Jack in the Box

by Shaw, Michael

  "Weeping and gnashing of teeth,"2 Brian said, eyes on the table.

  I threw myself down into a chair. Slammed my fist on the table. "Why?" I groaned.

  He massaged his thumb.

  I slammed the table again. Took my other hand and grabbed his chin. Lifted his face up.

  A deep rumble resounded next to me.

  "I'm not doing anything," I spat to the side, "I just want him to look at me."

  A snort was the response. The sound of a few footsteps followed, along with the opening and closing of a door.

  My eyes returned to his. I let go of his face and dug my finger into his forehead. "You," my voice shook, "never told me,"

  "I said you had to dream to find out,"

  He was right. But I pushed harder, "You said," hesitated, "you said that the devil made the rules. Not me."

  He shook his head; eyes remained locked with mine, "No," he said quietly. "No. . . I said that the man who made the rules. . . wascalled the devil."

  My whole body shook. I wiped my nose on my sleeve. "What?"

  "They called him the devil," Brian lifted a hand. Slowly reached up. Grabbed my wrist, and put my arm down gently. "They calledyou the devil."

  I curved my lips inward and bit hard. Put my head, shaking heavily, down onto the table. "No," I moaned. Again, I tried to say "No," but all that came out was noise. And tears.

  Brian returned to looking down at the table surface.

  I put both both of my hands on the table and dug my nails into the wood. The one thing that I feared was coming true. I had killed all those people. I imagined them in the very test I was now taking. Children locked in a box. The elderly given a gun. The blind trapped in a maze. Why was it this? Why would I make this? The task was arbitrary. No genius would throw all humanity into a maze for some purpose of "bettering mankind." I couldn't move myself to do anything anymore. Only I shook. And sobbed. Sitting there, after that dream, I had a desire that I'd never had since waking up. I did not want to pass the test. I wanted the referee to beat me worse than it had before. I wanted to stay in the hell that I'd created for mankind. I wanted to take my punishment. I wished more than ever that I could bring them back. Billions of souls; I wanted them to have the opportunity to live the rest of their lives. An opportunity that I just took from them.I deserve worse than the test. I deserve worse than hell.No psychological or physical pain could fix what I'd done.You can't fix it.I shook my head, rolling my forehead on the table. It throbbed.You can't fix it. A loud ringing filled my ears. I wished my memories were all just dreams. But they weren't, they were my past. They were real.

  "It was different then, too," Brian said.

  I didn't see if he was looking at me or not. My eyes were shut. Head still down. The ringing in my ears went in rhythm with the throbbing of my forehead.

  "The test you introduced to the world. It was different," he cleared his throat. "Bullets had to be found. Meals were bread and water. Starvation, and bleeding to death, were common."

  I lifted my head; with furious eyes I stared at him. Wiped my face again.

  "Those who passed out or fell asleep were not reawakened in their rooms. If you lost yourself in the test, you were lost."

  I lifted my curled fingers. Shook my head. I wanted him to stop. But I still wanted to know what I'd done.

  "The suicide rate was high, but the murder rate was higher. Many killed the tester within the first week. Still many within the first day."

  I took a napkin from the table and wiped the sweat from my forehead. "Who were the testers?" I threw the napkin down and ran my hand through my hair. I tried to slow my breaths down.

  "As time went on, those who passed the test became testers for the next generation," Brian scratched his cheek, "but at the beginning, you were very specific in pairing up subjects with testers."

  I patted my hair back down. Gripped my head.

  "You hired the testers, trained them," Brian looked down and squeezed the top of his nose. Took a deep breath. "What you didn't tell them is that they were going to test their own sons and daughters. Their own brothers and sisters. Their wives. Or husbands. You made sure they were people they loved."

  That hit me like a bullet. I wrapped my fingers around the side of the table and bit my lip.

  He looked up and to the side, as if he were reading something off the wall. "Father against son and son against father," he sighed.

  I looked where he was looking. Nothing there. He just stared into space.

  I imagined it. It was already bad enough. I was already the worst murderer who ever lived. Now I was the worstperson who ever lived. I threw people, people who loved each other, into a box, and made one kill the other.

  "If the tester tried to help his loved one," he continued, "that tester would immediately be killed, and the loved one would have to watch. They couldn't see it coming; you just sent people in to shoot the tester. They'd send one right through his skull in front of his son's eyes."

  I couldn't say anything. Everything was in a wreck. Passing was useless to me. Doing anything was useless. Futility. Brian was right. I couldn't pass the test now. I would never feel right about anything ever again. I could no longer look at myself as the guy who was put in a terrible situation for no reason. I was serving my sentence. And I'm sure anybody would be glad to know that death came and did its thing on me.

  "Well," Brian said slowly. The entire tempo of our conversation was slower than usual. And for good reason. I was responsible for billions of deaths, and Brian got to watch me realize it. "It's time for me to go."

  My eyes followed him as he left the room. I watched his feet drag.

  "You give me my few seconds of free-fall," he said, facing the door. "But when it came to everyone else, you didn't just push them out of a plane, you did it with dumb bells chained to their necks."

  All I wanted to do was scream.

  Brian opened the door.

  I blurted out, "I'm done," voice wavering.

  He didn't respond.

  "I quit," I said, more loudly. But still shaking.

  He looked up, to the ceiling. Seemed to stare at it for a second, then brought his head down to face forward again. And he left after giving me one last statement.

  "Then you know what you have to do."

  I let those words sink in. Is that what I really wanted? Did I want to do myself in? Or was I just fed up with the test? I went to my bed. Sat down. I didn't lie on my back or pull the covers over me. I just sat. Stared at the wall.

  What now?

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the compass.Do I keep going?ShouldI keep going?The face reflected light into my eyes. I rubbed the glass with my thumb,I deserve to be in here,took out my pistol,but what would killing myself do? I'm already in hell. I've already died. How am I able to die again?I ran my finger across the side of the barrel. Even in that moment, my lowest moment, I couldn't justify suicide. It didn't seem like the right choice. Or the smart one. Besides, the referee wanted me to quit. Maybe that was the purpose. To get me to pull the trigger on myself. It seemed like everything before then was for me to realize my own guilt. They didn't just want me to have hell. They wanted me to have hell and regret. Regret for what I'd done. Maybe that's why it happened the way it did. Maybe hell makes someone forget so that he can experience his wrong doings again, as if he's doing them for the first time. It does it to make him see them without a dulled conscience. To make him feel the responsibility. The guilt.

  I put the gun away. I knew I wasn't going to do it. What I didn't know was where it would take me. But I decided not to find out, at least not through experience.

  But I had a decision to make. Pass it or not? Keep going or stay in hell? Would I be cheating my sentence if I escaped. And if I did, why would I be allowed to anyway? Why was I given the option to leave?

  What would I do if I got out? The world wouldn't want me back. But I would try to undo it all. Get rid of the test. Make things right again. I'd at least have the powe
r to do it.I looked at my palms. And something hit me.If I get out, I'll still be able to die. If I get out of hell, I'd get sent right back eventually.

  Then I realized what I would do. I wouldn't dodge the justice that was placed on me. I'd have to serve my sentence no matter what I did. This test, though, was my opportunity. My opportunity at a second chance. I could do as much right as I did wrong. Save as many lives as I'd taken. It would take a lifetime. But I would do it. And then, when I died again, I'd come back to hell, and get the rest of what I deserved.

  I just wanted to do something good. I wanted the new Jack to disown the old one and heal the scar the old one had left on the earth. If I could do that, then I'd feel good about passing. If not, then I didn't want to. But that's what I would do, I decided. I'd pass, and I'd right as much wrong as I could. And then, I'd take my punishment once more. For the rest of time.

  "You won't get out of hell if you do it, you know."

  I jerked my head up. I saw a chair slide away from the table and heard the thump of the referee sitting down. I hadn't noticed when it came back into the room.

  I scooted myself back. Pulled my feet up onto the bed. That way my entire body was in it. "Do what?" I said solemnly. It's probably understandable that I wasn't happy it was there.

  "If you kill yourself," it snorted, "It'll only make things worse."

  I put my head on my knees. "Well, I'm not going to, so good."

  Its foot started tapping.

  I gazed in its direction. It was hard to have a conversation with something invisible. The natural compulsion to make eye contact kept getting rejected. I decided to stare at the top of the chair's back. I knew the ref was taller than that, but it was the best I could do.

  "You're not going to kill yourself. . ." it said in a low voice.

  "No," I responded. Took the gun out slowly.

  "Then you're going to kill Brian," it assumed.

  "No."

  It exhaled. "Then you're going to kill me?"

  I shook my head. Slowly. Examined the pistol.

  It stopped tapping its foot.

  A long silence followed. I put the gun to my side. Looked around the room. Since the ref had stopped tapping its foot, I felt for a second like I was alone again.

  But then it took a deep breath. It was still there. "You're not going to kill anyone?"

  I shook my head, "No. . ."

  "Then what are you going to do?" it said, as if those were my only options. It was like saying "What elsecould you possibly do?"

  I picked up the gun and pulled out the magazine. Checked how many rounds it had left. Four. "That's for you to find out, but I can tell you this," I put the magazine back in, "I'm not going to do the very thing that got me here. I'm going to let you watch me pass," pointed in its direction, "and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

  The referee exhaled. "I'll believe that when I see it," it said mockingly.

  "Really?" I smiled. "That's funny."

  It huffed, "Why?" It sounded amused.

  I leaned back, letting my neck rest against the wall. "You should know more than anyone else," pointed to my eyes, "believing isn't just about what you see."

  That statement rewarded me another long silence with the invisible creature in the room.

  Finally it grumbled, "You may be right about that. But even if you figure out the rooms, you won't be able to catch Brian."

  I crossed my arms and listened.

  "He'll be too fast for you. If you even the playing field, you still won't be able to subdue him. Finding him is one thing. Bringing him down is another."

  I nodded, "Well, I'll just have to do what I'm known for."

  It sat in silence. I felt that it was raising its eyebrow. That is, if whatever it washad eyebrows.

  "I'm going to prove you wrong."

  The referee chuckled. "I'd like to see that."

  I gave it a determined grin in return.

  "So you're going to pass even though you know what you did?"

  I took a deep breath. Looked to the ceiling. "If I get out, I'll die again someday." brought my head back and scanned the room with my eyes, "And then I'll be in hell once more. So I have a choice. Accept my evil, and take the punishment forever, or. . ." I stared right in the referee's direction, "Do as much right as I could,then accept my evil, and take the punishment forever."

  Its foot started tapping again.

  "The end is the same," I continued, "But in one, I get to do right." I put my hands on my knees. "So, yeah, I'm going to pass. I'll pass for everyone I killed. For everyone I wronged. For my parents," I narrowed my eyes. "For my father."

  The rhythm of the tapping grew slower. I didn't know if it was surprised by that answer or not. What made it even harder was the fact that I couldn't see the referee at all. I couldn't try to read it based on its facial expressions.

  I grew slightly impatient. "Anything else?"

  It stood up. The chair slid back. "We'll see if things go according to your plan."

  I nodded, "Yes we will. But now that you've asked me your questions, let me ask you mine."

  It sniffed.

  "First, why are you allowed to try to stop me?"

  The referee moaned. "There's someone we answer to, Jack. Someone powerful."

  "Who? Who is it?"

  For the first time, the referee spoke to me in a truly transparent tone. Not condescending, not threatening, just honest. It said quietly, "It's someone you don't want to meet."

  The referee actually sounded scared. If this 'someone' could intimidate the ref, I'd take its word that I wouldn't want to meet him. I still wanted to know who it was, but I let it go. I had another question to ask.

  "Okay, one more thing."

  It pushed the chair back under the table.

  "What happens if I kill myself?"

  It opened the door. "I told you. Things will only get worse."

  The door slammed shut.

  →

  I did a lot of thinking that day. My entire perspective had changed so drastically. I understood why I was in the test. I knew what my purpose would be once I got out. Now I just had to figure out how I was going to pass.

  Leaving the bed was not on my list of things to do; not at this point at least. I knew the ref would come after me. And if I didn't know what I was doing in the first place, trying to defend myself wouldn't help me focus. So I worked on figuring out the rooms in my bed.Two days ago, I was so close. I was so close to getting the secret. But then the referee got in my way.

  I was determined that this time it wouldn't, though. I would learn how to navigate around the rooms, and then I would catch Brian.

  I laid out everything in front of me that had to do with the rooms. The compass, the map, and the N S E W paper.

  Okay, where was I?I had to think back to what I had been doing before the referee started attacking me.

  I was doing the paper experiment again. Both papers were gone, and then they came back.

  I started remembering.It wasn't the papers, though. It was the rooms. I was walking into a different room at different times.

  I traced a path in my head. I left a paper in two adjacent rooms. Went backwards, one paper was gone, went forward, the other paper was gone. Went back again, one paper was there.

  I shook my head. Grabbed the map. Drew one dot in one of the squares. Okay, so there's a paper here. I go forward, and then back.Once I go back, it's not there.I tapped the paper with my pen. Thought hard.What if. . . what if I went back again?

  I looked up. Could I risk going into the rooms? Would the referee be right there?

  I could run.

  And I did. I darted toward the north door. Went through. One paper. Went trough the next door. Another paper. My sneakers squeaked against the floor as I doubled back and ran back toward my room. I bolted into the room, no paper.Okay, okay. Now. . .Into the next room. There was a paper. Into the next room. Nothing. And the room after that? My room.

  I made it to the "safe z
one" as quickly as possible. For the next few seconds I sat in my bed, breathing deep breaths.

  Now,I said to myself,I think this through.

  I took my notebook out and drew up another grid map. Like the one I had created before, it was made of several squares. I drew dots to represent papers, and tried to work it out in my head. I went through several different ideas. My mind worked faster than I consciously realized. I had several different solutions. Ones that didn't really work.Is there anything else?I thought.Anything else that shows the system?

  I bit my lip.The Jack of my dreams would have already figured this out. Why can't I?

  I shoved all the items I had out into a pile. The N S E W paper caught my eye.Wait a second.I examined the letters. The underlines. I had never realized it. What had seemed so complex was now so simple. I had just figured out the rooms.

  eleven

  Two underlines beneath the N and the E. One underline beneath the S and the W. This was to represent the distance one travelled when going these directions. Going South or West, the rooms behave normally. They go from one room to the next. North or East, they don't. They skip a room. When traveling North I wasn't stepping foot in every room. I was stepping foot in every other room. That's why, headed North, when I put a paper in the room behind mebefore closing the door, it wouldn't be there after I reopened the door. Before closing the door I was looking at the room two doors back. After closing and reopening it, I was looking at the room right next to the room I was in.

  So I finally had it. Simple enough to understand, but odd enough to be a difficult discovery. All I had to remember was North and East were two steps forward. South and West were one step forward. It was easy to remember. At least, easy when I was sitting in my room thinking about it. Putting it into practice would be harder.