Imprisoned

by J D Jacobs

  It’s been a couple of hours since Jenkins told me that I’m skating on thin ice on his naughty/nice list. I came up here to the roof of the hospital to talk to Grant, which is what I usually do during the day to pass the time.

  Everybody in the city is assigned a job to work or train for, so with Cody and Dad gone all day, sitting by myself in my room gets very boring very fast. Grant’s job is to go on supply runs across the country and scavenge for any useful resources that he and his search crew can find. Whenever Grant isn’t on a supply run, he’s like me: looking to kill time. So he and I often sit on the roof of Stevenson’s and talk about our lives while we look out into the city. We talk about many things, but one thing that always seems to make its way into our conversations is the flashback ability that we both share. Grant is the only other person I know that has the same sepia flashbacks that I have, and he’s also the only one other than myself that even knows they exist.

  “The thing about Jenkins is that he only becomes hostile when another person becomes hostile first,” Grant says as he lowers his gloved hand to allow his strange pet eagle, Abbi, to eat the sunflower seeds out of his palm. I still can’t get over the whole concept of Abbi–the robotic eagle with a mechanical eye that serves as a camera–but I quit questioning her after a few weeks.

  “Think about your first meeting with him. You initiated the hostility, and he countered with his own dose. He doesn’t let people step on him; he’ll tell you how it is and throw some spice on it while he’s at it.” He dusts his gloves off before he takes another deep puff from his cigarette and exhales. Abbi admires the smoke. “Cody talks back to him all the time, and that’s probably why Jenkins hates him. And honestly, if you weren’t the purposed savior of the human race because of your believed Cozmin immunity, he would probably hate you, too.”

  That’s a valid point. As a talking guy without a face once told me, “you’re not that good around other people.” That reminds me. I haven’t seen the talking Grim in a while. Actually, I haven’t seen any Grim in quite some time.

  If you think the concept of Abbi is weird, then you’ll be blown away by Grims, the faceless spirits that constantly tormented me when I was alone in Westwood. Grims are the spirits of people who have succumbed to the Cozmin disease; instead of moving on to the afterlife, they stay around on Earth in the form of faceless people. In case things didn’t seem strange enough, only I can see them. But let’s also not forget the other strange qualities that Grims have, such as a lethal touch that instantly kills living people with the tiniest nip, or the ability that Grims have to see how every human dies, whether that death has already happened or has yet to. Yeah, Grims are quite a treat.

  Only one Grim has actually talked to me before, but I haven’t seen him in so long that I almost forgot what he sounded like.

  “What’re you thinking about?” Grant asks, severing the silence and catching me off guard. I’ve told Grant about the faceless Grims I see, but he doesn’t seem to believe me. There’s no sense to even bother telling him what’s really on my mind.

  “Nothing,” I stammer. I then look down to the streets of Tryton and make a confession to him. “I’m a little scared about this ceremony later today.” I look down below us; on the main intersection close to the hospital are a few workers putting together a stage and setting up for the moment that apparently everybody has been waiting for.

  “What do you mean?” Grant asks, turning his eyes to the stage construction.

  “These people in Tryton, I’ve heard so much about how their expectations about me are wild. They’re going to be so disappointed. I don’t know crap about this disease or how to survive it. They’ll be expecting a savior… I’m not their savior. I don’t even know how I got dragged into this situation.”

  “I know you didn’t say you were scared,” Grant says. “Being scared shouldn’t even be a thing to you anymore. If everyone who was scared would embrace that fear every time they felt it, it would never leave. Fear has become so common that it’s not even a thing anymore. People are scared of death, scared of the Cozmin, scared of egotoning, scared for the fate of their families, if they’re lucky enough to still have them. These people are constantly afraid, but they brush it aside because it’s exhausting to continuously live in fear. You’re scared about a ceremony. If you think you’ll let these people down, you’re wrong. These people will love you no matter what you say. You get their mind off of their fear. If a ceremony is your biggest fear, you’ll do just fine.”

  “Wow. I never thought of it from that perspective.” I nod, comforted by his statement enough to reach over and pet Abbi. She buries her half metallic head into my hand in approval. She then looks up at me, and I notice that her robotic eye is green. “Uh, Grant, is Abbi supposed to be recording?”

  “Oh, no she isn’t,” he says, obviously forgetting that he was supposed to turn her camera off earlier. “Abbi, conclude recording.” Just like that, Abbi’s eye turns from green to red to signify that her eye is no longer recording.

  “There’s not a chance that Jenkins is going to see or hear any of that, right?” I anxiously ask.

  “I mean, he has access to the video room where Abbi’s recordings are transmitted to, so he could,” he informs me as he sticks his tongue through the missing gap in his teeth, which he does often when he’s contemplating over something. “But I doubt it.”

  I look down at the eagle as she looks innocently back at me, not knowing that she could be responsible for snitching me out to Jenkins.

  “Why was she on anyway?” I ask Grant, knowing there must actually be a purpose to Abbi’s eye-camera.

  Grant looks around the roof before he continues. “It’s supposed to be a secret, but I’ll tell you anyway. Jenkins has been sending letters back and forth to the only other surviving city in North America. He and the leader over there have been communicating with each other. Abbi has been the messenger, delivering written letters and sending pre-recorded videos between them.”

  “I can’t believe I forgot there’s another surviving city.” Jenkins mentioned it to me my first day in Tryton, but I’m very surprised that this other surviving city hasn’t been brought back up since then. “Do we know anything about this city?”

  “I don’t,” Grant tells me. “The only one who knows anything is Jenkins. He won’t tell me what the city’s name is, what the name of the leader is, or even what part of the country it’s located in. Apparently it can’t be that far, considering it takes Abbi about two and a half days to complete the trip. She always flies back from the north, so I’m thinking that this city may be in Canada, but I’m not sure.”

  “I’m surprised that you would let Jenkins use Abbi without telling you anything about these missions.”

  “I wasn’t for it at first, but Jenkins says that it’s important to keep communication with the last surviving city, and she is the only real way to do so without traveling there ourselves.” He digs the bud of his finished cigarette in the ground of the roof and flicks it to the side. “Plus, he compensates me very well for letting him use her.”

  “You should still know something about these people,” I continue on. “What if they hurt Abbi? There wouldn’t be anything you could do if they decided to do anything to her.”

  “You’re right,” Grant acknowledges the reality and picks up his eagle to embrace her. Abbi accepts her master’s hug and perches her talons on his thigh, which looks excruciatingly painful from my end. Grant doesn’t seem to mind. “If I were to lose Abbi, I’d be crushed. But I can’t let my fear of losing her affect my decisions. Even if I don’t necessarily agree with Jenkins all the time, I have to trust him when he says that these people won’t hurt her.”

  The thought of trusting Jenkins along with the sight of Abbi’s talons digging into Grant’s thigh is an uncomfortable combination of things I don’t want to experience. Grant takes this pause in our conversation to hastily mention something he missed.

  “But this is classified infor
mation. None of the citizens of Tryton know about this other city. The only people behind these walls that know that this second city even exists are me, you, Jenkins, your father, and the city council. That’s it. It’s very important that you don’t mention this to anyone else. Not Cody. Not… whoever else you talk to.”

  “Don’t worry, my list of friends in this city isn’t that long,” I tell him. “Why is this a secret? This should be big news. It doesn’t make sense to me that these two cities aren’t getting together and trying to find a solution to the Cozmin disease.”

  “Much easier said than done,” Grant says. “Jenkins at least told me that they’re working to find a cure, too, but it seems like our two cities are racing to see who can cross the starting line first. The main reason the other city is a secret, though, is that it will bring the Tryton people’s hopes up way too high. A double dose of hope coming from you and another surviving city will have people thinking they’ll be at their original day job by next Monday.”

  Grant’s wristwatch starts beeping, and he presses the button on its side to turn it off. “Alright, it’s 12:30. You said they’re coming to get you at 1:30, right?”

  “Yeah, I need to head back and get ready.” I stand up from my chair and stretch to wake up my legs. “You’ll be at the ceremony, right?”

  “Abbi and I will be front row,” he says as he stands up, as well. “I wanted to get an up-close and personal look of the rock star for myself. You better throw a guitar pick our way.” He grins, showcasing his two missing teeth, and I force a chuckle.

  “I’ll make sure you don’t leave empty-handed.”

  Grant must sense my discomfort, as he places a hand on my shoulder. “I promise you’ll be fine. Don’t let this ceremony scare you too much. There’s bigger and badder things out there, and you’ve already faced them all.”

  I smile, but I’m still uneasy. He’s right, but I only handled all that Westwood had to offer. There’s an entire planet that’s now in ruins from the Cozmin, and if I’m as immune to the virus as everyone thinks I am, then I’ll soon be walking out of Tryton’s walls to see what else awaits me.

  And that’s terrifying.

  3.

  I didn’t see any nurses on the way back to my room, which made my walk much more lonesome than I wanted it to be. Brought me back to moments in Westwood, where I had nothing to occupy my mind but the echoes of my footsteps and my own thoughts. That was a dark time in my life I hope to never repeat. I suppose that’s another thing that worries me: that somehow Tryton will turn into the desolate remains of Westwood, and I’ll be the only one left to walk its streets. Hopefully the human interaction that I’ll have after the ceremony will liven my spirits.

  I make it to my room and walk to my bathroom, where I turn on the shower and let the water heat up. Once I get in the shower, my thoughts pound on my head along with the water. What if I disappoint this city? What if I disappoint myself? I’ve finally been saved from Westwood, but I still can’t seem to be saved from myself. I don’t stay in the shower for too long, as I don’t want my negativity and fears to bombard me.

  I dry off, walk over to the closet, and find the suit that Jenkins mentioned. A navy blue blazer with matching pants, a white button-up, and a dark green tie hang in front of me, with sharp dress shoes lying in the floor. Seeing the look makes me flinch at first, as the sight of the sloppily drunken Grim in the Westwood liquor store resurrects in my mind. But I throw it aside. The liquor store is gone, and no matter how many drunken Grims I see that remind me of my once abusive, alcoholic father, that part of my life isn’t coming back. Dad isn’t the drunk he was years ago. He’s a new man and has been for a while. I shouldn’t let the familiar outfit disturb me so much.

  It takes me a while, but once I put the suit on, I walk in the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. For the first time in ages, I look good. Dashingly handsome. This is exactly what I would want to look like if I had ever gone on that date with Scarlett, minus my burnt face and purple eyes. Actually, my burnt cheek doesn’t look as hideous as it usually does. The suit makes me look very sophisticated and respectable.

  But this isn’t me. I was never the sophisticated and respectable type. This look makes me feel more sheltered than professional. I mean, the last time these people saw me, I was caught on camera half-naked, covered in sweat and gasoline, and burning down houses for no apparent reason. Now here I am, the immune savior that swapped out my isolation for a blazer so I could save the entire human population. Is that the narrative I have to play? That’s bogus.

  I walk across the room and to the window. I pull the curtains away and look below me to see the immense crowd begin to form in the four-way intersection where I’m scheduled to speak. Everyone of them is going to be disappointed when they find out that I’m not the hero they’re expecting.

  This is all Jenkins’s fault. He built this whole scenario up, getting everyone excited for me. Having a ceremony to celebrate my existence. God, I can’t stand that man. Why couldn’t he just let me be, let me walk the streets of Tryton, work my scheduled day job like everyone else, and not be this idol that people are flocking to go see?

  I sit in silence as I wait, reading over this stupid speech and looking out the window at the crowd that keeps progressively getting bigger. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I’m not sure which one is more of the truth.

  I hear a soft knock on my door, and my dad peeks in.

  “Hey, son. Are you ready?”

  I stand up and look at him. “Yeah, I guess I am. I’m a little nervous, that’s all.”

  “And that’s okay,” he assures me. “Bring the speech with you and read it word-for-word, if you have to. I don’t care if you never look up from it. I know you’ve never really given a speech before, and this may seem like a pretty intimidating first speech, but the audience has more faith that you’ll do good than you probably do.”

  I grab the paper on the nightstand and put it in my jacket pocket. “I haven’t even met these people yet and I can guarantee that. All this faith they have in me… Is it a good thing?”

  “I suppose we’ll find out.”

  We make our way down the hall and to the elevator without running into anybody else on the floor. I guess everybody working in this hospital is already waiting for me out on the streets. That sounds pretty bad. It would suck to survive the Cozmin disease, only to die in the hospital because your nurse was too preoccupied watching some kid read a piece of paper.

  We get in the elevator and head to the bottom floor. I guess I’ve never been anywhere in Tryton that isn’t my floor, the top floor, and the roof of the hospital. This is a really big moment for me, something I didn’t even think of. Forget about the people in the crowd. What is my reaction going to be?

  “This is it,” Dad tells me, eagerness flowing through his legs as he rolls on the balls of his feet. “You ready?”

  Jitters have caused me to shake as if the sun died from the Cozmin disease, too. I guess this is when I begin my acting lessons. “Never been more ready in my life.”

  I’m sure Dad knows I lied through my teeth, but the chime of the elevator door prevents some encouraging response I’m sure he would’ve given me.

  As the elevator doors slide open, the sight of the main lobby steals my breath away and leaves me stupefied. Massive marble columns hover over me as the matching marble floors squeak with every step I take. The ceiling is embedded with many medieval drawings and carvings that have no meaning to me but are still a marvel to look at. The walls of the lobby are tall and easily ricochet the sound of my footsteps. If the rest of Tryton looks this extravagant, it will have definitely exceeded my expectations.

  “There they are,” Dad interrupts my gawking to point out the only other people in the building with us. Jenkins is beckoning for us to catch up to him at the main entrance as his two huge bodyguards stand behind him. The two men are familiar, as they are the men that assisted Jenkins in kicking Ryan, Scarlett, and Mr. Ar
mstrong out of the city in my flashback. I refuse to approach them first, as seeing them for the first time sparks enmity that is usually reserved for Jenkins. I let Dad lead the way toward the three men.

  “We’re all set when you two are,” Jenkins tells me and my dad as we finally reach them. “Gerard and Keaton will escort us out to the stage, which is about two blocks from the hospital. It’s a decent walk, but we have the pathway roped off so there shouldn’t be any trouble getting there.” He then turns to me. “After the ceremony, you can stay and chat with citizens, or you can head back to your room and wait before you head out into the city. It’s your choice on that one. Do you have the speech with you?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I tell him as I reach in my inside jacket pocket for the paper. It’s not in the left side of my jacket, so I check the right. It’s not there either. I thoroughly dig in both jacket pockets, knowing for sure I put the paper in here. Where did it go? “I swear I had it,” I tell Jenkins as I frantically search every possible opening on me that I could’ve placed it.

  Jenkins glowers at me with disappointment that I feel he expected. Dad calms my agitated search by patting my shoulder. “It’s no big deal. Go back to your room and get it. We’re not in any rush.” I look at Jenkins to make sure he doesn’t blow a gasket at me delaying the ceremony for two full minutes, and the look on his face gives off the impression that we are, in fact, in a rush. I hastily turn around to jog back to the elevator, but I’m met by somebody else who seemed to appear out of nowhere directly behind me. Somebody that makes me stop in my tracks to avoid running into him.

  The talking Grim, with his spiked hair, blue button-up, and orange bowtie, locks his nonexistent eyes with mine as he flaunts a folded piece of paper in his left hand.

  “You might need this, kid,” he tells me, sounding more like he’s taunting me than he is helping me.