two office chairs with wheels. I rose from my seat and pushed the manual back to the center of the table. I would get my belt and torch, and then reappraise the situation as a whole before departing on my first route.
This was turning out to be the most interesting first day of a new job ever. If the pay wasn’t so good… and if Heather was still alive… I wouldn’t stay. But I really didn’t have anything to go home to; the fire had killed Heather and the baby. I mean, I couldn’t even wear the ring without shutting down.
Might as well follow this crazy train for a little, I thought.
________
The Envision Complex was basically a big rectangle with the center serving as a flower and tree garden. The security office was in the middle of the garden and with its 360 degrees of windows, let you see the entire inner complex. After I retrieved the belt and cheap flashlight, I started the first scheduled route—a simple perimeter walk through the main rectangular building. It was proving to be extraordinarily boring.
All the actually office rooms were locked and I had not been given any sort of key ring. I was pretty much a hall monitor at this point. Each side of the complex was constructed the exact same way, a thin hall with floor to ceiling windows facing the garden and offices on the other side. My “routes” were only loops through the inner hallway and sweeping balcony on the outer side.
The exterior of the Envision Complex was something to awe. Dense fog lay rolling on an enormous lawn. In the midst of the moist grass were various pillars and stand-alone arches. It seemed simple decorating, but under the cloaks of rain misted air and encroaching darkness, it became a foreboding scene. The only lights that granted sight were several widely spaced apart gothic style lamps—too often they were flickering. The building itself was built from large tan bricks. Although the color was as bureaucratic as could be, the majority of the complex had dark green moss growing on it. The entire thing felt cold and clammy to the touch, covered in either soft, spongy moss or collected water droplets.
Although it had the feeling of abandonment, the complex and subsequent grounds were astonishingly clean. I hadn’t seen one bit of trash or unwanted debris the whole walk to the far side. This side, matching all the others, had a fantastic archway in the middle. Neither above nor below the open air passage was spoiled by seemly unused office space. And although I was about to be misted with cold rain once more, it felt pleasurable.
Stepping forward, onto a long stretch of overgrown moss carpet, the rain pelted my face and uniform. It was refreshing, the corridors between the outlets were mostly dank and humid. I tilted my head back and let some of the water find my mouth. It trickled its way down my throat… Then there was a light whistle. Not like a dog fetching sound or even a sound that would have been easily heard without the deafening plopping of water on the bricks. It was quiet enough to be ignored at first, then, after the initial cognitive shock subsided, it came again.
This time I spun around quickly, checking first for the old man behind me—nothing. Odd and discomforting, I thought. I peered across the bridge, just an empty and awaiting hall. Troubling ponderings began brewing in my mind. Were they following me? I thought. Maybe keeping an eye on me for a few days to make sure I don’t screw around too much. Heather would have probably agreed with the latter thought; she had always called me goofball.
I rushed the rest of the route, there was not much to see anyways, just fog clouds cascading over empty archways and the occasional ring of pillars in the far off lawn, also surrounded and encompassed by thick white air.
It felt as though the only thing chasing the mist away was the dim light of the complex itself. Like the light broke it up and left nothing there to view. I began to feel sympathy for the milky air. Such a complicated emotion for puffs of loose white, I thought.
I made it back to the security office before the dreaded blue hand landed on the red square. I laughed softly as I regarded the clock-like device. It was mounted on the wall sufficiently—I discovered after a few pries. It did bother me however, that Envision had made lunch sound almost forced. I retraced my steps to my seat and sat. There was a meal before me, laid out neatly on the table. A square cut of beef or pork—too covered in “sauce” to deduce, a piece of bread, assorted vegetables and a cup of some type of juice. I ate.
Leaning back away from the empty plate, I slid my hands over my scalp again. My head was a little chilly compared to pre Envision memories…. Memories with Heather. The thought of her made my remaining tensions and unresolved apprehensions about my new occupation subside. Looks like we finally found a job I’m good at, I smiled—in my mind Heather smiled back. I looked up at the time piece on the wall, the hand still sat about even between the colors, my allotted time was half spent. I breathed softly in and laid my head down into my arms, accepting the approaching fatigue that shifted biological clocks resist. I’ll just be out for a few minutes.
“Look!” a joyful woman sounded.
“I see it!” I hollered back.
“Isn’t it just breath taking? So much beauty…” her eyes held tears—a smile breaking free below them.
I climbed the warm, sandy hill in front of me, it wasn’t large and I found the crest easily. Looking down at my wife, her lying on her back watching the sun set forming over the ocean. “You’re the beauty Heather…”
She turned her head to me and showed me her toothy smile, the sand reflected under her, “Randle… come over here.” She arched her back and let her pretty hair flow behind her.
We made love on that beach—the sunset raining down on us and the breeze from the sea cooling our naked skin.
I saw the image of rain. Water falling to a death of splashes. Pecking at the windows with their little round liquid heads. A second image fluttered closer. An undistinguishable round-ovalic face. Eyes deep sodden inwards, hair absent and a formless body. The falling droplets clouded the view, hazy fog enhancing their validity. The entire thing seemed to twitch back and forth, to and fro in the weather—darkness surrounding it and telling my senses confusing tales.
What seemed like a head then loomed forward, a translucent body trailing. The head paused at the surface of the glass. My jaw clinched as I began deciphering my emotions concerning Dr. Prodere’s figure at my forefront. But was it really him? Could the mundane nature of the forecasted and concentrated downfall of water have blurred my reality to something more inline with the supernatural? Perspiration dampened my uniform and I felt myself, pushed by naïve curiosity I suppose, leaning forward. My head was pressed to the cold glass—yet it did not create condensation on the inner side, it strangely stayed clear.
The ghostly face of Dr. Prodere tilted left, paused, then tilted the opposite as though to examine me fully. Straightening, it mirrored my position, matching my head’s posture on the still chilly glass. Mere millimeters detached our two heads between the glass. I wished somberly to tear free from the endless stare into the pitifully dark and dreary, fleshless eyes of the man—of the head. Then, from horror completely unexplainable, it roared a deaf roar. Its slit of a mouth, unnoticed until this moment, parted wide with haste and appeared to give an unheard scream that shook the very glass our skulls had been using as prop stands. That roar, unseen by mine eyes, blew my courage clear back down my throat and into my lungs. Gasping for clarity of thought I staggered back and tripped. I hit the ground quietly and my body filled with pain.
Waking with a start I glanced about the room, my station of security, and accidental resting location, was lacked of human interface. I was alone. I breathed out slowly and sat erect in my seat. Although my lunch plate was now missing from the table, a simple piece of paper lay in its stead. It looked like it had been torn from a small note book of sorts, maybe from a journal. Light paper and roughly frayed nearly entirely. Eyeing it and leaning forward slightly, I read—from the unevenly and roughly scribbled lines—,
Subject has entered phase one. Nonregrettable. Does Not remember. Chore will continue as discussed and planned.
Although this was undeniable evidence to cause unrest and investigation, I sat still, rereading the last sentence, pondering the meaning. I shook my head and adjusted my position on the cheap seat. Internally, I couldn’t tell if my uneasiness was equivalent to the “letter’s meaning” or if the undoubtedly oriental construction below me was finally amassing to simple junk thrown together. Settling for no clear answer concerning my current emotions I stood and kicked the chair over. It teetered and fell backwards—still no resolve.
The paper lay there, unassumingly causing quiet terror. But after momentary hesitation I picked it and held it close to my face, peering once again at the inscribed messages, most likely not meant for my peering. Before folding and stuffing it into my side pocket, I flipped it over in my hand loosely, as one does immediately after receiving a business card—like we always find a surprise back there. This time, however, I did. In very clear lettering and perfectly centered in the page’s middle was:
They
Sickeningly Human: Advena Page 2