Writing On The Walls 1 Read online

  She wasn’t sure if he was trying to speak to her or was telling her to get out of the way. Finally she realized he was trying to tell her what his name was.

  “I’m Matt!”

  “Mark?!”

  “No, Matt!”

  “Brent?!”

  “Matt!”

  “Oh! Matt!”

  “Yeah,” he smiled at her. She noticed that his friends were trying to talk to her friends with the same amount of luck.

  “I’m Lauren!”

  “Maureen?!”

  “No, Lauren!”

  “Oh! Lauren!”

  “Yes!”

  She looked at him then in the dim light. He had short dark hair, and wore a light colored dress shirt open at the collar. She could see the top of his t-shirt underneath. He was of average height and build, and, in fact, really had no features that distinguished him from any of the other people in this bar who possessed a Y chromosome. He started to say something else to her.

  She did her best to converse back, but found that the energy it took to keep speaking was making her tired. She was starting to get a headache.

  She looked around at her friends who alternated between leaning in close to their conversation partner and then yelling in his ear. She noticed that they had almost finished their drinks.

  She stopped trying to understand what Matt was saying to her, and he seemed to immediately like her better for this. She smiled and said, “yeah” when appropriate and was glad that she was reserving her energy.

  Finally, the moment she had been waiting for arrived.

  “Ready to leave?” one of her friends yelled at her. She didn’t even respond, just jumped up and put her empty bottle down on the nearest flat surface.

  Matt called something out to her, which might have been a request for her phone number, but she didn’t hear and she didn’t care. She waved at him as she headed toward the exit.

  The cool air hit her face and immediately the fire that was blazing inside of her head subsided and she felt good again.

  She looked behind her and saw her friends filing out of the bar.

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “Want to go to that place down the street?” one of them responded.

  They all started walking. She liked it much better out here with the lights, and the people walking about and the fresh air. Suddenly, they all stopped at once.

  In front of them, parked along the curb, was a food truck.

  This was not their destination and dinner hadn’t been that long ago, but her heart begged her to stop and order something delicious and portable. How could she say no to something so clearly put in front of her for a reason?

  She looked at her friends and didn’t have to say a word. They got into the line.

  A patron who had already been served, swayed toward the women with his purchase in his hands, weaving his way through the people still waiting in line, trying to move away from the truck and continue on his way.

  “After dinner dining,” he said, raising the sandwich he held while smiling at them with a mouth full of bread and meat.

  COULD A ROBOT BE USING YOUR COMPUTER?

  She sat at her laptop, not realizing that at some point she had started to hunch over a bit. Her arms were outstretched toward the keyboard while her fingers danced over the keys, keeping time to the thoughts in her head.

  Her eyes were tired, they had been for a while, but she wouldn’t notice until she finally closed the top and went to bed. Then she would know.

  The computer dinged at her again, indicating a message, and she immediately went to check it. Typing out a response as soon as she saw what had been written.

  She really should have gone to bed a couple of hours ago when she started to feel tired. But, she had sat down just to see what was going on online and here she was still. Doing nothing, but convinced she was doing something. She knew she wouldn’t feel great when she got up for work in the morning, but right now her mind was stimulated and she enjoyed the feeling of being engaged with something.

  Suddenly, she didn’t know what to do anymore. The messages had stopped. She had checked her favorite websites and couldn’t think of anymore random things to search for. She dreaded this time every night.

  She sat for another minute while it sunk in. There was nothing left to do but go to bed.

  She closed her laptop and the light it provided faded away, leaving her in the dark of the spare bedroom she used for an office. The window was open and she heard the insects outside, buzzing and chirping.

  Down the hall, her bedroom was also dark. And, she knew, a mess. Walking through the door, she carefully walked where she knew there was open floor, until she got to the lamp. The dim light illuminated just a portion of the room, leaving the rest full of shadows.

  She didn’t need to pull back the sheets. They were rolled and balled up somewhere in the middle of the bed. She lay down on the mattress and pulled the blankets around her, finding no comfort in the feel of them against her skin.

  Then she remembered.

  She jumped up out of bed and walked back to the office to grab her phone, which she had left on the desk. When she got back to her bedroom, she placed it next to her on the nightstand. Just in case someone needed to get in touch with her during the night. For emergencies, of course.

  There she lay. Eyes closed, but fully awake. She opened them for a moment and allowed them to soak in the blackness around her, which felt good after the hours in front of the computer. There was still light in the room, from the moon outside her window, from her alarm clock.

  Her phone beeped. She grabbed it and held it to her face reading the message that had just arrived.

  The email was from someone she didn’t know and contained an advertisement written in poor English. For some reason it had escaped her spam filter. And for some reason she read it anyway.

  She never got past the first line.

  “Could a robot be using your computer?”

  She put the phone down and closed her eyes again.

  I THOUGHT THAT WAS YOU

  The woman in the black dress picked her way through the cluttered apartment. Winding through a random assortment of items, she placed her feet carefully, making sure the high, skinny heel of her shoe landed on the hardwood floor and not on a dirty dish or an article of clothing.

  It was dark in the apartment. The blinds, however, were open, letting in the lights of the street far below. She liked being up high. She could look out of the window and see into the night, and not have to worry that others could see her.

  She walked into the tiny kitchen and found what she thought was a clean glass. She picked up the bottle that made its home on the counter and enjoyed the feel of it in her hands. Cool and heavy. The caramel liquid filled the lower quarter of the glass, and Vicki took a sip, tasting the sweet, astringent liquid.

  He wasn't home yet, but she knew he would be soon. He had probably been disappointed when he realized that she had already left. But she had come straight here after stopping by her own house, knowing that he kept a key hidden outside of his door. She wasn't sure if he knew that she knew that. But, he wouldn't care when he found her inside his apartment.

  Vicki finished her drink and left the glass on the counter, a lipstick smear clearly visible on it. She sat down on the couch and waited.

  When she heard the key in the front door, she turned her gaze toward it but stayed where she was. She sat in a part of the room that the small bit of light didn't reach. He wouldn't see her when he walked in.

  The door opened, letting in a triangle of light from the hallway. He carried his jacket over his arm, and as he entered his apartment, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar.

  He went straight for the kitchen, toward the bottle that had already been held once that night. As he picked up the glass with the lipstick mark, he held it at eye level for a moment and then looked straight toward the darkest part of the room.

  "Vicki? Is that you?"
<
br />   "Yes, George, it's me."

  She rose from the sofa like a snake uncoiling itself. George couldn't see her well, but he could hear the distinct sound of her heels on the floor. She stopped next to the window, so that the light from outside threw itself around her frame.

  "I thought you had gone home."

  "No. Not for the night anyways. How was the rest of the evening?"

  "Like they always are. A little boring, a little stuffy and everyone starts to go home when the bar closes." He paused. "I didn't see Mr. Banks before I left."

  "That's because Mr. Banks is already in bed, sleeping off the hospitality of our hosts."

  "You saw him home?"

  "I did. And then I came here." She turned to look out the window. "He still speaks very highly of you."

  "That's good to hear. He's a good man to work for."

  "Yes, I would imagine that he is an excellent employer." She turned to look at him.

  George walked toward her, pulling his tie the rest of the way off and throwing it over a chair. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her body toward his so that there was no space between them.

  "I guess I'm not a very good employee," George said.

  "No, you're not," she said as she reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

  "Hold that thought," George said as he released himself from her and sat down in the plain wooden chair that went with the small desk in the corner of the living room. "I want to show you something."

  She walked toward him and didn't resist when he pulled her down onto his lap to take a seat. George then pulled a sheet of paper from the typewriter and handed it to her, a smile on his face.

  "I wrote it yesterday," he said, looking up at her.

  She held the page and read the typed words about a man who lived in a small, dingy apartment who was visited at night by a strange woman. The man wasn't sure if the woman was real or just an apparition. At the very top of the page was the title.

  "I thought that was you," Vicki read it out loud.

  "Do you like it?" he asked, anticipating her reaction.

  She smiled before she said anything. "I love it." He beamed back up at her. "But, I do have to ask you one thing. The woman - is she real or is she just in his mind?"

  He looked directly at her and his face became serious. "I'm not sure yet," George said before leaning up to kiss her. "Let's go to bed," he finished.

  Vicki got up from his lap and handed back the sheet of paper that contained the beginning of his story. George laid it back on the desk and began walking toward the bedroom. She stood watching for a moment.

  "You coming?" George asked standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

  "In just a minute, I'm going to get a drink first."

  Satisfied with her response, he continued into the bedroom. She saw the light flick on and then the door close.

  Vicki walked toward the kitchen and grabbed the glass she had used earlier that night, but instead of pouring more liquid into it she pulled off the ring that she wore on her left hand and placed it into the glass, feeling satisfied by the clinking noise that it made. She looked, for a moment, at the glass with the lipstick stain that now also held her wedding ring, and walked through the dark apartment toward the bedroom.

  CUT

  As consciousness returned to him, he heard the sound of water dripping from a high place onto the floor somewhere near him. The air smelled damp, but not musty. He couldn’t immediately place where he was.

  He opened his eyes and saw nothing. It was pitch black. He waited for his eyes to adjust, to let in whatever bit of light might be present, but still nothing happened.

  The man stood up cautiously and put his hands in front of him. He could feel stone, hard and rough, and soon ascertained that he was standing in front of a wall.

  He didn’t know how he had gotten here, and as it became clear that there was no light for him to see by, he became frightened.

  The initial fear only lasted several seconds before anger took over. He pounded on the wall in front of him and yelled out into the blackness, but heard nothing back except the echoes of his own voice.

  I need light.

  Suddenly, the dark was interrupted by the glow of fire. On the wall in front of him and to his left now hung a torch, its flame dancing to a silent rhythm.

  The man reached for it and grabbed its handle assuredly, feeling much more confident now that he could see.

  He looked around and found that he was in a narrow corridor that seemed to have no end in either direction. He saw the dripping water he heard when he first woke up and looked down at the small pool it formed on the floor.

  Which way do I go?

  Suddenly, he heard scurrying along the floor and he looked down in time to see a rat run by him to his left, climbing over his shoe as it passed. It was only a moment before the rat was out of sight and the scurrying had stopped. He began walking down the corridor to his left.

  His anger swelled. He thought that someone must have put him in this place and he was determined to find out who it was.

  Who put me here?

  He continued walking, his powerful legs keeping up a fast pace trying to race the stone walls to the end of the corridor. Although initially it looked as if the hallway stretched on to infinity, he had finally reached a door.

  Before he could put his hand on the knob, the door opened and out stepped another man.

  “Hello, John,” the man said.

  He looked very young, almost like a teenager, but his voice and mannerisms gave him away as older, maybe much older. His body was slender, almost effeminate, and his hair hung boyishly over his forehead. A strange charisma permeated his presence, and his eyes and smile radiated power.

  John thought he could easily fight him, if this was indeed his captor. But something was confusing him.

  “Who are you?” John asked.

  The slender man sighed before answering.

  “Let’s just say that this is my home and you are my guest.”

  “I didn’t ask to come here,” John said, puffing himself up so that he practically filled the whole corridor.

  “We don’t always ask with words, John,” the slender man said.

  “Move. I’m going through that door,” John said.

  “You can only exit through this door if you pass the test.”

  John didn’t say anything else. He proceeded forward to push the slender man out of the way, but found himself thrown backward onto the hard stone floor.

  The slender man had not moved, and yet it felt like he had pushed him. Despite his frail appearance, John had never felt power like that before and was confused as to why he hadn’t seen his arms move.

  “I can’t let you pass, John.”

  The immediate shock of being blocked passage by the slender man had temporarily dissipated his anger, but now as he felt it return, his rage grew and his determination to reach the door was stronger than ever.

  I need a weapon.

  Something caught his eye. The light from his torch was reflecting off of something lying on the ground. He looked closer and realized that lying to his right on the floor was a knife. Triumph coursed through his body as he grabbed it, brandishing it in front of the slender man.

  For just a second, before he brought the blade of the knife toward the soft flesh of the man in front of him, he swore he saw pity cross the slender man’s face. His rage erupted.

  He stuck the knife first into the man’s chest, feeling vindicated as he did so, then proceeded to stab the man repeatedly as his desperation to reach the door increased.

  But something was wrong. The slender man didn’t bleed. He stabbed harder and deeper, but no blood spread across his fine clothes.

  John suddenly felt very warm and as he looked down to examine his own body, he saw nothing but red, sticky liquid dripping down the length of his entire powerful frame. Instead of stopping his assault on the slender man, he attacked him with a viciou
sness that he had never felt before in his life.

  ***

  John’s lifeless body lay sprawled on the damp stone floor. The red pool surrounding him increased incrementally, but the life that currently flowed out of him had already been lost.

  The slender man ran his fingers through his hair before bending down and putting a hand on John’s back. He was still warm.

  “You failed, John.”

  The slender man stood back up, opened the door and exited.

  OBSERVATION ROOM

  The woman at the table put her cigarette out in the ashtray to her left and immediately lit another one.

  She wore sunglasses even though she was indoors and even though this room had only the dimmest light source.

  She scribbled notes on the pad in front of her in between drags, but didn’t look too concerned about what it was she was writing. Finally her pen stopped and she allowed it to fall across the pad, like the sword of a fallen warrior. She looked at the screens in front of her as she smoked and waited for images to appear.

  Suddenly, pictures flashed across each screen and where she was once sluggish, she now became attentive.

  The figures on each screen had a task to complete. Six figures on each of six screens. She didn’t have hope that they’d be able to do it. They never had before.

  As always, they began enthusiastically with a clear leader stepping to the forefront, giving directions and talking just a bit too loudly. She watched as the groups dove into their tasks, each individual beginning to play a role. Their minds and hands working feverishly.

  She already knew the point where it would break down.

  They would reach the point where it seemed that they would get the result they wanted, the result they expected, and then when they were about to put the finishing touches on it something wouldn’t be right. Not everything would fit together appropriately.

  She didn’t know if it was failing the task that upset them so greatly, or if it was the fact that what happened had been unexpected. Whatever it was, at this point, the group began to fall apart. The members would become angry at the leader and then the leader would defend himself or herself. And then someone else would suggest a new person as the leader and that person would rise to the occasion and begin a new plan. But at that point, the task would become too confusing. The previous steps that they had taken had led them in the wrong direction and trying to find the path again was hard. They would have to back track. And they never wanted to do that.