by Julie Hyzy
At the counter, Al grabbed the terry cloth towel he’d left there. He took a moment to stare at the cowboy on the horse. Took a moment to think about Laura. Heard her voice chastising him, like it had been yesterday. Yeah, sometimes he felt like he needed two heads.
As the big door opened and closed behind him, he remembered Laura’s words— “You never know what’s real.”
And for a split-second, he wondered.
“Hey,” he called, turning.
But by then, she was gone.
Dissident
Six seconds before Jack’s death, Claire changed her mind.
She would never know what made her stop. Why watching the fifty-four prior seconds count down on the monitor in front of her had made a difference. But it had. As the blue digital number changed from seven to six, her hand flew, without conscious thought, to the control panel’s red failsafe button. The just-in-case button that no one ever used.
Till now.
The computer acknowledged the command with a chirp.
There’d be hell to pay, she thought. And then she sat down, because her legs didn’t seem to be working at the moment. Propping her elbows on the chilly metal console, she covered her face with her hands, and massaged her eyes, trying to block out the mournful violin music Jack had chosen for his release to Pardemain.
Her mind calculated all the possible scenarios that might pass the Council’s scrutiny, realizing, as she did, that she’d been ready all along. Playing ‘what if’ games with herself, she’d been preparing for this moment. Still, she wondered, could she pull it off?
She had to.
“Claire?” Jack asked.
That’s how the problem had started two weeks ago. He’d asked her name. And, like a fool, she’d told him.
She turned.
“Claire… What happened?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. How to explain?
Instead, she returned to the controls and watched the room respond to her crisp commands. Fitted with holographic projectors, the small area could be fashioned to be anything from a cozy family room to a shuttle hangar.
At her touch, it changed from a sunny artist’s studio – complete with colorful canvases and wet pigment smells – into its silent, silver-walled existence. Although patients were securely strapped to the Freedom Bed when they came here, they were allowed to choose their ambient surroundings to give them a sense of peace. To help them in their passage from this mortal life to Pardemain.
From the beginning Jack’s case had been different. He’d been assigned to Claire’s queue two weeks before today. That was unheard of. Because of the nature of the job, interaction with the patients was kept to a minimum. The worst Claire could remember was that of an elderly woman, who’d broken her hip and whose pain was so intense despite repeated attempts with painkillers, that the required two days she’d spent in the holding area seemed much longer.
Jack’s case was unique. Claire couldn’t find his paperwork, no matter how many inquiries she’d made on his behalf, so she was forced to hold off his release until a file could be created. This, unfortunately, took time.
Fitted with a neck device that would incapacitate him if he tried to leave the compound, Jack followed Claire each morning as she made her rounds to meet with each patient regarding their choices for atmosphere and ambiance. She usually had only two or three patients per day, but there had been busy times when she’d been required to juggle the preferences of five and once she’d even worked overtime to finish eight.
Since the goal was to make their last days as peaceful as possible, patients were given a great deal of latitude. Each patient had his or her own room for the duration of their stay, outfitted with all the latest gadgetry and entertainment devices. A plethora of Enlightenment options were always available, in case some soul chose peace by embracing The Right. Those patients however, were few and far between. Generally the majority were elderly folks, eager to escape the boundaries of mortal life. True believers, most. But some were simply people in pain—whether from physical challenges or just from the despair of life—who’d decided to free their souls.
When Jack arrived, Claire had originally mistaken him for a new technician. Mid-thirties, he was just a little older than she was. He had short dark brown hair, combed back from his forehead. Freckles sprinkled across his nose and he had a mustache that matched his hair except for a couple of stray strands of gray. And he’d smiled. A large, winsome smile that showed his perfectly straight teeth looking all the whiter in comparison to his dark mustache. Brown eyes, warm and friendly, sparkled at her when he came in, extended his hand, and said “Hi.”
She’d reached forward, smiling, to shake his hand, something that should have alerted her from the start. Very few people greeted each other that way anymore. It wasn’t forbidden, nothing like that, just not stressed in social situations. Still, it was considered bad form to refuse. “Hi,” she said.
His hand was warm, “I’m Jack,” he said, showing that perfect smile again. “What’s your name?”
“Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Claire,” she said.
Just then the orderly, Hank, lumbered in, heaving an audible sigh, “There you are.”
Claire looked from Hank to Jack, and back again.
“You’re a patient?”
“Is that what you call us?” Jack asked. He continued to smile, but Claire noticed that his eyes were like fire, “I’m here to be silenced,” he said. “Killed. That is what you do here, isn’t it?”
Hank nudged him. “Come on, leave her alone. She’s good at what she does.”
“I’ll bet.”
Hank didn’t have Jack’s paperwork, claiming that the issuing office had assured him that they’d sent it on to Claire’s department. But Claire had never seen it. After two days chasing down leads, while still maintaining order with the patients in the queue, Claire made what she’d later consider a tactical error. She visited Jack.
Claire wasn’t convinced that recreating a file based on a patient’s input was the best idea she’d ever come up with, but she wanted something to work from. If she could glean even a little information, perhaps she’d be able to track down his file, or at a minimum, know where to direct the minions in the head office to look.
Placing her hand over the entry mechanism near his door, the computer voice acknowledged her identity.
“Entry Granted,” the clipped voice announced.
Jack looked up as she entered. Using her perfected business-like comfort smile, she walked into the room, noticing as she did, that he’d decorated the place.
Patients were allowed to bring anything they wanted. This was supposed to be a time of joy for them and there was no limit to the paraphernalia they were entitled to bring. Immediately after they vacated their rooms for their procedure, a sanitation crew came in to clear out whatever hodge-podge knick-knacks were left behind. All vestiges of the patient’s stay there were summarily destroyed. Two years ago, one of the techs had suggested packaging and sending the leftover items to the patients’ families. The council hadn’t liked that idea at all, Claire remembered. After extensive questioning, that tech had been dismissed.
There were drawings covering all over Jack’s walls. Each drawing was tacked with a single tiny nail-like device, at the center of the top of each of the multi-colored paper, causing the upper corners of each to curl in on themselves.
Paper. No one used that anymore. So unsanitary, so old-fashioned. She stared at them, allowing her eyes to roam the walls, taking them in, one after another, in quick succession. Most of the drawings were of parts. Hands, eyes, and mouths. There were animals, too. Frogs, cats, falcons, and snakes. Well-rendered, all of them, in vibrant colors. She moved closer to a drawing of a tree frog—its blue-scaled legs in stark contrast to its orange body. Sitting on a variegated green leaf. A deft hand had created these; they were not generated by computer.
“Did you draw these?” Claire asked.
�
�Did you ever think to knock?”
Claire, dumbfounded, looked at him for the first time since she entered the room. She opened her mouth, “No, I…” she said, as her eyebrows came together in concentration, “…I didn’t. Why should I?”
Jack eased off his bed, dropping his bare feet to the floor. He was taller than she’d remembered. Faded blue jeans and a snug gray T-shirt showed off his broad shoulders and trim waist. Powerful was the first thought that came to Claire’s mind, and she took a small step back as he moved forward.
“Privacy,” he said, advancing toward her. “I’m still allowed some measure of that, aren’t I?”
Squaring her shoulders, she looked up at him. “Most of my patients can’t get out of bed by themselves. I didn’t think. Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, remember next time, okay?”
“If we get everything squared away today, I won’t need a next time.” Claire smiled.
“What do we need to get ‘squared away’?”
“I need to interview you, to recreate your file, which has, unfortunately, disappeared. Once we have all your information, you’ll be on your way.”
“So, the sooner I cooperate with you, the sooner I get to die.”
Claire sighed and gave a tight smile. This guy was going to be difficult. Before she could answer, he asked, “What’s in it for me?”
“You get to go to Pardemain. Your soul will be at peace,” she said, unruffled.
“If it’s so great, why don’t you go first?”
“My work here isn’t finished. Yours is.”
Jack gave a short laugh and turned away from her. He sat on the bed again and picked up the controls for the monitor above. She glanced up.
“Chess?”
“Yes. You know the game?”
“Sure. But who are you playing against?”
“Myself.”
“Isn’t that rather pointless?”
She waited as he scanned the screen and input a few commands. Shimmering chess pieces moved in response. A large light flickered above.
“Ack!” he said, “Lost a knight.”
“This is stupid,” Claire said. “You’re playing both sides.”
“So?”
“So, you have to know ahead of time which side is going to win,” she explained. “How can this be worth your time, if you know from the start how it’s going to end?”
“But I don’t,” he said, examining the game board. He looked up at her then, and for a moment his hard eyes softened. “That’s the beauty of it; I wait till the very end. I think about the game as a whole. Then I decide.”
Uncharacteristically disturbed, Claire shook her head. Back to business. “Well, sir, I have some questions for you.”
“What’s my name?”
“Excuse me?”
“My name. I introduced myself, remember? Why don’t you call me by name?”
“We don’t use names here, sir.”
“Why not, Claire?”
She rubbed her eyes. “I’ll come back another time. When you’re feeling better.”
Jack grinned. “Don’t forget to knock.”
Claire held the woman’s hand. What was it with people touching her lately? Hank and another orderly brought her in moments ago. With her usual dispatch, Claire had begun the procedure by pulling the questionnaire out of the file.
The woman was forty-seven years old, in apparent good health, and had two children, both married with kids of their own. She’d never been married herself and she admitted that her kids had had two different fathers. Both kids and their families were fully Enlightened. They’d realized that Grandma, who hadn’t accepted the new order, would be a disruptive influence on their children and they’d volunteered this woman for the procedure.
Once the paperwork had been reviewed by the council, guardians had been sent to her home to bring her here. An unwilling participant. Which meant that this woman’s questionnaire was the more probing, more rare kind than the one Claire usually administered. The vast majority of Claire’s patients were older folks, fed up with the business of living and whose quality of life had been severely diminished. Some came willingly, some not. Questions before the injection were simple. Are you in pain? Do you have any words to leave for your progeny? Is there anyone we need to notify? Where do you prefer your remains to be scattered?
Every so often, an able-bodied patient showed up on Claire’s list. Like Jack. Like this woman. The questions went deeper. Claire pulled out the form and hoped for the best. If she could convert one, it would do wonderful things for her career. So far, she’d been unsuccessful in converting anyone, even though these people seemed to value their mortal lives. Knowing that their life in Pardemain would be so much better, however, kept Claire content with her position. If she could convert, just one, once, maybe she’d move up to the position of administrator.
Claire touched the small handheld pad and smiled at her patient.
“You know why you’re here?”
“Yes,” the woman answered. Her eyes flicked from side to side, toward the silken straps that held her wrists, then over the control table, finally settling on the silver ceiling. She bit her lower lip and looked at Claire.
“You’ve chosen not to join The Right.” It was a statement more than a question Claire thought, disappointed in herself as the words shot from her mouth. Maybe that was her problem. Maybe she needed to take a more considerate approach.
“Yes.” The woman seemed to want to say more, but she looked like she was concentrating on keeping her lip from trembling.
Paraphrasing the next question on the list, Claire tried a more conversational tone, “But do you really understand what you’re missing?”
“What I’m missing?”
Claire took this as encouragement. “It says here that your family is Enlightened. They’re happy, aren’t they? When you’re with them, don’t you see how the cause has improved their lives? Why wouldn’t you want that same happiness for yourself?”
“Happiness?” the woman said, with an unpleasant laugh, “At what cost?”
“Cost?” Claire asked. “There’s never a cost. That’s the beauty of the Enlightenment.”
The woman’s eyes bore into Claire’s. They were an unusual shade of blue, with a hint of green that reminded her of Jack’s tree frog picture. “‘They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.’”
Claire shook her head, confused.
The woman sighed, and looked away. “I didn’t expect you to understand. A man by the name of Benjamin Franklin said that, in 1759.”
Claire gasped. While she’d never heard of this Franklin fellow, she understood in that moment, this woman could never be converted. She’d referred to history based on the old calendar system. The one based on some prophet’s birth date. An arbitrary thing, not only inaccurate, but completely against the teachings of The Right. No one used that system anymore. Heresy.
“Well then,” Claire said, turning her back to the woman as she negotiated the controls, “let’s get you settled here.”
Moments later, ready to go, Claire checked the woman to make sure she was comfortable. Claire took extra care with her preparations. One mistake could ruin a person’s release to freedom. If a technician botched a procedure, or if the equipment failed, it was considered a message from the Divine Entity and the patient was sent to an internment camp for instruction. Claire had never lost a patient yet. She was very careful. With everything in place, Claire smiled at the woman before she hit the control to send the final minute into countdown.
“Miss?”
Claire looked up.
“Could you hold my hand?” Trembling from head to toe, the woman stared up at her. Here blue-green eyes searched Claire’s with an intensity Claire didn’t understand.
“Hold your hand?” she asked, glancing up at the monitor. Forty-eight seconds to go.
“Please. I’m so alone.” The woman squeezed
her eyes shut before continuing, “I’m afraid.”
Forty-one seconds.
Claire winced as their hands met. Cold, with a sheen of perspiration that made it clammy and unpleasant, the woman’s hand grasped hard, digging her nails into the back of Claire’s hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered. And they watched the numbers count down together.
Claire stopped, her hand frozen above the entry pad to Jack’s room. She looked at it, as though she expected the five fingers to decide amongst themselves whether to press the pad or to knock. She pursed her lips and raised her hand to the door, poised to knock, and stopped again as Jack’s voice called out to her.
“You can come in, Claire, it’s open.”
She was immediately angry at herself for her indecisiveness and she pushed open the door with a huff. “Don’t call me by name. It isn’t right. And I don’t like it.”
“Really, Claire? Then I guess we’re even. You don’t call me by name, and I don’t like that.” Sitting on his bed, playing chess, Jack’s attention was in the game.
Her eyes flicked toward the monitor. “Playing with yourself again?”
She saw him grin, even as he maneuvered the black queen into a power position. “Interesting choice of words. Does the ever-efficient Claire has a sense of humor after all?”
She stayed silent.
Jack flipped the monitor to ‘off’ and looked at her.
“I’m ready to work on your file,” she said.
“I’m not.”
She bit the inside of her mouth. “Why are you so difficult?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He was wearing khaki-colored shorts and a colorful shirt he hadn’t buttoned. Brown hair curled out between the shirt’s open sides and from beneath his shorts down his legs. He was barefoot again she noticed as he left the bed to walk over to her. Gesturing her toward one of the orange visitor chairs, he sat in the other. Slouched, with his head on the back of the bright plastic, his knees spread apart, hands drooped over the chair’s arms, he was the picture of relaxation. She sat with her back straight, feet flat on the floor, watching him watch her through the little slits his eyes made from having his head bent so far back. They were such a deep brown that in the shadow, they appeared almost black. But they twinkled, as though he was amused.