Jack in the Box (22 page)

The page still worried me, though. Going this far, only to find out that anything I knew could be a lie, was frightening. And those last words
.
Furthermore, the test subject is very likely to believe that you are-

Are what
?
If only I had the rest of that sentence. I didn't know what I was going to do about this paper. At this point, all I could do was try to figure out a solution to the test. And since my father had taken the key, I couldn't expect to get any solutions from that binder.

I made my own head hurt. Pulling the plate toward me, I simultaneously started to fold up the paper.

I was sitting directly across from one of the doors. My eyes caught the doorknob starting to wiggle.

I looked up.

The doorknob turned.

I frantically shoved the page into my pocket.

My father entered the room. He watched me closely as he approached the table and sat down. I noticed he had the binder in his hands.

Why hadn't he put that back
?
I thought he wanted it away from me
.
I took a large bite out of my sandwich. Watched the book.

"What were you doing?" he asked.

"That's what I wanted to ask you
.I
was to lunch on time," I kept my head down and took another bite.

"Well, I would have been," he plopped a lighter onto the table, "but I had something to take care of."

I raised my eyebrow. "You were. . . smoking?" I jested.

He chuckled. Put the binder on the table and opened it. Nothing was inside but its three metal rings.

I looked at my father. "You burned the pages?"

"I don't need to read them again; the only person that would benefit from them is you." He leaned back and slid the lighter into his pocket. Smiled.

I stared at the empty binder. All of that information, lost. So it was true. He really didn't want me to know. And if he didn't want me to know what was inside that book, then what was inside that book was exactly what
I
neede
d
to know
.
Which means the page I tore out is telling the truth.

My father kept his hands rested over his stomach.

My eyes shifted from him to his food. Back to him. "Are you going to eat or what?"

His eyebrows popped up. "Oh! Uh. . . Yeah." he sat up and picked up his sandwich with one hand. He bit into it.

I narrowed my eyes at him. His entire posture was different than usual. He sat almost erect, just slightly bending forward. He kept one of his arms down. Not even in a comfortable position, just all the way down. He tried to keep smiling. He was hiding something.

I stretched and took a sip of water. Kept watching him closely. I could feel that he was focusing on me in his peripherals.

I knew he was hiding. What I needed was to distract him. To get his mind off of the situation. That way he'd relax. "So, what are you going to do when this is over?"

His ears lifted. "Uh, well. . ."

"You know, when I pass. Since you're not going to help me pass, I'll have to do it myself. So, that guy, the controller or whatever, won't kill me. What will he do with you, then?" I smiled.

"I. . ." he smiled for a second, sincerely. Looked up at the ceiling. But then his face started to fall. As if he were coming to some realization. "I don't really know."

"Will you stay here?" I asked.

He looked back at me.

I watched his arm. The one that was down. The last words of the paper rang in my head
.
The test subject is very likely to believe that you are-

I didn't want to assume what the end of that sentence was. Because I had a feeling my assumption was right. But I had to know. I kept my gaze on his arm.

His eyes caught mine. He looked down at his arm as well. Then back at me.

I quickly shot up and grabbed his arm as he tried to back up.

"Jack, what are you doing?" He pulled it away.

I stood. Put one hand on the table and snatched his arm back, just below the elbow. I looked at his arm from the wrist up. No arrow. No birthmark. Nothing.

I threw it back at him.

He took a step back, eyes wide open.

The test subject is very likely to believe that you are-

his father. . .

My head immediately started throbbing. "Liar," I glared at him. Stood up.

He opened his mouth.

"You're not my father. . ." I shook my head and squinted, hand on my forehead.

He started to back up.

"You lied to me. . ." My heart felt as though it pounded in my throat. Anger welled up inside me. My hands shook. I looked down at them. His footsteps resounded in my ear. I brought my face back up  and pointed at him. "You. . ." my hand quivered, and suddenly all the emotion came out. "You lied to me!" I yelled.

He nervously turned his head left and right. He continued to back up.

I stepped around the table. "I'm talking to you, Brian. You lied to me. How can I trust anything you've said? How can I even hope to pass if all the information you give me is false?"

He closed his eyes.

"Well? Are you going to answer me?" I growled at him.

He rubbed his forehead.

"Brian!"

"Brian!" he yelled back.

I froze.

"The nam
e
yo
u
gave me."

The shaking in my hands stopped.

"
Yo
u
call me 'Brian,'" he opened his eyes. Pointed at me. "And then you find out your father's name is the same. And so your conclusion is that I'm. . .?"

I backed up into the table.

"And you blam
e
m
e
for making no sense," he put his hand on his chest. Laughed. "Jack, I'm not your father, you just wanted me to be."

I took a step forward. "I wanted you to be? I thought that something had happened to you. That you'd changed."

He grinned cruelly.

We both breathed rapidly.

"I was ashamed of what I thought my father had become," I pushed him in the chest. "I want you to be my father? Don't flatter yourself. You don'
t
deserv
e
the title!"

He grabbed my wrists. Lightly pushed me back. "I wouldn't get so worked up, yet, Jacky."

I stepped back up to him. "No wonder you didn't want me to call you 'Father,'" I growled. I dug my finger in his chest, "So who are you, then?"

He wiped his mouth. Smirked.

I pushed him again. "Brian! What are you?"

He relaxed his body. Stood with that smug look on his face.

My chest moved in and out rapidly. The drumbeat of my heart pounded in my ears.

He slowed his breaths down. His eyes dropped to the floor. "You know I'm a liar," he said, smiling, "The question, then, isn't if I'm a liar or not. . ." he raised his eyes to gaze through mine, "I haven't always lied. But you've figured a few things out, haven't you Jack?" He scratched his chin. "So the question isn't if I'm I liar." His lips curled up even more. "The question is. . . whose lies am I telling?"

My back straightened. I tried to quiet my breaths down. "What?"

"Am I really the one deceiving you?" he walked to the side.

I watched him walk. "Yes."

"Really?" he kept his hand on his chin. Slowly paced the side of the room to my left. "Who thought my name was Brian?"

"That was. . ." I hesitated
.
That was me.

He looked at the ceiling as he walked. "Who came to the conclusion I was his father?"

I shook my head. "That's not-"

"Who thought the referee was a demon?" he laughed. Brought his head down to look at me for a second.
"I
never told you that."

"What? I thought we were talking about-"

"An
d
wh
o
. . ." he stopped and plopped his hands to his sides. Spun and faced me. ". . . Who thought. The test. Was hell?"

The words hit me like a bullet. I opened my mouth.

"Well?"

I sat down.

Brian's grin reached his ears. It made my insides churn.

"What?" I let out with a shaky voice. "You said that it was-"

"I've been doing this for a little while, now, Jack," Brian scratched his bicep, "and there seems to be an odd trend."

I ran my hand through my hair.

"People who last more than two days in the test all come to the same idea," he started to steadily pace once again. "Without any sort of help from the tester, they form the exact same hypothesis."

I put my head in my hands
.
No. . . It was all a lie? I was never in hell?

He held his hands out. "They come up with the idea that the test is hell," he said casually.

"No," my hands were cold. Pale. I looked straight down.  Held the sides of my head with clammy palms. "No, you're the one who told me. . ."

"It had been a few days before I said anything about hell, Jack. They always come up with the 'hell' idea within the first week. It was easy to time it." He held his hand out. "I could tell you'd already thought that it was hell, so I just. . ." he opened his outstretched hand, as if to drop something from it, ". . .plopped a comment in. Just to get you hooked on the bait you'd already given yourself."

  My breaths became heavy once more. My watch, that stupid watch, beat painfully in my ear again. I dug my fingers into my head. I felt cold, yet sweat started to fall off my face. Everything  that I had thought was real was just a lie. I was not in hell. I was not given another chance at life.

I was still alive.

I agonized over it in my head. Was this all for nothing
?
I deceived myself this whole time. I thought the test was hell. I thought Brian was my father
.
All this time, I'd believed I was getting closer to the truth about the test; I was actually just diving into my own wrong ideas.

Brian strolled over to his chair and sat across from me.

I chronically clawed across the top of my head with a shivering hand.

He cleared his throat.

What do I do, now
?
I bit my knuckle.

Brian yawned.

If I created this, and I'm not in hell, why am I in here?

"I told you there were things that you just didn't know."

I placed my hand over my mouth
.
And if the referee's not a demon, what is it
?
I lifted my hand. "Where's the referee?"

The referee cleared its throat from behind me.

I stood. Grabbed a knife from the table. It wasn't a sharp knife, it had only been used to cut the sandwiches. But I took it. And I turned and approached the referee.

It took a step back.

Brian just watched me, relaxed.

I grabbed in its direction. I got a hold of its skin. The stuff was loose. Like an outer garment.

The referee didn't fight.

"You're not an 'it,' are you?" I said.

"It" exhaled.

I held the skin firmly. It was still invisible, but I didn't care. I wasn't careful. I squeezed the knife in front of me. And I cut through the skin, directing the blade to my right. I felt the puncture that I made. I proceeded to go down with the cut. All the way. To the floor.

It's hard to describe what happened. It was like something, or someone, appearing out of nothing. As I cut down, I saw a body, from the neck down, appearing. It stood in front of me.

I let the skin fall to the floor. And I was finding out that it wasn't skin at all.

It was a suit.

And inside was a man.

His head was still invisible. The man lifted his hands up and made as to grasp something to the sides of his head.   He lifted up, and his head slowly appeared. He dropped what had covered his face. It made a thump on the floor.

I slowly took a step back. My eyes couldn't have been opened any wider.

A man maybe ten years older than me. Brown, buzz-cut hair. He cracked his neck. "Man," he said grinning, rubbing his neck. "Finally. You have no idea how hot it is in there." His voice was nasally. Not very deep. It was much different from what it had been when he was in the suit;

I noticed a digital watch on his wrist. There wasn't any time displayed on it, though.

The man lifted his wrist and pressed a button on the device.

Something came into view at his feet.

He walked forward.