The End of Marking Time

by CJ West

  Life-sized Wendell removed something that looked like a remote for a car door lock, clicked it, and holographic Wendell disappeared.

  “Where is it?” Wendell yelled louder than I thought possible.

  Maybe I was being thick, but I had no idea what he meant.

  His eyes found my ankle bracelet sitting on the stack of magazines where I’d left it. He snatched it, threw the magazines fluttering across the room, and waved the bracelet in my face. “What are you trying to do to me?” His red face was inches from mine. He was even smaller than me. I wasn’t afraid of what he could do physically. Then it really hit home. Wendell Cummings really cared about what happened to me. It wasn’t because he liked me or even knew me. The system would reward him if I behaved and punish him, probably monetarily, if I didn’t. All the counseling and the DVDs and the lectures were designed to earn Wendell his bonus. For a few seconds my world made sense.

  “What’s the big deal?”

  “This bracelet signals to the world that you are obeying the rules. If you don’t have it on, you are breaking the law. That reflects on you and, more important, that reflects on me.”

  I took the stupid thing from him, pulled my sneaker off, and slipped the bracelet back on.

  “Happy?”

  “Listen to me you useless little punk. I know you’ve never worked a day in your life. I know you’ve never been anything but trouble. I also have an idea why. I’m here to help you. If you take what I have to offer, you can have a better life than you ever imagined, but if you screw up, you’re screwing up for both of us. I won’t let you do that to me, Michael. I won’t.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My program helps people. I’ve spent the last ten years of my life trying to help convicts get back on track. The new laws finally gave me my chance. I’ve taught tens of thousands of people to read. I’ve helped them understand what happened to them when they were younger and how to rise above it. I’ve helped them understand that violence is wrong. But you, Michael, are putting that all at risk and I won’t let you.”

  His eyes went wild behind the glasses when he talked about helping people. This was his crusade. He thought he was an electronically enhanced savior, rehabilitating wrongdoers by the stadium full.

  “What did I do?”

  “Can’t you understand simple rules? You may not move three feet from that bracelet at any time. If you do, you are breaking the law.”

  “How was I supposed to know they’d catch me? Without the stupid thing on, I look like everyone else.”

  He wanted to tell me something then, but he didn’t. Didn’t or couldn’t, I’ll never know.

  Going to the bank might have been a mistake. Maybe they knew I was a convict when I scanned my thumb. Maybe Morris told them who I was. If I had known how futile it was to try and hide by taking my ankle bracelet off, I never would have done it again.

  “You have a lot to learn.” He grabbed my chin and looked me straight in the eyes. The little guy was threatening me and if he hadn’t just saved me in the courtroom, I would have slugged him. “Follow the rules. Keep the anklet on. Watch the DVDs. Do what you’re told.”

  Even then I was thinking of ways to get my anklet to watch the DVDs for me while I slept.

  “I know what you’re thinking Michael, and you can forget it. The people won’t stand for lawlessness. You’ll have to pay and so will I.”

  That was the second time he told me how important my behavior was to him. If he had explained it all to me then, I might have been able to help him, but he didn’t trust me with that information, not yet.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  All night long Wendell’s angry face crowded my dreams. The next morning I crawled out of bed feeling sorry for the trouble I’d caused him. I should have been worried about my own trouble, but I didn’t realize you could fail reeducation. I hadn’t considered the consequences of my escape when I turned on the television and restarted the DVD from the beginning. I just wanted to make it up to Wendell in some small way.

  I paid strict attention from the couch as mini Michael and mini Wendell showed me how to operate the remote control and the wireless keyboard. I’d never had a computer of my own but the system mostly ran itself.

  When they finished teaching me how to interact, several six-year-old boys appeared on a school playground. They did a pretty good job acting out a story about bullying. One kid harassed another. The other little kids stood by and watched until they went back into the classroom. I’d had enough when the teacher started through the alphabet one letter a minute. I guessed it was a subtle way to reinforce lots of things, but I was pretty comfortable with the alphabet and more than a little hungry. It was a stupid decision, but I slipped off the ankle bracelet, propped it up on the magazines, and headed out the door. The teacher made K sounds as I left.

  There was no sinister plan in me slipping out the second time. I already knew the alphabet even if I wasn’t the strongest reader. Wendell might disagree, but I didn’t need the review. I was insulted and I was hungry. I’d get a donut and coffee and be back in fifteen minutes, long enough to miss the alphabet and the crap about Johnnie losing his baseball cards.

  I trotted down the sidewalk. I don’t know why I was in such a rush. Maybe I was self-conscious knowing how angry Wendell had been when I got caught without my ankle bracelet. Maybe I was worried about being spotted. Mostly I felt guilty that I wasn’t watching the silly movie, but I’d be back there fast and I wouldn’t go anywhere near the bank.

  When I opened the door to the donut shop and stepped in, I heard the same loud tone I’d heard before. I waited for the second, louder signal to play, but before it did, a man at a nearby table stood up and stepped quickly to the door. The crowd tensed in alert, then two different tones played, one high and one low. The tones let the pressure out of the whole place. The people in front of me in line had looked ready to scatter, but when they heard the low note, they turned forward and concerned themselves with items behind the counter, the speed of the cashier, and wherever they were going next.

  I stood in the doorway trying to understand what had happened, then three fingers clamped down on my elbow. It must have been some kind of pressure point, because the pain from the claw grip was intense. The fingers pulled me to a table where I faced the man who’d gotten up when I came in.

  “Sit,” he ordered and he let go.

  “I don’t know what you want with me, buddy,” I said loud enough to attract attention. The guy seated across from looked like he’d been through his share of trouble. Whatever he wanted from me, I wasn’t getting involved. I had enough trouble and I wanted everyone in the restaurant to know.

  “Quiet,” he whispered urgently. “Cut the crap.”

  I stared back at him.

  He pulled up his jeans and showed me the ankle bracelet with the familiar red light glowing. “Whatever you’ve got planned, wait ‘till I’m gone. I’ve got enough trouble. I just want to finish my course and move on.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You come in here without your leash. I know what you’re up to. I don’t know how you can be that stupid, but leave me out of it.”

  “I just want a donut.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I left my ankle bracelet up there to fool the black box. I just needed—”

  “You are an idiot, aren’t you?”

  “What are you saying?” Was he really afraid of the little black box?

  “The bracelet is like your prison uniform. If you’re wearing it, you’re not trying to escape—or rob a donut shop.”

  “I’m not trying to rob this place.”

  “These people don’t know that.” He looked at me like I was four years old.

  “They don’t know I’m a con.”

  “Don’t you remember what happened? Where have you been?”

  I told him the story of the gunshot on the bus and how I’d been asleep for four years. He relaxed then and st
opped looking at me like I was a raving madman. I was disconnected from reality, but only because I hadn’t lived it like everyone else. The pity in his eyes said he knew I was headed for trouble and there was nothing he could do to help me. No matter how many people warned me, I couldn’t understand how desperate my situation was.

  He told me to listen very carefully. “Keep the bracelet on. Never take it off. Never.”

  I started to ask why and he held up his hand to keep me quiet.

  “When everyone was let out, what do you think the rest of the people did? Do you think they waited around to get robbed? Do you think the cops sat by while these nutball judges let us all out with no way to know who we were or what we were doing?”

  Great. The first guy I met on the outside was a paranoid freak who couldn’t stand living outside prison. I’d heard some guys stay in so long they can’t handle a life that isn’t scheduled for them.

  “You heard the chime when you walked in, right?”

  I had.

  “Some cop had the idea to mark us. They were smart about it, too. They put something in the drinking water back in prison. Gets into your bones and the cops can track you on the outside. Some electronics whiz realized what the cops were doing and invented these scanners. See it there by the door?”

  The scanner looked like the inventory control scanners I’d walked through in hundreds of stores.

  “They scan for this chemical. It’s radioactive, I think, but I’m not sure. Anyway, the scanner dings when a con walks through. Then it scans for the frequency the ankle bracelets transmit on. If it picks up a transmission within three feet, it gives the all-clear.”

  “So that’s how they found me yesterday,” I said.

  “Slow down, kid. That’s just for the civilians. You see, when they opened the doors and let out two million convicts, they knew we were going to ransack the country. It was mayhem for two years. Those scanners are for the people in the store, that’s all. They expect stores to be robbed every time one of us comes in. That’s why they freak out when they hear the ding. Guys took their bracelets off, thinking they couldn’t be tracked, and went out to hit the nearest gas station.”

  “That’s why people left the store when I came in yesterday.”

  “Now you’re getting it.”

  “What did you mean thinking they couldn’t be tracked?”

  “First you’ve got to realize how pissed the cops were about all this. They worked their butts off to put guys like us away. You know how hard it was back then to get locked up. When those judges decided to let everyone go, the cops did two things. They created the black box, which is supposed to help you. They also found a way to know who was up to no good and who was doing what they’re supposed to.”

  “The black box is my babysitter?”

  “No, it’s worse.” He reached up the back of his scalp and felt his hairline. “Feel around right here,” he said.

  I knew exactly what he meant. That spot on my head had been sore the day after I met Wendell Cummings. I found the tiny bump immediately.

  “These guys are smart,” he said. “Smart and angry. That’s a tracking device in your head. That’s why you never take off the ankle bracelet.”

  He let me think for a minute.

  “They both transmit a signal. There are thousands of special police. Their job is to find you when you go off the reservation. Any time that transmitter gets too far from your ankle bracelet they know. It was awesome for the first year or so. The special cops rode around in black cars with tinted windows. They’d haul guys in and beat the crap out of them. They were right. They were always right. Anyone away from his bracelet is committing a felony. And as soon as you leave the bracelet, they send someone after you.”

  “They baited the cons?”

  He threw up his hands.

  I couldn’t tell if he understood what they were doing or if he realized the futility and decided to go along.

  “What about the black box? How can I beat that freaking thing?”

  “Those things are evil. Trust me, don’t mess with it.”

  “It’s playing kid movies. Come on.”

  “You get zapped yet?”

  I nodded and he laughed. He knew what I was up against and he wanted to help me, but it was like a father telling his kid not to play with fire. The kid knows his father is older and wiser, but he has to try things for himself. No matter how strenuously the father tells his son about the danger, the orangy red flames draw him in.

  “Play it straight,” he said, then got up. “I’ve got to go. They’re going to be looking for you soon and I can’t be within a block of you. I can’t get hauled in again. I’m near the end of my rope.”

  I thanked him for his advice, bought my donut, and went back to the demon box in front of my television. I didn’t understand what he meant then. Now I do of course. That’s why I’m standing in front of you. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I guess I was like that little kid who has to get burned before he understands how hot fire really is.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I ran up the stairs and flung the door open. Holographic Wendell was waiting for me. “What do you choose?” he asked.

  The DVD had been playing for the last half hour. Without watching the movie I had no idea what choice he meant. Miniature Michael was on the screen in a classroom. All the boys in nearby desks faced him. Underneath were three choices. Ignore. Assist. Report.

  I clicked back and forth among the options. I didn’t know what had happened while I was gone and I didn’t particularly care. I chose Ignore. Holographic Wendell smirked then vanished. The movie played on.

  The boys on either side of me were kids from the playground. As the lesson continued up front, I recognized the bully on my left and his favorite target on my right. The teacher spelled three letter words at an annoyingly slow pace. I couldn’t believe I had to watch six hours of this.

  The story stopped again.

  The boy on my left lofted a sharpened pencil over my head. It stuck into the smaller boy’s arm and he cried out. The teacher looked directly at me. The screen offered a choice. Ignore. Assist. Report.

  I figured the best way to stay out of trouble was to let these two kids handle it for themselves. It wasn’t my problem. I hadn’t started it. The only reason the teacher was looking at me was because I was seated between aggressor and victim.

  I pressed Ignore and the lesson continued.

  In two more minutes I watched enough spellings and misspellings of cat, dog, box, fox, and hat to last a lifetime. The movie kept stopping and it took as much time for me to answer the prompts as to get through the DVD. Wendell said this would take six hours. If he meant six hours of movie time, all the stops and starts would keep me there all day. I decided to speed things up. Every time a choice appeared I quickly hit the Ignore key and the movie resumed. I didn’t consider the choices. I wasn’t learning anything from what was happening on the screen, but I didn’t expect to. Wendell said I had to sit and watch and that’s all I intended to do.

  The last time I pressed Ignore, there were eight kids picking on the sad little boy next to me. He buried his face in his arms as they pelted him with pencils, gum, erasers and anything else they could find in the virtual classroom. The teacher looked to me every time something happened like I was in charge or something. If a child on the opposite side of the room picked up a book and hurled it at the defenseless little kid, the teacher looked at me for guidance. Wendell was trying to teach me that what happened around me in life was up to me, but I sat back and let the teacher run the class.

  Suddenly the little boy was energized and armed with all the things that had been thrown at him. One fist held dozens of pencils and pens. The other held a few books and other assorted things he could only grasp in a computer simulation. I had done nothing to help him, but I’d done nothing to hurt him either. That’s why I was stunned when he turned and started stabbing me with the pens and pencils. I had no control of miniature Michael. I gra
bbed the remote and pressed keys to try and fight back, but I couldn’t.

  When my virtual corpse slumped at my desk, the teacher came down the aisle and took the little boy away.

  Wendell’s lesson made it clear how much he really wanted to help people. Even though I wasn’t participating, I heard Wendell telling me that what I did had implications. The boy was unfairly targeted. I could have helped him and because I didn’t, others joined in. Interestingly, the losers in this simulation were the wrong people. I was killed. I hadn’t done anything wrong at all. I hadn’t helped either. The poor little kid who attacked me had been victimized so long he snapped. Did he deserve to be punished? Probably not. The bully walked free to start again with another victim.

  I was all of these people. I’d attacked weaker kids to build my rep. I’d looked the other way to avoid retaliation. I’d been knocked off track by my mother’s abuse.

  At that moment I felt like lashing out at the little box, Wendell, anyone I could find. Holographic Wendell appeared in front of the television, his features brighter with the screen behind him switched to black.

  “I’m very disappointed with you, Michael,” he said. “You must complete one disc each day. Normally that takes six hours. Rushing doesn’t help anyone, Michael. You can’t cheat my system. You must pay attention.”

  Wendell waited a few seconds and then directed me to look outside my door. I found two cables, one short, one long. When I returned, a port on the black box opened and Wendell directed me to plug one of the blue connectors into it. I did. Then I connected the other end to a port that opened in the remote control. The shorter cable wrapped around my wrist.

  I’d learn later that the apartment building I lived in was full of relearners. A small group of men serviced our special needs, like this cable that had just been delivered. The box summoned something and they brought it to my apartment. It could and would happen on a moment’s notice, though in reality, the box made these requests well in advance.