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On the roof, bent over, head throbbing, abdomen aching as if someone had slugged my mid-section repeatedly, with his final likeness seared into my memory. So confident. Below, beyond the wall, workers digging, preparing for another nameless victim of the times lowered for eternity.
Lost in my thoughts, when a soft voice breaks the moment. “Excuse me, Jessie?”
Returning, slowly turn to an unexpected sight. Focusing my attention on a young, petite woman standing nearby. Strawberry blond, worn but clean boots, jeans accentuating her figure with a holstered gun hanging low off her right hip, tucked in shirt, covered with a leather vest. Ours eyes met. Her’s showing no fear, neither friendly, nor apprehensive.
“Excuse me, Jessie, I believe. They sent me with a request. The Company wants to meet with you. Follow me please,” turning, she proceeds to the roof’s exit.
Returning to reality, looking for words, trying to make a coherent sentence, babble, “excuse me, the Company, me, why, where?” I must sound like an idiot.
“This way, please”, as she said softly, sauntered away knowing full well I would follow.
I have worked the mess hall a long time and would have surely remembered her still. Without another thought, I followed this stranger to… whatever she was selling.
Out the exit, down the ladder to the first floor, thorough the kitchen area, I followed. Head still spinning, quickly realize Ms. Bishop had replaced me.
Following behind, I ask her name.
“Not today, this way.”
Across the quad, she stopped at the main building, opened a door and directed me, “enter, turn left, turn right and have a seat.”
I did. Inside, dark, the air stale, body odor, I found a table, one chair, a curtain separating me from the other side where a voice directed me to sit. A plastic sheet covered the floor. This felt way too familiar. My weapon back in my cubical.
A voice, “Good morning Jesse, based on your, shall we say, employment history, your observable skill set, and creativity, reassigned to… our company support team, permanently.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Mr. Maddox has done an admirable job securing this facility, but on occasions there are special circumstances requiring a more robust solution. You were once a teacher, correct? Let me put this another way: situations arise where someone needs to be ‘erased’ and you will be… the ‘eraser’; A promotion with perks.”
The curtain opened. There she stood, maybe 5’ 5’’, blond, her eyes are green, her complexion youthful, still not smiling. She sits. Places a revolver on the table. Next to it, an egg timer.
The faceless voice returns, “You will have 180 seconds to make a life changing or ending decision. Unlike last night’s victim, you have some particulars to consider. Sit back and pay close attention.”
“Choice number one, you can stand, leave, and walk directly to the stable where your horse, saddle and saddle bag awaits, with all your earthy possessions. Get on your mount and leave and never, never return.”
“Choice number two, sit and wait while grains of sands exit the upper chamber of the egg timer, at which time she will without hesitation shoot you, for which she is being well compensated to do.”
“Choice number three, return to the kitchen, and wait. One day soon, you will receive a slip of paper with explicit directions to erase someone. For the ‘good’ of the community. At that moment in time, you will have 24-hours to complete the task.”
“Finally, choice number four, lead our newest Scout Team, going out weekly seeking and doing whatever it takes to beg, borrow, or steal, anything and everything of value for the betterment of our community and the Company. Scout Team membership is transient. Participants have a short tenure. To insure you understand, I repeat, you will remain the leader of this team until you are no longer able.”
“Addison, flip the egg time, please.”
“Wait,” I reply.
“This is a prank, right?” She picks up the weapon and aims. We make eye contact as she takes a deep breath, cocks her weapon, aims, as we both look at the timer.
The choices, now jumbled, I do my best to recall the options. Leave and enter society and chaos, survival, 50/50. Sit and wait for certain death. Would she really shoot? Become an assassin. Is she the eraser? Choice four. Leadership is not my thing, and it seems like a death sentence.
“Appears half the time is gone, maybe ninety seconds. Number two, an automatic.,” she notes.
My head still pounding, panic fogs my mind. I make eye contact and see no mercy, just commitment to complete her assignment, to erase me now with seconds remaining. In my mind’s eye, see my past flash and wonder which is my best option? A voice replaces my thoughts. “Thirty-seconds.”
“Twenty-seconds.”
“Ten-seconds.”
Fear wrapped in panic, I shout, “Number four!”
The egg timer empties as the last grains drop through. She stands, pushes her chair in. “good luck,” turns and exits the room. “My name is Addison.”
I remain seated, my eye moist, my heart rate lessens, breathing slows, while my head pounds. I close my eyes for the moment until I hear the voice.
“Return to the kitchen. Ms. Bishop is waiting for your return. In a couple of days, we will introduce you to your Scout Team, and your assigned task. You are the leader. You will find the ‘tasks’ loosely defined. We expect your creativity to be paramount to the team’s success. Success has its perks. Failure will prove problematic for all involved and continued failure will cause more complex and dangerous assignments.”
Alone. I fingered the timer, flipped it and made the first many poor choices. Standing up slipped the timer into my pocket and, as instructed, headed back to the kitchen. Stepping into light, eyes slowly adjusting noticed the mortuary team across the campus headed away, disappointed?
Ms. Bishop noted my return with a look. Perhaps concern as she nods her head as we prepared for lunch.
“My horse, I need to…”
“Already taken care of, your stuff returned to your space,” she announced.
Stepping to my side whispered, “They never prepped your horse or gathered your stuff. Bluff. Now get your ass moving.”
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