“Best you stay in the dark,” she says with a shudder. “Ignorance is bliss. I’ve told you all that you need to know.” She glances behind him to where a small clock hangs on the wall. “We need to go. Lunch is soon. Get dressed or they’ll come looking.”
Toby complies, throwing on the holey shirt and putting on a pair of torn blue jeans. He looks himself over and says, “I feel like I’m the fifth in line for hand-me-downs.”
Clarice smiles. “That’s my plan.” She takes his hands in hers and stands in front of him. “Listen close. There are rules for eating. Rules you must obey.”
“Rules?”
“Yes, rules,” she says. “We made them a long time ago. We have to follow them. You have to follow them. The season starts in the morning, and they’ll be there watching us eat, picking us out, making sure we’re harmless. So, do what I say. No more, no less.”
“Okay, but this would be so much better if you’d tell me what’s going on.”
Clarice’s eyes widen. Her body shivers. “No, no, no,” she says, looking down at the ground and shaking her head over and over. “You don’t want to know. Pressure will be too much, and we’re so close to leaving. When we’re home, when we’re safe, I’ll tell you if you still want to know. But we have to leave before the season starts. And we can’t do that if you don’t pay attention, if you don’t get this right.”
Toby nods. Her promise seems fair enough, but the fear in her voice drives a chill through his soul. Maybe he really doesn’t want to know what she knows. He takes a deep breath and focuses. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all that matters.”
“So, what are the rules?”
“First rule. Most important. Fats are good. Sugars are bad,” she says. “Always remember. If you don’t, rule two won’t matter. Rule two might not save you.”
“Easy enough,” says Toby with a short nod. “What’s rule number two?”
Clarice grips his hands tight. “Repeat it. Repeat rule number one.”
“I got it, just—”
“Repeat it!” she shouts, clamping down on his hands to the point that pain shoots up his arm.
Toby jumps back and pulls his hands free. “Christ, you didn’t have to break my fingers.”
“Repeat it,” she says again, softer this time. “Never forget it. Never.”
“Fats are good. Sugars are bad.”
Clarice smiles. “Drugs take longer to get to you if they’re in fats,” she explains. “Sugar gets in your blood quick. Makes it harder to stop. Eat only the fats. Stay away from the sugars. No treats. No soda.”
Toby pops his knuckles anxiously, one at a time. He doesn’t like the thought of willfully eating drugs meant to turn his mind into mush. “What next?”
“Rule two, refund the unclean.”
Toby shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”
Clarice pulls out a couple of Bic pens from her purse and hands one of them to him. “Refund anything that’s drugged,” she says. She takes the pen she kept and sticks it down her throat far enough to make her gag before she pulls it back out. “That’s a refund,” she says. “Suck the ink out when you’re done, too. Always have to have the ink, just to be sure. Do it all in the bathroom. Quick. Quiet. And don’t let them see. Never let them see. Not anyone.”
“What if I can’t help it? What if someone is in the bathroom?”
“Never let them see,” she says gravely.
“Why not skip the meal?”
Clarice wraps her arms around her midsection and grips herself tightly. “Can’t skip. Tried before. But they always watch. Always mark. Only choice is to eat and get to the bathroom quick.”
“How long do I have?” he asks. “I mean, from the time I eat.”
“A minute or two if they’re sugars,” she says. “Ten minutes or so if they’re fats. Fats are good.”
“Right. Sugars are bad.”
“Talk to yourself when you eat,” she says. “Talk over and over what you have to do. Must do. Even fats make you foggy. Fats can make you forget. They’re deadly too. Can’t forget that. Never forget that. Repeat the rules. Always. No matter what. Repeat that you have to refund over and over until you make it there. Otherwise you’ll forget.”
“I think I’ll remember,” Toby says, flashing a nervous smile. “I’m not a geriatric.”
“No!” she says, gripping his shoulders tight. “Don’t take this lightly, even in jest. No matter what happens on the outside, your inside must be strong. Has to be. If you don’t listen to me, if you don’t repeat the rules, after you’ve eaten, you won’t want to get clean. You’ll only want to eat more. You’ll be like one of them.”
Toby’s mouth runs dry. He forces a swallow in a vain effort to remove the lump that’s formed in his throat. “And if I turn…I mean, worst case scenario and all, can you save me?”
Clarice lets him go, and her shoulders drop. “Maybe,” she said. “Probably not. It’s hard to save the lost. Worked once. Once. Barely at that. But, it didn’t last. Didn’t turn out well.”
Toby sucks in another deep breath. He shuts his eyes as he feels his lungs expand, and he focuses on his breath as he slowly lets it out. His nerves are building, but this focusing technique feels like it’s helping keep him together. “Okay, so I won’t forget the rules. I’ll keep them repeating over and over. Anything else?”
Clarice bites her lip. “One last rule,” she says. “Don’t brag. Don’t attract attention, especially with your job title. VP is bad. Very bad. Be something else. Anything.”
Toby folds his arms over his chest. “Like what?”
“Anything,” she says. “VP is near the top. Be something else. Entry tech. Mail clerk. Whatever. Just play dumb. Be dumb.” Clarice stops and glances at the clock once more. “We’ve got to go. They’ll be here soon. You ready?”
“Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Clarice stands up on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. “Okay, let’s go. And be good. Always good.”
Chapter Four
Toby follows Clarice down the hall in silent contemplation. He wonders what the cafeteria will be like, who will be there, and how awful it might be given Clarice’s dire warnings. When they reach the elevator, Clarice hits the down button, and a question pops into his mind.
“You said something about being checked for lunch?” he asks.
Clarice doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she points down the hall to where a Freddie-look-a-like, dressed in a uniform and carrying a black baton, is exiting one of the other apartments. “I told you, everyone has to eat,” she whispers. She stays quiet until the guard slithers over to and enters the next apartment. “Everyone eats,” she says. “Best if they don’t make you. Too much attention if they bring you down.”
Toby doesn’t ask for details as his imagination fills in the rest. “What now?”
“Now we go to lunch,” she says. “That’s it. Nothing more. Just be normal. Normal is good. Normal is quiet. When we get back, we’ll talk. We’ll get started.”
“Hard to be normal in a place like this,” he says with a laugh.
“Shh!” Clarice shoots him a glare. “This place is normal? Get it?”
The fear in her voice is all that’s needed to cause Toby to shut up.
A few seconds of silence pass and the elevator has yet to arrive. “What should we talk about at lunch?” he asks.
“Stamps,” she says, much to his surprise. “We talk about stamps. It’s the job everyone was assigned this morning. Our job. Have to make better stamps. Might have to talk about our ideas making stamps with others, too. Depends on who we sit with.”
Toby looks at her with confusion. “What are you on about?”
“It’s the job we were assigned,” she says. “Greg talked all about it during our meeting this morning—the one you weren’t there for.”
“Who’s Greg?”
“Boss of the department,” says Clarice. “Runs the show. We
ll, he’s the human that thinks he runs the show. Freddie obviously runs it all.”
“What’s our part in all of this? I mean with the stamps.”
“Greg said we all had to buckle down and make a better rubber stamp. Form a committee, lead it. Come up with good ideas. Has to be a good stamp though. No, not good. Perfect. Has to be done by the end of the week.”
“We’re talking about rubber stamps, right? Like ones you use on paper?”
Clarice nods. “Yeah. Greg’s obsessed with them. Loves them, even more than my old boss. Greg says the ones here aren’t stampy enough. Wants new ones.”
“I don’t know the first thing about stamps,” Toby admits. “I think the last one I had was in first grade, and that one had a smiley face.”
“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter,” she says. “Season is tomorrow. Season will change everything. But we still have to talk about stamps. Still have to do our job till then.”
The elevator dings. The doors open, and Toby soon finds himself inside, riding it down to the second floor. The air between them is silent and uncomfortable. It’s the perfect sort of silence that lets his brain build question after question until he can’t take it anymore.
“We’re going to the cafeteria?” he asks.
“We are.”
“And they want us to eat.”
“They do. All of us.”
“And all the food is—”
He doesn’t even get the word “drugged” out before she shoves him into the wall and presses her lips against his. He’s so shocked at her actions, he can’t move.
When she pulls back, carnal desire is not what’s on her face, despite its red hue. All that’s there is a mountain of burning anger, and it’s all directed at him. “Don’t you listen?” she scolds in a whisper. “You have to listen to me, Toby!”
“We’re alone!” he shoots back.
The elevator stops, and Toby looks up and notices it’s not the second floor they’ve stopped at, but the third. The doors slide open, and Clarice instantly ducks behind Toby and snakes her arm around his waist. He’s about to say something to her but stops when yet another Freddie-ish guard slithers in the elevator.
“You persies okay?” he says, hunching over slightly and scratching Toby under the chin. “What was that ruckus?”
Toby stares at the alien, wondering what he should say since he’s certain it didn’t happen to arrive in their elevator due to coincidence. As such, all he can manage is a feeble denial of everything. “What ruckus?”
“I was in my office, and I heard a ruckus.”
“Could you describe the ruckus?” says Toby, still hoping that ignorance will prove to be the best policy.
Clarice eases around Toby’s side. “He was complaining about the food,” she says.
Toby turns and stares with an open mouth. Part of him wonders if she’s going to sell him out, and the other part wonders if he should sell her out first.
Clarice turns to Toby for a moment and kisses his cheek. “It’s okay, honey,” she says. “He’ll tell you the same thing I did.”
“What’s the problem with the food?” asks the guard, inching forward.
Clarice answers before Toby, which is a good thing, because he can’t think of anything remotely good to say. “He’s afraid it’s all cold,” she says. “He doesn’t believe me that there’s hot stuff, too.”
“Silly persie,” the guard says, easing back. “Of course we have hot food. Is that why you’re being so cranky? Afraid you won’t get something to warm that belly of yours?”
Toby lets his shoulders drop, and he tries to look as sincere as possible. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Today for lunch we have subs,” the guard says, patting Toby on the head with his tail. “Do you like subs? There are hot and cold ones, I promise. And great desserts, too.”
“Subs are good,” Toby replies. “And I like dessert.”
“Good boy,” says the guard. “Tell you what,” he goes on. “I’ll see you two to the cafeteria, make sure you get there alright. Wouldn’t want you guys to get lost in such a big place, would we?”
“Thank you,” says Clarice. She elbows Toby in the ribs.
“Ow,” he says, rubbing his side. After seeing her glance to the guard, he quickly tacks on. “And, uh, thanks.”
The guard pushes the button for the second floor, and the doors close behind him. The guard keeps his back to Toby and Clarice, and though he’s not watching them with his eyes, Toby is certain he’s under close scrutiny.
“So, how about them stamps,” Toby says.
“Need to make more,” says Clarice. “Lots more.”
The elevator resumes its descent, and that’s all the conversation Toby can muster. Anything he thinks to say or do seems silly and so obviously fabricated that he stands in silence with his breath held. Sweat beads on his neck and trickles down his back. He studies the guard’s every move. He catches sight of the alien twitching its left hand for a split second. Toby’s brain goes into overdrive as it tries to decipher the meaning behind the movement. Is it signaling an attack? Was the guard about to swing on them with its baton? Pepper Spray? Hidden tranquilizer? Or worse? Maybe it just had an itch to scratch. It is, after all, stifling hot inside the elevator, Toby decides. And just how damn long does it take to go from the third floor to the second anyway?
Toby looks to Clarice, hoping for some silent input on the guard dilemma. But the moment he does, the elevator comes to a halt and the doors open with a ding.
“Here we go, persies,” says the guard, slithering out. “Let’s get those bellies of yours nice and full with yummy treats.”
“Come on, Toby,” Clarice says, pulling him forward by is forearm. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? Must be. Should be.”
“I’m hungry,” says Toby. The guard’s ever watchful gaze raises goosebumps on his arms. “Always hungry,” Toby then adds, trying to mimic Clarice as best he can. “Always ready to eat some more.”
“Good boy,” the guard says, patting Toby on the head. “Now follow me.”
All three of them proceed down the hall, taking three corners and passing by two cubicle farms, with Clarice remaining latched onto Toby’s side the entire time.
“Here we are,” the guard says, once they arrive at the cafeteria’s steel double doors. “Enjoy!”
Toby says nothing, and he quickly goes inside with Clarice right behind. He halts the instant he enters, and Clarice bounces off his back. “Wow,” is all he can say.
“What?” asks Clarice.
Toby doesn’t answer. His senses are too busy trying to recover from the massive overload they’ve taken in. Warm lights, brick and wood paneled walls, and decked out serving bars make him feel like he’s stepped into the dining area of a five-star restaurant in a Vegas casino. The assault on his nose from the aroma of spices, cheeses, and sauces of all kinds make him want to eat and never stop. And last but not least, the sounds of loud laughter and conversation that fill his ears makes him want to be included in whatever party is going on.
“This,” he finally says, eyes wide. “This isn’t right.”
“What’s not?” she says. Her voice sounds wary, more so than usual.
“The cafeteria back at—” he starts to say, but quickly stops himself when he realizes he’s about to break a cardinal rule: no talking about home. So, he quickly redacts his comment. “I didn’t expect such a great place to eat is all.”
“They want us to eat,” says Clarice. “They want us to enjoy it.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
Clarice grabs him by the shoulders and points him toward the food. Two separate buffets sit at either side of the serving area which is about twenty feet away. To the left is an assortment of wrapped sandwiches, subs, and gyros, with a salad bar tacked on to the end. To the right is tray after tray of desserts, from ice cream to apple pie to pastry delights. Toby’s stomach rumbles at the sight of it all.
“Don’t forget number one,
” Clarice whispers as she pulls him along.
“I haven’t,” Toby says.
“I mean it.”
“I know,” says Toby as they file behind the other coworkers waiting for their turn at the buffet. The line moves fast, and before he knows it, he’s seated at a booth in the back of the dining area with Clarice sitting across from him. He stares down at his food—a foot-long meatball sub and a tall glass of milk—and hopes he got what he was supposed to. “I…I wasn’t sure what was good here,” he says, picking his words as carefully as he can. “So, I got what you did.”
Clarice takes a drink from her milk and wipes away her new mustache with a paper napkin. “You’re fine. Bathrooms are to the left if you have to pee.”
Toby glances over and finds them without any trouble. He’s about to turn to Clarice once more when he spots a group of coworkers all gathered around a circular table being especially loud and boisterous. From their expressions and gestures, he guesses they’re having some sort of party. He watches for a moment until a cake, covered in white icing and trimmed in pink, is brought out and set before a woman who’s in the center of it all.
“Birthday?” Toby asks.
“Not a birthday,” Clarice replies. “Baby shower. Lexi’s baby shower. You can tell because she’s tagged.”
Toby spies the tag in an instant. It’s hanging from her left ear, large and pink, and it reminds him of the ones he’s seen on nature shows.
“Why tag her if she’s pregnant?” he asks.
“Makes Lexi special,” Clarice says. “Let’s everyone know to treat her nice.”
“But I thought…” Toby catches himself before he goes any further. He spends a second rephrasing his question in the hopes that it doesn’t alert any eavesdroppers while still keeping it comprehensible to Clarice. “Special is good?”
“Pink tags are always good,” she replies. “Especially since she’s a board member. Means she’ll probably be chairman next season, too.”
“What about you?”
Office Preserves Page 4
