Eden

by Nathan Evans

  Yuki rolled her eyes. “Come on.” She said.

  He followed her through a set of double doors and into a cavernous lobby. Taking the time to spare a nod for the guard sitting behind a floating bank of security monitors, she made for the elevator; a still awestruck Akio nipping at her heels. From there, it was a short trip up the lift that spanned several floors in a handful of seconds. She led him down a corridor tastefully adorned with old fashioned affects. Akio was taken aback by the lack of monitors in the space. Most of the more upscale buildings he’d delivered to had had them; a steady stream of the Authority’s news pumping through. Here there was nothing more advanced than a wall sconce; at least until they reached her door.

  Yuki pressed her own web of stressed skin against the pad built into it, and the lock gave way. She pulled the handle and stepped to the side. With a flourish of her free hand, she ushered Akio in.

  The far wall of the apartment was an immense window. Lingering outside of it, forty-two stories up, was the pollutant fog that hovered over the city. Akio was drawn to it. Leaving Yuki standing in the doorframe, he walked toward it; sidestepping the furniture she had adorned the space with.

  From below, the cloud was a weight that pressed down on you. A constant reminder of the payment made for mistakes caused by those that had come before. It sifted the sun’s glow, delivering only what light it felt was deserved. It was a canopy that squelched any notion of joy or hope.

  Up here it was different. Everything the ominous fog collected was on display, delivered only to those that could afford it. Akio pressed his palm against the window, convinced that he could touch what lay outside of the inches thick glass. The light from street lamps and the few working traffic signals in the city were refracted and transformed in the cloud. Starlight shot through hazy hues of greens, pinks and yellows that, in the dim light the moon provided, undulated in a sea of roiling white. If the space below this was a nightmare, the space within it was a dream. Akio wasn’t sure he could deal with whatever rested above.

  “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  A flip of a switch and a flash of light accompanied the observation. Akio was forced to blink as his eyes adjusted to the artificial light that filled the penthouse. A quick, irrational annoyance surged within him. The vibrant reverie that lay only inches away, was now nothing more than a blank shroud; dulled by a synthetic imitation. Had his wits been sharper, he might have snapped at Yuki in that moment. Instead he squelched the feeling, “No,” he admitted, “I’m not used to a place like this.” He shrugged, “I live a ways downtown.”

  Yuki stood next to him, facing the window as his eyes fell on her. “Really,” she said, “where?”

  He turned with her and pointed to a patch of sky that was a bit darker than the rest; the tops of ruined buildings just barely visible through the haze. “There,” he said. Yuki’s playful expression hollowed. “It’s not much to look at,” he said, “but its home.”

  “Sorry,” she said, turning to face him, “I just thought you were a little closer to this area.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, “maybe someday.”

  “Right, I’d count on it.”

  Akio turned to her and they exchanged furtive smiles. If the statement had come from someone else, it might’ve seemed disingenuous, patronizing, but not from Yuki.

  “So,” she said, sighing wearily, “it’s been a long day. I’m gonna get changed real quick and I’ll come back with some pillows and blankets for you.” Another playful, furtive gesture; this time a nod and cocked eyebrow, “You’ll be riding the sofa tonight. Hope that works.”

  Akio blushed, “Yeah, that—uh—that’ll be fine.”

  “Great,” she said, smiling. She turned from him and he turned back to the window. This time he couldn’t focus. He snuck a glance at her back as she walked away. Her spiked heels abused the carpet. Her hand brushed the back of her dining room chair. She used it for support, removing both heels with her free hand. Akio felt a twinge normally reserved for the Haven Den at the sight of her silk screened feet and looked away.

  The sensation in his groin didn’t cease, even after her bedroom door clicked shut. It wasn’t long before he felt guilty; as if he’d taken advantage of her hospitality with the glance, witnessing something harmless yet intimate.

  He grinned anyway.

  The realization that his legs were aching finally hit him. With the luster of the view waning, he padded over to the living room couch; a leather number that matched the modern aesthetic of the rest of the building. He peeled away his jacket which, due to the mixture of rain and flop sweat, was now more like a second skin and tossed it on the marble coffee table that took up the center of the room. His boots had fared no better than his jacket and they made a squishing sound as he removed them. Though he was tired, he remained upright; unsure if it was proper to make himself comfortable just yet.

  His eyes traced the sliver of open space at the bottom of Yuki’s bedroom door, watching her shadow pass against the light that spilled out; wondering what it looked like on the other side.

  The door cracked open and she stepped through; busying her arms as she fashioned her bushy hair into a ponytail. Akio looked straight ahead, stealing glances from the corner of his eye. He was shocked by how slender she actually was. The baggy t-shirt she wore contoured to her frame differently than the boxy suit he was used to seeing her in. She finished with her hair and reached back inside the room for a stack of blankets with a pink, frilly pillow on top before coming over.

  “Here you go. I hope you like pink.”

  “It’s my favorite color.” Akio reached for the bundle of linen, his hand brushing against hers for a fraction of a second. Whether or not the act was purposeful, he didn’t know, but he knew how it felt. He’d only ever experienced a sensation like it in Haven, but, for the first time, he knew it was something he’d rather feel here, with her. The depth of the thought scared him, he couldn’t bring himself to look Yuki in the eye as he said: “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, no problem.” Something in her voice peaked his curiosity and his eyes met hers. She looked away, her head bobbing. “Look, Akio, I know it’s not my fault what happened yesterday, I just, I feel bad. I mean, I shouldn’t, but I do. I mean, you were always kind of… bad at your job…” She clenched her teeth, stopping the flow of words.

  “Sorry,” she said after a moment, “it’s just: you always seemed to be daydreaming. And I just, well, let’s just say I liked to imagine that whatever place you were dreaming about was probably better than what’s here.” She shook her head, “I- I don’t know. That’s a stupid thing to say, I guess. I just want you to know that you’re better than that job. You’ll find something else.”

  “Thanks, Yuki.”

  “Yeah, um, well, I should probably get some sleep.” She back-pedaled, “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “see you then.” He nodded.

  She smiled, then was gone, her bedroom door clicking shut.

  Akio’s back cracked as he stretched out on the sofa. He cast the frilly pink foam aside and reversed his jacket, bundling it up beneath his head.

  He fell asleep the second he closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER 7

  A smile concealed by a shoulder. Fingers working a clasp. Skin, soft and welcoming, exposed, padding against carpet.

  “Akio…” The same skin, harsh, intrusive, pressing against bone. “Akio, wake up…”

  “Hey!”

  Akio awoke, the act of opening his eyelids the equivalent of ripping a bandage from a sensitive wound. His back arched, his skin peeling from the leather of the couch. His vision slowly began to clear.

  Yuki stood over him, clad in her usual frumpy shell, her hair up, glasses on. She held a coffee mug, its size comical when juxtaposed with her tiny, elegant hands. The woman he’d been dreaming about was now nothing more than a memory; an illicit tease to be savored yet never experienced again. Her brow was creased in
a mixture of annoyance and astonishment, “Aki—wake up.”

  Still peeling away the folds of slumber and disappointment, Akio turned his attention to the window opposite. The magnificent view from the night before was also nowhere to be found; the starlit haze was once again what it had always been—oppressive. He shifted upright against the couch arm; a compromise between sleep and waking. “Sorry, I-uh,” he rubbed an eye with the butt of his hand, “I sleep pretty hard.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I know—it’s hard to believe.” He yawned, stretching, his back popping. “So... I guess I should probably be going.”

  Yuki smiled, then took a sip from her mug: “Actually, I’m curious… what size suit do you wear?”

  …

  “I don’t know about this, Yuki.”

  With trembling fingers, Akio fumbled with his bright red tie. He’d already begun to sweat. He was careful to pick up his feet as he walked, so as to not scuff the polished sheen of his brand new leather shoes.

  “I do.” Yuki said, her attention forward, datapad in hand as she strutted across AdTech’s fifty-first floor at a brisk pace. “Trust me, Mr. Han won’t even remember you. And besides, the position’s almost entirely insignificant.” She formed air quotes, “He scheduled this ‘interview’ the second I told him I had a friend that could fill the position. You’re gonna go in there, he’s gonna ask you a few basic questions, and you’re in. It’s that easy.”

  Without breaking her stride, Yuki opened the office door.

  “Yeah, well, the questions part is what worries me. I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but my last interview didn’t exactly go all that well.” Akio shuddered as they walked past the doors of the conference room where he’d been chewed out. Sooner than he would’ve liked, they reached another door even further along the same wall. Stenciled on opaque glass was one word: Han.

  Yuki came to an abrupt stop and gently grabbed his arm, swaying him to attention. “Look,” she said, “you’re going to be fine. I need you to trust me. Besides, you know you need this." She smiled. "How else are you going to pay me back for the clothes? I put you in them. I can take you out.”

  Akio’s face turned scarlet. Yuki noticed. Eye contact became difficult and they both shuffled in place nervously.

  “Ugh.” She said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, just—your hair." (Akio’s hand brushed against his slicked ponytail.) “I wish we’d had time to get it cut.” She sighed. “Oh well, I’m sure it won’t matter. You ready?”

  He nodded.

  Yuki reached for the door handle and peeked inside. “Uh, Mr. Han. The mailroom applicant is here to see you.”

  The voice on the other side of the wall wasn’t the graveled boom he’d expected, it was distant, distracted. “Hmm?”

  “The mailroom applicant, sir. My friend I told you about.”

  “Hmm, oh yes, send her in.”

  “Him, sir.”

  “Huh?”

  “My friend, uh, she’s a him.”

  “Right—send him in.”

  Yuki stepped aside, holding the door open. Akio froze in place. The smile Yuki had been affecting took a hard edge. She gestured inside with a sharp nod of her head.

  Akio’s hands began to tremble. He shoved them in his pant’s pockets. Despite himself, he moved forward. Time seemed to slow and his head felt light, yet compact at the same time; as if every part of his being were crammed into the top two inches of his cranium. He looked back at Yuki. Her teeth were gritted in an expression of tentative relief, tinged with annoyance; still unsure as to whether or not this man she’d watched embarrass himself on multiple occasions would embarrass himself here on her behalf. It wasn't until the door closed that he was able to look away.

  The room felt as if it were closing in from all sides. Han, his features obscured by panels of hard light, sat opposite him. He loomed large, making Akio even more claustrophobic.

  “Have a seat.” The command was forceful, yet apathetic.

  Akio obliged. An uncomfortable wire chair with a rigid plastic back awaited him. He moved it out and took a seat, a cool sensation on his back as he pushed up against the plastic. He realized the sweating had intensified and prayed that it hadn’t soaked through his blue button up. He removed his hands from his pockets and squished them together, each one cradling the other.

  He sat in silence for what felt like hours. After a while he began to wonder if he should say something, unsure of whether or not Han remembered that he’d ever called him in. If the man’s posture was any indication, he hadn’t.

  Han leaned back in his high leather chair, reaching out every so often to manipulate a screen. Aside from a couple of screens that displayed what appeared to be still in development promotional artwork, the rest appeared to be nothing more than monetary figures; a vast flood of the company’s wealth, ready to be manipulated with a gesture.

  “Why do you want to work here?” Han reached out, flinging a string of numbers off of the monitor and into thin air. His focus never shifted from his screen.

  Akio hadn’t actually seen Han’s lips move and was unsure as to whether or not he’d imagined the question. He decided to play it safe and answer just in case. “Um, AdTech’s one of the biggest advertising firms in the city.”

  “The biggest.”

  “Wha—um—right, the biggest and it’s,” despite the fact that Han had yet to bother looking at him, Akio still found himself looking away as he prepared to lie, “it’s always been a dream of mine to, um, work here.”

  “You dreamed about working in a mailroom?”

  “Uhh, yes, sir, I—I want to help anyway I can.”

  Han grunted and leaned forward, his brow creasing as he focused in on a block of numbers at the corner of one of his screens. “Fine,” he said, “you’re hired. Yuki will walk you through the entry forms.”

  The statement hung in the air as Han continued scanning the reports. Akio sat patiently, his heart beating furiously as he agonized over whether he’d been dismissed or not. After a long stretch, Han seemed surprised to find Akio on the other side of the pixels.

  “Are you still here?” He said.

  “Get to work.”

  …

  “Welcome to the mines.” Elevator doors parted on AdTech’s basement floor as Akio’s new supervisor, a man named Simon, bid him welcome. Simon’s wardrobe must’ve provided the prototype for Yuki when she’d picked his new clothes; a balding scalp and a crisp goatee the only things differentiating the men from each other. Simon stepped from the elevator, walking at the same brisk clip everyone within AdTech seemed to adopt. Akio followed.

  The room was cavernous. It carried the oppressive feeling unique to spaces buried deep within the ground. A honeycomb of cubicles took up a large swath of space in the middle of the room, yet wasn’t large enough to crowd the massive basement. Chasms of brown marble separated the padded walls from the elevator banks on either side. Akio eyed the cameras that were bolted into the ceiling. They were old—obvious and antiquated; someone up top wanted to make sure that everyone knew they were being watched.

  He began to get nervous, “The—the mines?”

  Without breaking his gait, Simon turned back, delivering a warm smile, “Well, the mailroom is the official title, but me and some of the other nerds down here like to call it that. The Data Mines—the place where lowly peons sift through AdTech’s junk to make sure nothing bites the company in the ass.” Simon gave a tentative chuckle, as if he expected Akio to join in.

  He was greeted with a blank stare and slack jaw.

  “Right,” he said, clearing his throat and turning back around. "Of course, the official spiel I’m supposed to give you is about how AdTech partners with many creative firms and individuals on a daily basis, and that it is within the company’s best interest to maintain an eye on any possible discrepancies that might occur with any of these relationships.”

  Simon guided Akio down an ai
sle of cubicles. Stationed within each one were the same wire chairs that were in Han’s office. A worker occupied each one, sitting before a granite slab with a monitor set inside. The light from the monitors was a harsh blue and was cordoned off by the padded metal walls. They stopped when they reached the last unoccupied space.

  Simon made an about face, leaning on the edge of the cubicle. “That’s a fancy way of saying that they constantly dick people out of money and wanna make sure no one files a complaint with the Authority. Your job,” he reached behind a crevice located at the back of the slab, there was the distinct sound of a switch being flipped and the monitor came to life, “is to sift through every single complaint, accusation and threat to decide which ones have merit and which ones don’t. If you find something that might cost the company some real creds, let me know. If not (and trust me, there’s gonna be a whole lot of not), you junk it. Real simple. Any questions?”

  Despite his deer-in-the-headlights expression, Akio shook his head: No.

  “Great, I’m gonna be making my rounds every so often. If you have any questions, just hold onto them and I’ll be back around. Good?”

  “Yeah—um, yes.”

  “Great, buddy,” he clasped Akio on the shoulder, “you’ll do fine.”

  “Um, thanks.”

  “No prob.” Simon hung there for a moment, as if he expected something else to be said. When nothing came, he turned away, stalking back up where they’d come.

  Akio turned to his own monitor before looking back at the pockets of activity that spread behind him. The man closest to him looked up from his own screen, his mouth agape. His curious expression rendered blank from the indomitable glow. Akio flashed a toothless, uneven smile and took a seat.

  He got to work.

  CHAPTER 8

  Akio’s eyes burned yet he refused to shut them. Every time he did he was met by the ghostly image of his computer screen: an endless stream of meaningless e-mails, data and figures, etched onto the insides of his eyelids. He stretched instead; as much as the confines of the backseat of the taxi would allow him to. His fingers probed the ridges of his neck as he extended his head backwards, resting it on the seat.