by Terry Persun
He rolled through more security reports until he found one near where the electrical reports had quit showing up. This time, it was a mechanical problem with one of the doors. No wonder it was hard to figure out how the boy got in.
Keith checked the time each occurrence was reported and felt that he could tell how fast the boy moved through the maze. What he didn't know was why the boy came into the complex at all. What purpose could he possibly have for hiding in an alcove?
Reading the reports more closely caused time to slow for Keith. Like a dream, time appeared to wait until he was ready for it to go forward. The differences between the times the reports were entered and the real time it was in his office began to shorten. Keith read and watched. He could imagine the boy with the bullet hole in his forehead as he moved through the maze of stairwells and hallways – how could he be among people and not be recognized? The entire process shifted his sense of reality until finally, and without expecting it, a fresh report came through for the door connected to the alcove that he had seen the boy sitting in just yesterday, and as soon as he recognized the location, he was buzzed.
Keith jumped.
“The reports are ready,” the new girl said.
“I…I…ah, okay. I'll be right out.” This time Keith flipped through a few more reports, glancing to be sure that they were standard service requests. He let the terminal stand at a waste receptacle problem somewhere across the complex. He got up and headed toward the front for the reports, knowing what he would find when he reached the stairwell.
He grabbed the folders without even looking at the new girl. “Thank you,” he said while pivoting on his heels and stepping through the front doors. In the hall he wondered what Carl would think if he really was checking Keith's work. After planning to check reports in groups, he had actually checked them in what might appear as a random pattern, as he followed the boy's progress. Would his work appear erratic? Would it garner suspicion?
Keith, just like the day before, shoved the metal door open and stepped into the stairwell. Letting the door close, he put his back against it and closed his eyes, waiting for his breathing to lengthen and relax. The boy would be waiting for him on the next level down. He had no doubts.
Keith stepped into the open. He headed toward the stairs and took them one at a time, one hand on the railing and the other holding the reports tightly under his arm. At the next landing, he looked into the alcove. This time, the boy was standing. He looked to be about ten years old, wearing clean, but rumpled, clothes, well worn but not yet tattered. His pants hung from his waist, a dark green color matched by the boy's shirt, like a uniform of some kind.
Keith kept his distance. “I know how you got in.”
“Have you ever wanted to leave here?” the boy whispered.
That was exactly what he said before. Keith closed his eyes and let the boy's voice sink in. He shook his head. “I don't think so,” he said.
“I do think so,” the boy whispered. He had a wee, small voice that was hardly audible.
Keith leaned toward him and opened his eyes. He bent down slightly. “What? How would you know what I want?”
The boy smiled. He turned toward the door and pried it open using his fingers instead of the handle. “We have to go now,” he said.
“I don't,” Keith said. “Wait. Just tell me what you're doing here?”
“You let me in,” the boy said. “You listened.”
Keith turned around to leave, then turned back.
By now the boy had the door open and held it that way, apparently with some effort. “Now. I won't come back,” he said in a tone that should not have been audible. Then his foot stepped out, into the darkness.
Keith dropped the reports and dived for the door, his fingers barely catching it before it closed. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know how he'd ever return. But he yanked on the door enough for him to slip through and follow the boy beyond the exit. He slid into a dimly lit area he hadn't known existed until recently.
His first thought was to wonder about Nellie. He had dropped the reports and had disappeared. There was no way he could return to his office if he followed the boy. They'd be waiting for him if he came back using the same route. How could he help Nellie find the way out if he couldn't return? He recalled her dark skin and her erratic nature. She would not like his decision any more than Carl, the police, the system.
The boy appeared to float as much as walk and advanced much faster than Keith would have thought possible. Before long, there was a ladder made of a black gnarled material that hurt Keith's hands as he descended.
He had to continue moving to keep up, but had time to notice that the farther along they got, the poorer the condition of the space. At one point, water dripped from the ceiling and along the walls, which were stained with a green-colored slime he had never seen before. A black sludge had settled in the corners.
He kept his hands close to his body, not wanting to touch anything. He didn't want to get his clothes dirty, either.
The narrow chasm twisted and turned. Keith could imagine the path through the reports he'd gone through that morning. They reentered the complex several times, and at one point Keith found that they were in the halls of a section he had never visited. Again, the condition of the section was dingy and run down. Even the people they passed in that section appeared to dress in grayer colors. And it was like being invisible. Neither he nor the boy was noticed. The people walked slower than what he expected, blank and drone-like. He followed the boy in and out of small groups of the walking dead without effect. Then, it was into another stairwell, through another exit door, and down another ladder.
Keith had to follow closely so as not to get left behind, which meant that he didn't have time to become concerned about how he felt. And when he saw a rat, his heart skipped a beat with fear, then returned to the task at hand, rushing through the next doorway, down the next passage.
As Keith became tired, the boy slowed, but only until Keith could catch his breath and speed up again. The emotional connection between them seemed to get stronger as they maneuvered through the complex. And the deeper they went, the more run-down and shabby the space became, the darker the areas they traveled through.
Keith had never been in the dark before, so when the overhead lights were out or so dirty that they hardly lighted the area, his nervousness increased. His eyes adjusted slowly. The boy became a dark shadow in front of him. He was happiest when they'd turn a corner and the ceiling lights would be bright.
After a while, he realized that he didn't know where they were. He had stopped following the reports in his head. There had been too many turns, too many trips up and down ladders. As he tried to think back, it occurred to him that the boy most likely took a different path on his return. Why not? That made sense.
Keith glanced at his watch. They had been traveling for over two hours. “Where are you taking me? How much farther are we going?”
The boy said nothing. He continued forward.
Keith reached out and grabbed the boy's shoulder and instantly regretted it. The boy felt frail and weak, cold to the touch. When turned, Keith saw that blood had run down the boy's face from the wound in his forehead, and had smeared.
The boy wiped a hand across his forehead and the blood stopped momentarily, then a bead began to form.
Keith snatched his hand away and stumbled backward. He caught himself before he fell by reaching out and letting his hand slide along one wall. The rough material hurt his grasping fingers, but he was able to stop from falling. He wiped his hand on his pants.
The boy turned back around and continued on, walking faster than they had been traveling.
Keith stepped into longer strides. He had begun to cry and wiped a hand across his face. He looked at the back of his hand, half expecting to see blood, but there were only tears. He couldn't remember the last time he cried. Had he ever?
They climbed down a long ladder, longer than any so far, as tho
ugh these floors were three times the height of the rest of the floors. During the descent, the odor changed. Keith recognized it as dirt, just like what he'd smelled at the flower shop. Was that the outside? It must be. He jumped down from the ladder and landed beside the boy.
They went through a doorway and into some sort of storage area where crates sat one on top of another, high into the air.
The boy crouched as he walked and Keith followed suit. They came to a door. The boy turned around, pointed, and spoke. “You first.”
Chapter 6
Keith stood in front of a heavy metal door, his face so close to the metal he could smell it; his hands perched chest high, ready to shove. He hesitated. He had only a moment to consider what he had done.
Before he could change his mind, he heard voices approaching from a few rows of crates over. He glanced over his shoulder at the boy.
The boy appeared nervous and leaned toward him. “Go.” It was an urgent whisper.
Keith shoved, but the door didn't move. He put his shoulder into it and there was a crunch and a squeak. The door opened a crack, barely large enough to squeeze through.
“Hey, what's that?” he heard one of the men yell. Then there were footsteps coming toward them.
The boy with the bullet hole in his forehead scurried through the opening. While doing so, he reached out and tugged on Keith's shirt.
Keith rolled across the door, through the gap, and let it close behind him. The area they stepped into was dimly lit, and Keith felt water hitting him from above. Ground water sloshed over his shoes as he followed the boy toward a group of crates.
Then the boy rushed beyond the crates into an area where machines had been parked.
Keith followed.
Before long, they ran down an alley and around a corner. Suddenly, Keith halted. The boy, as though he knew Keith's every move, slowed to a near stop without even looking around.
People wandered the streets in the rain. The sky stood over towering buildings. A slight glow pushed through clouds, but the rain was heavy. And there was noise. People yelled, cars splashed by, and other noises came from horns or buzzers. Keith had only seen cars and streets in movies. He knew only the horror of the outside world, which had obviously been toned down from what was really here.
He didn't know what to expect and froze in place. Nellie said that they'd take advantage of him. What did she mean by that?
The boy motioned for Keith to follow. When Keith wouldn't budge, the boy came back and took his hand.
Tears streamed down Keith's face, but no one would notice with all the rain. He felt his hair plastered across his head and water drip down his cheeks and the front of his face. As rain ran down his neck it entered his already soaked shirt. “I can't,” he said. “This is horrible. I'm afraid.”
The boy tugged for Keith to follow him, but Keith stood still until he saw a man rushing toward him. “Hey, buddy. Hold on a second.”
Keith's hesitation ended as the man got closer.
Keith followed the boy down the street and among the crowd of people. He made eye contact with no one. His head stayed angled down as he rushed along, watching only the boy as they scrambled through the streets, making turns and going through alleys. Finally, they came to a rusted and slightly bent door. The boy stopped and pointed. “Go inside. I'll be back.”
“No!” Keith yelled as the boy rushed away, but it was too late. The small figure disappeared into the crowd.
Keith waited and stared at the door. Should he knock? Yes, he decided, so he knocked. The rain pelted his back as he waited. He knocked again. Still nothing. The boy had said to go inside. Perhaps it was the boy's apartment. It would be all right to enter, then. The boy had said so.
Keith reached up and grabbed the handle and pulled on the door. It opened easily, despite its appearance. He stepped inside.
The walls had been painted a greenish-blue color. The furniture looked as though it had been dragged in from a variety of places. None of it matched the look of the rest of the room. The baseboard was orange; the lighting fixtures hung down from the ceiling or stuck out from the wall. The sofa was square, the chair rounded.
Alone, Keith realized how tired he was and sat in the stuffed chair, the cushion holding him in its soft embrace. He relaxed and let his eyes close. He wondered when the boy would return, if he would return. The strangeness of the room didn't stop him from leaning his head back to rest. He raised his arm to look at the time on his wrist terminal.
“You won't need that any longer,” a voice said from behind him.
Keith craned his neck to see who was talking. An old man approached from an open doorway that Keith had not noticed when he arrived.
“You can be followed, you know?” The man approached the side of the chair and reached to take Keith's hand. He slid a pair of scissors from his pocket and in one swift, smooth motion cut the terminal loose. He pulled it away, and held it before his face, studying the device briefly. Then he let it drop to the ground and crushed it under his boot.
“What are you doing?” Keith asked in a careful tone. He didn't want to upset the stranger.
“Come with me, young man.” The old man bent down enough to grasp Keith's forearm. “Let's get this done.”
“Who are you? Where are we going?” Keith protested with questions only. He stepped ahead of the man, knowing that he was going through the open door into another room.
The man's grip was firm, but not rough. He had a few days growth of beard on his cheeks and chin and hair growing from his ears. His bushy eyebrows twitched every now and then. His clothes were all white, even his boots. “I'm the doctor,” he said. The man pulled a towel from a hook beside the door and placed it onto Keith's shoulder. “You can dry off a little with this,” he said.
“I don't need a doctor,” Keith said. He rubbed the towel over his arms and head, then laid it across his shoulders, letting it hang over his chest.
“Nobody needs a doctor, but they all want one when there's something wrong.”
“There is nothing wrong with me,” Keith said.
The man stopped Keith in front of what looked like a dental chair. He removed the towel and set it on the floor. “Nothing that you know of,” he said. “Now, sit down.”
Keith obeyed.
“So, who are you?” the doctor said.
“Keith.”
“Keith who?”
“You mean my residence number?”
“Never mind. So, what do you do?” the doctor said as he moved a tray of instruments into place. He sat on a stool and slid it so close to Keith that his leg touched Keith's hip.
“You can't touch me unless I ask,” Keith said.
The doctor laughed. “Things are different out here, Keith. Very different.” He pulled a bucket next to the chair. “You may need this. So, what did you say you did?”
Keith was afraid of the man, yet didn't have the power to resist him. He thought of the boy with the bullet hole in his forehead, and how he was delivered here. There must be a reason. “I work in the Offices of Goods and Services,” Keith said.
The doctor reached out and rubbed his thumb over Keith's arm right where the chip was located. “Goods and Services,” he said absently. He swung the chair's armrest around and placed Keith's arm on the cold plastic. In one smooth movement the doctor slipped a strap across Keith's wrist and one around his elbow.
“Wait. I can't get loose.”
The doctor smiled again. “That's the idea. But you can lean over your arm if you need to vomit.”
“Vomit? No. You can't do this.”
The doctor picked up an instrument from the stand. It looked sharp—a blade, though not quite a scalpel. He also grabbed a device that looked like tiny pliers. He stopped and stared into Keith's eyes. “This will hurt, but then you'll feel a surge of energy like you've never felt before. If you close your eyes—and sometimes if you don't—you'll imagine all sorts of things, images will appear, feelings will rise and fall. You'll
get the sensation that you're spinning or falling. Some people vomit.” He pointed to the bucket. “Which is what that's for. But ultimately, when it's all over, you'll be fine. More than fine.”
And with the last word he bent down and said, “Hold still.”
Keith closed his eyes just as he saw the blade touch his skin. The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt before, but he couldn't keep his eyes closed. He had the strongest sensation that he needed to watch. He began to moan at first. He clenched his teeth.
