going well for me. Those tears that came out of myself were all for myself. But this day's tears were not the same. They were not inward. I didn't cry for strain or futility. I did for my father. For my mother. For every person I ever knew. Every person I never met. The tears were shed when the inevitable truth had become undeniable. I created the very thing that I despised. I was the maker of the hell that I now had to live in. I did not try to compose myself. My teeth were grinding. I wiped my face. Pushed myself up to my feet. Shaking, I put my hands down on the table.

"Weeping and gnashing of teeth,"
2
Brian said, eyes on the table.

I threw myself down into a chair. Slammed my fist on the table. "Why?" I groaned.

He massaged his thumb.

I slammed the table again. Took my other hand and grabbed his chin. Lifted his face up.

A deep rumble resounded next to me.

"I'm not doing anything," I spat to the side, "I just want him to look at me."

A snort was the response. The sound of a few footsteps followed, along with the opening and closing of a door.

My eyes returned to his. I let go of his face and dug my finger into his forehead. "You," my voice shook, "never told me,"

"I said you had to dream to find out,"

He was right. But I pushed harder, "You said," hesitated, "you said that the devil made the rules. Not me."

He shook his head; eyes remained locked with mine, "No," he said quietly. "No. . . I said that the man who made the rules. . . wa
s
calle
d
the devil."

My whole body shook. I wiped my nose on my sleeve. "What?"

"They called him the devil," Brian lifted a hand. Slowly reached up. Grabbed my wrist, and put my arm down gently. "They calle
d
yo
u
the devil."

I curved my lips inward and bit hard. Put my head, shaking heavily, down onto the table. "No," I moaned. Again, I tried to say "No," but all that came out was noise. And tears.

Brian returned to looking down at the table surface.

I put both both of my hands on the table and dug my nails into the wood. The one thing that I feared was coming true. I had killed all those people. I imagined them in the very test I was now taking. Children locked in a box. The elderly given a gun. The blind trapped in a maze. Why was it this? Why would I make this? The task was arbitrary. No genius would throw all humanity into a maze for some purpose of "bettering mankind." I couldn't move myself to do anything anymore. Only I shook. And sobbed. Sitting there, after that dream, I had a desire that I'd never had since waking up. I did not want to pass the test. I wanted the referee to beat me worse than it had before. I wanted to stay in the hell that I'd created for mankind. I wanted to take my punishment. I wished more than ever that I could bring them back. Billions of souls; I wanted them to have the opportunity to live the rest of their lives. An opportunity that I just took from them
.
I deserve worse than the test. I deserve worse than hell
.
No psychological or physical pain could fix what I'd done
.
You can't fix it
.
I shook my head, rolling my forehead on the table. It throbbed
.
You can't fix it
.
A loud ringing filled my ears. I wished my memories were all just dreams. But they weren't, they were my past. They were real.