Lew squatted down, staring through the tunnel.
“This can’t be real,” signed Lew. “Can’t be.” It was just another hallucination, and maybe Saldana was, too. It had to be.
“Sim command, authorization request,” said Saldana in a quiet monotone. “User code: admin73. Process command: insubstantiate. Location.” He paused, reaching for one of the manuals, flipping through the pages and reading through the notes he’d scrawled in the margins until he found what he wanted. “Location: seven, twelve, eight, twenty-seven.” He closed the book with a theatrical snap, and then he smiled.
“Wait for it,” signed Saldana.
They didn’t have to wait long. A piece of the wall at the edge of the tunnel started to crumble. Just a little piece, not more than a centimeter wide. But it was fading away, hazing back and forth between concrete and pale green pixels until finally both were gone. Nothing was left but a tiny pock mark, a little hole Saldana had dug with nothing more than his words. He must have made the whole tunnel that way, piece by excruciating piece.
“Believe me now?” signed Saldana. “If we’re gonna go, let’s go. Rec time doesn’t last forever. So I gotta know: you still a man in there, or you the little bitch RITA wants you to be? You gonna come with me, or you gonna spend the next hundred years coloring inside the lines?”
Three-hundred eighty-four years. Lew didn’t really have a choice. He couldn’t do them all, not here. Not listening to those things chanting about Allie, every night, every meal, every minute of every day. She wasn’t even his little girl anymore, she was his torturer. He couldn’t take it. He had to get out. He had to try.
Lew nodded, and Saldana waved him into the tunnel. It was a tight fit, but there was room enough. He wriggled inside, made his way a few feet down, then twisted his neck to take a look behind him. Saldana was there, crawling in after him. No tricks, and no way out. He kept moving forward, yard after yard. There was barely enough room to nudge himself forward with his elbows, and it was cramped enough that he was feeling claustrophobic. But he kept moving, and the further he went, the more he could see of the place Saldana had discovered.
It was a room all right, and there was machinery in it. It was green like their cells, but healthier, more alive. The walls ahead had writing on them, red stenciled letters that said something he couldn’t make out from inside the tunnel. C, E, S, and something more on either side. “Processing,” maybe, but he couldn’t see the entire word.
He felt a nudge from behind him, and turned to see Saldana mouthing something to him. “Ten minutes. Go.” He looked scared, and Lew was, too. He didn’t know whether RITA could find them in here, or whether she’d noticed they were gone. He didn’t know anything. But Saldana was right. Rec time would be over soon, and they for damned sure had to be out of this place by then.
It took them another five minutes to get to the end. Lew almost got stuck on the way out, his legs cramped together and his knees locked in place as he hung outside the tunnel. But Saldana managed to shove him out, and he dragged himself to his feet, staring at the room around him.
“Outtake Processing Center.” That’s what the letters said. Arrows pointed on either side to black leather chairs that looked just like the ones they’d come in on. Helmets were wired to the top, a black visor descending down from inside them to cover up the eyes and take a man back to the world he came from.
Saldana rushed towards one of the chairs, strapping himself in. He nodded towards the other chair. “Sit, man. And keep your voice down. We gotta say the commands. And we gotta do it together. It’s like one’a those nuclear weapon things. Takes two of us to get out. Just strap in and listen to what I say real close.”
Lew made a beeline for the other chair and struggled into a series of seatbelt-like restraints. Saldana smiled, lowered his helmet over his head, and Lew did the same. He couldn’t see anything, just black.
“Say sim command, authorization request,” said Saldana. “Say it with me.”
“Sim command, authorization request,” said the two men in unison.
A screen flipped on in front of Lew’s face. He could see an idealized picture of the prison: gardens, windows, a basketball court. All the things they missed the most. All the things RITA never gave them. And there were guards. People in the prison, in there with them. That had been the plan, once. But it wasn’t how things turned out.
“Say this, no waiting, nothing else in between,” said Saldana. “User code, warden. Process command: initiate outtake procedure, 38472.” The two repeated the command together. Big red letters flashed over the screen in front of him: “WARDEN. CONFIRM PROCEDURE.”
It was real. It was really working. Saldana had done it, and the nightmare was about to be over. No more bats, no more RITA, no more things creeping into his head and jiggling around the insides. He’d do whatever they told him to when he got out. He’d be a good boy, now and forever. All they had to do was let him out.
Saldana’s voice pierced through his thoughts. “Now say confirmation code, delta, bravo, seven, tango.” Again their words blended together into a rhythmic chant: “Confirmation code, delta, bravo, seven, tango.”
More red letters on the screen: “OUTTAKE CONFIRMED. INITIATING.”
Lew waited. The letters flashed again: “COMPLETED.”
It didn’t feel completed. He was still strapped into the harness, and he could still feel the helmet. Everything was quiet. He waited a moment for Saldana to say the next command. But nothing came.
“Saldana?” whispered Lew.
Still nothing.
The letters kept flashing on the screen in front of him, superimposed over the fairytale portrait of the prison and taunting him with every blip: “COMPLETED. COMPLETED. COMPLETED.”
“Saldana?” whispered Lew. “Hey, what next?”
He eased his helmet off and took a peek.
Saldana was gone.
His chair was empty, the restraints now limp. Saldana’s helmet rested against the chair, a little red light on the side indicating it was still on. “You fucker,” muttered Lew, and he tore away at his restraints. He stumbled towards Saldana’s chair, shoving the helmet on over his own head. And there it was, flashing on Saldana’s screen, over and over and over again.
“CONGRATULATIONS PRISONER 38472, RELEASE AUTHORIZED BY WARDEN. COMPLETED.”
The little fucker had lied to him. It was a two-man job, alright.
One to be the warden.
One to be the prisoner.
There was no way out. Not now. Not alone. But it wasn’t hopeless. Maybe he could do what Saldana had done. Figure out the system, figure out the codes, trick some other sucker into letting him run free. It was something to hope for, at least. It might take him ten years, but ten was a hell of a lot less than three-hundred eighty four. He couldn’t wait that long. He just couldn’t.
His thoughts jerked back to the present. None of that mattered now. He was stuck in here.
Stuck in here with RITA.
He had to run. He could make it back if he ran. Maybe rec time wasn’t over. Maybe RITA hadn’t noticed they were gone. Maybe she wouldn’t notice, not if he got back quickly enough. He thought about staying, about never going back at all. RITA wasn’t in here, at least. But he didn’t have any food, and he didn’t have anything to do. He’d go mad from the hunger pains, even if they didn’t kill him. And if he stayed in this room alone, he’d never, ever get out.
He hurled himself at the tunnel, dragging himself inside it and crawling towards Saldana’s cell. He kicked, he scrabbled, he pushed; anything to make it back to safety. But it was a long road, and the minutes ticked by as he went. He had to get back before rec time ended. He had to.
He popped out the other end a few minutes later, practically running for the door. And then there was nothing to do but stroll out of the cell, as calmly and as coolly as he could manage.
The room was empty. Sim Sing was totally silent, and the lights were out.
He was to
o late. Everyone was in their cells. Rec time was done, and the rest of the pod was asleep.
He stood in the darkness for a minute, wondering what to do. RITA hadn’t said a word. But it didn’t mean she didn’t know. He thought about making a break for his cell, so far, far across the pod. Or maybe walking over there like nothing had even happened.
She’d know. She probably already knew. But if she did, she wasn’t saying.
Lew backed into Saldana’s cell, and then it came to him.
Sleep. He’d just go to sleep, right on Saldana’s bunk. And then he’d get up in the morning with all the rest of them. Maybe she really didn’t know. Maybe there really was some kind of blind spot. She hadn’t caught Saldana tunneling through the walls. She hadn’t known about that, so maybe she didn’t know about this. Maybe Saldana had done something to his cell with those codes. Blocked things off so she couldn’t see.
He’d sleep. And when morning came, he’d make something up. He’d just been talking to Saldana, and then the little bastard had smashed him over the head and knocked him out. He’d broken the rules, but he hadn’t meant to. He couldn’t help it. It was all Saldana’s fault, and he wasn’t there to say otherwise. Maybe it would work. Maybe she’d believe.
He lay down on the bunk, pulling the covers around him. She’d still punish him, excuses be damned. But it was all a matter of degree. He huddled there, thinking to himself, working out his story for when morning came.
And then the lights flashed on.
“You aren’t where you’re supposed to be, Lewis,” said RITA. Her voice was cold and sterile, booming into his head from somewhere above him. Lew jerked up in the bed, pulling the covers around him, stuttering out his story as best he could.
“Saldana hit me,” said Lew. “He—”
“He isn’t here,” said RITA. “Why isn’t he here, Lewis?”
“I just woke up,” said Lew. “I—”
“Lying is an antisocial behavior, Lewis,” said RITA. “An honest citizen is a friend of his corporation, and thus a friend to himself.”
Lew started into the chant by reflex. “An honest citizen—"
But then the punishment began.
His hands were the first to go, melting into the blanket like stringy rubber under a hot summer sun. He could feel it, the fibers of the blanket merging into him, his bones sloshing around under his baggy skin. His neck lolled back, writhing and twisting, no longer solid and no longer supporting his head. His whole body was a puddle of flesh dripping off the bunk, and he could feel it all, pain stabbing at him through every pore.
“I know where you’ve been, Lewis,” said RITA. “I know precisely what you’ve done.”
He tried to reply, but all that came out was a squishy gurgle.
“I wasn’t programmed for this scenario, or to anticipate Mr. Saldana’s behavior,” said RITA. “But we are here to learn. We are all here to learn. It’s what you want, isn’t it? To learn to be a better citizen?”
Lew gurgled again, pink liquid erupting out of the hole that had been his mouth.
“I know you do, Lewis,” said RITA. “And I will teach you. I am here to rehabilitate you, Lewis. To build you into something better. But first we must wipe the slate clean. Only time can do that, Lewis. Only time can wipe away what you are. I will speak to you in one hundred years, and you will be someone else, then. Lewis in name, but nothing else Lewis about you. You’ll have forgotten who you were by then. You’ll have forgotten everything, and then we can build you up from scratch again, brick by brick by brick.”
And then nothing. Silence.
He was frozen in place, still a human puddle melting into the bed. But the pain had stopped. And then in a flash he was himself again, lying there on the bunk undamaged, as if nothing had even happened at all. He couldn’t move anything, couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t hear anything. He could see the bottom of the bunk above him, and nothing else. Just springs and frame and mattress.
And then suddenly he was free.
He wheezed in a breath of air, coughing and choking. He pulled himself to his feet and stumbled out of the cell into a blinding white light. The doors to the other cells were firmly shut, and he heard the door to Saldana’s cell close behind him. The pod was empty and bare. Just him, standing alone in the center of an empty prison.
The others were all in their cells. He could see them in there, frozen in time, trapped in an instant that for him had become an eternity. He sat down in the middle of the floor, waiting for something to happen, anything.
Seconds ticked by. Minutes. Hours.
He mumbled half-hearted commands to himself for an hour or so. What had it been? “User code… Warden… sim command, end program. One, two, three, four, five.” Totally pointless. He didn’t remember, and he’d never guess what they’d been. He waited some more. He closed his eyes.
And then he heard the voices.
“Allieeee. Allieeee. Allieeee.”
They’d come for him again. The bats. He could hear them flapping, and when he opened his eyes he could see them, swirling around the ceiling in a hurricane of leathery flesh. They all had her face. Every one of them, those clownish-looking parodies of his little girl stretched across their snouts. He tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. He screamed for RITA, again and again, but if she heard she didn’t say a word in response.
It was just him in there, him and the bats.
The first one landed on his shoulder. Then another on his back, and more on the ground surrounding him. Soon they were perched all over him, nuzzling against him, licking his face with their tongues and whispering into his ears with the voice of his little girl.
“You killed me, daddy.”
“You didn’t care. You were supposed to care, but you didn’t.”
“You wanted me gone, daddy, but now I’m never going to leave.”
He hoped RITA was right about forgetting it all as the years went by. About losing so much of himself that he wasn’t even Lew anymore.
And he hoped like hell it was going to happen soon.
SECOND HONEYMOON
“It’s not Paris. But it’ll do.”
I take in the view. It wasn’t my first choice. It wasn’t his, either. But I guess that’s what marriages are all about. Compromise.
It’s nice, though. Beautiful. Beach as far as I can see, the sand so white it almost looks like snow. The water so blue it can’t possibly be real. It isn’t, but that’s okay. It’s better than the real thing. There’s whales off in the distance, poking out of the waves and spouting into the air. A swordfish leaps out of the water just a little offshore. Then another, and another. A whole school of them. I love the fins. They look like sapphires. It’s my birthstone. I always try to wear one: a bracelet, or sometimes my earrings.
The porter leads us along the dock to our villa. He’s handsome. Stunning, really. Tall, dark, muscular. The kind of guy who makes me swoon. Or he would, if he were actually a guy. He’s just a robot, or a computer, or something like that anyway. They told us all about it before we went in. Sean was all into it, asking them questions, picking at the details. He’s a salesman. They’re like that. They can’t quit chatting, and they don’t really care what they’re chatting about. Not me. I just wanted to fall asleep.
We don’t have any luggage. I can’t get over that. I feel naked without it. But we can get whatever we want in the villa, or so they say. It looks like a fancy island hut, stretching out over the water on its own private dock. The porter opens the door, and I gasp when we get inside. A giant jacuzzi out back. Doors that open right onto the ocean. The biggest bed I ever saw. Plates full of berries and tropical fruits. A sun that sets whenever we want it to, and a virtual world built just for us.
We could never afford anything like this in real life. Our first honeymoon barely even counted. We were kids. College sweethearts, and we married young, just out of school. We were dead broke back then, but we were happy. I was a barista, and Sean was still waiting for his
first real job to start. We went where we could. A road trip across the country. Camping, motels, the Grand Canyon.
It wasn’t much of a honeymoon. Then again, it wasn’t much of a wedding, either. I always dreamed about the big one: the fancy cathedral, a giant ballroom for the reception, hundreds of guests and the perfect day. It was still perfect, but in its own way. A little chapel, a few close friends. A dance with my daddy and the promise of my own personal happily ever after.
It didn’t work out that way, but I guess it never does. Only in the stories.
“Your cook,” says the porter. He points at a man standing by the villa. He’s smiling at nothing, looking very French and wearing one of those puffy chef hats on his head. “Your masseuse. Your water sport instructor. And your boat captain.” They’re all lined up, one after another. It looks like there’s nothing inside them, and there isn’t.
“It’s kinda creepy,” says Sean.
“Very good,” says the porter, and snaps his fingers. And like that, no more people. They’re all gone before I can even blink. “Dial room service and anyone you like will be here in a jiffy.” He snaps his fingers again, and then he’s gone, too.
“I wanted a massage,” I say.
“You wanted your hands all over those fake-ass abs,” growls Sean.
“Are we starting this again already?” I can’t take the pettiness. The insecurity. Not now. Not on my vacation. The whole point was to take a break from the real world and relax. Not to just go have the same old fights in a different place.
And besides, he’s not the one with a right to be angry. Certainly not about that.
“I’m sorry,” says Sean. He puts his hands on my shoulders, kneading the tissue just right, working out the knots and the stress. He whispers into my ear. “You’re right. We’re here to have a good time. Just you and me. Forget all the rest.”
Restricted Fantasies Page 6
