Jack in the Box (15 page)

"It was different then, too," Brian said.

I didn't see if he was looking at me or not. My eyes were shut. Head still down. The ringing in my ears went in rhythm with the throbbing of my forehead.

"The test you introduced to the world. It was different," he cleared his throat. "Bullets had to be found. Meals were bread and water. Starvation, and bleeding to death, were common."

I lifted my head; with furious eyes I stared at him. Wiped my face again.

"Those who passed out or fell asleep were not reawakened in their rooms. If you lost yourself in the test, you were lost."

I lifted my curled fingers. Shook my head. I wanted him to stop. But I still wanted to know what I'd done.

"The suicide rate was high, but the murder rate was higher. Many killed the tester within the first week. Still many within the first day."

I took a napkin from the table and wiped the sweat from my forehead. "Who were the testers?" I threw the napkin down and ran my hand through my hair. I tried to slow my breaths down.

"As time went on, those who passed the test became testers for the next generation," Brian scratched his cheek, "but at the beginning, you were very specific in pairing up subjects with testers."

I patted my hair back down. Gripped my head.

"You hired the testers, trained them," Brian looked down and squeezed the top of his nose. Took a deep breath. "What you didn't tell them is that they were going to test their own sons and daughters. Their own brothers and sisters. Their wives. Or husbands. You made sure they were people they loved."

That hit me like a bullet. I wrapped my fingers around the side of the table and bit my lip.

He looked up and to the side, as if he were reading something off the wall. "Father against son and son against father," he sighed.

I looked where he was looking. Nothing there. He just stared into space.

I imagined it. It was already bad enough. I was already the worst murderer who ever lived. Now I was the wors
t
perso
n
who ever lived. I threw people, people who loved each other, into a box, and made one kill the other.

"If the tester tried to help his loved one," he continued, "that tester would immediately be killed, and the loved one would have to watch. They couldn't see it coming; you just sent people in to shoot the tester. They'd send one right through his skull in front of his son's eyes."

I couldn't say anything. Everything was in a wreck. Passing was useless to me. Doing anything was useless. Futility. Brian was right. I couldn't pass the test now. I would never feel right about anything ever again. I could no longer look at myself as the guy who was put in a terrible situation for no reason. I was serving my sentence. And I'm sure anybody would be glad to know that death came and did its thing on me.

"Well," Brian said slowly. The entire tempo of our conversation was slower than usual. And for good reason. I was responsible for billions of deaths, and Brian got to watch me realize it. "It's time for me to go."

My eyes followed him as he left the room. I watched his feet drag.

"You give me my few seconds of free-fall," he said, facing the door. "But when it came to everyone else, you didn't just push them out of a plane, you did it with dumb bells chained to their necks."

All I wanted to do was scream.

Brian opened the door.

I blurted out, "I'm done," voice wavering.

He didn't respond.

"I quit," I said, more loudly. But still shaking.

He looked up, to the ceiling. Seemed to stare at it for a second, then brought his head down to face forward again. And he left after giving me one last statement.

"Then you know what you have to do."

I let those words sink in. Is that what I really wanted? Did I want to do myself in? Or was I just fed up with the test? I went to my bed. Sat down. I didn't lie on my back or pull the covers over me. I just sat. Stared at the wall.

What now?

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the compass
.
Do I keep going
?
Shoul
d
I keep going
?
The face reflected light into my eyes. I rubbed the glass with my thumb
,
I deserve to be in here
,
took out my pistol
,
but what would killing myself do
?
I'm already in hell. I've already died. How am I able to die again
?
I ran my finger across the side of the barrel. Even in that moment, my lowest moment, I couldn't justify suicide. It didn't seem like the right choice. Or the smart one. Besides, the referee wanted me to quit. Maybe that was the purpose. To get me to pull the trigger on myself. It seemed like everything before then was for me to realize my own guilt. They didn't just want me to have hell. They wanted me to have hell and regret. Regret for what I'd done. Maybe that's why it happened the way it did. Maybe hell makes someone forget so that he can experience his wrong doings again, as if he's doing them for the first time. It does it to make him see them without a dulled conscience. To make him feel the responsibility. The guilt.

I put the gun away. I knew I wasn't going to do it. What I didn't know was where it would take me. But I decided not to find out, at least not through experience.

But I had a decision to make. Pass it or not? Keep going or stay in hell? Would I be cheating my sentence if I escaped. And if I did, why would I be allowed to anyway? Why was I given the option to leave?

What would I do if I got out? The world wouldn't want me back. But I would try to undo it all. Get rid of the test. Make things right again. I'd at least have the power to do it
.
I looked at my palms. And something hit me
.
If I get out, I'll still be able to die. If I get out of hell, I'd get sent right back eventually.

Then I realized what I would do. I wouldn't dodge the justice that was placed on me. I'd have to serve my sentence no matter what I did. This test, though, was my opportunity. My opportunity at a second chance. I could do as much right as I did wrong. Save as many lives as I'd taken. It would take a lifetime. But I would do it. And then, when I died again, I'd come back to hell, and get the rest of what I deserved.

I just wanted to do something good. I wanted the new Jack to disown the old one and heal the scar the old one had left on the earth. If I could do that, then I'd feel good about passing. If not, then I didn't want to. But that's what I would do, I decided. I'd pass, and I'd right as much wrong as I could. And then, I'd take my punishment once more. For the rest of time.

"You won't get out of hell if you do it, you know."

I jerked my head up. I saw a chair slide away from the table and heard the thump of the referee sitting down. I hadn't noticed when it came back into the room.

I scooted myself back. Pulled my feet up onto the bed. That way my entire body was in it. "Do what?" I said solemnly. It's probably understandable that I wasn't happy it was there.

"If you kill yourself," it snorted, "It'll only make things worse."

I put my head on my knees. "Well, I'm not going to, so good."

Its foot started tapping.

I gazed in its direction. It was hard to have a conversation with something invisible. The natural compulsion to make eye contact kept getting rejected. I decided to stare at the top of the chair's back. I knew the ref was taller than that, but it was the best I could do.

"You're not going to kill yourself. . ." it said in a low voice.

"No," I responded. Took the gun out slowly.

"Then you're going to kill Brian," it assumed.

"No."

It exhaled. "Then you're going to kill me?"

I shook my head. Slowly. Examined the pistol.

It stopped tapping its foot.

A long silence followed. I put the gun to my side. Looked around the room. Since the ref had stopped tapping its foot, I felt for a second like I was alone again.

But then it took a deep breath. It was still there. "You're not going to kill anyone?"

I shook my head, "No. . ."

"Then what are you going to do?" it said, as if those were my only options. It was like saying "What els
e
coul
d
you possibly do?"

I picked up the gun and pulled out the magazine. Checked how many rounds it had left. Four. "That's for you to find out, but I can tell you this," I put the magazine back in, "I'm not going to do the very thing that got me here. I'm going to let you watch me pass," pointed in its direction, "and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

The referee exhaled. "I'll believe that when I see it," it said mockingly.

"Really?" I smiled. "That's funny."

It huffed, "Why?" It sounded amused.

I leaned back, letting my neck rest against the wall. "You should know more than anyone else," pointed to my eyes, "believing isn't just about what you see."

That statement rewarded me another long silence with the invisible creature in the room.

Finally it grumbled, "You may be right about that. But even if you figure out the rooms, you won't be able to catch Brian."

I crossed my arms and listened.

"He'll be too fast for you. If you even the playing field, you still won't be able to subdue him. Finding him is one thing. Bringing him down is another."

I nodded, "Well, I'll just have to do what I'm known for."

It sat in silence. I felt that it was raising its eyebrow. That is, if whatever it wa
s
ha
d
eyebrows.

"I'm going to prove you wrong."

The referee chuckled. "I'd like to see that."

I gave it a determined grin in return.

"So you're going to pass even though you know what you did?"

I took a deep breath. Looked to the ceiling. "If I get out, I'll die again someday." brought my head back and scanned the room with my eyes, "And then I'll be in hell once more. So I have a choice. Accept my evil, and take the punishment forever, or. . ." I stared right in the referee's direction, "Do as much right as I could
,
the
n
accept my evil, and take the punishment forever."

Its foot started tapping again.

"The end is the same," I continued, "But in one, I get to do right." I put my hands on my knees. "So, yeah, I'm going to pass. I'll pass for everyone I killed. For everyone I wronged. For my parents," I narrowed my eyes. "For my father."

The rhythm of the tapping grew slower. I didn't know if it was surprised by that answer or not. What made it even harder was the fact that I couldn't see the referee at all. I couldn't try to read it based on its facial expressions.

I grew slightly impatient. "Anything else?"

It stood up. The chair slid back. "We'll see if things go according to your plan."

I nodded, "Yes we will. But now that you've asked me your questions, let me ask you mine."

It sniffed.

"First, why are you allowed to try to stop me?"

The referee moaned. "There's someone we answer to, Jack. Someone powerful."

"Who? Who is it?"

For the first time, the referee spoke to me in a truly transparent tone. Not condescending, not threatening, just honest. It said quietly, "It's someone you don't want to meet."

The referee actually sounded scared. If this 'someone' could intimidate the ref, I'd take its word that I wouldn't want to meet him. I still wanted to know who it was, but I let it go. I had another question to ask.

"Okay, one more thing."

It pushed the chair back under the table.

"What happens if I kill myself?"

It opened the door. "I told you. Things will only get worse."

The door slammed shut.

→

I did a lot of thinking that day. My entire perspective had changed so drastically. I understood why I was in the test. I knew what my purpose would be once I got out. Now I just had to figure out how I was going to pass.

Leaving the bed was not on my list of things to do; not at this point at least. I knew the ref would come after me. And if I didn't know what I was doing in the first place, trying to defend myself wouldn't help me focus. So I worked on figuring out the rooms in my bed
.
Two days ago, I was so close. I was so close to getting the secret. But then the referee got in my way.

I was determined that this time it wouldn't, though. I would learn how to navigate around the rooms, and then I would catch Brian.

I laid out everything in front of me that had to do with the rooms. The compass, the map, and the N S E W paper.

Okay, where was I
?
I had to think back to what I had been doing before the referee started attacking me.