Jack in the Box

by Shaw, Michael

  "I've gone too far, Brian! I'm not stopping, now. Project Box-"

  "Jack. . ." He said loudly.

  "No!"

  "Jack!"

  "You can't stop me!" I cried out.

  We screamed at each other simultaneously. We drowned out each other's words. Our bodies shook violently.

  "Jack!"

  "No!"

  "Son, I will do this!"

  "Dad!"

  White. My eardrums felt as though they'd been punctured. My head hurt. People think they feel pain in dreams. But I really felt it. And then the pain left just as quickly as it had come. White. Nothing but white.

  And then black.

  Black.

  It was all I saw. In the dream, I didn’t really understand what it meant. But I assumed it must’ve been what I was seeing, which now I know was in fact, black. I moved my eyes all around. Saw nothing except nothing. My emotions were going crazy, but with no words behind them. My mind felt like a blank slate, and I didn’t know what to do. Then I remembered those things that keep me from being able to see. Eyelids. I opened them, and my surroundings began to come into focus. This was the first time I remember waking up, but apparently it wasn’t.

  Wait, what? I'd felt this before.

  "Good morning!"

  And there was my father. Except it wasn't my father. It was the man I knew as Brian.

  I was dreaming of the first day I woke up in the test.

  Which means I had dreamt all there was to dream of Jack Colson's memories.

  The white returned. And then black again.

  I opened my eyes. I was in a room. A room with four doors. A door for each wall. A light in the center of the ceiling. I wasn't dreaming. I was awake. On my stomach. My cheek against the floor. I had slept without a bed.

  I slowly sat up. The only other thing in the room was a pool of blood on the floor. I looked around, feeling groggy. But it hit me. I looked around the room again. And I let out all my breath.

  "I'm still here."

  →

  I was breathing heavily, just as I had been in the dream. I felt my face. I had been sweating. I closed my eyes.That's why I had his memories. That's why I'm in the test. I'm not Jack Colson. I'm not just some test subject.

  I'm a copy of Jack Colson.

  The lights flickered.

  A voice came from a speaker. "Congratulations, J-100. You have passed. A malfunction in the Box has occurred. Please stay where you are until the problem is fixed and an employee comes."

  I exhaled. "And then I get to leave?"

  The voice responded, "Yes. . . Uh, I mean. . . This is a prerecorded message from OTB, please remain in this room until the problem is fixed. An employee will arrive shortly and you will be able to leave."

  I leaned back against the wall.

  A few minutes passed.

  The lights flickered once again.

  The voice came back. "Please enjoy the music while your party is reached."

  I closed my eyes. Groaned.

  It was Pachelbel'sCanon in D. I don't know how I knew that.

  This was the first time I had ever heard music. It was beautiful. I didn't understand it. Sounds always seemed arbitrary to me. They resounded in my ear, never causing comfort or discomfort, unless, of course, they were extremely loud. But this sound. It actually made me happy. Something so simple as sounds, sounds being arranged in a certain order, were able to make me happy.

  The song looped five times. I enjoyed every second of it. And during each second, I did what I bet many people do when they hear music. They think.

  The first thing I thought wasI did it.It was hard not to think that. I do not remember how long I was in the Box, but just twenty-four hours in the place would have been enough for me to hate it. The Box. A simple, yet somehow odd, name. And I was Jack. Well, at least I had thought I was.

  "Jack in the Box," I said out loud. I laughed. It was funny to me. I don't know why. Yet again, it was something that Jack Colson would have understood.

  So, my name wasn't Jack, after all. I guessed I didn't have a name. I was J-100. But Brian was right. Itis cliché to name people with letters and numbers. What was Brian's numbered name? I thought back. The book. The notebook I'd taken from his room.Assigned to J-98.J-98. He was the 98th Jack copy. I was the 100th.

  So, I don't have a name. I guess when I get out, I'll have to find myself one.I smiled. I'd have a lot to do when I was freed. A new life to live, new sights to see, a new name.

  And Jack Colson. . .

  My smile slowly fell. As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew that the world outside was far from perfect. It wouldn't be smooth sailing for me after I got out. I remembered J-98. "Out there is where hell is," he had said. Was he serious? There was much I did not know about "Brian." But one thing I did know. He cared. He had always put up an arrogant, confident smile. But underneath that, he actually cared. All along, he wanted me to live. I wondered if I would ever see him again.

  I looked around. Everything was gone. My bed, the table, J-98. All gone. "Are you there?" I said aloud. The referee wasn't around, either.

  I wondered about the old referee. Had they really just killed him? Why? He wasn't breaking the rules. Guilt started to set in again. But I reassured myself. I wasn't the one who wanted that to happen to him. It wasn't my fault. I had to remember that.

  So, I was alone. But I wasn't. It was that same feeling. The feeling that someone was with me. This entire test, it had been about getting answers, but I realized that not all of my questions had been answered yet.So when I get out, it looks like I'll have more searching to do.

  Resting was good. Sitting there, listening to music. Not testing. Not dreaming. Just rest. It was almost as if it were meant to happen. As if I were being given the chance to break before I faced whatever lay ahead of me.

  The song stopped.

  The lights flickered again.

  I looked up at the bulb.

  The door to my right opened. Bright light shone in.

  That man on the speaker came back. "Another malfunction has occurred. Please do not exit."

  The door in front of me opened. More light.

  "Once again, please, remain where you are."

  The other two doors opened. The light was blinding.

  I shielded my eyes with my arm. And I heard something. I had never heard it before. The sound of wind. A calm, low wind.

  "J-100, remain where you are. An employee will be with you soon."

  I slowly stood up. I looked at one of the doorways. It was still bright light. My eyes couldn't adjust.

  "Please do not leave."

  I walked up to the door. I couldn't tell what was on the other side.

  "J-100. . ."

  "Only one way to find out," I said softly.

  "Please, stay put."

  I walked through the doorway.

  All this time, talk had been about hell. It was memories, death, and hell. That's all we talked about. All I thought about. But I had never thought about a heaven. Walking into the light made me think of such a place. I wondered if it were real. And if I'd ever get to be there.

  My foot stepped onto something different. It crunched slightly under my weight. My eyes slowly adjusted. I squinted, waiting for everything to come into view. I was standing on ground. Actual ground. I was outside. I looked down. It was red dirt. Small gravel and dust. I looked back up. The entire world stretched out before me. The red dirt ran for as far as I could see. The sun was high. I stepped out a few steps more. It was hot. I looked back. My eyebrows raised. I backed up, getting the entire thing into view. What I had just stepped out of was a building. A one story, one room building. I saw through the room, through the other doorway, and out to the other side. It was basically a little hut. A hut with four doors.

  "No way." I walked back inside. Examined the walls. The floor.

  "Oh! You're back!" the voice said, relieved. "I was worried you-"

  I walked back outside.

  "
Hey! Wait!"

  I circled around the entire building. Just one room. Just one story. Flat roof. It really was just a box. "How. . . ?" I put my hand on my head.

  Something was on the side of the building. I walked up to the outer wall. It seemed to be words that were printed on the wall next to the door. In large, bold letters, "Box J." It was faded. I had missed it before. It looked industrial.

  I backed up and looked out again. Something other than the dirt came into view. I hadn't seen them at first. My eyes hadn't fully adjusted to the light. Across the landscape, across the dirt, were other buildings. Other Boxes. Scattered everywhere. There were thousands of them. And those were just the ones I could see. They kept on going. Every direction I turned to look, there were buildings just like the one I had been in. My eyes widened. For every Box, there was a person. A person in the test. A person going through what I had been going through.

  I wiped my face. "Where am I?"

  That was the moment that I fully realized it. I knew it before, but now it was real. It was tangible.

  The test was not the end.

  twenty-one

  Dear J-100,

  I hope that somehow, in some way, this letter will reach you. I assume that there are many questions you have, questions that I wish I could answer face-to-face. But I have a strong feeling that they will not let me see you. The man writing this to you is the one whom you knew as Brian. Yes, I am a copy of Jack Colson as well. And the man who had killed himself, the one whose body you saw, was my first test subject. He was the ninety-ninth. There is a system in this world that your dreams did not tell you about, J-100. When a copy passes the test, he is the tester of the very next copy. If he survives that, then he will be the tester of the copy after that. Everyone is a subject once, a test-giver twice. You were my second test subject, J-100.

  I know what you are thinking, and I am ashamed to tell you of it myself. Yes, I killed a man in cold-blood in order to pass the test. You will soon find that people do not understand things the way you do, J-100. Neither did I until after my first test subject. Too much blood has come by my hand for me not to realize the truth. Jack Colson's ideals were irrational. They were wrong, and most importantly, evil. I was blinded by the ideals of our Original, and I killed without thinking. I know the black and white of this page make it difficult for my words to seem anything but a lie, and I can’t blame you for not believing me. But I know what I have done. There came a time when I could no longer say that it was fine. It was when I ruthlessly killed J-99. Not with hands or gun. I didn’t even touch him. But my words killed him with more violence and force than all the weapons the earth can hold. They led him to suicide. I played the part of a ruthless captor, psychologically bringing him to ruin. Had I not said the things I said to him, and acted the way I had to him, he would not have killed himself then. In the eyes of our world, though, this was "effective testing."

  You may be wondering why I use this term "Original" so officially. There are many people on this earth, J-100, but all of them are copies of the ones whom we now simply call "The Originals." There are many Originals; before becoming a test-giver I had to memorize all their names. To be honest, I don't remember half of them, now. Still, though, they are people that I hope you never have to meet. Every person you do meet on this earth, though, will look like a younger version of one of those Originals.

  Each number you see in someone's name is a generation of sorts, J-100. A decade or so passes between each generation. Then the next copies are made and tested. So, you are J-100, but there is an S-100 and a R-100, and many more, all copies of the Originals. They are all the same age as you.

  It'd be best to stay quiet when you are first let back into the world. People do not want things to change, and if they find out what you've done, they will feel threatened.

  This test has been going on for years. You can understand this; you are part of the 100th generation. In all the tests, though, never has there been a one who passed the test without killing anyone. You are the first. I was ready to die. I had good reason to receive death. But if I had let you catch me alive, then Jack Colson would have made both of us pay. That is what his goal has always been. To harden the human heart. To snuff out emotion, care, or value for life. If I let you kill me, he did not care, this was a success to him. However, if I had let you catch me, it would have made him very, very angry.

  I've seen a lot of things, J-100. But I've never seen in anyone what I saw in you. And for the longest time, I did not see it in myself. I saw a heart, J-100. I saw something that was able to look into other people's lives even while facing its own struggles. Among other things, this is what they will try to break in you. When Jack Colson finds out the details of how you passed, he will try to make you conform to our cold and "efficient" society. He will try to make you stop caring. Lack of care is all he cares for. You must resist. Your heart must continue to go in the direction it was going. What you hold to might be the only thing that can save this world.

  There are many things I said to you that I wish I could take back, J-100. But above all, you were the only person who made me realize what the wordson truly meant. As a test subject I did not understand it. As I struggled with the thought of being Jack Colson myself, I did not understand what it meant to be a son or father to someone. Only you brought to light what a father and son really are. I can't say that I was ever a father to you, but perhaps in another life, we could have been family. In another world. If only. I will miss you, J-100.

  So here I find myself, still free-falling. You were right. Who has the right to make someone miss that? But as gravity continues to throw me into the future, I hope that someday our paths will cross. I hope that we will be able to feel the same air hit our face, and continue to fall together. We can't control gravity. But man, we've got a whole lot to do until we hit the ground.

  I'm sorry for everything. I hate the word; it doesn't do enough. After all that's happened, I can't expect all of it to fit under the unsatisfactory power of the wordsorry.But I do not know what else to say. I wish I could make things right. But here is where I am left. I'm sorry. Please forgive me.

  Please forgive me.

  ∞

  "Get him in here." The man sat in a small room. An office.

  A woman stood in the doorway. "He just woke up a few minutes ago. The procedure was successful, but he'll need pain medication. Couldn't we give him some time-"

  “C-97,” he said, “give me J-98.”

  She sunk a little. "Yes, sir."

  He nodded.

  She left his sight.

  The man was old. He did not look frail. He was in good shape, and his hair was a slightly dark gray. His desk had a few items. A computer. A memo pad. A display case. An empty display case. For a watch.

  Another man entered. Tired, disoriented. Only one leg. He came in with the woman supporting him. She sat him down in front of the older man.

  "J-98," the man crossed his arms.

  "Sir," J-98 lifted his eyes.

  "They amputated it. . ." He leaned over to look at his leg.

  "It was all they could do, sir. My bones were shattered. The bullet-"

  "Do you want to know how I survived that day?"

  J-98 tilted his head.

  "When my father and I held each other at gun point." The man folded his hands and stared at them.

  J-98 shifted his eyes around. Then looked back at the man. "Actually, yes, sir, Iwould like to know."

  He leaned back. "When I was a young man, Raze always told me to treat every gun as though it were loaded." He continued to stare at his folded hands. "My father took the gun from underneath my desk. He should have treated it as though itweren'tloaded." He looked up. "I had emptied the rounds of that gun before I even put it under the desk."

  J-98 swallowed. His upper lip rose slightly. "You killed your father. Even when you knew. . ."

  "He was trying to stop me."

  "But he wouldn't have been able to. He could've lived."
>
  The old man stared at his hands for a few more seconds.

  J-98 bit his tongue.

  The room was cold.

  J-98 cracked his knuckles.

  The man returned to the issue at hand. “Your test subject.”

  J-98 took a deep breath. Calmed himself.

  "Your test subject passed," the man put his finger down on the desk.

  J-98 nodded.

  The man's eyebrows slanted down, stretching the wrinkles on his forehead. He shook his head.

  J-98 did not flinch. He did not show fear. In fact, there was no fear to show.

  “He passed. . .” the man looked up with pure anger in his eyes. "And he did it," his voice suddenly rose, "without killing."

  The words echoed, even in such a small room as this one.

  J-98 smirked. The most powerful man in the world stood in front of him. But he merely smirked. "Well, I suppose he did," his smirk turned to a smile. "I suppose he did."

  The man breathed in. "Then explain to me. . .exactly how that happened!"

  J-98 scratched his chin.

  The man gritted his teeth.

  "I don't know how," he chuckled, "but thank God he did it."

  The man's eyes opened up wide. His hands formed fists.

  "Yes," J-98 laughed. "Thank God he did it." He looked up at the ceiling. His entire body relaxed.

  "Never speak like that again," the man stood up, "Never say thatname again! I will have you killed. Do you hear me, J-98?"

  He brought his head back to look at the man. Leaned forward. "Go ahead, 'sir.' I've never lived a day in my life."

  The man took deep breaths.

  He looked up at the ceiling once again. As if there were someone there to look up to. "That is, not until today."

  "Just because this subject saved your skin-"

  "Not just my skin,Jack," J-98 spat. He put his hands on the table. "My heart." His eyes lowered and he nodded slowly.

  "My heart."

  Scripture passages quoted from the King James Version of the Bible.