Jack in the Box (19 page)

My conversation with my father played through my head again. He had said something about the referee.

The referee's just another pawn. Its power goes nowhere past its own strength.

I stopped walking
.
The referee's not in control. It's just a monitor. A corrupt one, but it's not above the rules. My father had said it before, but I never considered what that would mean for the ref. If I break a rule, I pass out. If it breaks a rule. . .

I nodded
.
Yes, that would work. But I thought that the monster was the one in control of whatever induced me to unconsciousness. Is it always in control of the anesthetic? Or is it only when it's monitoring others? If it were always the inducer, the rules wouldn't be able to restrain it
.
But the referee had to abide by the same rules. It had to.

The idea made me hopeful. But I still had doubts. What if the monster always had control of the anesthetic?

"I don't know if it does. . ." I sighed out loud. "The only way to know would be to try it on the referee itself."

A door opened from behind me.

I turned around.

Nothing.

"Speak of the devil," the door closed. The referee took a loud step forward. Its low voice rumbled, "Well, speak of me, at least. . ."

"Not the devil," I said confidently, "Just a demon."

"Oh, is that what you think?" it snorted.

"Am I incorrect?"

A deep grumble.

I smiled.

"So, Jack, where will your dreams take you today?" the referee took another step inward.

I stared in the direction of the demon. "Doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of my dreams anymore."

Another step forward.

"And I'm not afraid of you either," I cracked my neck
.
Make it break a rule. Make it break a rule. How. . .

"Maybe you don't fear them," the ref popped its neck, too. It sounded like the cracking of multiple whips, "Maybe you don't fear them because you don't know what they'll be." It passed under the light in the ceiling.

The light. A light in the center of the ceiling
.
If that goes out. . .

"And maybe you don't fear me," the ref continued, "because you don't know what I'll do to you."

I slipped my hand behind my back.

It thumped forward slowly. "But you're afraid. I can see it."

I reached underneath my shirt.

"Well?" it came to a stop. "Are you going to make this easy for me?"

"So you think I'm afraid." I slowly grabbed my gun. Squeezed the cold handle.

"I know you are."

"Do I look afraid to you?" my lip curled upward.

"Your fake smirk, your pumped out chest. It's all a show. I've seen who you are underneath. We all have."

I smiled. Nodded. "So you do have eyes."

The referee hesitated. "What?"

I ripped out the pistol and aimed at the light. Pulled my index finger down as hard as I could.

A flash. And then darkness. A loud clash. And then the sound of glass. The shards jingled as they hit the floor.

I couldn't see a thing.

But neither could the referee.

I heard it take one breath, and then there was complete silence. It tried not to make a sound.

I waited. Listened. I couldn't see, but I could hear perfectly.

The referee stayed deathly still. It knew what I was doing.

I took light steps in its direction. Stepped to the side and continued forward, so I'd walk past its side. I held my hand out until I reached the wall. Now, I was behind the referee.

More silence.

A long time seemed to pass. It was only about ten seconds, but it felt like forever.

The referee took a step forward.

I jumped toward it. A jab to the lower back made it stand up straight, grunting as it did so. I visualized the referee's position in my head. I could see it. Even though I saw nothing, my ears gave me a picture of where the monster was, and in what position. I kept going. A kick to the leg behind the left knee. The demon bent at the legs and staggered. I sidestepped as it went backward. Grabbed its head and punched it several times in the face.

The referee growled loudly, "This won't work, Jack." It waved its arms out. Tried to get a grasp of me. "I can hear you, too."

I ducked under the beast's arms and slid between its legs. After jumping back up, I landed quietly and said from behind, "Yeah, but you're ten times louder than I am."

It turned around and grabbed at me.

I hit the floor, dodging the referee's arms. I rolled to the side. Holding my hand out, I felt the corner of the room
.
Okay
,
I thought
,
time for it to dream its own dreams.

The referee turned around, feet thumping loudly. "Do you really think you can win?"

I stayed crouched and worked my way to the middle of the wall. My hand slid across it as I walked. After a few steps, I felt the door. I turned to the referee. "Do you really think I can't?"

It took the opportunity and lunged at me.

I jumped to the side.

It hit the door. Grunted. Stepped back.

I pushed it back against the door. It was weird. I took its sight away, and it was weaker. Physically, it was the same monster. The same demon. But when the room went dark, it couldn't brace itself. It lost its ability to fight.

It moved backwards. Unsteadily. "You can't bring me down, Jack." And then the demon made its biggest mistake. The monster that had once seemed so much stronger, so much more dominant, so much more in control, was stumbling exactly where I had planned for it to stumble.

What was the mistake? An attempt to escape. The referee grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. Light flooded into the room.

I jumped into the air and landed on the monster's shoulders. I grabbed its head and covered its eyes.

It reacted sloppily. Thrashed back and forth. "You can't take me down, Jack," it boomed confidently. "I'm stronger."

I held on as it tried to toss me off. "I was never stronger. . ." I yelled. And then I let it win. Let go.

The referee threw me onto the floor. Breathed heavily.

I felt myself get lifted up by my shirt. Into the air. I stayed suspended.

"You think," it heaved, "that your futile efforts will do anything for you? Remember where you are, Jack!" it threw me back down. "And now. . ."

I felt its hand wrap around my neck. But I didn't fight it.

". . . Are you ready to dream?"

I smiled. "I'd ask you the same thing."

It stopped.

I shifted my eyes to the side. "Check out that door."

It was open.

"Remember whose hand opened that?"

The demon let out a puzzled grunt. "I didn't. . . I. . ." it let go of my neck. "I left a door open?"

I heard a long, loud, breath from the referee. Followed by silence.

I sat up.

And the loud thud of the demon hitting the floor resounded throughout the room.

My ears popped. I sat, leaning back with my hands on the floor. I exhaled. "It worked. . ." I breathed slow, deliberate breaths. The ticking of my watch brought a soothing rhythm. I leaned forward, and couldn't help but smile even bigger. "It actually worked."

I stood up and walked toward the wall. "Man, that took longer than it needed to." Shut the door. "You made me miss dinner."

→

It didn't take me long to get back to my room. My father was there. Dinner was, too.

When I swung the door open, I immediately saw my father, looking at me.

He put his elbows on the table. Held his palms about a foot apart. And then he clapped them together. And again. And again.

I walked in as he slowly, oddly, clapped.

"What?"

"Well done," he said with a straight face. "Make it break a rule. Not bad. . ." he took the last bite of his meal. "Now eat, you're late."

I walked swiftly to my seat. "Thought I was late." I sat down. Looked at my meal. Soup and a sandwich.

My father took a sip of water and cleared his throat.

I picked up my spoon. Saw my face in its reflection. I think this was the first time that I'd seen myself in the test. I wasn't dreaming, I actually saw my real reflection. It struck me as odd. I didn't look different than I had when I saw myself in my dreams, but something was offsetting. My eyes
.
They're green
?
I squinted. It was clear. My eyes were definitely green. I didn't remember them being that way. I thought they were brown. Granted, it was in a dream. But why would I remember my eyes as a different color?

My father saw me and my confusion. "It's for the soup, you know."

I put my hand down. Forgot about the eyes. I looked at him. "I know what a spoon is."

He smiled and rubbed his hands together.

I took a bite of soup.

We sat in silence.

After eating a few more bites, I put the spoon down. Looked at my father again.

He ignored my glance.

I exhaled. Felt the ticking of my watch.

He tapped his foot.

I wiped my forehead. "So, we're going to pretend it didn't happen? Last night, I find out you're my father. But we're just going to sit here and carry on. Pretend nothing's changed. Is that it?"

He raised his lip. And his eyebrows. He looked up at me. Then around the room. Back at me. He nodded. "Yeah. . ."

He said it slowly.

I breathed out through my nose. I couldn't believe it. But I nodded slowly. "Okay, do what you want."

He looked back down.

I watched him. After a few seconds I shook my head. "Okay, you know what? I'm not hungry." I stood up. Threw my napkin down on the table.

"What are you doing?" he pulled his chair back.

I pushed mine in. Turned around. Faced my bed.

"So, you're not going to eat? First you rush in here, now you're already getting up."

I turned my head to the side. "Your son wants to call you Father again."

Silence. Other than his slow breaths, and the tick of my watch, there was no sound.

"You've always been the talker. Now you have nothing to say?"

No response.

I took a deep breath.

Silence.

"Okay," I walked away from the table, "I'm going to bed. If you would. . ." I motioned toward the door.

My father raised his head. Opened his mouth. He wanted to object, but there was nothing he could say.

I sat on my bed.

He closed his mouth. Nodded reluctantly. Stood up and left.

I understood. I knew what I'd done. But my wrong shouldn't have removed his love for a son. On earth my father wasn't like this. He always talked to me. He always wanted to know what I thought, what I was doing. Now that I knew he was my father, he couldn't get himself to treat me the same again. He couldn't pretend that he was a stranger, but he tried to, anyway. For everything that had been my fault, I didn't feel like this was. I didn't want him to shrug off what I'd done, I just wanted him to be the same father he had been. But I guess that if I had the privilege to change, he did too.

I got under the covers. This was the first time I slept without being knocked out or injured. It was after dinner, and I was ready to sleep. So I did. And of course, with sleep comes dreaming. I wasn't worried about what my dream would be. I'd found out everything, now. The worst of my dreams had passed. At least, I thought they had.

fourteen

I was walking down the hall. In the underground office. I realized that I was a man that liked gray. The design of the place itself was sleek, modern. But there was no variation in the coloring. I walked by the men's room, and would have kept walking, but I heard a noise. Some muffled sound. I slowed to a stop. Listened. Heard it again. I walked back to the door and put my ear to it. It was sporadic, and painful sounding. Someone was crying in there. I silently opened the door and walked inside.

Past the urinals, there were three stalls with closed doors. I saw a pair of feet in the middle stall. Black pants, dress shoes. One was untied. I knocked on the door.

The man inside held his breath.

I looked up at the ceiling. "Is that you?" I said, annoyed.

The president unlocked the stall door.

I slowly pulled it open.

Face red, eyes drenched. Gun in hand.

I nodded, "I see."

He shook his head, "We can't do this, Jack," he whispered.