by J.P. Yager
The Interview
Haden was vaguely aware he was tapping his fingers on the table. His body heat had risen uncomfortably since he’d arrived. He took off his jacket and set it aside. Even though his nerves were on edge, he still enjoyed the respite from the cold weather. Outside, cars struggled through snow covered streets. Faceless, heavily-dressed people tried desperately to keep their footing in the wind.
His reflection displayed a young man dressed in a plain, blue, long-sleeve shirt and faded jeans. His dark brown hair was a mess. Tired green eyes sat atop black half rings, weighed down by another night on ecstasy. The mirror image didn’t show any signs that the harsh aftereffects were going to end any time soon. He turned from the window, feeling even more morose.
The inside of the diner, though warmer, was just as bleak as it was outdoors. The walls were colored a pale yellow and adorned with farm objects including rusty horseshoes and hand-made wooden spoons. The air carried a smell of burnt toast and pine-sol. Besides himself, there sat an older couple, laughing in conversation at the other end by the entrance. When Haden saw the exit sign above the door at the front, his whole being want to jump through and disappear, but his body would not follow. His trusted ability to run from danger wasn’t working. He had to know how much trouble he was in.
He took a quick sip of water and eyed the same doorway wearily. The time on his watch had been 12:23 when he’d arrived. It now displayed 12:44.
Haden had been awoken late the night before by phone. Before he could say a word, a woman’s voice told him, “We know what you’ve been doing. A meeting has been scheduled at the diner down the street from your apartment for 12:30. Don’t be late or you’ll suffer the consequences.”
He was certain his memory of the time was correct. He had been flying high on ecstasy at the time, so he couldn’t be entirely sure.
One of the waitresses, a middle-aged Hispanic woman, came over to check on him for a second time.
Haden felt guilty he was sitting in a diner and not ordering anything, so he looked toward the soda fountain and asked for a Coke.
“I’ll be right back,” The waitress said, cheerily enough, but then stopped. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You just seem nervous to me.”
Haden shrugged at her. There wasn’t a need to get into his problems with the wait staff.
She gave him one more fleeting look then went back to get his order.
Moments later, the bathroom became a new priority, but there was the chance that the stranger from the phone call would come in his absence. There was no need to risk it. Again he looked to the front door and then to the bathroom to decide. When he turned forward, after the length of a second, he found someone sitting across from him.
His heart stopped in his chest then began beating faster.
“Hello, Mr. Maxwell,” said the woman who had materialized across from him. Raven black hair cascaded down over the top of a black suit. Her stern look could not diminish the beauty of her icy blue eyes and perfectly shaped face. A briefcase appeared beside her and she set it on top of the table between them.
Haden couldn’t find his voice.
“I’m glad you made it, and early too. That bodes well for you. I apologize for my own tardiness but there are worse things going on in the world then being late.” Her hands spun the dials on the case and in moments, the latches flung open. She brought out two ordinary folders and set them out on the table.
“Who are you?” The question came out oddly to him. Why had he wanted to know who she was first, when he really wanted to know how she could defy the space-time continuum?
“Let’s not waste our time on stupid questions.” Her young features smoothed as she opened the top folder.
Curiosity brought Haden’s eyes down to the contents that she had placed out. A paper-clipped picture of him was one side; the other side looked like scribbled notes or odd handwritten receipts. He made out one that said, ‘9/17/11: Sold drugs to teenagers. One died from overdose.”
Haden’s eyes shot up to meet the stranger’s. They revealed an all-knowing type of resolve.
“All actions have consequences.” She said simply. With that, she closed the file and returned it to briefcase.
Since work was slow at Starky’s deli, he had to supplement his income. He had turned his casual use of drugs into revenue when he began selling them two months ago. He sold them only when he was truly desperate, so he was able to remember the young kids from back in September. He had gotten twenty five per hit which was an unheard of profit.
But someone had died because of him. “I didn’t know...”
“Of course you didn’t. You merely traded a dangerous narcotic for extra money. Some people sell weapons and of course it’s not their fault people die from their use.” The woman cleared her throat. “I didn’t come all this way to talk about what you’ve done. I’m here to talk to you about an opportunity to absolve you of this and all other past indiscretions.”
At this point, Haden felt this had become a subversive interrogation not a meeting. Law enforcement did do stuff to trick people into confessions. It could be a sting. So, if he was still under the influence from the night before, it could explain her sudden appearance. He just hadn’t seen her. She was obviously some kind of law officer. Who else would know about this?
“I won’t go to jail?”
She considered him for a moment, looking slightly confused, then a smile flashed. “No. I don’t concern myself with things like that. Here, let me get to the proposition.” The second manila folder was opened.
Inside was another familiar face. It was of the man who had abused him and his family growing up; his former stepfather, Kent Blessing. Before he realized it, he had picked up the picture and crumpled it. An uncontrollable anger had flared its way back up from a place in his mind that had been suppressed long ago.
“I knew you’d remember him.” Her voice drifted past him.
He looked down at the hand-written notes within. He started with the one on top. It read, “11/26/91: Broke child’s arm.” There was no question as to what this was referring to. It was his arm that had been broken. He flipped to another: “3/1/93: Pushed child off landing. Child luckily survived but needed stitches.” He felt the scar that ran underneath his chin. He flipped through several more and saw it wasn’t just about him. There was some concerning his mother and his sister. Memories began to flood back from where he’d long buried them. Then he came upon: “5/31/96: Child pushed to take own life.”
“Amy.” He said to himself. He couldn’t forget the date let alone what happened.
The woman looked content to let him peruse this file as much as he wanted. He flipped toward the back and pulled out: “1/1/10: Got drunk and beat wife. She barely survived.” 2010? His mother had divorced Kent after Amy’s death, so this wasn’t about her. He went to the back of the folder. The last one read: “11/20/11: Pushed child into traffic. Child severely injured, but stable.” That date was yesterday.
“He never stopped.” He said.
“I’m afraid not.” She took the folder from him and placed it carefully back in the briefcase. She locked it back up. “I’m giving you an opportunity. At about 6:30 tonight, you will be faced with a choice. If you do the right thing, we will erase your entire file.”
Haden’s anger subsided and his thoughts began to clear. He pieced together that no agency in existence would keep tabs like that and not interfere. There was also the fact that no agency kept tabs like that at all.
“Who are you people?”
“You would be surprised.” The woman reached inside her breast pocket. “But
here’s a clue to how we’re connected.” She flicked an object into the air. It made a metallic twang-sound.
Haden looked up and caught it the air. When his eyes came back down, the woman was gone. A quick scan revealed her and her belongings had left the way they’d come as well.
He looked down at his open hand and saw a bullet casing.
“Here you go.” A glass of coke was laid in front of him.
The waitress was looking at him, her baffled gaze had returned to investigate him. He returned his own confused look.
Where had she been this whole time?
“I’m not thirsty. Sorry.” Without waiting for a reaction, he got up and left.
●
Haden’s studio apartment seemed chillier than usual. He sat on his bed rolling the casing between his index finger and thumb. The item was the only thing that tied the paranormal meeting with the real world. Without a better place to hold it, the casing went into his pocket.
His thoughts raced between the unbelievable events, the memories of abuse that had returned, and the question of what choice he was supposed to make at 6:30.
He didn’t have an answer to any of it, but the bullet casing made it all real, explainable or not.
His gaze fell on his ramshackle coffee table and saw that he had three hits left. Although he never did the drug two days in a row, the need to escape was there. Its familiar call beckoned him to return to synthetic euphoria.