Jack in the Box (5 page)

             
So was I.

             
My hand reached into the back of my pants and touched the gun. I felt the cold handle.  I couldn't take this place anymore.

             
I stood in a fixed position, eyes on the man, hand on my gun, for a several minutes.

            
 
Anywhere but here. Is that what I want?

            
 
My eyes felt weird. Water came out. Tears. I was compelled by the need to escape. Why this led me to tears, I didn't understand. I just wanted to leave. But the thought of taking a life, specifically with that gun, affected me oddly. I felt just like I did when I woke up. Emotions uncontrollable. But this time, I could put words to them. Sadness.

            
 
Anywhere but here.

I gripped the gun and pulled it out.

            
 
Anywhere but here.

            
 
I was going to do it. I let my finger tighten on the trigger. But what happened next didn't make sense to me. It didn't even feel like me. I heard something. It wasn't outside of my head, but it didn't feel like my mind was the source. One thought rang through my head. Seemingly on its own.

            
 
No.

            
 
I stopped. My finger lifted off of the trigger. I said it again in my mind.

             
No.

             
I dropped the gun. Time seemed to go slowly as I heard it hit the floor.

             
I sank to my knees. Put my head in my hands. I felt compelled to cry. I did not understand, though. It came from more than just the situation. I felt like I'd been in this position before. But not on myself. I found myself putting more words to my feelings. Regret. Guilt. Had I killed someone in my life? I pictured it.

             
It seemed all too easy to imagine. Which I hated. Abruptly, surprising even myself, I sobbed. I didn't know what I was experiencing. But it was all from feeling that gun. Something had happened. Something I didn't know yet.

             
“You’ll have to hold up better than that.”

             
I turned and saw Brian standing in an open doorway. He entered and closed the door. “That is, if you want to pass.”

             
“You,” I growled. The emotions turned to anger. Anger towards Brian. But it felt weird.

             
“Emotions are funny things.” Brian casually walked over to the body. “They can make even the smartest people,” he nudged the body with his foot, “irrational.”

             
“You,” I said again, breathing out heavily. “Do you even have a soul?”

             
“I guess not.” He looked at me, smiled, and spread his arms out. “But isn’t that why we’re here?”

             
The lights started going out again. “Brian, I-"

five

              I dreamed. It was the first that I really remembered. I was sitting in some chair with a table attached to it. A desk. I was looking at a paper filled with printed words, numbers, and blanks. My hand, gripping a pencil, ran across the page as I wrote numbers, completed equations, and drew graphs. I finished the paper and slammed the pencil on the desk. “Done.” My voice seemed lighter. I looked up to see a group of three people. Two stood tall and proudly in front of me, and one stood slumped over, mouth wide open.

             
One of the two smiling people said “Good job, son.” The other standing next to him, a woman, smiled sweetly at me and nodded.

             
The shocked man had closed his mouth at this point and was walking toward me. “There’s no way,” he said.

             
The man snatched up the paper, put on a pair of glasses, and stared the paper down while the other man and the woman stood next to each other. The man had his arm around the woman’s shoulder. I noticed a ring on his hand and thought of the wor
d
coupl
e
. Then I thought o
f
Mom and Da
d
. It took me a second to remember what those things meant. Even in a dream I was struggling to remember what seemed to be the simplest of things. And in the dream, I felt like I was only half-living it. I wasn’t in control of what the person was doing or saying, but I felt what he felt. I wasn’t exactly living it, but I was experiencing it.

             
The man checking my paper took off his glasses. “This . . . ” He looked at the couple. “This is incredible.” He fixed his gaze back onto the paper, then jerked his head up at me. “How old are you?”

             
“Fourteen, sir.
”
I’m fourteen?

            
 
The man looked wide-eyed at the couple, then back at me. “Jack, your math comprehension is at the college-level.”

             
He called m
e
Jac
k
. He called m
e
Jac
k
in the dream. Was my real name actually Jack? Was it more than just a nickname Brian had given me?

             
I smirked at him. “Not just math. At least, not according to the other professors we’ve met with. Right, Dad?” I looked over at the married man. These really are my parents?

             
“Yes, he has surpassed his grade-level in other subjects as well.”

             
The professor, still astonished, looked at my dad. “Well,” he looked back at me. “Which ones?”

             
I started answering, “Science, Literature, Histo-”

             
“All of them, sir.” My dad said.

             
His mouth hung open again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He turned toward my parents and gave them a look of unbelief.

             
My dad shrugged, “He’s got a gift.”

             
The professor looked back at me. “I'm not one to jump to conclusions about these sorts of things. You still have a lot of school ahead of you. But if you keep exceeding like this, do you know what that could mean for your future?”

             
I smirked. “What don’t I know?”

→

              I woke up on my own again. My head shot up from my pillow. This was the first time that I dreamed something so real. The other time that I had dreamed, it was really foggy and abstract. This time my dream was clearer. Still cloudy, but more distinct than before.

             
“Good morning!”

             
“Do you ever say anything else in the morning?”

             
Brian stared at me, huge smile on his face. “No!”

             
“Yeah, of course you don’t.” I stood up and walked to the table. I fell into a chair and watched Brian sit down across from me.

             
We ate for a few minutes without saying a word. Brian looked like he had nothing on his mind; he just enjoyed his meal. I wondered what was going through his mind. Decided to tell him what was going through mine. “Who… who am I?”

             
Brian glanced at me, but quickly focused back on his meal. “What do you mean? You’re Jack.”

             
“That’s what you call me. Who am I really? Why am I here? Why do I have to do this?”

             
He put his fork down. Lifted his head up and stared into my eyes. His smile was gone. “You dreamed, didn’t you?”

             
"I. . . Well," I didn't know how to respond.

             
“Yeah, you did.” Brian picked his fork back up and continued his eating.

             
“How did you-”

             
“Many people with amnesia recover certain memories through dreams. Your memories are still there, Jack; you just have to get them back somehow.”

             
I fiddled around with my food. “You seem to know enough about me; why can’t you tell me who I am?”

             
“Not my place, Jacky.” Brian stood up and walked out of the room.

             
I got up and followed him after he had closed the door behind him. I spent the next few hours walking, resting, and walking some more. I had become lethargic about the test. Whenever I actually tried, things seemed to go wrong.

            
 
Maybe I should’ve just stayed in bed today
.
I shook my head
.
But I can’t do that now… I was stupid enough to come out into this maze again.

             
As I walked purposelessly through the rooms, I became amazed once again at how every room looked so similar. Even the small details of each room looked exactly the same. This occupied my mind for a few minutes as I walked, but then I saw something. I saw something in the center of a room. I saw a crumpled piece of paper.

             
I picked it up. “I did this.” I had thought that it was gone. I held onto it and walked into the next room. Another paper. In the center of the room. “No.” I picked it up and walked into the next room. Another paper. “No!” I walked room to room, paper after paper, picking up each piece as I went. It took both arms to carry the pile of paper I was gathering. I kept going and going, but in each room was another piece of paper.

             
“What is this?” I asked, but of course, no one was there to answer me. I yelled and tossed pieces up and let them fall around me. I sat down on the floor and assumed I would start to black out like I did every day, but I didn’t. I was actually fine. It seemed like sleep was finally doing what it was supposed to do. And when I thought about it, I realized I had been staying up longer each day.

             
Why?

             
Of course, I wasn’t going to object to the absence of blackouts, but I didn’t understand why I was getting weaned off of them for no reason either.

            
 
Oh well, just another question you don’t have the answer to, Jack.

            
 
I got up and started walking.

             
Forget about the papers. You already know that this place doesn’t make sense.

             
I went through a few doors and stopped again.

             
And somehow you’re supposed to catch some guy who actually knows his way around here.

             
I let out a sigh and kept walking. “This crap doesn’t make any sense.” After several minutes of travel, I noticed something different in one of the rooms. Again. I stopped and saw that it was some sort of paper. It wasn’t one of my many pieces of paper, but it looked familiar. I stopped and bent over to pick it up. This thing was folded all around something, making the shape of an “M” on one side with its flaps.

             
What is this thing called?

             
I stuck my finger inside the outer flap and tore through. “Envelope.” I pulled out of the envelope a piece of paper. On its face were two perpendicular lines. On the top of the vertical line was a capital N, and on the bottom a capital S. On the left and right of the horizontal line were a capital W and E.

             
I looked up and stood silent for a few seconds. I looked at the paper and analyzed it a second time, then looked back up. “What?” I knew that it had to mean something. But it made no sense. I tried to make a word out of it. All I got was NEWS. But I didn't know what that was supposed to mean. I folded the paper up and put it in my pocket.

I felt tired. And I knew why. I usually fell asleep around this time
.
Maybe thats why I can't figure this out right now
,
I thought
.
Because all I can think of is sleep
.
It really was all I could think of. But I still continued my routine walk through the rooms, and just waited for when I would pass out. I didn’t. Several hours went by. Nothing happened. I was definitely hungry by this point, but at least I was actually awake for most of the day.

Most of it.

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              “College” was the first thing I heard in my dream.