The End of Marking Time (11 page)

“What are you saying?” Was he really afraid of the little black box?

“The bracelet is like your prison uniform. If you’re wearing it, you’re not trying to escape—or rob a donut shop.”

“I’m not trying to rob this place.”

“These people don’t know that.” He looked at me like I was four years old.

“They don’t know I’m a con.”

“Don’t you remember what happened? Where have you been?”

I told him the story of the gunshot on the bus and how I’d been asleep for four years. He relaxed then and stopped looking at me like I was a raving madman. I was disconnected from reality, but only because I hadn’t lived it like everyone else. The pity in his eyes said he knew I was headed for trouble and there was nothing he could do to help me. No matter how many people warned me, I couldn’t understand how desperate my situation was.

He told me to listen very carefully. “Keep the bracelet on. Never take it off. Never.”

I started to ask why and he held up his hand to keep me quiet.

“When everyone was let out, what do you think the rest of the people did? Do you think they waited around to get robbed? Do you think the cops sat by while these nutball judges let us all out with no way to know who we were or what we were doing?”

Great. The first guy I met on the outside was a paranoid freak who couldn’t stand living outside prison. I’d heard some guys stay in so long they can’t handle a life that isn’t scheduled for them.

“You heard the chime when you walked in, right?”

I had.

“Some cop had the idea to mark us. They were smart about it, too. They put something in the drinking water back in prison. Gets into your bones and the cops can track you on the outside. Some electronics whiz realized what the cops were doing and invented these scanners. See it there by the door?”

The scanner looked like the inventory control scanners I’d walked through in hundreds of stores.

“They scan for this chemical. It’s radioactive, I think, but I’m not sure. Anyway, the scanner dings when a con walks through. Then it scans for the frequency the ankle bracelets transmit on. If it picks up a transmission within three feet, it gives the all-clear.”

“So that’s how they found me yesterday,” I said.

“Slow down, kid. That’s just for the civilians. You see, when they opened the doors and let out two million convicts, they knew we were going to ransack the country. It was mayhem for two years. Those scanners are for the people in the store, that’s all. They expect stores to be robbed every time one of us comes in. That’s why they freak out when they hear the ding. Guys took their bracelets off, thinking they couldn’t be tracked, and went out to hit the nearest gas station.”

“That’s why people left the store when I came in yesterday.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“What did you mean thinking they couldn’t be tracked?”

“First you’ve got to realize how pissed the cops were about all this. They worked their butts off to put guys like us away. You know how hard it was back then to get locked up. When those judges decided to let everyone go, the cops did two things. They created the black box, which is supposed to help you. They also found a way to know who was up to no good and who was doing what they’re supposed to.”

“The black box is my babysitter?”

“No, it’s worse.” He reached up the back of his scalp and felt his hairline. “Feel around right here,” he said.

I knew exactly what he meant. That spot on my head had been sore the day after I met Wendell Cummings. I found the tiny bump immediately.

“These guys are smart,” he said. “Smart and angry. That’s a tracking device in your head. That’s why you never take off the ankle bracelet.”

He let me think for a minute.

“They both transmit a signal. There are thousands of special police. Their job is to find you when you go off the reservation. Any time that transmitter gets too far from your ankle bracelet they know. It was awesome for the first year or so. The special cops rode around in black cars with tinted windows. They’d haul guys in and beat the crap out of them. They were right. They were always right. Anyone away from his bracelet is committing a felony. And as soon as you leave the bracelet, they send someone after you.”

“They baited the cons?”

He threw up his hands.

I couldn’t tell if he understood what they were doing or if he realized the futility and decided to go along.

“What about the black box? How can I beat that freaking thing?”

“Those things are evil. Trust me, don’t mess with it.”

“It’s playing kid movies. Come on.”

“You get zapped yet?”

I nodded and he laughed. He knew what I was up against and he wanted to help me, but it was like a father telling his kid not to play with fire. The kid knows his father is older and wiser, but he has to try things for himself. No matter how strenuously the father tells his son about the danger, the orangy red flames draw him in.

“Play it straight,” he said, then got up. “I’ve got to go. They’re going to be looking for you soon and I can’t be within a block of you. I can’t get hauled in again. I’m near the end of my rope.”

I thanked him for his advice, bought my donut, and went back to the demon box in front of my television. I didn’t understand what he meant then. Now I do of course. That’s why I’m standing in front of you. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I guess I was like that little kid who has to get burned before he understands how hot fire really is.

I ran up the stairs and flung the door open. Holographic Wendell was waiting for me. “What do you choose?” he asked.

The DVD had been playing for the last half hour. Without watching the movie I had no idea what choice he meant. Miniature Michael was on the screen in a classroom. All the boys in nearby desks faced him. Underneath were three choices. Ignore. Assist. Report.

I clicked back and forth among the options. I didn’t know what had happened while I was gone and I didn’t particularly care. I chose Ignore. Holographic Wendell smirked then vanished. The movie played on.

The boys on either side of me were kids from the playground. As the lesson continued up front, I recognized the bully on my left and his favorite target on my right. The teacher spelled three letter words at an annoyingly slow pace. I couldn’t believe I had to watch six hours of this.

The story stopped again.

The boy on my left lofted a sharpened pencil over my head. It stuck into the smaller boy’s arm and he cried out. The teacher looked directly at me. The screen offered a choice. Ignore. Assist. Report.

I figured the best way to stay out of trouble was to let these two kids handle it for themselves. It wasn’t my problem. I hadn’t started it. The only reason the teacher was looking at me was because I was seated between aggressor and victim.

I pressed Ignore and the lesson continued.

In two more minutes I watched enough spellings and misspellings of cat, dog, box, fox, and hat to last a lifetime. The movie kept stopping and it took as much time for me to answer the prompts as to get through the DVD. Wendell said this would take six hours. If he meant six hours of movie time, all the stops and starts would keep me there all day. I decided to speed things up. Every time a choice appeared I quickly hit the Ignore key and the movie resumed. I didn’t consider the choices. I wasn’t learning anything from what was happening on the screen, but I didn’t expect to. Wendell said I had to sit and watch and that’s all I intended to do.

The last time I pressed Ignore, there were eight kids picking on the sad little boy next to me. He buried his face in his arms as they pelted him with pencils, gum, erasers and anything else they could find in the virtual classroom. The teacher looked to me every time something happened like I was in charge or something. If a child on the opposite side of the room picked up a book and hurled it at the defenseless little kid, the teacher looked at me for guidance. Wendell was trying to teach me that what happened around me in life was up to me, but I sat back and let the teacher run the class.

Suddenly the little boy was energized and armed with all the things that had been thrown at him. One fist held dozens of pencils and pens. The other held a few books and other assorted things he could only grasp in a computer simulation. I had done nothing to help him, but I’d done nothing to hurt him either. That’s why I was stunned when he turned and started stabbing me with the pens and pencils. I had no control of miniature Michael. I grabbed the remote and pressed keys to try and fight back, but I couldn’t.

When my virtual corpse slumped at my desk, the teacher came down the aisle and took the little boy away.

Wendell’s lesson made it clear how much he really wanted to help people. Even though I wasn’t participating, I heard Wendell telling me that what I did had implications. The boy was unfairly targeted. I could have helped him and because I didn’t, others joined in. Interestingly, the losers in this simulation were the wrong people. I was killed. I hadn’t done anything wrong at all. I hadn’t helped either. The poor little kid who attacked me had been victimized so long he snapped. Did he deserve to be punished? Probably not. The bully walked free to start again with another victim.

I was all of these people. I’d attacked weaker kids to build my rep. I’d looked the other way to avoid retaliation. I’d been knocked off track by my mother’s abuse.

At that moment I felt like lashing out at the little box, Wendell, anyone I could find. Holographic Wendell appeared in front of the television, his features brighter with the screen behind him switched to black.

“I’m very disappointed with you, Michael,” he said. “You must complete one disc each day. Normally that takes six hours. Rushing doesn’t help anyone, Michael. You can’t cheat my system. You must pay attention.”

Wendell waited a few seconds and then directed me to look outside my door. I found two cables, one short, one long. When I returned, a port on the black box opened and Wendell directed me to plug one of the blue connectors into it. I did. Then I connected the other end to a port that opened in the remote control. The shorter cable wrapped around my wrist.

I’d learn later that the apartment building I lived in was full of relearners. A small group of men serviced our special needs, like this cable that had just been delivered. The box summoned something and they brought it to my apartment. It could and would happen on a moment’s notice, though in reality, the box made these requests well in advance.

Holographic Wendell explained that the program would continue only while I had the remote plugged into the box and the strap fastened around my wrist. When everything was in place and I was back on the couch, the movie restarted with the kids on the playground.

This time I paid attention to the bullying.

The bigger kid was nasty to everyone including me. While the movie was running there was nothing I could do. Soon enough we reached the scene where the bully threw the pencil over my head and hit the kid seated on my right. The prompt came again. Ignore. Assist. Report.

This time I chose Assist. I didn’t want to be a rat. What was the worst this virtual kid could do to me anyway?

Another prompt came up immediately. Gesture. Speak. Retaliate.

I chose Speak. A picture of the keyboard popped up and a word bubble opened above my virtual head. Things were moving much slower this time, but I didn’t even realize how long I spent thinking about what to say. I typed with one finger, one letter at a time, give him a break. he didn’t do anything to you. he’s just a little kid.

The teacher spun around. “Michael O’Connor. There will be no talking in my class.”

At the same instant a shock jumped into my wrist, completely catching me by surprise. I jumped so high the blue connector popped out of the black box. I knew then what the guy in the donut shop meant when he called it demonic. I wish I had paid more attention. I had antagonized it by sneaking out and by rushing through the first lesson. There was no way back to the true beginning, and I was going to pay for every mistake from then on.

I hesitantly plugged the port back in, ready to pull it back out if the shock continued. Fortunately, the evil box was done punishing me. Maybe I should have gestured. Maybe if I used fewer words the teacher wouldn’t have known it was me who talked. These questions weren’t trivial. My battle against this box was about to get serious.

The onscreen action continued.

The bully gnashed his teeth. The little kid smiled at me. Another kid winked. The others all took notice.

I learned how to take a break from the automated lessons by pausing the action on the screen rather than taking off my bracelet and sneaking away. The machine stopped as soon as I disconnected the wrist strap, but I hit the pause button every time I needed to get up, in case the machine was keeping track. Several hours later, cheesy fireworks erupted on the screen.

Holographic Wendell congratulated me and announced that I had completed my first disc in forty hours. Average time was twelve hours. The record was two and a half. Wendell’s six hour estimate back at the hospital included a fair amount of repetition for those who didn’t get it right. I could do better. If I could finish my lessons early in the day, I’d have time to get outside and get on with my life. I’m not sure why I felt so good about finishing something so simple, but I celebrated with a steak dinner. The phone was ringing when I got back.