Jack in the Box

by Shaw, Michael

  I wasn't shifting the blame in my mind. No, I was just beginning to realize something. This wasn't about Brian. This wasn't about the referee. And if there were others being tested, this wasn't about me, either. It was about the man outside. It made me wonder, if I passed, what would happen after that?

  I was beginning to realize something.

  The test was a struggle.

  But the test wouldn't be the end.

  →

  Part one: find Brian. Again. Easier said than done. That had always been the hard part. But hopefully I'd only have to do it one last time. I stood and checked my watch again. Two hours was plenty of time. I went through the North door.

  Rework your way to his room. If he's not there, go through the surrounding rooms. If he's not in that vicinity, then you'll have a problem.

  Part two. . .I pulled out my gun.Part two. . .I kept walking.

  It took about ten minutes to get to Brian's room. Nothing went through my mind as I went there; I just walked. It's the sort of numbness of mind you get when something big is about to happen. You're thinking about everything, but suddenly you're thinking of nothing. You're just doing. My steps slowed as I neared his room. I stood outside the door. My heart began to thump. The rhythm began again. The watch, my heart, the shaking of my fingertips. The compass made a quick vibration in my pocket. I looked behind me, getting the feeling of the referee's presence. I grabbed the door handle. Cold. My plan was make-or-break. Nothing could go wrong. He had to react the way I expected him to. He had tothink the way I expected him to. It had to work. I had to pass.

  "Well?" the referee grumbled.

  "Shut up."

  I slowly turned the knob. My chest rose and fell with large breaths that I breathed through my nose. Finally, I held my breath and opened the door. Looked inside. No one. I exhaled. Walked in and closed the door.

  The only sounds I heard were my own breaths. I slowly walked toward the center of the room. A chair in front of his desk was pulled out.

  My ears popped. I didn't act in time. I turned as just as Brian tackled me. Our eyes locked just before he impacted me.

  He yelled with adrenaline and brought me down.

  We landed on the table. Hard. For a second nothing happened. The wind was knocked out of me. Brian moaned and tried to get himself up. Then the table's legs gave. We fell with the table and our bodies knocked together.

  Brian grunted and rolled off of me.

  I grabbed my head. Tried to get my breath back. I squinted.

  He stood up and dusted himself off.

  I felt myself getting picked up. My eyes opened.

  He held me up by my shirt and ran me into the wall. Fury was in his eyes.

  I grabbed his wrists.

  He lifted me up against the wall. My feet left the ground.

  "How long are you going to go on like this?" he gritted his teeth.

  I pushed his hands off me and stepped forward. I wound up and punched.

  Brian sidestepped and elbowed me in the back.

  I fell on my stomach. Before he could keep me down with his foot, I rolled over and grabbed his leg.

  His eyes shot open wide.

  I pulled his leg, and he fell onto his side.

  We both quickly got back up, but I was just a little sooner.

  As he was still coming to his feet, I wound up and punched down on his face.

  This, among other things, surprised Brian.

  He hit the floor, and his voice let out a sound of pain. He jerked his head up and stared at me with his eyes opened wide.

  I put my arms up and my body in a fighting stance.

  His shock turned to determined anger.

  He sprung up more quickly than I'd ever seen, already sending a fist my way. Forcefully. Furiously.

  This moment was when it changed. All our fights before had been mechanical. No one was trying to kill each other. It was simply a matter of beating the other physically. But something had changed though. Something was different.

  Emotions. They make a whole lot of difference in people, don't they? What is a light shove? It depends. It could be the playful push of a close friend, or the preemptive push of an enemy ready to beat your face in. This "push" was the latter.

  Brian was actually threatened.

  My instincts kicked in as strongly as they ever had. I stepped back and to the side.

  A second punch. With another step in my direction.

  I backed up once more and grabbed his wrist. Twisted.

  He opened his mouth to cry out.

  I pushed a flat palm up into his chin, slamming his jaws together.

  That's when Brian cried out. But the result was undesirable. It provoked him further. He reached out and grabbed my face. So quickly that I couldn't even react, he pushed my head into the wall behind me. He proceeded to send several blows into my stomach. And with every blow, a word.

  "Why - do - you - keep - going on like this?" He yelled. And with that he threw me down to the floor.

  My shoulder was what hit. I let out a heave of agony. Rolled over.

  He backed away slowly, hands still up in front of him.

  I squinted, head throbbing. "Why. . . amI doing this?" I growled. "Why am I doing this?" I opened my eyes.

  His fists loosened.

  We breathed uneven breaths.

  "Why areyoudoing this?" I leaned up. "I want to get out!"

  He lowered his hands. Slowly. And with the slow descent, so our breaths also slowed.

  I grabbed my forehead with one hand, and the other I put against the wall. I lifted myself up, pushing up along the wall. I took a deep breath.

  Brian stared.

  "I want. . . to get out. But why are you doing this?"

  The only movement was his chest rising and falling.

  "Well? Why are you doing this?"

  His jaws clenched tightly. He looked down.

  "Brian! I want to get out." I pointed at myself. "I want to live!"

  He clenched his fists, "That's exactly what I want for you too!" He yelled.

  Words are weak. I can't describe what it was. He didn't yell. But he didn't scream. It was the loudest sound I'd ever heard. And that's from someone who's heard gun shots. It resounded deep. I felt it vibrate inside my chest.

  I staggered back. "What-"

  "Have you already forgotten? I know I'm not your father, but what. . .hetold me. . . was true."

  I swallowed. My ears popped.

  "If I let you pass. . ." he stuck a finger into my chest. His lips curled. Not in the usual manner. He wasn't smug. He wasn't cocky. Or happy. He was. . . trying to hold something back. His finger lifted from my chest. It started shaking. No, his whole body started shaking.

  And I know time doesn't slow down. It never does. But it happened again. I felt it, I heard it. My watch ticked half the speed it usually did. The air stood still. Brian's eyes were the only things I saw.

  He breathed in sharply through his nose and looked down. "If I let you pass. . . hewill kill you."

  My lip shook. "What. . . You think you're saving me?"

  "It's the only way. . ." He looked back up at me.

  I took a breath. Hesitated. "No. . . No, you're lying again!" I backed up again.

  He looked up at the ceiling. In the corner. As if there were someone up there. "I don't blame you. . ."

  I slowly nodded. Waited.

  A few seconds passed.

  I lifted my eyebrows. "Well. . .?"

  "That's it. I don't blame you. I can't. I lied to you. I understand. But you don't have to believe me in order for me to keep you here."

  I shook my head. "So that's your plan? Really? Just stay here forever?"

  "You'll live. . ."

  "No. I'll exist. Life is not what we have in here."

  Brian exhaled sadly. His wrinkles revealed years of sorrow. Something I hadn't noticed before. This man wasn't my father. Who was he?

  "Jack, you'll find out that hell isn't what's in here." His eyes sh
one. "It's what's out there."

  I bit my lip. "So, you're keeping me here. . . to save me?"

  "Like I said, if you don't believe me, then I don't blame you."

  I sank down. I sat, leaning against the wall.

  He walked toward the door. "This wasyourplan? Another simple attack?"

  I bit my tongue.

  "When are you just going to give up? You get three square meals, and you aren't faced by the true hell. By earth."

  A world as bad as hell. . .

  Brian grabbed the door handle. "So have you finally given up?"

  "Brian. . ." I breathed in. "You said something to me a while ago. It was about gravity."

  "Yeah."

  "You said you couldn't stop it. So I might as well kill myself, or you, before. . .'gravity' took its toll."

  ". . .Yes. . ."

  "If your letting me pass would kill us both, why would you encourage me to kill you, and pass?"

  "Because that's what he wants. That's the point. Your memories ought to have told you that."

  Hell on earth. . . "Brian."

  He turned his head to me.

  "Jack Colson is still alive."

  Silence.

  "Isn't he. . ."

  He opened the door. "Like I said. Out there is where hell is." And then he walked away.

  →

  I lifted my wrist and examined my watch. An hour and twenty minutes until dinner.

  Fingers shivering.

  Foot tapping.

  It would all be over. So I was hoping.

  But it gave me no peace. The test wasn't it. It wouldn't be the end.

  Jack Colson was still alive.

  And his memories shared enough about him for me to know that he hadn't changed. I was in Jack Colson's test, and he was on the outside. But what was happening on the outside? And what's the reason for my having his memories? The real Jack Colson was still out there. Still killing. Not caring. Still living under false ideals. But I was in here. What if I wasn't the only one? Were there others?

  There was still so much I didn't know. I felt like I had learned a lot. But most of what I'd learned was the memory of a man who wasn't even myself.

  I had to get out of here. Brian was ready to stay for eternity. But it would be a life wasted.

  Why is this happening. . ..

  A thought that hadn't entered my head in a while. All the questions for a long time had beenwhat, where, how, who. Butwhy is always much different. It asks motives of people whom you don't know. It wishes to read others' minds. I suppose, though, that if an answer were given, it wouldn't be a likable answer. How can any answer please a man when his question is "Why is bad happening?" As with every unknown in the past, I hated the thought of never finding out the answer.

  Thatwhyquestion is like a key of sorts. So many questions that one wouldn't ask himself are suddenly being asked when that firstwhyquestion rises in his mind. Is that a bad thing? I don't know. I suppose that it's more about where your questions take you than the fact that you are asking questions. And that's what I was afraid of. If I came out of all this, if I succeeded, would hindsight explain thewhy for all of this? And if so, would it be an answer I could live with?

  You can't do it.My head said.You'll get soft. You think you'll figure things out? You won't even pull off what you're doing tonight.I remembered the man. The one who'd committed suicide.At the end of this you'll just find out that Brian was right. A life will be taken at the end of this.

  My mind was trying to thwart its own ideas. I rubbed my head.No. Don't say that to yourself, Jack. You still have a plan.

  But what if it fails? You saw what happened in Brian's room. What if you were wrong?

  I'm not going to rot in this place on the basis of an "if."

  . . .

  Nor will I back down from the thing I have worked toward this whole time.

  "What the heck are you doing?" the referee blurted out from the corner of the room.

  I lifted my hand. "Thinking."

  Remember what you have to do, Jack. . .

  "You guys are so weird. . ."

  I lifted my head. "What?"

  "I said you're-"

  "You said 'you guys.' What guys?"

  The ref made a scratching sound. I assumed he was scratching his head. "I. . . I meant. . ."

  I stood up. "There are others."

  The referee huffed. "Stop making me tell you things!"

  I checked my watch again. One hour until dinner. I cracked my knuckles. "You know for someone who criticized the old ref's smarts, you're pretty stupid."

  He mumbled.

  "Just don't bother me. It's time."

  "Time for what?"

  "Time for the countdown."

  One hour until dinner.

  →

  I stood in the corner. Like a boy in time-out. I imagined the referee was staring directly at me.

  "Not a word," I said to him.

  Silence in response.

  I held the gun. My hand shivered.

  "You're gonna shoot him?"

  I looked across the room. "Stop. Talking."

  Brian walked into the room.

  I held my breath.

  eighteen

  My plan was still three parts. I hadn't failed. Part one was to find Brian in his room.

  He sat down at the table.

  Part two was to make him think that the fight in his room was my plan.

  Part three was now.

  I pulled it out of my back pocket. It was what the referee who'd lost his life had given to me. He told me that Brian wouldn't have given it to me. It was legal, but Brian wouldn't have let me have it. It's amazing how the simplest of things can become so valuable when they are scarce or hard to come by. Silently I tiptoed across the room.

  Brian leaned back and put his hands on the arm rests.

  And I cuffed his right hand to the chair.

  He jumped a little.

  I stood back. "Okay, Brian, there."

  Silence.

  A chuckle from the referee.

  "Jack. . . This doesn't mean I'm caught."

  "It won't hold you. But it will restrain you." I lifted the gun and pointed it at him. "So do it."

  "Do it?"

  "Admit it." I put my other hand on the pistol. "Admit you're caught. That's how it works, right? So say it."

  He turned his upper half and looked at me. He smiled. "I hate to rain on your parade, Jack, but this isn't legal."

  I kept the gun on him.

  "Time must've slipped you, Jack. I came in here for dinner."

  "Oh. . . bummer." The referee muttered. His tone wasn't lacking in sarcasm.

  "No testing during meals, Jack. You know the rules."

  I grinned. "You're right. So where's your dinner?"

  He turned to the table. Nothing there. He rotated his chair back so that he faced me. His eyebrows were raised.

  "Forgetting the rules? No testingduringmeals."

  He swallowed.

  "Dinner's in ten minutes, Brian."

  "But-"

  "You come early. That's your fault."

  He shifted in his seat.

  "See, I knew I couldn't catch you," I walked to the side, "And hey, I'll admit, most of the time you can out-fight me. . ."

  He smiled. Pulled at the cuff.

  "So since I couldn't run to win, or fight to win, I thought I'd let you come to me." I stopped and turned to face Brian.

  He held his breath.

  I smiled. "So, say it."

  He narrowed his eyes. Smirked. "So, this was plan B?"

  I opened my mouth. Paused. "More like. . .part two of plan A, but. . .sure."

  He nodded bluntly and pulled at the cuffs again.

  "Looks like you need one of these," I held up the key to the handcuffs.

  He nodded, "Well, that's real cute of you."

  "Why go on, Brian?" I put the key in my pocket. "You know you can't win."

  "You know why," he breathed. He stood
up, bringing the chair up with him.

  I stepped back. Held the gun firmly.

  "Please, Jack. Just stay here. Just live in here."

  As I stared at Brian, I noticed something. His eyes. They always shone to me. They always stuck out. But I realized something else. It was why they always struck me.

  Brian and I had the same eye-color.

  He took a step forward. "You haven't caught me. Now, please, just stop."

  I lifted the pistol. "Iwill use this."

  "Your threat is inconsistent with your acts." He pulled his arm out to the side. The chair dangled from his wrist. His veins swelled.

  "No, you see, I've thought of this part, too." I tightened my fingers on the handle.

  "You did?"

  I nodded.

  He exhaled. "So you've decided to kill."

  I shook my head.

  He took a step forward. "So, what?"

  I bit my lip.

  Another step toward me.

  I tilted my head. "This place isn't hell, but. . . we still can't bleed out, can we?"

  He opened his mouth. "Well-" he stopped. "Wait. What?"

  I quickly aimed the gun down and shot his foot.

  His pupils dilated. All his muscles tensed. Immediate screaming. He fell to the floor. The chair fell on top of him.

  "I'm sorry," I winced. Aimed at the other foot.

  He pushed the chair off and sweep-kicked my leg with his unharmed foot.

  My knees gave and I fell to the floor.

  Heaving loud breaths, he crawled onto me, dragging himself by his hands.

  I squirmed.

  He reached into my pocket.

  "No!" I pushed him off and kicked his chest.

  He yelled and fell onto his butt. His foot had smeared blood across the floor.

  I clambered to my feet and aimed the gun at him.

  Brian gritted his teeth.

  "Come on, Brian," I pleaded.

  He leaned on the chair. Grinding his teeth, he lifted himself on his good foot. He grunted as he did so.

  My eyes widened.

  He breathed out loudly. Grabbed the chair.

  "Brian. . ."

  He lifted it. Swung it into the wall as hard as he could.

  The arm broke out of the framework. Then it slid out of the cuffs.

  The hand cuffs dangled from his wrist.

  "Brian."

  He fell onto his knees. His eyes watery. He moaned with each breath. But he got back up. With his free hand, he grabbed the ledge of the table and pulled himself up. Adrenaline seemed to overpower the pain. He stood on both feet and yelled. His teeth snapped together.