Watchers of the Night

by Matthew Keith

  * * *

  By lunchtime, Dittrich still hadn’t made an appearance.

  Paul had finished the first book and already begun a second one. The subject matter was actually pretty interesting stuff; both books dealt with the subject of isolationism both as a personal and as an organizational concept. It drew parallels between individual behavior and the behavior of groups as large as entire nations such as North Korea. It was engrossing for Paul, especially since he’d spent so much time in the last three years dealing with many of the issues being discussed.

  It was after the noon hour, so he marked his page and was getting ready to leave the room when Allen came in carrying a tray laden with food.

  “Hey man,” he said. “I was told to bring this to you because you’d be training through lunch. I guess they wanted to make sure you didn’t go hungry while you were working so hard.”

  “They?” Paul asked. “They who?” He knew what this was about; it was about keeping him from seeing any of his friends to tell them what was going on.

  Allen looked at him blankly. “I dunno. I just assumed there was a ‘they’ to it. Isn’t there always? Gladys called me down to the front desk and gave me the instructions, though, so… Gladys? I guess?”

  Dittrich had certainly picked the right person to bring him his food. Paul wouldn’t get any answers out of someone like Allen. The guy was a few Prozac short of a prescription.

  “Well, thanks Allen,” Paul smiled. “I sure do appreciate you bringing me some food. I am definitely hungry.”

  Paul had no intention of staying in the room a moment longer than he needed to, but he was sure that if he left, Allen would tell Dittrich. So he kept a smile fixed on his face and let Allen leave the room.

  Paul turned his back to the door to give the appearance that he was going back to his training and heard the distinct sound of the door being locked. Swiftly turning around, he was just in time to see Allen pulling a key from the other side of the door and shoving it in his pocket. Looking up at Paul, he gave a toothy smile and a slow wink before turning to walk away.

  Clutching the door handle, Paul yanked on it several times, rattling the door, hoping it would open, but it was indeed locked. Seething, he threw himself down in his chair and pushed the lunch tray to the far side of the table. Maybe Allen wasn’t quite as slow as he let on to everyone.

  So now what? He was a prisoner? Certainly someone would walk past and see him. After all, the walls were all glass! All he had to do was get their attention. He peered around to see if anyone was nearby, but saw no one. He was the only one that wasn’t upstairs for lunch. He didn’t have a complete view of the whole training area, since he was all the way back in the far corner. Peering through multiple panes of glass, after a few of them, the view became distorted. Clearly that was why this room had been chosen for his ‘training’ today.

  Muttering to himself, he pulled his cell phone back out of his pocket and placed it face-up on the table so that he could check it regularly. Maybe he’d get a signal at some point and be able to call Steven.

  Next, he tore two blank pages out the front of the book he had open on the table and wrote as darkly and prominently as possible, LOCKED IN, on them. If he did see anyone in the training area, he would be ready and hold up the pages to get their attention.

  He spent the next few hours pacing back and forth in the room. He tried to quell his agitation and anger as best he could, knowing it was a waste of his time and energy, but couldn’t fully. At one point, he became so angry at the helplessness of his situation that he began kicking the door and walls, even throwing chairs against them in the hope that he could break the glass. But of course the only thing he broke were the chairs, which left him only the table to sit on.

  Anything could be happening out there. For all he knew, Dr. Abrams was already dead. His friends could all be dead. Steven could be dead. If they weren’t dead and Dittrich had begun his take-over, certainly his friends thought that he was a part of it after the parade that Dittrich had put him through that morning.

  At one point he saw someone moving at the far end of the training area close to the main hall, but he couldn’t tell who it was. All he could make out was a smudge of color. He yelled and pounded on the glass but got no reaction from whoever it was.

  It was well after dinner time when Paul finally caught a glimpse of movement coming toward him. He watched the blurred shape become more distinct the more panels of glass it passed, finally materializing into a familiar face that did nothing to raise Paul’s spirits.

  It was Dittrich, strolling toward the room as if he had no idea that Paul had been locked away at the far end of the facility for the last eight or more hours. Once he was close enough, he even raised a hand in greeting, giving a small wave with a cheery expression as if to say, “Oh hey! Sorry it took me so darn long!”

  Paul did not wave back.

  Not pausing to see if the door was locked, Dittrich pulled a key from his pocket and let himself in, closing it again behind him.

  Looking around the room at the broken chair pieces strewn on the floor and the torn pages from the books, he put his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and looked up at Paul through his little round glasses. “Tough day?” he asked in his nasally, high-pitched voice.

  Paul had never wanted to assault another human being so badly. “Let me out.”

  Smiling lazily at him, Dittrich replied, “Certainly. Absolutely. But first I would like to have a little chat. Just you and I.”

  “I can’t see that we have much to talk about.”

  “That may be true. From what I’ve been told I believe that probably is true.”

  “Then we’re done already. I have places I’d like to be, not the least of which is a bathroom since I haven’t been able to go in the past eight hours. I’m sure you also have obligations to attend to.”

  “In fact I do,” replied Dittrich, “but first you will sit down. And you will listen to what I have to say. And never, ever, will you address me in so familiar a tone again.”

  Taken aback by the abrupt change in Dittrich’s normally composed and polite demeanor, Paul, stunned but intrigued, grudgingly sat down on the desk top. Dittrich was finally showing his true colors. Paul wanted nothing more than to be out of the room and away from him, but he had to know what could possibly be on this lunatic’s mind.

  Giving him a level look as if he were a school teacher making certain there would be no more outbursts, Dittrich leaned against the door wall with crossed arms and said, “Allen, James, Lisa… they’ve all shared with me the conversations they’ve had with you.” Paul noticed that Dittrich had left out Hodge’s name. Once again, Hodge was not included with the rest. Interesting. “And although they all came back with different spins on how they felt you reacted to what they had to say, the common theme was that you would not commit.”

  Paul said nothing. He knew that Dittrich would continue because Dittrich was the kind of man who loved to hear himself talk way too much. And Paul was right.

  “I’m told you like it here,” Dittrich continued. “As James tells it, you have found the home you’ve always been looking for, mostly because of the people you’ve met here.”

  Paul was a little surprised by that. He had assumed the only thing that mattered in the conversation with James was whether or not he agreed with what they’d discussed. James seemed like the type that would always use as few words as possible simply to avoid having to be descriptive.

  Seeing Paul’s look, Dittrich said, “Oh yes. James actually thinks quite highly of you. Allen… not so much. Although I wouldn’t say that he dislikes you, I think Allen is mostly just concerned about Allen. But, now, Lisa—she’s a whole separate story.”

  Paul tried to maintain his poker face, still saying nothing, but Dittrich immediately noticed a tightening of his mouth and winked in reply.

  Giving Paul a conspiratorial grin, Dittrich said, “Yes, sir. I do believe she’s taken quite a shine to you.
And if I’m not mistaken, according to the reports we got back from when she was in Radcliff, you may have taken a liking to her as well. Am I right?” Not waiting for a reply, Dittrich continued, “Who wouldn’t though, right? She is one fine-looking young woman if I do say so myself.”

  Paul gave him a disgusted look, to which Dittrich replied, “Hey, I’m a man, too. And as you now know, Lisa isn’t my flesh and blood so there is nothing in the rule book saying I can’t check that out every now and again.”

  Paul looked down at the floor to hide the hate and revulsion he knew was in his eyes. Now wasn’t the time to go head-to-head with this man. First, Paul needed to know whether anything had happened today and he knew the only way Dittrich would tell him would be if he didn’t see Paul as a threat.

  Pushing away from the door wall with his shoulder, Dittrich began pacing while he spoke, circling Paul as he tried to reason with him. “You love it here. You love the community that exists. I get that. We all do. There isn’t a single one of us who hasn’t found themselves made into a better person—and I’m not talking about being a better Walker, or a better spy, if that’s what you want to call it. I’m talking about becoming whole. Knowing this isn’t something that’s wrong with us, but instead knowing it is something right with us. And all just from being around others with the same talent.”

  Still circling, he continued, “I’ll always be grateful to Abrams for that. For bringing us together. For having the vision to create what exists here. He has been a great help to me, to Lisa, and to everyone else that has been taken under the wing of Astralis.”

  Stopping directly in front of Paul, causing him to look up due to the pause in the monologue, Dittrich looked Paul intently in the eyes and said, “But Abrams has no right to keep us from becoming financially independent. I have spoken with him multiple times, pleaded with him to see reason in allowing each and every member of this team to receive dividends through jobs done not just for the government, but for private industry if we so chose. Why not? If one or all of us is willing to sell our service in return for financial compensation, what right does he have to say whether it is right or wrong?

  “None!” Dittrich shouted, slamming a fist down on the desktop. “He has none!” He stared angrily into Paul’s eyes, awaiting a reply, but Paul gave him none.

  Almost in a whisper now, Dittrich said, “You love it here? You believe you’ve found the place you’d like to stay for the rest of your life?

  “Good!” Dittrich continued, eyes wide with an almost evangelical gleam. “I can give that to you! Because, Paul, make no mistake, this organization will continue after I’ve taken over. And all of the things you love about it will still exist.”

  And there it was. That was all Paul needed to hear. Dittrich had just said after I’ve taken over. He hadn’t done it yet. There was still time to stop him.

  “Paul, to turn your back on what I offer is to put yourself out on the street. There will not be an alternative. Do I need to remind you what it was like for you before you got here? It was only a couple of weeks ago! You were alone, scared, and depressed. Look at you now! You are held in high regard at this institution for the skills you possess and even more so for the person of character you have shown yourself to be!

  “Paul,” Dittrich whispered, pausing for effect. “Now. Right now, this moment. This is your last chance to secure your future with this organization.” Softening his tone, he finished in a kind and fatherly voice, “I would very much like you to say yes.” Offering a hand to shake, Dittrich asked softly, “What do you say?”

  The man was a lunatic. He actually believed he had a chance to sway Paul’s decision. All manner of replies came to Paul’s mind, most of them very much in line with what he imagined Steven would probably have said. But Paul wasn’t Steven; he couldn’t fight himself out of this situation and even if there was a chance, Paul knew it was smarter to get back to his friends and help them find a way to either stop this from happening or get them all out.

  Paul looked down at the hand that was being offered to him. Taking a deep breath, he raised his own hand up slowly, very slowly… and kept raising it past Dittrich’s outstretched hand, instead placing it on the man’s shoulder.

  Looking at him with raised eyebrows and pitying eyes, Paul said earnestly, “Not a freakin’ chance in the world,” and left the room.