The Very Last Days of Mr Grey

by Jack Worr

  They drove in silence for several minutes.

  Mason began to doze off. He saw something furry floating on the hood of their dream-car. A large monster. It stared at him, like a curious dog.

  Then Mason heard a voice.

  “It’s your fault you know.”

  Mason opened his eyes, looked at the agent who’d spoken, but said nothing.

  “We’ve never had to go somewhere else. It’s always right where the dreamer is, not some place miles away.” He looked thoughtful. “Why is that, Mr Grey?”

  We’re they not making sense because he’d dozed off, or was this where Mason would become convinced that these were not real cops, but psychos that had kidnapped him?

  Kidnapping psychos, he thought. Definitely.

  If not for the fact that a police station full of police officers saw them interrogate him, and did absolutely nothing, acted like they were invisible.

  “You may be cops, but you’re insane.”

  The agent actually smiled. It was the first time Mason recalled seeing it. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to say that.”

  “Longest holdout I’ve seen,” Ehd put in.

  The first agent nodded. “Impressive.” He looked at Mason again. “But rest assured, Mr Grey, we will find you.”

  “I’m right fucking here!”

  The agent shook his head and turned his attention back to the road in front of him.

  “Where are we going?”

  No one responded for a moment.

  Then, “Home.”

  Mason closed his eyes again. Either he was crazy, and that’s why what they said made no sense, or they were, and they were taking him out into the desert to execute him. There was nothing he could do either way. And it is what we want anyway, a voice whispered in his head.

  35

  But it wasn’t a desert they were headed toward.

  They got off the freeway and then took side roads until they were winding their way through a neighborhood, high up into the hills.

  Mason eventually recognized the area as somewhere he and his friends used to drive in high school. He didn’t think he’d ever been this high though.

  They finally stopped at somewhere about three-fourths of the way to the top, just barely still in the shade of the mountain, near a dirt lot with several large stones that reminded Mason of Stonehenge, and a house in the middle of construction.

  Mason tried to place the sense of déjà vu he was getting, but it wasn’t until the agent opened the rear door and got him out that the memory solidified. He had spent several hours here once, years ago, with a girl he no longer knew. He remembered the magic of that night, of standing outside the back door of his car, the girl lying across the back seat, looking up at him. The feeling of looking at the surrounding area, wondering if anyone was around, would call the police, and only seeing that house, in the middle of construction, which was surely empty.

  Mason stood now, in that same spot—or so his memory told him—looking up at that same house, in the same state of construction. That was odd. This was a nice neighborhood, and the house, if it ever was completed, would be considered by most a mansion, so for it to be left as it had been then seemed strange.

  Afterward, they had driven back down, and she’d had him stop in front of a house with an orange tree, and they’d eaten oranges. Mason wondered now if he ever would eat an orange again. It was strange, you never knew when any time experiencing something would be your last: last time in Vegas, last person you sleep with, last time going to Disney World, first and last time hearing a particular song. Last day of your life.

  “Come on.” The agent grabbed him and pulled him toward the cliff. “You’re going home.”

  Mason felt strangely calm as he looked out over the foliage-littered drop-off that he had looked out over years before, on that night, with that girl (the last night he’d spent with her). And years before tossed something over and wondered if an animal would find it, and what it would make of it if it did.

  But this time, the night air was day air, and it wasn’t cool against his skin, or if it was he didn’t notice. What he noticed was how the incline wasn’t quite steep enough. He might survive the fall. And that wouldn’t be good. Because then he’d been stuck with broken limbs and no one to hear him scream.

  You’ve survived worse.

  The agent holding on to him began to speak, when a horn blared.

  All three men turned to look at the car that was approaching.

  The agent holding Mason asked, “What now?”

  Mason suspected the man was asking him, but before he had a chance to reply, the car disappeared up a drive and was gone behind some trees.

  The three men’s gazes followed the road past the trees to trace the car’s path, but the car did not come out.

  “Let’s get this over with,” the other agent said. “I can’t stand this place. If he is doing something, it will be too late.”

  “All right Mr Grey, this is your last chance.” He stared into Mason’s eyes. “Where?” It came out as a statement.

  Mason knew where he was now. It was the only thing that made sense. He remembered how he’d gotten here, could feel pain, so this was no dream. But that didn’t rule out… “Hell,” he stated flatly.

  The agent looked to his partner.

  “Forceful extraction.”

  “Won’t be pleasant.”

  “I’ll enjoy it.”

  “Me too.”

  They both turned to Mason.

  Ehd said, “You won’t.”

  They looked at him as if expecting him to respond. He looked around instead.

  “Consul Fredriks, do you think our friend here intentionally put the focus point so far away on purpose?”

  “I don’t know Consul Ehd, that’s a good question. Maybe this place means something to him.”

  “Does it mean something to you?”

  This got Mason’s attention. He turned and frowned at them, almost said something. Then he stopped. They worked for the DoD—or somewhere that could get them fake Department of Defense IDs. They probably knew a hell of a lot more about him than that.

  But had he told anyone? Where would the records come from? Maybe she had. It was possible.

  Since they were being so forthcoming, Mason asked, “What are we doing here?” though he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer to that.

  “If you don’t want to tell us where you are, we’ll just have to take it from you. With the spike.” He looked meaningfully at Mason, as though this should mean something.

  But Mason had no idea what it meant. He had to admit it didn’t sound good.

  Ehd shook his head. “Have it your way.”

  “Come on,” Fredriks said, uncuffing the handcuffs and bringing Mason’s hands together in front of him, recuffing them.

  Mason had been pushed in front of them as they had walked toward the cliff, and so now partially obscured their view. It was for this reason only that he had a chance of understanding what was going on, that he caught, from the corner of his eye, someone waving. When he looked, he saw a figure in a dark shadow cast by the setting sun, below the drop-off. He squinted, realizing he’d lost his contacts at some point. A woman resolved into view. She was in a dangerous position; one slip and—

  She saw Mason looking at her and shouted, “Move!”

  It was Sera. Mason side-stepped, putting the agents in her line of sight.

  Fredriks grabbed him.

  “Let him go!”

  Fredriks tightened his grip on Mason’s arm. “Cut it out.”

  Sera fired at them.

  Mason felt Fredriks release him and then a fist club into the back of his head. “I said cut it out!”

  Another shot. The sound was quiet to Mason, who was looking at the ground for some reason. He blinked, and looked up.

  Fredriks looked at his chest, then to his partner. “I’m bleeding.”

  The other agent gaped.

  Fredriks started
pulling at his chest, as though he were bound by straps invisible to Mason’s eye. “Get me out of here. Get me out!” He looked to his partner. “Get me out!” He grabbed Ehd by his suit.

  Ehd just stared.

  Then Fredriks looked at Mason. He pulled out a gun and put it to Mason’s temple.

  “Hey,” Mason said.

  But the agent wasn’t looking at him, he was looking up. “Get me—”

  And then he was simply gone.

  Mason stared at the spot where the agent had been.

  The remaining agent grabbed Mason by the arm. “Don’t ge—”

  But then he was gone too, the sensation against Mason’s arm evaporating, the lingering sense all that remained.

  Mason was still for long moments. He looked at his handcuffed hands, and saw they weren’t.

  He was crazy. None of it had been real. The agents, Sera, the man—

  “Are you okay?”

  Mason turned slowly to look at Sera as she climbed up the embankment. He looked around. The car he’d driven here in was gone. “You aren’t real.”

  “Snap out of it. Let’s get out of here before they get back.”

  “It’s all in my head.”

  “No. I don’t know what they are, but they were real. I shot one… Shit, I shot one.” She looked around, and her look of worry turned to suspicion. “And now there’s no trace they were ever here.”

  Mason was being pulled, or dragged, up the road and through some trees, toward what Sera said was his car. He wasn’t sure how she had his car, or why they needed to get there. He wondered if he looked like that guy from Fight Club, bruised and beaten and being pulled by someone who didn’t exist.

  “I don’t understand it,” Sera was saying. “It doesn’t make sense. Have they figured out a way? Or are they from somewhere else? Or…” She looked at him, her hand still pulling him by the wrist. “What did you do?”

  “Me? I didn’t do anything. Don’t blame this on me.” He shook his head.

  “There.” She pointed with the hand holding the gun.

  “Yes,” he said, “that is my car.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  Mason was reminded of Fight Club again, crawling out of an upside down car that had run off the road. “You were driving my car.” He looked at her. “Why do you have my car?”

  “Jesus,” she said, “get in.”

  When he was seated in the passenger seat, he asked, “Where are we going?”

  Sera hunched over the steering wheel and started the car.

  They sat for a moment.

  “Sera?”

  She leaned back into the seat. “I don’t know.” She looked at him. “I was hoping you would have found the door by now. Maybe you need more.” She looked down to her lap, shaking her head slightly.

  “Of?”

  “Crumble.”

  “No.” With this word, Mason felt a shift, and the sense of unreality drifted away. He was sitting in his car, with a woman. It was warm with the last heat of the day, the setting sun beating through the closed windows and the AC off. He’d known her for a few days. He couldn’t remember her surname. She was breathing hard. He could smell her sweat. She had a gun. “Why do you have a gun?”

  She looked at him for several moments, then at the large gun in her hand. “Protection.” She stowed it in a holster she wore on her left thigh. “You seemed so close.”

  “To what?”

  She didn’t answer. “If someone else found a way through… And is it even related? Does it mean they— Oh, Jesus.” She looked at him. “You said Martin just disappeared?”

  Mason nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Then what if they’ve found him?” She stared blankly out the windshield. “That would explain how they found you. Why they are after you. What did they say? About who they are.”

  “Nothing. They said they were from the Department of Defense.”

  “What else?”

  “They kept saying they were taking me home. Kept asking where I was.”

  “They think you’re there.”

  “There?”

  “Where Martin is.”

  Mason scoffed. “What, the afterlife?”

  She shook her head, but didn’t respond to his question.

  “Sera! What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I have to… Where can I drop you?”

  “What?”

  “I need some time alone.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  She glared at him. Then she said, “I need to speak with Martin.”

  “You need to be alone for that?”

  “I need to be asleep.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Is there somewhere I can drop you off? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but having you around might make it harder for him to find me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s just the way it is Mason. I don’t have all the answers.”

  Wow, Mason thought. “Fine. Emily’s party is tonight anyway. Take me there.”

  “Now isn’t the best time to be partying.”

  He threw up his hands. “You are impossible. I don’t care if it isn’t.” He looked at her. “I’d resigned myself to not seeing Emily ever again. I won’t miss this second chance. I can’t.”

  Sera glanced at him, then in the rearview. They were alone on the empty road, parked lengthwise across the bottom of a long gravel driveway leading to a huge, gated house. “Emily. I heard that name earlier. Your not-sister?”

  Mason shook his head. “Something like that. Come on.” He pointed to the road. “It’s getting dark. It’s going to take almost an hour to get back at this time of day.”

  She looked at him again. “Like that? You want to go to a party looking like you do?”

  “She’s seen me in worse. What matters is that I get there.” He put on his seatbelt. “Do you want to be alone or not?”

  Sera shook her head, but said, “Fine. But you can’t stay.”

  “Why?”

  “Once I speak to Martin, I need you again. We have to find the door.”

  “Haven’t we had to for a while?”

  “But now we know the clock is ticking.” She put on her own seatbelt, and put the car in gear. “They’re after you, and our time is running out.”

  36

  It was dark by the time they arrived.

  “Nice neighborhood.”

  Mason nodded. “There.”

  Sera stopped the car. “Yeah, it’s the only house around.” She studied it. “Or mansion.”

  Mason got out. “How will I know when you’re ready?”

  Sera got a distant look. “If he hasn’t found me within an hour”—she shook her head—“then he won’t be finding me.” She looked at the car’s clock. “Say an hour and a half.”

  “Where should I meet you?”

  “Don’t you need a ride?”

  Mason shook his head.

  “Meet me at your place then.”

  “Fine.”

  “How will you get there?”

  “I’ll be fine.” He shut the door.

  Then he opened it again. “You’re going to wait at my place?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How?”

  “I have your keys.”

  Mason looked to the ignition. Oh yeah. “Okay, well, don’t… do anything.”

  “Don’t snoop?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What would I find?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  Mason shut the door.

  37

  Mason watched Sera drive away. Then he walked up the drive. Before even reaching the door, he could hear music.

  He didn’t know how late he was, but he was here, and he could hear the music, and so it wasn’t too late.

  He knocked. And waited.

  Then he rang
the doorbell. And waited.

  A minute passed, and he rang it again.

  Finally, he tried the handle, and the door opened.

  Before he could get both feet inside, Emily appeared holding a drink.

  “Hey!” she shouted over the music. “Sneaking in are you?”

  “I was waiting—”

  She put her arm around his neck. “Come on, we’re playing pong!”

  He was pulled inside and Emily kicked the front door shut.

  “Are you drunk?” Mason asked in disbelief.

  “Nope,” she slurred.

  “Where are your parents?”

  Emily shrugged, pulling Mason’s head toward her in the process. “Getting more champagne I think.”

  “You’re nineteen!”

  She released his neck and elbowed him, way too hard, splashing her drink on his shoes in the process. And he had just washed them. “Twenty bro.” She grinned. “Old man.”

  Mason rubbed his ribs. Luckily it wasn’t the side with the stitches.

  Emily stared at him. “You’re dirty.” She leaned in. “You look like crap. What happened?”

  “Misunderstanding.”

  Emily’s smile fell.

  Mason shook his head. “I got in a fight. I’m fine.”

  Emily’s smile returned, a bit. She took a drink. “You’re just a disaster magnet.” She quickly added, “Go clean up. I’ll make you something. Meet me in the kitchen.” She pointed, twirled around needlessly, and was facing him again. “Okay?”

  “Sure Creepy.”

  Her smile broadened, and she hugged him. “Am I a little creepy?”

  “Lil’ bit. Careful,” he said, cringing at the tension near his stitches.

  “I love you.” She let him go. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too Creepy.”

  “You’re too sober. Go clean and I’ll have you drunk in the minutes.” She frowned. “Whatever.”

  Mason shook his head and headed upstairs.

  In the bathroom, he took off his shirt. The stitches had bled a bit, but nothing too crazy. It was his face that was the problem. He didn’t even need to lean in close to the mirror to tell it didn’t look good.

  He washed the blood off his face, then began wiping at his body with toilet paper. The delicate tissue disintegrated as he rubbed.