by Graeme Hurry
He looked to the side, seeing a clock on the table beside the bed. 11:34 PM it read. Beneath that it told him the date: Saturday, September 23rd, 2091.
Sitting up on the bed, a bed which wasn’t quite as comfortable as his own but came closer than most, his eyes immediately locked onto the wall length window opposite him. It offered a view of New York City, its skyscrapers bright compared to the dark sky. In the distance flew crafts zooming back and forth, no doubt filled with people excited to get to their Saturday night destination.
He walked over to the window, noticing a green hue coming from above and below the window, apparently emanating from whatever he was in. He glanced down, seeing only water below him. The Hudson River most likely. It meant he was in the air.
The Restaurant in the Sky.
The phrase popped into his head as if it was an obvious fact. Yes, he was in the Restaurant in the Sky. How he came to be here still eluded him but he knew he was supposed to be here. If his head could just clear up a little he could put it all together.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed, trying to grasp onto a memory that told him why he was here. The light from outside, the green hue, was definitely familiar. He’d been here before. Maybe not in this room exactly but certainly in this place which, despite its name, seemed more like a hotel at the moment.
As he began pacing, Chris noticed a note pinned to the door. He crossed to the door quickly and snatched the note off of it. Only one sentence was on the note, written by hand in script.
It’s all part of the experience.
Like so much else about this situation, the note seemed familiar. He’d definitely read it before, likely the last time he’d been in this place, although when exactly that had been still vexed him.
He crumpled up the note and stuffed it in his pocket but took it out a moment later, throwing it on the bed. He shouldn’t have the note on him, he knew. He didn’t want anyone to know he was here. Why that was he couldn’t yet say but he knew that his time here needed to go relatively unnoticed. Was he even supposed to leave the room? There wasn’t much here but if he had to keep to himself then what better place to hide out than an empty hotel room? Yet he didn’t get the impression he was here to hide.
A small part of the fog in his mind dissipated and a name came to his lips. ‘Mike,’ Chris said. Whoever Mike was, he obviously wouldn’t be found in this room, which settled the decision for Chris; he’d have to venture out. So, if the decision was so easy, why did his hand hesitate as it touched the doorknob, why did it become sweaty, why did he have a feeling that the oddness of the note was nothing compared to the rest of the place?
He opened the door.
The hallway he stepped into was very dark. Every ten feet or so a small, dim light could be found in the ceiling but it barely illuminated the ground directly below it, let alone the area a foot or so away. From what Chris could tell, the corridor was lined with doors to other rooms similar to his. He’d stayed in one of those other rooms the last time he’d been here; he’d been scouting things out, talking to people about… About what?
He made his way very carefully and very slowly down the hall, hoping his eyes would adjust and his vision would sharpen. No such luck. Whoever designed this hallway knew exactly what they were doing and wanted those who traversed it to be ill at ease. A job well done, Chris thought.
The hall turned right and Chris turned with it, hoping that he was going in the correct direction. With luck, this Mike fellow would be waiting for him at the end of the hallway maze.
Chris went right, left, left again, and right once more before he came to something noteworthy. Hanging from the ceiling with a light shining up at it from the floor was a sign which read:
Welcome to the Restaurant in the Sky! You’ll want to head downstairs…
As it turned out, there was a staircase not far ahead of the sign. The stairs were deep and went on for quite some time. There was no railing to hold onto. Chris touched the wall as he descended the stairs but pulled his hand away when it touched something that was decidedly not part of the wall, something that felt not unlike flesh. He didn’t look closely to see what it was.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs he let out a long sigh of relief. He was in a bar now, with nude dancers on a stage across from the bar, one of whom was ‘singing’ into a microphone. The nude dancers were evenly split by gender, all of them in top physical shape. However, their faces were odd, as if their features did not move as they should, as if they were unnaturally made.
He surveyed the bar, looking from table to table to see if he recognized anyone. All the people looked slightly dazed, likely feeling as he did, which answered a question: he’d been drugged and so, too, had been everyone else here. Apparently willingly.
A man at one of the far tables waved at him. Mike. Mike who worked for Barnium Producers. Of course. That was the point of being here, Chris realized, his memory becoming sharper, the effects of the drugs wearing off.
He walked over to Mike, trying to adopt a casual pose but no one could work casually when they had to try and he ended up looking like he had a limp in his leg. ‘Hey,’ said Chris. ‘Funny to see you here.’
‘I know,’ said Mike. ‘Of all the places, right? Not only that but I won the ticket to get here, can you believe that?’
‘Lucky you.’
‘Take a seat.’ Mike pushed the chair opposite him out with his leg.
Chris smiled and sat, eyeing the steak Mike was eating which looked delicious but, and he couldn’t quite recall the reason, he knew better than to order one of his own. ‘Are you as confused as I?’ asked Chris.
‘Yeah, well, getting drugged was weird but the brochure says that increases the surreal quality of the experience.’
‘Getting down the hallway was a bit of a task.’
Mike laughed. ‘Yeah, it was.’ He took a bite of his steak and said between chomps, ‘So business is good at Talons Inc?’
‘Good enough.’
‘We’re giving you a run for your money.’
Chris gave a tight smile. ‘You’re certainly an effective salesman for Barnium. They’d be nowhere without you.’
Mike inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘I won’t.’
One of the dancers began approaching their table, spinning around as she came towards them. Chris was never one to turn down any chance of seeing an attractive woman naked but he couldn’t prevent his eyes from going to her face, from studying just what was different about her. He’d seen these dancers before, when he was here last. He’d been baffled by them then, too.
Once the woman moved on, Mike remarked, ‘Odd, aren’t they?’
‘The dancers?’ asked Chris.
‘Yeah.’
‘Something about their faces,’ said Chris. ‘Something’s weird.’
‘I know a friend who went here and he heard a rumor that they’re wearing someone else’s face. Like they cut off some poor bastard’s face and these dancers now wear it. It’s been said that they’re the faces of homeless people. No one would miss them after all.’
Chris snorted. ‘I don’t think the owners here could get away with that.’
‘Money talks. I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t win the ticket. No way was I spending a thousand dollars on one. They’re raking in the money with prices like that and, like I said, money talks.’
Chris began tapping the table with his index finger, knowing he’d soon have to get up and bring Mike with him. ‘Still, it seems a little out there of an idea.’
Mike took another bite and said, ‘Not only that but he said the steak is made out of what’s left of the people.’
‘Tall tales.’
‘Very tall indeed. But imagine if it’s true?’
‘Doesn’t seem to stop you from enjoying the steak.’
‘The mystery makes it taste so much better.’
‘Y’know I’ve been here once bef
ore,’ said Chris. ‘There’s more outside of the bar and the hallways.’
‘I heard. I’ll check it out soon. I’m almost done.’ Mike began shoving down his throat what little was left of his meal, a sight which killed any appetite Chris might’ve had and reminded him why he’d never been terribly fond of speaking to Mike the few times they’d met in the past. Granted, it took a lot to impress Chris and, admittedly, Mike was a good salesman for the rival company; if he hadn’t been then Chris wouldn’t have needed to come here.
Mike pushed away his empty plate and said, ‘Is your mind all clear now?’
‘Completely clear,’ said Chris. ‘Yours?’
‘I’m as sharp as always.’
‘That’s scary to hear; you might talk me into buying something if the mood hits you.’
Mike smirked and Chris guessed that Mike couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Mike said, ‘I’m off the clock.’
‘Are you now?’ said Chris.
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Perish the thought. I’m always on it.’
‘I enjoy my free time,’ said Mike.
‘I’ve never been fond of downtime,’ Chris said as he stood up. ‘Makes me feel lazy. Shall we head out and explore?’
‘I’m eager to see what you have to show me.’
‘You’ll be impressed.’
‘Oh, I’m sure.’
Chris exited the bar room via a door just to the right of the stage where the dancers performed, Mike right behind him. They entered another hallway but this one was lit up with red lights shining out of the floor. Along the right wall were paintings of figures that may or may not have been human. Whatever they were, their mouths were opened, locked in a permanent scream. In each painting the figures were larger than in the last until only one figure’s face filled the entire frame, as if it was screaming at the sight of the guests who walked the corridor.
The left wall featured windows which offered another view of New York City. Light rain tapped against the windows and, judging by the lightning in the distance, the rain would only increase as time went on. Chris thought that the view of a lightning storm from here would be spectacular. If he had the chance, he’d make sure to stick around to see it.
Chris turned from the windows when Mike said, ‘Do you know what these paintings are?’
‘Surely they’re your customers after they see the product you’ve sold them, no?’ said Chris.
‘Sounds like jealousy.’
Chris’ fists closed upon hearing that remark and he moved forward again, opening the door at the end of the hall. ‘I love this upcoming room,’ he said. ‘I think it’s just fascinating. No one can be bored in this place, can they? That’s probably why our wealthy friends aren’t afraid to spend money to stay for a night.’
The room Chris brought Mike into was large, larger than the bar room, perhaps even double its size. Not that it had a lot of space, though. It was filled with bronze statues of people in various states of undress. Some struck seductive poses while others looked ashamed of their nudity. Chris halted, taking a moment to look from statue to statue, enjoying the craftsmanship that had to have gone into making them.
‘It’s the fall of man,’ said Mike. ‘The men are Adam and the women are Eve. Look how the statues become more and more horrified as they go on.’
Chris raised an eyebrow, not unimpressed with Mike’s observation. ‘That’s an interesting thought.’
A shadow moved behind one of the statues, gliding over to the next, closer to Mike.
‘I’m glad you approved,’ said Mike. ‘Must’ve been difficult to say.’
The shadow came nearer and nearer to Mike as Chris said, ‘No, it wasn’t that hard. I actually do respect you.’
‘Really?’
Had he the time, Chris would’ve enjoyed saying, ‘No.’ Instead, he said nothing as the shadow plunged a knife into the back of Mike’s head. Mike staggered forward, reached out for one of the statues, missed, and fell to the ground. The shadow leaned over Mike for a few seconds before stabbing him twice more in the back for good measure. No sounds came from Mike.
The shadow walked up to Chris, stopping only a foot from him. In a pleasant, feminine voice, it asked, ‘Are you satisfied?’
‘I am,’ said Chris. ‘You’ve no idea, actually.’
‘He was sent a ticket,’ said the shadow. ‘You’ll need to pay for it. Make the deposit before the end of the month.’
‘I shouldn’t have to pay for it,’ said Chris. ‘I recall speaking with the owner about not being drugged like everyone else. It made this a bit more difficult.’
The shadow, as far as Chris could see, had no facial features yet he was left with the distinct impression that a mocking smile was on its face. ‘Our apologies,’ said the shadow. ‘You should’ve just had us poison him. It’d have cost you less money and less time.’
‘I wanted to see it,’ said Chris.
The shadow bowed. ‘Very well. Do enjoy the rest of your stay. Remember: this is a place where anything goes.’
Chris did not have to be told that. ‘Thank your bosses for me.’
‘A thank you?’ said the shadow. ‘Oh, how meaningless.’
‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Chris.
‘Of course, but I’m under no obligation to answer it.’
‘What possessed someone to make a place like this?’
‘To enamor people like you, I imagine.’ The shadow vanished back among the statues.
Chris briefly wondered who would clean up Mike’s body but decided he didn’t really care. His part was over; it was time to decompress. He’d watch the lightning storm, have a drink, and perhaps even take the time to look closely at those dancers.
MY FIRST DAY
by Gregory Marlow
As I stood over the lifeless remains of camp counselor Butch Stetson, I couldn’t help but feel that my first day on the job was not going well. He was still staring up at me with that greedy look on his face, and I knew the last thing that went through his mind was ‘I’m going to be rich’. He was arched backwards, arms outstretched over the remains of a sharp jagged stump. His chest was lumpy under his shirt where the shards of wood had plunged all the way through his torso. No, this day was not going well at all.
It had all been going fine to begin with. I was walking along trying to do my job like Pops had said. ‘Be seen by a few people, then get away and come back here.’ But I couldn’t find anyone to see me. And then out of the blue, Butch, the master of stealth, was standing there not fifteen feet away. He was in full camouflage and carrying a very impressive looking gun. The lust for money and fame formed on his face as he slowly raised the gun to his shoulder and lined me up in his sights. Instinctually I threw my hands up in the air and shouted, ‘Don’t shoot.’ Instead the noise that came out of me was a ferocious gurgling roar. Surprised, Butch stumbled backwards and tripped over a branch, impaling himself on a fat, jagged tree trunk.
I had watched enough CSI to know that I shouldn’t panic. If I panicked, I would make a mistake. And prison populations were made up of only one kind of person: the kind that makes mistakes. Maybe I should call in the feds I thought. They had enough invested in this to cover up an accidental murder for me, right?
But then I thought of Pops back at the cabin, hacking his brains out. He had worked this job for seventeen years and never even talked to a government official. If they thought our family couldn’t handle the task anymore, then they may give it to someone else and Pops would lose his health insurance. God knew he needed it in his condition.
The first thing I needed to do was get rid of the evidence. I was concocting a plan involving acid and a pack of Dobermans at the neighborhood junk yard when I heard twigs snap under a small pair of Wolverine boots. I turned to see little Charlie, the face that would haunt my dreams for years to come. Little Charlie was a ‘platoon’ leader under Butch Stetson. At eight years old, he was one of the youngest platoon leaders ever at Camp Kilwa
tchawana. Charlie was in his third year at camp and in that time he was rumored to have killed twenty-five deer, seventy rabbits and one baby black bear. And I could see by the look on his face, the same look still on Butch’s face that I was one he would love to add to the list. Charlie could avenge his mentor and be on the national news all with one swift pull of the trigger. He would add his name to history books all over the world. Barbara Walters would be calling to interview. They would possibly even make a made-for-tv-movie about him. I could see it all pulsing through his little homicidal brain. Life would be good for the boy who killed Sasquatch.
Thoughts of hiding the body left my mind instantly. Now I wasn’t concerned about staying out of jail; now I was worried about staying alive. I turned to flee and was instantly thankful for the new government-issued suits. The old suit was heavier and did not have the air conditioning. Also, I was pretty sure the Kevlar lining was going to come in handy before the day was out.
I heard the walkie-talkie squeak and then Charlie shouted, ‘Charlie to Bravo. Charlie to Bravo. I need backup in sector four of Old Man Wilson’s woods. A bogie has downed the chief. I repeat, man down; send all available troops to sector four. Over.’
I jumped the fallen tree and headed up the embankment. The deep woods were my only chance. I was camouflaged with the fur, and if I could get clear of the little assassin’s view, I could use some of the more high tech gizmos the government had put on the suit.
I was near the top of the embankment when I heard the platoon storming through the woods. ‘Up there men. After him! Foxtrot, Give me a weapon, I’m empty.’ Charlie screamed. Foxtrot, I thought? Who names their kid Foxtrot? But with Charlie’s legendary aim I could ponder that little mystery later. I knew I only had a matter of seconds to clear the top of the embankment before I would find out just how bullet proof this suit really was.
