by Tessa Clare
An anonymous user began the conversation:
ANONYMOUS: Hey – so today, District 220 MP Henrik McIntyre was elected for elimination by the Divinity Bureau. At the age of fifty, he's the youngest person in history to be elected; and the only person under the age of one hundred elected in the last fifty years. What do you guys think? Do you believe that his election was intentional? Is there such a thing as a McIntyre curse?
A few users chimed in.
AFOXMAGE: The McIntyre curse was a long-held theory that used to be mentioned by the media every time tragedy hit the McIntyre family – at least until Henrik McIntyre paid off every major news publisher to keep it quiet. It just shows that even if you try to pretend that something isn't there, it still creeps up on you.
UNKNOWN_USER: Remember when Henrik McIntyre paid off a group of reality stars to run against him in the general election?
BERKSHIRE101: His ‘over 100’ rule lead to one of the greatest population spurts in history!”
UNKNOWN_USER2: The McIntyre family is the greatest mob ever. Have you read their family history? If they are cursed, it's because they're despicable people.
CADETBENSON: How could you say something like that? No matter what they did in the past, no one deserves the amount of tragedy that this family has been forced to endure. Henrik McIntyre has two young daughters. Do you think they deserve to lose their father at such a young age?
My reading is cut short by my Mobiroid vibrating. I glance at my wrist and find that I have a text message from April, who is letting me know that her mother had invited me over for dinner. I send her back a quick message:
ME: I thought your mom hated me?
I can’t say for certain if Macy McIntyre truly hates me, but her feelings towards me seem to be teetering between dislike and revulsion.
April had officially introduced the two of us the day after her birthday. Macy planned a birthday dinner, and she had been adamant on meeting me. When I arrived, Macy was quick to serve me with an appetizer of shrimp with horseradish cocktail sauce. She had asked me a few questions about my work and family, but she spent most of the time chattering about a recent cocktail party that she had attended and how she was attempting to figure out if one of her neighbors was pregnant.
“She’s probably pregnant,” I had deduced, mainly because I was getting bored of the conversation and I wanted to change the topic.
Macy raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”
“You just stated that she was getting fat,” I say, thinking that that would be the end of it. Unfortunately, that’s where I made my first mistake. At 25, I learned my first rule of female code: it’s never alright for a guy to use the word ‘fat’ to describe other women – even though it’s perfectly okay for other women to use the word.
My second mistake was over dinner. Macy lit up a cigarette and blew smoke in my face. I attempted to let it go, but after the second puff, the pollutants invading my lungs were just too much to bear. I coughed and excused myself. April followed me and apologized on behalf of her mother, but I have a feeling that Macy was unaware that there was anything that needed an apology.
My third – and costliest – mistake was when I was leaving. April was walking with me to my car, which she had insisted that I park in her huge garage. Once we were away from her mother’s prying eyes, I couldn’t resist taking April in my arms and pressing my lips to hers. I had intended for it to be a chaste kiss until April wrapped her arms around my neck. At that moment, I could feel every bit of warmth from her body, wrapped around me like a blanket. All I wanted was to be closer. I tightened my grip around her and opened my mouth for her, ravishing her mouth. She began to pull my hair, and before I knew it, I was backing her against the wall – except it wasn’t a wall. I heard a loud thud and the sound of metal hitting the floor. In our haste, we had accidentally knocked over a motorcycle – Henrik McIntyre’s prized antique motorcycle – to the ground.
I feel another vibration on my wrist.
APRIL: My mom doesn’t hate you.
“Roman!” a voice barks from behind me. I turn my chair, where I’m greeted by the sight of Finn peering at me from the opposite side of the cubicle. “Gideon wants to see you.”
He leaves before I have the chance to ask why. I sit at my desk for a long while, pondering what Gideon would want with me. My first instinct is to think that Finn ratted me out.
Panic sets in. I turn back to my desk, attempting to keep myself busy – but all I can think about is what I would say and what I would omit. But I don’t see any police circling the office, so I hope that I’m in the clear – hopefully.
I make my way towards the elevator and up to Gideon’s floor. Gideon’s door is partially open, which I take as a sign that I’m welcome to enter. But from the crack of Gideon’s doorway, I can see the outline of a suit and a man that’s at least a foot taller than Gideon. I decide to wait outside.
“Ten thousand names, Gideon! Ten thousand people, and you couldn’t afford to put a handful of individuals on the list?”
I take a step back, wondering if I stumbled on a conversation that I’m not supposed to hear. The entire floor is technically Gideon’s, so he probably doesn’t think that anyone will be poking around like I am.
“I’ve told you multiple times: I have a protocol that I need to follow! I’m sure you remember what happened when we elected Henrik McIntyre!”
I inhale, my attention fully caught as soon as I hear the mention of April’s father.
“You didn’t seem to be concerned when I paid you for the job!”
“Well, you should have mentioned the fact that I’d be required to defy the bureau’s standards and get approval from Nolan Fitz for every case!”
A chill runs up my spine. I remember the day when Gideon called me for the first time: “Well, the chairman for the two hundred and twentieth district thought that it would be a fantastic idea to pay the West state a visit during election time!” At that moment, I realize that that was a lie.
“You’re the regional chairman!”
“I’m not the Minister for Population Control! Getting there requires that I have a job in two years!”
“If you finish the job, I can assure you that you will be re-elected,” the man promised. “Consider it a performance bonus.”
There’s long pause.
“I have a lot of work that I need to do. Are we done here?”
“We’re not done,” the man said. “Not until the job is done.”
I shouldn’t be here. The last thing I want is for Gideon’s frightening visitor to see me eavesdropping. I quickly go around the corner and towards the water cooler. A lump is forming in my throat.
I don’t know what to do. Am I being used as an accessory to murder? Was the entire bureau being used? I wonder if similar situations arise frequently; and yet, I can’t think of a reason why it wouldn’t. I hover in the break room as I fill a cup with water. I can’t bring myself to face Gideon just yet.
To pass the time, I think of a book I read in college – back when I was still majoring in history. I read about one religion in which God gave a man Ten Commandments to follow. These commandments include rules such as honoring one’s parents and loving one’s neighbor. Our class once spent an entire hour debate the clause of “Thou Shalt Not Kill.” Killing would damn a person to hell for eternity. The irony was that God had killed countless people – sometimes going as far as destroying entire cities and, at one point, drowning the whole world. The debate asked one question: what gave one entity the right to decide who lived and who died?
Perhaps that’s where the Divinity Bureau got its name.
I finish my cup of water and realize that I’m going to need to face Gideon eventually. Should I let him know that I overheard his conversation with the mysterious stranger? I want to demand to know who was on the list and if the man had anything to do with April’s election. I could threaten to share my information with the media, the police, the Internet
– anything to ensure that word got out to the public. Accepting bribes is an impeachable offense, and I’m confident that Gideon is going to want to keep his job.
But my heart sinks with the realization that it’ll all be useless. The activities of the Divinity Bureau are perfectly legal, and no one will believe a lowly IT Technician over the regional chairman. I have no choice but to remain silent until I can get any further information. It’ll take me some time, but I’m sure that I can save lives – including April’s – if I’m successful. Until that day comes, I need to pretend that I don’t know anything. That means that I need to waltz into Gideon’s office with a smile on my face – which is what I do. I don’t knock. Instead, I walk into the room and say, “Finn told me that you wanted to see me.”
Gideon jumps. “Roman! What are you…?” He closes his eyes before he moves to close the door to his office. “I asked for you two hours ago.”
“Sorry,” I say. Now that I know that Gideon is in the pocket of someone, he doesn’t intimidate me as much as he used to. “I was busy.”
“Right,” says Gideon with a nod, but he doesn’t seem convinced. “Anyways, I have a special task for you. I understand that you have a background in network security?”
My heart speeds up. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Gideon asks, staring at me incredulously. “Do you mind clarifying that a little more?”
“I have a degree in it,” I say. That part is correct. I leave out the part that I have a degree from one of the best programming schools in the country.
“Just a degree?” he asks. “No work experience?”
I shrug. “It’s a tough economy.”
Gideon nods, but he hesitates on his next words. He looks as though he’s having an internal war with himself. He clears his throat, and I can tell that a side has won. “Well, I suppose I can give you some experience. You see, someone hacked into our system on March 31st. I need you to figure out who that person is, and we need to have them arrested for obstruction.”
I pale, knowing exactly who the hacker was. “Why is that?”
“They interfered with the election list,” Gideon says darkly. “As you know, that’s a crime.”
I swallow, struggling to keep my composure. “How do you know that the election list was tampered with?”
“Someone that was supposed to be on the list wasn’t,” he says, and I feel a chill down my back. “Keep this between us. Can I count on you to get the job done?”
I swallow, attempting to remember what I promised myself I’d do. Remain silent until I can get any further information. Without anything else to say, I nod and say, “I’ll take care of it.”
‘Sorry, April,’ I think to myself. ‘You might be chopping my balls off in the near-future.’
CHAPTER TEN
APRIL
I t’s finals week, which means that I’ve spent the last two weeks hydrated on espresso shots and energy drinks. I had requested to take the week off work and convinced Dr. Gray to cancel our weekly session (without a guilt trip, thankfully).
Roman came to the mansion that weekend. We had dinner with my mom, but our time with her was cut short when she got a phone call. We spent the rest of the time cuddled in my bedroom, watching a movie that neither of us noticed.
After that, I spent the rest of the week focused on homework and studying. Occasionally, I’d text Roman for help – especially with history. But I frequently found myself texting him for help when I didn’t need it. Sometimes, I just wanted to see his name on my Mobiroid. When I finally turned in my last exam, the first thing I did was ask Roman what his plans were for the evening and if any of them involve me.
That’s what brings me to now: driving to his apartment at eight o’clock in the evening. At first, he scoffed at the idea of having me over (“There are perfectly good places downtown that we can spend time together,” he said adamantly); but he finally caved after fifteen minutes of pleading. I couldn’t understand why he was hesitant to let me see his place. We hung out occasionally at the mansion, but we had to worry about my mother and sister barging in. If I had an apartment (and I would – if my parents hadn’t cut me off from my trust fund), I’d be inviting everyone that I know.
But the answer comes when I pass a “Chinatown” sign. The first thing that I notice are brick buildings. The buildings are twenty stories tall, but I don’t miss the mismatched blocks that alter colors every few stories. Roman explained to me that the buildings used to be a lot smaller, but developers added stories over the last few decades as the housing crisis unfolded. The solution was merely a Band-Aid. Everywhere I look, I can see someone sleeping on the sidewalk or resting on a curb. I catch sight of a man urinating in the parking lot of a convenience store. These are people that had been affected by the economy, I realize. A part of me wonders if my former maid is among them. The other part doesn’t want to know.
I find a parking spot on the street, where I notice a group of grungy men huddled in an alley. They eye my car conspicuously, my car standing out like fresh fruit in a compost pile. I’m surmising that a car like mine is a rare sight here. I make it a point to lock the vehicle, turn on the alarm, and ensure that my valuables are with me.
As soon as I get close to Roman’s apartment, the sound of gunshots is the first thing that I hear.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I jump. It would be just my luck that the one time I come to Roman’s apartment would be the one time that he gets robbed. Once I catch my breath, I veer closer to the unit. I don’t have anything that I can use as a weapon. I don’t keep any keys on me, as both my house and car unlock whenever a sensor is within a ten-foot proximity. I’m also not carrying anything heavy that can be used as a weapon; and even if I do, I don’t have enough muscle on my body to make it efficient. My only hope is that the burglar is a male and that my knee can cause him a lot of pain.
I’m less than a foot away from the door when I hear Roman’s voice from inside the apartment: “Go left! Stop! Okay, now, go right! Shoot him, and that fucker can go die.”
Another round of shooting follows, followed by a computer voice telling him that he has a victory. I sigh. Roman had hinted to me that he’s an avid gamer, but I’ve never seen him in action. As soon as my heart rate slows, I knock on the door.
“I need to go,” he says. “Can you finish the level on your own?”
Pause.
“I know, I know. But my girl is here.”
My girl? Another pause.
“Yes, Joe, I have a girlfriend.” Pause. “Well, actually, I’m not sure if she’s technically my girlfriend yet, but we’ve been dating for about two months. She’s great. Maybe I can convince her to visit home with me one of these days so you can meet her. Anyways, I’ve got to go!”
As soon as the words come out of his mouth, the door swings open. Roman has a VR headset covering half of his face and a remote in his right hand. I move the mouthpiece out of his way to kiss him. My lips mold into his, and he wraps an arm around my back as he pulls me closer to him. I open my mouth for him, standing in the doorway as though we’re the only two people in the world.
It doesn’t take long before I realize that Roman had forgotten to turn off his headset. “Gross. I can totally hear you guys!”
Roman laughs. “Bye, Joe!”
He hits a button on his headset. I follow him into the apartment. He pulls off the headset, sets it on top of a bookcase, and turns his attention back to me. A sly grin falls on his face. “Now, where were we?”
I respond by wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. I rest my head on his shoulder, relishing in the warmth of his body. He responds by running his fingers through my hair.
I peek an eye open to take in my surroundings. Roman’s apartment is certainly small. The entire apartment consists of one bedroom and one full-sized room – the latter of which serves as a kitchen, living room, dining room, and bedroom. I’m not even sure if it can classify as a dining room since Roman doesn’t have a
ny tables or chairs. Instead, he has a beige futon and a coffee table cluttered with various computer cords and chips. What Roman lacks in furniture and decorations, he has plenty of electronics to compensate for that. He has a mounted projector, the screen of which takes up the entire left side of the apartment. He also has a bookshelf that has two video game consoles, a collection of games, and an internet modem. I eye it, expecting to find Roman’s boasted collection of science fiction films in there, but no movies are anywhere to be seen.
I pull away from Roman. “Who was on the phone?”
“My brother, Joe,” Roman says. “He lives in District 402 with my dad.” He avoids eye-contact as he attempts to declutter the mess that’s sitting on his coffee table. I wonder if the topic of his family is a sore subject. “I suppose I did promise you a science-fiction marathon.”
I glance around the apartment. “As I recall, you told me that you owned every science fiction film produced in the last decade. If that were the case, your apartment would be overflowing with movies.”
“That’s because it’s not in my apartment,” says Roman, brushing past me to grab his computer. He points to the machine, which can fit in the palm of his hand. “It’s in here.”
He plops down onto the futon and motions for me to sit next to him. I oblige, resting my head on his shoulder as he presses a button and a computer screen projects onto the screen. I can’t help but notice that everything looks out of date. It doesn’t have touchscreen capabilities, and he can’t change the size of the screen unless it’s synced to a different projector.
