Crucible of Fear

by D. W. Whitlock

  Abigail peeked under the thick, canvas tarp that covered the other car in the garage, head tilted to one side. She kicked at one of the tires.

  “Why can’t we take grandpa’s car?”

  “Hey, don’t. It’s a classic.” Dante pulled the tarp back down over the cream-colored hood and shooed her inside the Mako.

  He slid into the driver’s side and the eagle-wing doors hissed shut with a spongy kiss. Still had that new car smell too. He breathed in deep. How could it be poisonous when it smelled so good? he thought. Dante gazed down at his phone, finger flicking across the screen to check through what appeared to be countless emails waiting for him.

  “Dad, do you have to? I want to tell you something,” Abigail said.

  “Just a few. Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  Abigail frowned and turned away, folding her arms across her chest. Dante scanned the emails until the car chimed, offering to drive. He punched the auto-drive cancel on the dash screen. Slipping his phone into the charging cradle, Dante eased the Mako out into the street.

  After hugging the tight confines of Torreyson Drive, Dante turned onto the winding curves of Mulholland that led out of the Hollywood Hills. It was the long way to Cahuenga Boulevard but he loved carving those tight turns, relishing the feeling of control the car gave him.

  Dante turned off the street and slid in behind the long line of other vehicles queued up in front of Abigail’s school, Gilroy private academy. Parents barely glanced up from their phones as children leapt out and scampered up the concrete walkway. Dante sat with a vacant stare of his own as he skimmed over the hundreds of emails he received every day. Expense reports, contract offers, updates from his lawyers, dozens of junk emails begging him to fill out a survey. They always seemed to slip past the filters.

  He kept skimming until one caught his eye. It was just a blank line, out of place among the dense list. As he peered closer, it flickered, gibberish filling the subject line.

  Dante frowned and checked the sender. Robert J. Bainbridge. It must be important. Bob was a phone guy, loved the sound of his own voice too much to waste it in written form.

  With a fingertip Dante tapped on the email. An indecipherable wall of gibberish flashed on screen before disappearing.

  He felt a tug at his elbow.

  “Dad.”

  “Abigail, what?” Dante said, then sighed. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  “I didn’t say anything.” Abigail opened the door and stepped out. “Love you,” she said, shutting the door before hurrying off into a swarm of school uniforms.

  “Love you,” Dante said to the empty car.

  A pang of regret prickled inside him as he watched Abigail trudge through the chaotic swirl of children rushing inside. The red in her dark hair shone amongst the blue uniformed throng of shuffling bodies until she disappeared inside the front doors.

  The phone buzzed.

  He sighed again, eyes tightening as he read the text on the screen. Lifting the phone closer he checked the sender.

  Unknown.

  The image of Abigail’s hair faded from his mind as his read the text again.

  The more a thing is perfect,

  the more it feels pleasure and pain.

  CHAPTER 4

  Monolith

  The Mako slid smoothly down Alameda Avenue, sun shimmering in the rearview mirror. Dante took his hands off the wheel and let the auto-drive take over. The phone sat in the charging cradle mounted on the dash, but still he felt the phantom twitch of it against his outer thigh. Something about that text had bothered him but he couldn’t quite say what it was.

  The more a thing is perfect,

  the more it feels pleasure or pain.

  The text disappeared as he’d sat there staring at it. Spam email and robocalls used to be a major problem, but the latest offender was sales texts. Most were filtered out but sometimes one or two slipped through.

  Is that what this was?

  Maybe the rest of the message had been cut off. The words seemed vaguely threatening but for all he knew, it was just a coupon for a massage parlor.

  Dante lowered the window and let the cool morning air fill the car, clearing his head as the Monolith Media tower came into view. The glass and steel structure stood high above the surrounding buildings, dominating the skyline like a multifaceted black mirror. Dante squinted, but couldn’t see his new Ellis Media building going up further down through the glare.

  As the Monolith loomed large overhead, the security gate sensed his car and rose with just enough clearance to enter. The Mako slid into the underground parking without a sound. He’d chosen this building for many reasons but the feature that clinched it was a private stairwell and elevator that led to the inner offices of the upper suites.

  Dante took the stairs.

  Taking them two at a time, he ran all the way up to the thirty-second floor. A sheen of sweat covered his face as he input his code into a keypad next to the door. The lock popped with a clunk and the lights rose as he entered, illuminating dark wall panels of walnut and a beech wood changing bench. He stripped off his shorts and t-shirt, dropping them on the black slate tile as he strolled barefoot to the shower.

  He winced and lifted his left foot, peering down at the hard, white growth that had formed on the ball of his foot. More annoying than painful, he was glad this Friday morning it would be surgically removed.

  The shower hissed to life as he stepped in. Closing his eyes, he placed his palms flat against the wall and let the warm water run over him, releasing knots that had formed in his shoulders.

  The more perfect a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure or-

  He punched the shiny chrome button under the shower head and the water ceased.

  Drying off, he walked back out and tossed the towel on the bench. One wall slid open revealing dress shirts and tailored suits along with a selection of Italian leather shoes. He selected a crisp blue shirt with a white collar and cuffs along with dark slacks and shoes. He combed his thick, dark hair back from his forehead and tugged at the few grays that had begun to show at his temples before smoothing them down. He touched the scar that crept up his forehead into his hairline then checked his teeth in the mirror.

  His clothes still lay on the floor where he’d left them and he glanced around. The PUP 1.0 sat mutely in one corner, charging light blinking on the back of its rounded, rectangular orange body. Its four mechanical legs were tucked underneath and the arm attached to its back was folded up tight. It was a beta unit, and upon delivery it had operated flawlessly, emptying waste baskets and putting clothes in the hamper. Lately though, it had begun to act erratically, tossing clothes into the waste basket and ignoring trash altogether. The rest of the time it sat motionless, connected to its charger as if in protest. Dante kicked the clothes into a hamper against the wall and pumped a fist as they disappeared inside.

  He pushed down on the brushed aluminum handle and entered his outer office. A workstation sat along one wall, sporting large monitors mounted on metal arms. The opposite wall was floor to ceiling windows with a view of Studio City, Bel air, and the hills of Topanga State Park. Beyond that was the Pacific Ocean, visible on the rare, smog free day.

  His desk was a modest glass and steel structure devoid of any decoration. The high-backed leather chair was tucked in, rarely used. It seemed like when he sat behind that desk something bad happened. A serious talk with an employee about their future. Cancelled contracts. When he had to fire someone. He’d been sitting in that expensive, comfortable chair when he’d got the call about Michelle.

  He sat on the front edge of the desk and a large screen on the wall in front of him sprang to life. His calendar appeared, highlighting upcoming meetings as Naomi walked in, a tablet tucked under one arm.

  She swept past without looking at him, heels ticking as she walked over and sat on the couch, one leg crossing over the other. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a severe bun and a pair of thick-framed glasses sa
t upon the bridge of her nose. Her deep brown eyes scanned over her tablet before she flicked her hand and the calendar updated.

  “Uh, good morning?” Dante said.

  “After your little speech to the team you have that meeting with Megan Zhou and Raj Vikal from Hinds &Younger Foods.”

  “Right. I’m ready.”

  “And Skylar Westfall of Spearhead Data called,” Naomi said. “Several times. I thought we were done with him.”

  “We are,” Dante said. “The contract is dead after that stunt he pulled. Building access revoked months ago. It’s in the lawyer’s hands now.”

  “Some whiz kid he turned out to be.”

  “Well, he looks younger than he actually is. Some kind of growth issues when he was a kid. He’s brilliant, could’ve worked anywhere. Microsoft, Google, Amazon. Thought sure there was something there.”

  “Another young Dante in the rough?” she said, one eyebrow raised.

  “Anything else, Naomi?”

  “Bob is going to call sometime after eleven. Tomorrow, you have a lunch interview with Ian Weller of Techbeat.com at the new building and the summer party is next Friday night, but I got that covered. And Dante?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hinds &Younger Foods is huge. You need to land this one.”

  Dante bristled. “I got this. I know Megan. We used to work together over at the Bliss Group. That’s how this works, Naomi. Connections.”

  “Yes, but Vikal is the one you have to impress.”

  “I. Got. This.”

  “That’s what I want to talk about, actually,” Naomi said. “I’m on all of our accounts as a senior producer. My fingerprints are all over them, each and every one.”

  “Agreed. You’re a huge asset to Ellis Media.”

  “I’m more involved than you these days, what with the new building and lawyers and permits.”

  “Naomi,” Dante said, an edge creeping into his voice.

  “Give me Hinds & Younger. I already know who I want to direct the spots for us. Milos Kazan. Remember him? He did our Veritas Insurance ads. He’d be perfect for this. I already pinged his agent and he said Milos has a gap in his schedule coming up.”

  “We don’t even have the account yet.”

  “But you got this,” she said with smirk.

  “You’re not ready.”

  She looked at him, eyes hard. “More like you’re not ready. Just can’t let go, can you? I break my ass then you swoop in at the end, making all your little changes. I’m not the only one who feels this way…,” she stopped herself and took a deep breath. “I’m ready to move up, Dante, and you know it.”

  “Not yet.”

  “When will I be ready? After I let you fuck me again?”

  Dante glanced up sharply. “Is that what it was? Just a fuck?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that, but it’s…complicated.” She shook her head. “I like you, Dante, you know that and I adore Abigail but my whole life is tied up in this job and I’m good at it. I just can’t be with you. Not while I work here. If anything happened with us…”

  “I’m used to it,” Dante said, hating the words as soon as he’d uttered them.

  “What was that?”

  Dante walked around his desk, pulled out the chair and sat down. It creaked in the silence. “You’re right. I just…anything else?” he said with a tight smile.

  Naomi eyed him before peering back down at her tablet. “Just one other thing.”

  “Yeah?” Dante said, staring at the green hills of Topanga Park through the haze. No ocean today. Not even a glimmer. The Pacific could be a stubborn bitch.

  “Someone named Colin Murray is here to see you.”

  Dante’s eyes narrowed.

  “You know him? He’s in the lobby. Says he’s an old friend.”

  It had been a long time since Dante had heard that name. He swallowed hard.

  “You alright?” Naomi said.

  Dante checked his watch then got to his feet.

  “Tell him to wait.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Dear Baby

  Dante walked down a long, gray carpeted hallway with doors placed at regular intervals on either side. Edit bays, recording booths, sound editorial, even a Foley room for performing and recording sounds were all housed here and he’d overseen the installation of each one. From his first tiny studio above a hardware store to the top floor of the Monolith Tower, they had come a long way. And they were still growing. He felt a thrill of excitement as he thought of their new home being built right down the street where Alameda and Riverside met.

  He heard the murmur of his staff conversing in low tones, awaiting his arrival at the small stage set up directly behind the wall separating reception from the studio floor. A smattering of applause broke out as he strode up through the maze of cubicles then through a gap in the crowd.

  Some wore loose body suits with the hoods pulled down, bleached a stark white with angular black stripes marching across at varying angles. Called dazzle camo, the pattern was supposed to confuse AI tracking software used by police, CIA, NSA or whatever “Big Brother” boogeyman was currently in vogue. People who wore them were dubbed “Maskcreants” by the news media but they weren’t illegal. Yet. Dante didn’t mind if people wore them at work as long as they kept the hoods off. It seemed more of a fashion trend than anything.

  He thought they were just being paranoid.

  Along the far wall, a string of longtime employees clapped perfunctorily or stood with arms across their chests, annoyed at having their work interrupted for a speech they’d all heard before.

  Lights dimmed as Dante clipped a small microphone on his lapel. He went over the presentation in his head, even though he knew it well. The first time he’d given it was at NAB, almost ten years ago. The video had racked up half million views, and sparked no shortage of debate in the comments over his “willful manipulation of consumer anxiety”. At first, he thought he’d sunk his career with his insight but the exact opposite had occurred.

  A spotlight flared on overhead, tracking him as climbed up and strode center stage. He looked out over the shadowed faces of artists, designers, editors, writers and producers with pride swelling in his chest. Ellis Media had grown to over two hundred employees in the last few years and their ledger was full. So full, they’d begun outsourcing smaller accounts to other firms. He stepped forward and held his hands up for silence before he spoke.

  “Fear. It drives so much of our behavior and what we consume. Fear that you can’t run fast enough if you don’t have those shoes. Fear that life will outpace you without the fastest car with the latest technology. Fear that someone won’t love the real you if you don’t smell like those beautiful people in commercials who dive off glaciers into an icy blue sea. Fear, ladies and gentlemen. The most primal, powerful force in our lives, outpacing anger, hate. Even love.

  “If you think about it, all those other emotional responses are mere extensions of fear. And lucky for us, that’s where advertising comes in to play. I’ve been accused of selling fear, but it’s not as simple as that. You can’t point to a man-eating shark then offer to sell a shark cage. The art to advertising is much more subtle than that.”

  Dante paused for a moment. The studio was silent, all eyes on him.

  “As advertisers, we create the illusion of what life would be like with the specific advantage that our clients’ product offers. It’s about identifying, then evoking a specific emotional response, then offering a lifeline. If we do our job right, people will create their own fears, their own sharks, if you will.

  “But people are smart. Remember that. Always respect the consumer. It’s not their fault if they don’t understand the message. It’s our fault. We control the narrative and I can’t stress this enough. Subtlety is key. Allow me to share a story with you.”

  Dante paused, gazing over the crowd before continuing.

  “Before my daughter was born, my late wife and I went shopping for cribs at Babies Fir
st, back when they still had brick and mortar stores. I was struck by what I saw, or rather, didn’t see. Diapers, clothes, formula, strollers, cribs. Where were they? All the things you really need for a newborn, nowhere to be seen. So, what did I see? Safety products. The front half of the entire store was devoted to the safety of your newborn son or daughter.

  “Soft edging for sharp furniture. Special, hypoallergenic mats and blankets of all kinds, shapes and colors. On the packaging of every single one of those products was a magnified view of all the horrid creatures hiding in the carpet. God forbid your fragile little creation be allowed near such evil.”

  Dante walked along the stage, counting off with his fingers.

  “Cabinet locks. Baby gates. Motion sensors. Monitoring systems supplying around the clock video feeds of your precious little captive, all of them with infrared night vision built right in. Federal prisons, take note. You’ll find nothing so secure as a modern nursery.”

  A few people chuckled.

  “No subtlety at all. No finesse. You’ll get the new parents that way, but after your first kid you realize all of that safety stuff is for the parent. Not for the child.”

  Dante looked down a moment, collecting his thoughts.

  “Picture with me now, a newborn baby, sleeping peacefully in their crib. We truck back slowly, revealing the infant tucked into a Smart Swaddle with built in heart monitor, their tiny body held in place by a gently vibrating Tranquil Tuck. A gentle shushing rises and falls, emanating from a Soft Sounds on the changing table, mimicking the natural audio-scape of the womb. We pull back even more, revealing a multi-camera setup tucked inconspicuously inside a series Teddy Cams placed around the room, all with built in night vision.