The Promotion (A Short Story)

by Gabriel Beyers

is made of iron. “You’ll never make Level 3 with that attitude.”

  I tear my arm away. “They did send you, didn’t they?

  She flashes me a coy little smile, slides away from the table and stands up. She stands a good six inches taller than I do and it takes all my will to keep my eyes locked on hers.

  “You shouldn’t be so paranoid.” She pats me on the cheek. “We all have a job to do.”

  I push her hand away from my face. “Herbert Frost is mine. You’ll never get to him.”

  Her smile broadens and she giggles when she sees the confusion on my face. “Thank you. I wasn’t quite sure who you were hunting. You’ve saved me a load of time. Herbert Frost, huh? Anything else you’d like to tell me about him?”

  This time I grab her wrist and squeeze with all my strength. If I’m hurting her, she doesn’t show it. “He’s mine. I’ve worked too long and hard for this promotion. You can go back to whoever sent you and tell them you failed.”

  “You know that’s not going to happen. You’re not the only one gunning for a promotion. Herbert Frost is fair game.” She leans in and kisses me on the lips, which shocks me enough that I let go of her wrist. She’s three steps away before I gain my composure. “Finders keepers. No hard feelings.”

  Then she is gone, vanished from the bar, the phantom of her perfume lingering on the air. I step out into the night, scanning the shadows for her, but the glitter of the rain and the white noise that accompanies it distorts all of my senses.

  I could have handled our meeting better. I’m thankful it’s too dark to see me blush.

  I make my way back to the Goodwin’s house. I stop on the sidewalk and look up at the darkened windows. It would be a simple task to enter. To escape the rain and take refuge in their warm home. To watch them slumber and dream of a happy future that will never be theirs. But I can’t risk it. She might be watching. Herbert Frost is just half of my mission, and neither of us knows where to find him, so at least we’re equal in that aspect. But if she were to find out about Matthew Goodwin, she might slip in and collect him while I’m still looking for Frost.

  Maybe her orders are to collect Frost and no one else. Then again, her promotion might hinge upon fouling up mine. It’s hard to say. The upper level agents, the Nines and Tens, tend to get bored. There isn’t much use for you when you’re promoted that high, except on an administrative capacity. Pitting us lower level collectors against one another is the last thrill allowed them.

  I decide to move on. I roam the town the rest of the night, ending up back at the park. I sit on the same park bench, letting the cool rain soak me to my skin, while I think of ways to find Mr. Frost.

  The rain stops just before sunrise, and as golden light spills over treetops, a sudden panic overtakes me. Just three days until Matthew Goodwin’s birthday and I’m no better off than when I started.

  I consider calling my superior back, apologizing for my arrogance. Maybe he’ll let me off the hook and we can pretend the whole thing never happened. I want to be a Level 3, as much as I’ve ever wanted anything. But perhaps an even greater desire is not wanting to go back to Level 1.

  I clutch my phone in my hand. I type in my superior’s number. My finger hovers over the SEND button, close enough that I can feel the static charge tickling my skin. I’m just about to make the call when she steps out of the trees and onto the path about a hundred yards away.

  The fire of the sunrise lights in her hair making her seem veiled in gold. Her ivory skin shines like the moon, her eyes sparkle as jewels. She gives me a broad smile, showcasing her perfect teeth. Her arms are crossed across her breast, but instead of covering them, it seems to enhance them.

  “You’re not giving up are you?” she asks. “You’re never going to find him just sitting on your ass. Come on, let’s go.”

  She waves me on as if we are partners instead of competitors. It makes me smile, and I even bark out a small laugh. I shut my phone off and return it to my pocket.

  “You suggesting we work together?” I ask standing to my feet.

  She puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “Keep dreaming. I just don’t want you laying down and handing Frost to me. I want to earn this promotion.”

  With that, she takes off down the path at a run, leaving me standing here with an idiotic smile dying on my face.

  I see her now and then throughout the day. Sometimes I catch her stalking me from a distance. Other times I smell her lingering perfume and know that I’m just a few steps behind her. After a while it becomes almost a game in which we are trying to find each other instead of Herbert Frost.

  I’m walking through a grocery store, scanning the aisles for her smiling face, when I hear a voice, tiny and familiar.

  “Mommy! Toy!”

  I turn to see Bethany Goodwin pushing a grocery cart toward me with Matthew buckled into the seat. His chubby hands are outstretched as he points to a display of generic toys fitted at the end of the cereal aisle.

  “No, Matthew,” Bethany says without glancing up from her list. “Not today. You’ll be getting plenty of toys soon enough. You don’t need those.”

  Matthew gives a small grunt of disapproval, but forgets all about the toys when he sees the rainbow assortment of soda cans.

  I step back and hide beside a book kiosk. I pretend to be interested in the plethora of hackneyed trash, running my hand over the shiny covers, flipping through the pages until Bethany passes. She never even notices me. But Matthew does.

  Matthew leans way over so that he can peer past his mother at me. His tiny brows furrow and his emerald eyes scour me head to toe. It’s clear that he recognizes me, not just my face, but what I am. He tugs on his mother’s shirt sleeve with one hand, while pointing at me with the other. Bethany pays him little attention, and they disappear down one of the aisles.

  “You can’t fool kids.”

  She is leaning against a display of potato chips, picking at her fingernails as if nothing else in the world matters.

  “We can fool all these others.” She waves her hand indicating the adults. “But innocent eyes always see through the lies.”

  I turn without answer and walk away. I hope that she will grasp the meaning of my silent departure, but she jogs until she catches up and falls in beside me.

  “What’s with you?” she asks.

  “Nothing. Go away.”

  She looks back over her shoulder. “What? Is it the kid? The way he looked at you? Tell you what, when I’m promoted to Level 3, he’ll be my first Random Collection.”

  I turn on her in a flash and grab her by the shoulders hard enough to make her cry out, though from pain or shock, I can’t tell. “You’re my problem. Not the kid. I’m tired of you hounding my steps, trying to poach my collection and steal my promotion.”

  I shove her back and for a brief second I see a glimmer of hurt flash in her eyes. Then her expression goes cold. “I was just trying to make good of a bad situation. I can’t back down any more than you. I thought we could make it a light, friendly competition. Keep things balanced. But I guess it’s every Agent for herself.” She extends her hand, but I refuse to shake it.

  “Good luck,” she says then walks off.

  I stare after her even when she’s out of my sight. I have the irrational need to chase her down and explain myself. It’s not her fault. She doesn’t know about my time restriction, or that I have two collections instead of one. She’s a pawn of the system, just like me.

  Then again, she is invading my turf. If one of us is going to be demoted, I’d rather it be her.

  I repeat this to myself throughout the day, but the more I say it the less I believe it.

  The sun once again dips below the trees and though I’ve combed every inch of this fleabag town, I haven’t so much as heard a mention of Herbert Frost. I wonder if Agent 011880 is faring any better than I am.

  Exhausted, I hide in a parked car across the street from the Goodwin’s house. The night is warm, but I’m plagued with
chills. Perhaps I’m coming down with something. The lights in the house go dark, but I wait another couple of hours before I go inside.

  I move from room to room, searching the cabinets, reading the mail, enjoying the scents of a happy home.

  As I enter the living room the water in the darkened aquarium begins to slosh about. Thick silver scales press against the glass as if trying to cut through. A large unblinking eye, its pupil green with the reflected ambient light, watches me. There is hate in that eye, which is fine with me. I hate it right back.

  The arowana’s mouth pulses open and closed as if the fish is cursing me in some unheard language. It skims along the bottom of the tank, flicking its spade-like tail, tossing gravel against the glass. Without warning it darts head first into the front pane. The thud is audible throughout the house. The aquarium quivers on its wooden cabinet, but the fish fails to crack the half inch thick glass. It rampages about, stirring up more gravel, and slams into the heavy lid.

  What a mindless, idiotic, disgusting little beast. I wish I had the freedom to pull the lid off and let the slimy shit just jump out onto the floor. Or better yet, I’d like to kick the glass out of the aquarium and let the bastard’s whole world spill out.

  But I’m not a man of luxury. I have a job to do. I can’t afford to get distracted by a simple beast with a brain the size of an almond.

  I make my way to Matthew’s room.

  The walls are painted blue. Posters of Super Mario Brothers