Jack in the Box

by Shaw, Michael

It fell to the ground. I quickly refocused and slid it backwards with my foot. That way Brian wouldn't grab it. I kept my foot in its backswing, then brought the leg back up to knee Brian in the stomach.

  He grunted and doubled over.

  Okay, now I have this.

  Then he surprised me. He somersaulted between my legs and started going for the magazine.

  I spun around just as he picked it up, and I lifted my hand to hit him with the hilt of the gun.

  Brian grabbed my wrist again, put the magazine back in, and kicked me in the stomach.

  I stumbled back and hit the wall, eyes squinting. "Ow," I said under my breath, and proceeded to push myself off and aim the gun at Brian's face.What is he doing? Why'd he put the magazine back?

  He stood at the other side of the room, fists clenched and in front of him.

  I kept my gun on him.

  He took a deep breath, smiled, and stood up straight. Held his arms out.

  I remained still. I was breathing heavily. "Okay. . . I win now. I passed."

  "But I'm not caught," Brian said, still smiling. His lip quivered, though.

  What are you doing, Brian? "I'm pretty sure this counts as catching you."

  "I've got a door right behind me, Jack. I could leave right now. I'm not even in arms reach. And I haven't seen you use that thing once." He nodded his head at the pistol. "You haven't caught me."

  I groaned and cocked the gun. Still breathing heavily.

  "So what is it? Pass it now, or keep trying to crack the code?"

  I didn't know what to do. He was letting me win. But only if I killed him. I held my breath. Tightened my finger on the trigger.

  Brian closed his eyes, still smiling.

  No.

  "Any day."

  I won't.

  "It's easy to do."

  "It's wrong," I said.

  "Why would you care about what's wrong?" Brian shot back at me. More quickly than I expected.

  My hand shook.

  His voice rose. "Why," he laughed, "wouldyou," he squinted, "care about what's wrong?"

  The hair on my arms stood up.

  He opened his eyes and yelled at me. "So the smarty's got no answer? No comeback? No objection?"

  I opened my mouth. But my lips only shook and stuttered.

  "Come on, Jack!" Brian yelled, angry. Furious.

  I felt my finger tighten more. I shook my head and chose my target.

  And then I did it.

  I pulled the trigger.

  eight

  Brian opened his eyes. Looked behind him. Inches next to his head was a bullet hole. He traced it with his finger. "Uh oh." His smile was gone.

  I let the gun fall from my hands. "I'm not going to kill you, Brian." I said.

  "You shot a door."

  "Yeah, well. . . Oh." I realized what he was saying. "I just broke a door."

  And I was against the wall again.

  This time it knocked the breath out of me. "Bri-"

  He was still watching the hole.

  I gasped for air.

  The hole started to shrink.

  "Wha-?" I tried to speak.

  It continued to grow smaller. In a matter of seconds the door had no hole.

  Brian rubbed the spot where the hole had been. It was really gone. There was just a door. Solid wood. No holes.

  "Brian," I was starting to get my breath back. "What do you call this guy?" I gestured with my head at the invisible man.

  Brian faced me. His smile had returned. "Just think of it as. . ." he stroked his chin. ". . . The referee."

  "Do not mark a door," the referee said.

  "So are you a man?" I asked. "Or as Brian said, an 'it'?"

  I heard a growl and lost consciousness.

  →

  "Jack, all we want is the truth."

  I was in an office, facing a group of men across from me. I cleared my throat. "And I've told the truth. You have the security cameras. I've told you where I was." I chuckled. "And I'm not even sure I'd be tall enough to fit a bucket that big on top of the door."

  The men looked at each other suspiciously.

  The same man that had addressed me leaned forward. "Listen, Jack, you need to understand how serious this is. Mr. Silas is even considering bringing this to the authorities."

  I nodded. "I'm truly sorry I can't help you, sir. What happened to Silas was," my lip twitched, "terrible, but I have no idea who did it. I hope the authorities will be able to shed some light on the situation."

  The man sighed and leaned back. He rubbed his temples.

  My hands were folded and in my lap.

  He looked at the few men that surrounded him. They shrugged.

  I blinked.

  He stroked his chin. "Well, Jack, Mr. Silas has insisted many times that it was you. But since there is no real evidence that you did it," he rested his hand on the table, "you're free to go."

  "Thank you." I stood up and left. As I walked out of the room, I passed the sign on the wall next to it. "Office of Disciplines." A few feet past that was a trash can. I took some things out of my pocket and tossed them into the can. Two latex gloves and a small video tape.

  →

  I was in my dorm room again. I sat at a small desk. A laptop in front of me. Some text on the screen. "Project B." I reached next to the monitor and grabbed a soda.

  My left leg vibrated. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a phone. "Hey, Dad."

  "Why'd you do it?"

  I swallowed. Put the soda down. "I. . ."

  "Come on Jack, I know you're taking self-defense classes."

  I looked up. "Wait, what."

  "My credit card bill came in, and it has multiple charges for some self-defense class! How are you even finding the time?"

  I exhaled a sigh of relief. My dad didn't know what I'd done to Silas. "I get my work done. I have a lot of free-time."

  My eyes shifted over to the bottle of liquid. It sat next to my laptop. I almost felt as though it were staring at me.

  He sighed into the phone. "I thought you had a job. That credit card's for emergencies only." It was odd. In this moment when my father was disappointed, his voice was still a voice of care. He loved me, and wanted to make sure I was making the right decisions. I felt this even then, albeit I was just feeling a memory, a dream of the past.

  "You're right, Dad. I shouldn't have used it. And I'll pay it back, I promise."

  "That's not what I'm worried about."

  I didn't respond. My foot started tapping.

  A long silence followed.

  "Are you doing okay, Jack?" My dad said softly.

  I hesitated. ". . . Yeah-"

  "You haven't been in a fight?"

  I turned my head to the right and looked in the mirror. I opened my mouth. Hesitated once again. ". . . No. No fights."

  "You know you can tell me anything."

  I said nothing.

  Another long silence. "Jack."

  More silence. "Yeah Dad?"

  "If someone messes with you. . ."

  My foot stopped tapping.

  "If someone gives you a hard time, tell someone. Don't let personal feelings distract you from your goal, Jack. Don't let your emotions get you caught up in all this and make you forget what you're there for."

  I nodded, even though he couldn't see it.

  "I still remember all the things you showed me when we went out. Just don't forget about that."

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I won't. Trust me, if something ever happens, I'll be sure not to let my feelings get in the way."

  “Okay. . ." he said.

  I shifted in my seat.

  "I'll be coming to check up on you next week," my dad said.

  "Great," I said. "I can't wait."

  "Before I hang up, I wanted to tell you about something else."

  I held my breath.

  "You know that before I retired, I worked for OTB, right?”

  I had no idea what OTB stood for,
but that made my dream self relieved and excited, all at the same time. “Yeah, I do.” I gripped the phone and leaned forward.

  “Listen, I’m still really tight with some guys there. And I’m sure they’d be more than happy to hear about your project.”

  I looked up at the computer screen. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. Ambitious projects like that are their thing.”

  I put my hand on my head. “Wow, are you serious?"

  "They'll be wanting you to pitch it to them pretty soon. Think you're up for it?"

  I looked to the side. At my desk drawer. It was half open, a burnt paper sticking out. My gaze went back to the screen. "Definitely."

  "I could tell you were serious about this. I'm with you all the way."

  "Oh my goodness," I wiped my forehead. "Thank you so much, Dad."

  "I'm really proud of you, son. I love you."

  I looked down. "I love you too, Dad. Is Mom there?"

  "Yeah! Hang on, I'll put her on."

  →

  I was in a room. At some sort of meeting. Long wooden table. A screen was behind me. I had a pointer in hand. Apparently I was presenting something.

  All the people in front of me were older than I. I was presenting to a group of adults in suits. Was this one of the companies I’d talked about in my other dream? Was this my dad’s company?

  A man put his hand up. He had brown hair, combed over, and glasses. “Your expected results sound great, Jack. But this just looks like an experiment you could do on a mouse. The principal doesn’t seem new.”

  “Yes, but if we do it on a mouse the implications aren’t the same. Results would be interesting, but it would lead to nothing.” I pointed at a diagram on the screen. “You pair this with humans and the results will be staggering.”

  The man shook his head. “This seems like less of a scientific improvement, and more of a. . . I don’t know. . .”

  “A mental improvement.”

  He tilted his head. “What?”

  “The science of this is one thing. But the results on the brain’s potential are the point.”

  He took his glasses off. “Listen, Jack, I’m going to be honest about what I’m thinking. Considering the danger of using this on humans, I’d have to say that this project is just too. . .” he paused and took a breath.

  I put my hands on my hips.

  “. . . draconian, for us to fund.”

  I shook my head. “Well, I’d have to disagree, sir, but thank you for your time.”

  “The science of it is what you should be focusing on,” he said, pointing at the screen. “That stuff is revolutionary. Personally that’s whatIwould go with.”

  The group gathered their things. Briefcases, folders. Eventually they all filed out. It was odd. It had all just ended so abruptly.

  I put a loose fist in my hand. Rubbed it with my palm. I was getting better at telling what my dream self was feeling. Disappointed, but not crushed.

  I took my flash drive out of the computer and walked out the door. A man was standing next to the door, waiting for me.

  “Ah, Jack.” He held his hand out. It was a different guy from the meeting. He had a slightly raspy voice.

  We shook hands. Seemed like we both had a firm grip, but his hands were a little wrinkled. "Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"

  He put his hands in his pockets and leaned toward me. "You can let me fund your project, that's what you can do," he said quietly.

  I opened my mouth in surprise. "Really? But I thought-"

  "-To be honest, Jack I'm not a part of this department."

  I raised my eyebrow.

  "I wasn't supposed to be in that meeting. My building is next to this one."

  I squinted a little. "How did you know about this?"

  "I happen to know your dad, and when I heard about what you had, I couldn't stay away."

  I couldn't believe it. "This is. . . awesome, sir."

  "I'll tell you what's awesome: this project when we bring it to life. These guys don't understand the point." he shifted his eyes around. "It's not just the mechanics, it's the process they aid in."

  I put my hands on my head. "Exactly!" My dream self was really liking this guy. I looked around the room. "Now what do we do?"

  He bumped me with his elbow. "How's about we walk over to my department and look at those prints?"

  We shook hands again. "Yes sir!"

  →

  My dreamed changed again. At first I thought I was waking up, but when I saw where I was, I knew I couldn't be. my eyes were hardly opened. My head lay on top of the table.

  "Jack."

  My eyelids fluttered.

  "Jack!"

  I jerked my head up. My nose made a loud snorting sound.

  A few people snickered next to me. I was in class.

  "Long night?" my professor loomed over me.

  I sat up. "I make the most of my time."

  "Well, you're not making the most of it right now."

  "Actually," I rubbed my eyes, purposely not looking at my professor, "I'm making good use of it by catching up on rest instead of listening to a lecture that I already know."

  He tapped his pen in his hand, unimpressed. "So you already know the material?"

  "Listening would be redundant. It's like watching a documentary twice."

  Everyone around me stared downward.

  "Just because you're the youngest senior doesn't mean you can keep acting like a child." He turned around and walked toward the projector screen. "But go ahead and sleep. Have fun taking the final."

  I put my head back down.

  →

  I squinted. The room seemed brighter than usual. I sat up in bed, and my eyes adjusted.

  "Finally," Brian put the last bite of his breakfast in his mouth. "You slept pretty long."

  I shuffled over to the table. Sat down. "Don't you want to tell me something?"

  He raised his lower lip. "What?"

  "You know, what you've said every morning?"

  He still didn't know.

  "Good morning?"

  "Oh yeah," he smiled. "Good morning!"

  "What's going on, Brian?" I teased. "Forgot your morning routine?"

  "Well, you've heard it enough by now," he said looking down. Still smiling.

  I ate silently. Thinking about my dreams.What was I planning? And why did I feel the need to act so superior?

  "Got a lot on your mind, there, Jacky?"

  "Yeah," I replied, chewing on my food. "I've been dreaming."

  "Ah," he replied. Almost like he could actually empathize. But what did he know? He may have known my memories, but he didn't know what it was like regaining them like this. Remembering your past, without being able to relate to your past. I felt like it was a different person. Like it wasn't even me. But how could it not be? How else would I remember all those things?

  "What project was I working on?" I asked him.

  He slid his fork around the plate. "It was technological. A machine." He opened his mouth to say more, but stopped himself.

  I put my hand on my chin. Stared him down.

  He raised his eyebrows. "What?"

  I shook my head. "You never tell me the whole story."

  He tapped the plate. His head was down.

  I leaned down so I could see his face. Looked into his eyes.

  His eyes met mine.

  A few seconds passed.

  I tilted my head to the side. ". . .You never. . . tell the whole story," I repeated. "Do you, Brian?"

  He slowly made a smile. A somber smile. "Ask all the questions you want." He pointed his thumb at himself. "I answer all the ones I'm allowed to."

  "Allowed to. . ." I echoed. "By whom?"

  He scratched his chin. No response.

  I rubbed my hands together. "Who do you answer to? Who says what's allowed and what's not?"

  "Well. . ."' Brian continued to scratch his chin. "He's been called a lot of things, by a lot of different people."

/>   I said something without thinking. Wasn't the first time. And like the others, I didn't initially know what I even meant. I asked, "Was one of those names Satan?"

  He lifted his head off his hand. Smiled.

  Who’s Satan supposed to be? I thought.

  “Where’d you hear that name?” Brian asked.

  “I. . .” I shook my head. Slowly. “I don’t know.”

  Thoughts started coming in. “Satan, “I said. “The devil. Condemned to hell.”

  “Yes, he’s been called that,” Brian looked at the table. Started tracing knots in the wood. “Many people called him those names, even called him the ruler of hell.”

  Ruler of hell. So he made the rules. But if he was condemned here too, why would he be able to do that? “What happened to those people? The ones that called him that?” I asked.

  “. . .They died Jack.” He frowned. The gaze he had on the table was steady. But his eyes themselves seemed to shake.

  “And they’re in hell, too?”

  He puckered his lips. Like he was tasting something sour. “You sure you don’t know what year it is?” He wouldn’t look up at me.

  I lifted my hands a bit. “No, Brian.”

  He rubbed the surface with his fingers.

  “Brian,” I leaned forward. “How many people are on earth right now?”

  “Can’t answer that.”

  I rubbed my legs. “Why not?”

  “Let me ask you something.” Brian finally lifted his head back up. “Let’s say you pass this thing.” He gestured with his hand. “Hypothetically. You pass it. And like I promised, passing it gets you out of here.”

  I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

  “So you get out. . .” He went back to scratching his chin again.

  I put my hands on the table.

  “Who’s the first person you’d go see?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. . .” Then after a second, it was easy. “My father.”

  He held up one finger. “Can’t.”

  I looked at the finger.

  Brian’s chest moved in and out. I hadn’t realized how deep his breaths were until this moment.

  “Why not?”

  “Your father is dead, Jack.”

  My entire face fell.No. . .

  I had felt composed up until this point. That hit me harder than it should've. It shouldn't have been a surprise. But it still affected me. The whole room felt smaller. I flickered my eyes. "He's dead?"