appreciate the wall of glass once more. The thin follower was absent—again disappearing whilst I wasn’t looking. However, left plastered to the rain stricken side, was the torn page. I rushed to view it from inside. I stuck my face against the glass and stared—how had Dr. Prodere not seen this?
Printed in the familiar scribbly and uneven fashion was the following:
Subject has entered phase two. Subject still does not remember. ATTENTION: Upon nightly visitations and surveillance, watch team has reported previously described aggressive Link noted to be worsening. Chore for 002 must be—(undecipherable due to rain water streaks)
Although I had no idea if I was 002 in some way, as my instincts had been ensuring me for the past week, I still cringed. They must be watching me then…
I dashed to the other side of the wall, leaving the passage open, allowing water to venture indoors. I found the page easily. Before snatching it up, however, I paused for I could see small, un-streaked lettering on the unviewed side. This text, much clearer still, was encrypted unnervingly small. It read:
Run away, far away—far away. Now! Now!
My stomach lurched and then cramped. My already soaking body began crawling with chills. I ripped the paper from the window and went back in. The food was to grow cold for the food in my belly churned and foamed and soured— my appetite now invisible. I was lost in what was now my life’s horror.
________
After much searching, for any type of recording device—be it audio or visual—and with no prevail, I laid, uncomfortably, unnervingly, in bed. I knew if I couldn’t find sleep soon, I would be awake all night (all day by regular standard), so I tried, by the only means I knew how, to calm myself. I thought, and eventually dreamt, of Heather.
I first thought of our honey moon, then of the actually wedding day. Of the dates prior and that of the latter ones. I thought of our love making. And of our silly fights, none of which I can remember winning, from any angle or judgmental criteria. Slowly, ever so slowly, I felt my body give in to the kind memories and I slipped off into slumber, willingly.
And after some great lengths of dreaming time, I awoke, for what seemed no reason. No one was around me and I couldn’t remember hearing any sound. I sat up and swung my legs off the bed, glancing about the small closet bedroom as I did so. Nothing.
There was a light creeping from beneath the door. A hall light had been left on. I stared at it for a little and after patiently waiting a minute or two, I was rewarded. What looked like shadows of footsteps flashed by. And after waiting another minute, they returned and paused cautiously at my door. No knock or announcement of presence was given—only a small, folded piece of paper was slipped under the door.
I immediately stood and grabbed it. Then shuddered back—I had only received notes from one source. I glanced down, the shadowed form was gone. I, visibly shaking, unfolded the note. It was of my handwriting. A journal entry describing Heather and I’s wedding night—which I had not minutes prior been dreaming of. The journal which it had been torn from frantically had been left in the fire—next to the locked room where Heather had been found. She said she was going to be at work… I didn’t know.
This paper was supposed to be in a lock box at my bank… I sat on the edge of my bed reading the entry, teary eyed, dumbfounded. And after I had placed it with the other papers I had seemed to collect, I found sleep again. The confusion and sadness I was confronting could be decoded tomorrow.
The next day’s morning came, and besides an eeriness to the shower room, progressed near Envision’s “lunch time” as it normally would. I had one more route to walk then, as mysterious as always, my tasteless food would be delivered. I looked up at the color clock, a half inch was left before my forced lunch break begun, just enough time. I stood and turned to leave the room full of ignored monitors.
Whistling. I whipped my head around, nothing was behind me. I did a circular gaze at all the windows, nothing still—the whistling persisted. I dashed to the base of the wall of screens and rammed my full fist down on the button that activated the emergency surrounding lights. Got you this time! Instantly the whole perimeter was flooded with light. The security office was like a light house facing all four sides simultaneously, the inner bricks of the encompassing walls acting as the shores. The blinding force of the light sliced through the dense white mess that was the twirling fog. The rain even seemed to look reduced in the brightness. And all was empty, the wall, the lawns, the various building’s windows. All except the lonely spot on which the man stood—the thin, pale and everlastingly tall and drenched man. He had his right arm outstretched, the thread bare grey rags that clothed him hanging low, nearly touching the puddles below his arm.
All the hair on me grew stiff and reaching. He seemed to be pointing. I followed the imaginary arrow his skeleton finger grew and saw an archway that had a door under it built directly into the surrounding wall—a place I had never explored before. My eyes retraced their steps—he was gone again. I ran from the office, letting the door smack the interior wall from excess force and stay open.
I crossed the lawn surprisingly fast and reached the miniature archway at the base of the great wall just as the lights, being timed to ensure energy saving I guess, expired. The pitch blackness that was the lawn quickly gathered once more. The fog thickened and the rain hit harder. I gripped the cold wet handle of the door I stood before and yanked it open.
Inside was a long white, and strangely lit, corridor. At the far end was an exit door and about midway was the man. His eyes were in full view now and the old terror that had originally gripped my organs in its fleshy embrace returned with emaciating wretchedness. It was an awkward sight really, such an unordinary personage standing alone without any additional cloaks of mystery like darkness or fog. He just stood there, pointing on to his right, his grey robes taking on a darker hue when compared to the stark white walls of the long corridor. The entire effect was a bit jarring, but nevertheless, I advanced to him, each step symbolizing less realism I was willing to surrender to reveal the ghostly white, eyeball-less, man’s motives.
I reached him soon enough and bravely holding eye contact no longer, looked right in the guided direction. There was a false door carved into the wall, only a spider web thin line of darkness gave it out, not even a handle was apparent. The man was the closest to me he had ever been. The result was, imagined or not, a radiating stiff cloud of coldness hanging aloft about him. That cloud now engulfed me.
Then, as if a summons had called him or attention from his unrelentingly annoying disturbances was needed just now, Dr. Prodere’s voice rang loud and true in the hall. It echoed in the small tunnel and blasted past me.
“I have something for you.”
I looked back at the man—now gone obviously—and at where his unnoticed feet had been, was again, a piece of paper, folded in half as usual. I tottered forward onto it, enclosing it beneath my brandless sneaker and creating an unmovable hiding spot. The Doctor’s footsteps grew close, so I spun around on the one foot, keeping the note hidden still.
“Another gift from Envision? I do have to say, this new job sure is the whole package,” my heavy irony didn’t go unheard this time. The coldness of the creature had dissipated.
“Enough,” I saw his eyebrows rise from behind his glasses. He continued, “This is a pre-dated note pad.” He held it up—small and blue, “look, all we want you to do is describe odd things you have noticed or will notice while doing your patrols.”
I accepted the bound paper, “and if I don’t see anything?”
“Tell me again, why exactly are you in the one hall that leaves the complex? Chasing shadows? Or…” his pause went unfinished. His watched beeped and he shot a concerned eye at me. “Lunch time, mustn’t miss that. I’ll walk with you,” he turned. I pretended to fumble and drop the blue book. It slapped the ground louder than I had expected but I was still able to securely obtain the hidden note without Dr. Prodere’s wondering eyes. I stepped hurriedly
after him, slipping the folded paper into a pocket with the blue notepad.
Lunch that day was cream corn and clam chowder—and it all seemed like it was prepared with extreme measurement concerning taste—it was awful.
________
I finished that work day as normal, from fear of a lurking-behind-every-corner Dr. Prodere—I did not venture close to the archway that had led me to something finally worth my time. And after the day had ended, I retired to my room, uniform dripping from rain as usual, and unfolded the newest addition to my secret note collection.
The crowned finger!—crowned finger!
Confusing and unhelpful, I thought as I let the paper turn over in my hands. On the reverse side:
Subject subconsciously refusing phase three. Measures have been put in place to lower possible threat of Bonding. Although subject’s Transfer seems to be holding efficiently, Link seems to have become permanent. This complication doesn’t change the necessity of the chore. Plans, altered, will continue. If subject doesn’t (paper is torn here, destroying further reading)
I slowly slid the papers under my firm pillow. I found sleep sluggishly and uneasy that night.
The next day’s morning ticked