Eden

by Nathan Evans

  He set the collection down at the table before returning to the fridge. A box of cereal sat on top, amongst the cobwebs and dust that had accumulated since he’d moved in. His heart sank before he even opened the box; its minimal heft failing to fill him, or his stomach, with confidence.

  He retrieved a spoon and returned to the table anyway. He took a seat on the foam insert of the chair and poured the meager contents of the cereal box into the bowl. A mixture of shattered oat flakes and dust spilled out. He sighed, then reached for the milk carton, dumping the last of its contents as well. The chaff, vaguely resembling cereal, bobbed in the milky waves, most of it forming a crud ring around the edges of the bowl. Scowling, he didn’t bother with the spoon, opting to tip the bowl itself to the edge of his lips. He drained it and dropped it with a disappointed clack.

  Without the pending promise of a Haven visit to look forward to, the crushing reality of the previous day’s events finally seeped in. He took a long look around the room, worries of how he was going to hold onto it replacing the dregs of disaccord the forgotten dream had left within him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a spider scurry across the corner of the far wall.

  A single word came to mind before escaping his lips.

  “Shit.” He said.

  …

  Eight hours.

  Eight hours, he’d been standing in the rain, arms thrust in his jacket, head down. He’d been waiting in line on the street corner, watching it slowly feed into the modest office building that looked like all the others at the very edge of the financial district. His hair, which he’d wrestled into submission before leaving the house, was now nothing more than a dirty mop’s head stitched into his scalp. Through the tips he peered at the few bodies that still remained ahead of him. They’d seemed so chipper, so eager to please when the morning had begun, but as the day had worn on, as what few slivers of daylight they received were absorbed into the perpetual fog, their mood had diminished.

  Akio felt no pity for them. At least they'd come prepared. He’d worn the same faded pair of jeans he’d wrested free from the fabric graveyard earlier that day. The people ahead were business casual; loose enough to endure the gauntlet work service companies inevitably put them through, but nice enough that, if they did reach the end of the process, they’d have a glimmer of hope at actually procuring a position.

  For Akio, there was no hope. He’d stand in line like all the others, go through the rigmarole of the wait and the interview, but there was no part of him that actually believed he’d leave this building with a job. This was merely a motion, an empty act that must be performed so that when he finally did end up prowling alleyways like the other ghosts, he’d be able to tell himself he’d tried his hardest.

  “Fuck this.” It was the man two places ahead. He bristled beneath the umbrella he carried in his right hand. The datapad he clutched in his left gesticulated haphazardly as he worked the zipper of his shoulder bag open, forcing it inside. “I’m not putting up with this shit.” He peeled away from the line, adjusting his collar against the wind and disappearing down the street. Akio smiled to himself. The line inched forward.

  The streets were beginning to thin out by the time he found himself at the head of the line. The last job seeker had been called inside for what felt like an hour ago but couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. With the flickering light the nearest street lamp provided, he could see him now through the glass, sitting across from an older woman with bored eyes and a mouth that compressed to nothing more than a thin slit. The man’s head bobbed in a way that seemed less like a response and more like a nervous twitch. Just by watching, Akio knew that, somehow, the agency wouldn’t be able to fill a position with him at this time. The realization failed to soothe his own nerves.

  His shoes twitched at thoughts of stepping out of line and heading back to the deli to beg for his job back. He stowed the impulse. Pride was not an issue. How many times had he placed himself before Plug, begging for a few minutes more? No, he wouldn’t do it because he knew it was futile. If ten years of working under Buffone had taught him anything, it was that once the old man made up his mind about something, there was no changing it. He shifted on his heels and found a dry pocket beneath an awning. He stayed there until the office door finally opened and his competitor was ushered out.

  The woman was patting the man on the back; less a friendly gesture than a rote one. “Your resume is strong. Hopefully we’ll be able to find something for you soon. Keep in touch.” Her voice was mechanical, bored, as if she were reading from a script she’d forgotten she’d memorized.

  “Thank you.” The man was near inaudible. His voice wavered with tremors of nervousness and disappointment. Once clear of the awning, he didn’t bother to reach into his bag for the umbrella he’d entered with.

  For the first time in a long time, Akio felt a twinge of pity.

  “Next.” She turned and went inside, not bothering to hold the door open. Akio followed.

  “Have a seat.” She said, motioning across the desk. Akio took up the chair and adjusted, glancing down at the triangular plaque with the woman’s name emblazoned on it: Gladys Wegmuller. He looked up to find her hand out and open. She cocked an eyebrow at his bemused expression, “Resume?”

  “Oh, uh, sorry, I don’t have one.”

  The eyebrow continued to arch. The compressed slit that functioned as her mouth tugged downward at the edges. “Right,” she said after a moment, “let’s begin.”

  “Great.” Akio said, his voice chipper and disingenuous. It rang false to his own ears. Judging by Gladys’ expression, it did for her as well.

  “Okay,” she mumbled to herself, turning her attention away from Akio to the screen that formed the surface of her desk. She waved her hand and it illuminated. A keyboard made of hard light rose inches from the surface, angling towards her. “So: education?”

  “None.” Another quizzical glance. “I mean, I complied with Authority regulations. I have the-”

  “Minimum?” She said.

  “Yeah.”

  An edge of frustration seeped into her voice. “Let’s move on. Work experience?” Her eyebrow arched once more and, somehow, her face tightened further. “You do have experience in the work force, right?”

  He responded a bit too quickly: “Of course.”

  “Most recent employment?”

  “I worked at Buffone’s Deli, downtown.”

  “How long were you there for?”

  “Since I completed school: eight years.”

  “What was the reason for your departure?”

  “I was, uh… I was laid off.”

  “Laid off? The corner deli you’ve worked at since you were eighteen laid you off?”

  “Well—fired—I was fired.”

  Gladys huffed and leaned back in her chair. Her index finger and thumb worked the bridge of her nose, “What do you expect me to do with that, kid?”

  Offense edged its way into Akio’s voice, “I’m sorry?”

  Gladys dropped her palm to the desk and glared at him: “You just watched a battalion of professionals walk through my door and get turned away. You come in here, looking how you look, and expect me to find you employment?”

  The mechanical drone had been replaced with a warbling cadence. Her words came out in a flood, “You get fired by a deli you’ve worked at since you were a teenager and want me to place you with one of the major corporations on my client list?” She rubbed her temples, her hand visibly shaking; a physical manifestation of a day’s frustration. She took the hand away from her face and looked to him expectantly.

  Akio’s lips flapped noiselessly.

  Gladys interjected, “Say I did place you with one of my clients. What then? Do you know how that would look on me?” Akio ceased any attempt at a response. His chin dropped to his chest. “Exactly,” Gladys said, “no advanced Authority training, no special skills—you didn’t even have the decency to walk in here with a resume. I- I don’t know
what to do with that. I’m sorry, I can’t help you. So if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to close up shop for the night.”

  Gladys turned her attention away from him. She disappeared behind her desk and flipped a switch. The holographic keyboard and monitor flickered and died.

  Akio shuffled away from the chair; not standing so much as slouching. When he reached the door, he turned back to find Gladys up from her seat, filling a satchel with various items that were strewn across her desk. She didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence.

  In the brief moment before he stepped out of the office and into the rain, he realized he couldn’t blame her.

  CHAPTER 6

  The steady drizzle of day had given way to the pounding maelstrom of night. The grey hue that served as the only indication that it was in fact daytime, was now non-existent. Assisted only by the dreamy, inconsistent halos of light provided by street lamps, Akio had a difficult time discerning the tops of his boots as they shuffled away from the site of his most recent embarrassment, his gait awkward and aimless. He had no idea where he was going.

  His stomach clenched at the realization. He staggered over to the office’s brick wall and pressed his back against it. It was difficult to breathe. He took deep, ragged clips in an effort to keep his head from spinning. His earlobes felt hot and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

  The leather of his jacket sleeves chafed against his underarms as he collapsed to the ground. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch his breath or slow the rapid thrum in his chest. Like a puppeteer manipulating an invisible marionette, his fingers twitched erratically. His right hand found its way into his jacket pocket, closing around a remnant of his life before the Haven system.

  The cigarette packet crumpled at his touch and his heart spiked erratically once more. With a wavering fist he removed the long forgotten pack and brought it up to the light. He peeled back the foil at the top and peered inside the dark recess. It was empty save for a few loose tobacco shavings and a single warped cigarette that appeared as if it had been soaked through more than once. A sense of relief overcame him, but was tempered instantly by agitation.

  There were no means of ignition.

  He returned to the pocket that had housed his sardonic boon. Probing the seam, his fingertips closed around something thin and coarse. He came away with a match; its dull head drenched even worse than the abused cigarette.

  With the tenacity of an addict, he set to work. He curled over a patch of concrete, his back popping in protest. Shoving the cigarette to the corner of his mouth, he pinched just below the match head, taking a firm grip. He put the head to the sidewalk, shielding it as best he could from the wind and pounding rain. He flicked his wrist and was met with failure. He tried again, and again, and again—nothing.

  The match head remained cold, but his temper flared, his strikes becoming manic and desperate. Skin scraped free from the tips of his fingers and blood welled beneath one of his nails. He let out one final, anxious grunt and was rewarded with an orange flare and sizzle. Without delay the flame was applied. Despite its loose, frayed edge, the cigarette tip was consumed by the minute spark.

  Akio breathed long and deep, expecting to feel the old familiar euphoria the Haven Den had rendered antiquated. Instead he felt as if a fire brand was being pressed against the back of his throat. He hacked into his fist, taking care to draw the cigarette as close to his body as possible and away from the rain. His back convulsed violently, saliva mixing with the moisture that ran down his lips.

  Gladys’ footsteps were just audible over his rasps as she walked out of the office. Beneath an umbrella, she turned and pushed the door closed before pressing her hand against the black pad set into the frame. Gears whirred and the lock clicked home.

  Her head swiveled in Akio’s direction and he met her stare. He attempted to temper the coughing fit but failed once more. She turned her nose up at him, her already wrinkled skin creasing further. Then she adjusted the satchel that hung over her shoulder and turned away. The sound of her high heels clicking against the street diminished before being consumed by the downpour and disappearing altogether.

  “Akio, what are you doing here?”

  Startled by the sound of the voice, his fingers twitched, crushing the smoke in his hand. The burning ember left an impression against his palm before sparking out and crumbling to the concrete. He pressed himself against the wall, turning his attention to the newcomer. Standing over him was Yuki Tukiko.

  “Oh my God, Yuki?” Akio’s head fell to his chest. He took deep, relieved breaths; the scare somehow helping him to manage his burgeoning panic attack. “You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t expect to see you.” With one hand hoisting an umbrella, she offered her other.

  Akio stared at it for a moment, his mind still struggling to process everything that was happening. Eventually, he accepted. “What are you doing here?” He said, brushing what dirt he could off of his jacket sleeves.

  “I could ask you the same. It’s not every day you find the delivery boy alone... on the street...” she looked to the sky, “in the rain.”

  “Yeah, I, uh, I guess so. Sorry”

  Her brow creased in confusion. “Um, you’re forgiven?” She smiled. “So,” she said, “why exactly are you... you know?”

  It was a fair question; one that instantly sent blood rushing to his pale cheeks and caused his gaze to waver. His mind raced to come up with some explanation that would lead to the least possible amount of embarrassment—he came up blank. He went with the truth. “After the delivery yesterday, Buffone, he… he fired me.”

  “Akio, no.” Her hand shot out once more, this time grasping his forearm gently.

  Even through his jacket, he could feel the warmth of her touch.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. I tried to cover for you. I didn’t think Han would actually bother wasting time ratting you out.”

  Akio smirked self-consciously, “I kinda did.” He said. “I came down here.” He gestured to the now dark office window, “I thought maybe they could place me.”

  “Dressed like that?” The look she gave him was one of a wary mother dealing with a particularly thick child.

  “Yeah, uh... Money was already kind of tight.”

  “Oh,” she said, “I see… Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I, uh, I get it.”

  An awkward pause passed between the two of them.

  “So,” she said, “judging by how I found you, I’m guessing the interview didn’t go so well.”

  “Yeah, um, no—it wasn’t so great.”

  “That’s too bad, Aki. I, I don’t know what to say. What are you going to do now?”

  “I was actually trying to figure that out myself.”

  Yuki’s gaze once again turned to the heavens. “Well,” she said, “if I can make a suggestion: I’d say getting out of the rain might be a good place to start. Where do you stay? I can go with you, seeing as how I, uh,” she gestured with the umbrella, “you know,” she finished lamely.

  “Oh, um, thanks, but, uh, I can’t ask you to do that. It’s kind of a long walk; at least a couple of hours.”

  “Aki, I can’t let you walk all that way at this hour, I…” She trailed off, her eyes displaying the distant focus he’d grown accustomed to seeing on her face while she rushed around the office. “You know,” she began, her eyes suddenly settling on the tops of her shoes, “I’m not far out from here. I was, I was actually on my way home. If you want, you could, uh, you could stay with me for the night. Sleep on the couch.” She gave Akio a weak, embarrassed smile.

  The dizzying feeling he’d thought had passed returned once again. “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s-”

  She cut him off, “No, really, please: its dark out. I hate walking home from work alone. I always feel like I’m going to get jumped.”

  Akio wanted to say no; reserve some pride at this offer of charity. Instead, as if on its own,
his head nodded his assent, “Yeah,” he said, “that sounds great.”

  “Good.” Yuki smiled. “Win-win. Well,” she gestured ahead, “shall we?”

  Akio nodded and sidled up next to her. Gratefully stepping beneath her umbrella and out of the rain.

  …

  As it turned out, Yuki’s apartment wasn’t far. For some reason, Akio had expected to leave the polished safety of the financial district behind to head toward the darkened, ominous portion of the city of which he was accustomed, but instead they’d moved laterally to where the companies and office fronts gave way to condos and penthouse apartments. They were mostly silent as they traveled. The intimacy of being housed beneath the same umbrella creating an awkward tension that made little more than a nod or chuckle admissible.

  The silence suited Akio fine. He couldn’t stop marveling at the area around him. The feeling he experienced as they traveled was distinctly different, jarring, from the one he was used to. Despite what Yuki had said, there was a sense of security, of warmth here, that he hadn’t experienced anywhere else. Even when one deigned to focus past the immediate area, to the twisted forest of strange darkened structures that both encircled and contrasted with the environment, the notion, the illusion, of safety was reinforced. As if the lonely, hulking mass were a shield against whatever worse threat might lie outside of it. He was ruminating upon this thought when they drew up before Yuki’s building.

  He marveled at the tower. While the structure could not compete with the grandeur of the one that housed AdTech, its figure was still imposing for a residence. He found himself unable to accept the fact that there were people that could afford to live here, that he was standing next to one of them.

  Yuki took notice of Akio’s slack jaw, “Yeah, I know it’s not much to look at, but it’s home.”

  His tongue still lolling out of his mouth, his eyelids puffy from a mixture of residual Haven strain and tiredness, he slowly turned to Yuki. “You must be joking.” He said.