Quantum Poppers, page 7
‘I’m afraid so. After all the alcohol-pops he was drinking it became some kind of multicoloured slop. There was one weird thing about last night though.’
Emma nodded and even turned down the music slightly.
‘Simon didn’t go into one of his stories that ended up with him having sex.’
‘I am amazed,’ she said, and cranked the music up again. ‘So, did you get any action in a pub full of old men?’
‘It’s not just old men that frequent The Cheeky Half, although the lack of TV and free jukebox is admittedly scaring off most of our generation. Saying that, there was one girl who stood out.’
‘You're making me jealous now.’
‘That’s not the plan I assure you. No she...stood out.’
‘Details.’
‘That’s it really. Just making it clear that not only old men visit that pub. It’s a classy place.’
Tony pulled out a pack of CDs from the glove compartment. Its black fabric casing fell open to unveil a fan of copied discs, each labeled in thick black marker pen. Every one abbreviated to a language he assumed only Emma could decipher: MOS 1, GAR 2, TT 4, smeared and scrawled along the surfaces. None tempted him enough to put one on, if of course Emma was willing. He placed the CD folder onto the dashboard of the car.
As they pulled up outside Tony’s flat, rain began to hit the windscreen. Emma turned the music down to a bearable level; it seemed she cared more for Tony’s neighbours than for his ears.
‘Hallelujah, I can hear,’ he said as the car came to a halt and Emma flicked on the windscreen wipers. His ears actually had a dull ringing in them. He owed it to them to rest for the remainder of the day. ‘Sure I can’t tempt you to that cuppa?’
‘Thanks but, places to be and people to see. Definitely soon.’ They hugged over the top of the handbrake as Tony patted her gently on the back. A near awkward gesture he always felt obliged to undertake.
The rain gradually began to fall heavier. He exited the car and with one final muttered goodbye, slammed the door. As it closed he could see Emma saying something but with the door shut, rain falling, and the beats slowly rising within, he couldn’t make it out. It clearly wasn’t important as she waved and drove off into the oncoming storm.
‘The reason I am doing this is to highlight that we do have a little humanity. We’re not the bad guys. There are no bad guys.’
John stood staring at a blank grey door. It was locked with visible bolts, stoppers and additional sensors in order to stop any unwanted entrants - or exits. He listened as Bartley spoke of the reasoning behind this gesture and whilst he knew he should be listening, from the brief snatches he caught it was only additional ramblings around a truth he was never expecting to hear.
‘We’re still debating what exactly you need to know.’ They had their reasons; John just wasn't to be told them. All he cared for was this door opening and what life lay beyond.
They had escorted him from his room in a much less brutal fashion than the way he had entered it. He had been allowed escorted walks around the complex which consisted of an endless corridor flanked by rows of nondescript doors. He had passed this current one many times and not given it much thought. They all looked identical, unlabelled and bolted. They could have led to the outside, to offices, or further corridors for all John knew.
It was rarely Bartley who escorted him. An ever-changing array of nameless people followed. Three had initially led and flanked him after giving in to his desire for exercise. It had been three months trapped in the room, with no sign of peace between him and his captors, before they had gradually come round to treating him like a human being. The three regular escorts had soon been reduced to two and then to one. Often they came not dressed in their suits but in tracksuits, fully prepared for John’s weekly run. They knew he liked to keep fit and were now prepared.
Each lap of the complex, only seeing the same circular corridor, became his life. He would sleep and eat in his room with his run being the only thing to look forward to. One of the few items he was allowed was a stopwatch with which he would time his runs, and then attempt to beat the time. He needed goals, and this was all he had.
The people he ran with (or walked when he needed a quiet stroll with his thoughts) routinely changed. He had been told a few names - Jane, Robert, Sam - only first names, but something told him they were made up for his benefit anyway. There was definitely an emphasis on keeping the face of this organisation hidden, which is what he now believed it to be. It was probably government funded as well. John had worked long enough in the upper echelons of big business to know where most corporations topped up their budgets from. The sensation that all the people he met were doing a job was strong - it needed some kind of funding and guidance - they were not some rogue band of kidnappers. There was some semblance of community and authority; an authority headed by Bartley. Again, a name he assumed was made up but nothing re-enforced this. It was probably John wanting it to be made up so as to force a divide between himself and them rather than the other way around.
Bartley was certainly the one he had seen the most; the one who sat with him listening to all John’s questions, them both knowing that no answers would be returned. There was something ageless about him. He was probably in his mid-fifties, but perhaps it was the complete and constant look of anguish on his face that had aged him. That, coupled with the fact John liked his room dark, meant he only ever saw him in the dim room or in the dull corridors. Bartley would just watch John pass, expecting something to occur - John constantly praying that it would.
Today it had been Bartley plus two nameless others who had come to his room. It was a day Bartley had promised was approaching but it wasn’t until he entered the room, with the others waiting outside, that the exact nature of this particular day became apparent.
‘Are you ready John?’
He had been sitting on the bed, staring up at the small barred window that looked down at him each night like a square moon.
‘What am I supposed to say to that? Am I ready? For what?’
Bartley came a little closer, still giving John space. He knew that this was John’s room and that he, Bartley, was a guest. ‘I promised you once that I would see what I could do. Today we will show you as far as we can. Please, put some shoes on and follow me.’
They had left him whilst he threw on some shoes and a jumper - the closest thing to hand was a tracksuit top that still smelt of sweat from his last run. Appearance had no meaning in this place. His stubble was half an inch long which made his weekly shave pathetically something to look forward to. He was able to stare into the eyes of a bearded and bedraggled man and watch him change into a bedraggled clean-shaven one. This was a highlight.
He had tentatively pushed the holding cell’s door that so often was locked. It swung open. The two followers fell into view, each looking more on edge than normal, checking their watches and glancing up the corridor. The door closed and Bartley, who held his arm out, indicated for John to lead the way.
‘Where are we going?’ he said as he led the three men forward, allowing his eyes to adapt to the fluorescent lighting. ‘Another loop?’
‘Do you know what day it is today?’
‘Very funny. I gave up caring about that 229 days into my capture.’ He could sense the cringe Bartley was no doubt giving at the use of this word. The thought managed to break a smile onto John’s lips - any little dig at these bastards.
‘Today I will show you that life goes on. And we hope to give you some semblance of reality to your situation. It has been exactly one year to the day since you arrived here.’
John stopped walking. There was no smile now. One year? Imprisoned. His thoughts fell straight to Jennifer and Jessica. His two beautiful girls without a father. And then to Caroline, his beautiful woman without a husband. A lump rose in his thought but he didn’t cry - dead men didn't cry. He began walking again.
‘So this is my treat is it? An accompanied walk. The treat could have been an unaided one for a change.’
‘I’m afraid this one needs to be aided John. Please stop.’
John stopped again and closed his eyes, forcing back tears as he tried to recall the last time he had actually seen his children. He hated that he couldn’t recall specifics - just that it must have been a routine morning and a routine wave goodbye with a kiss on the cheek as he had headed out to work.
‘And turn to your left.’
John turned robotically and faced the locked door, one of which he had passed so many times and not given a second thought to. This time however he noticed a small box above the door. It looked like a doorbell and had one small red blinking LED on it. There must be something important behind this door, thought John as Bartley stood next to him and attempted to justify his humanity and something else about realities and bad guys - always getting no closer to revealing any answers.
‘John, this truly is the best I can do. However I feel about you needing to stay here and the restrictions put upon you - we need to adhere to them. It is my job.’
John didn’t say a word. He stared at the door, resigned to disappointment. Complete acceptance that he’d soon be back in his room watching the interference on the TV and looking forward to his next shave welled within him.
‘Maybe one day we will explain all that is going on, but for now, this is all I can offer you.’
With that he motioned to one of the guys who stepped beside John before pushing open the door. It opened outward onto a scene John was least expecting. Daylight hit him. It was an almost physical force, somehow strengthened by the towering walls of the alley which lay before him. All the times he had passed this door it had been only a barrier to the outside world and whilst it was a rain drenched back alley to the complex they were in, complete with graffiti strewn walls, overflowing bins and the pungent smell of blocked drains, all John could say was: ‘it's beautiful.’
‘Sorry about the rain.’
‘It's somehow fitting.’ The sky was overcast. Dark clouds had plumed and were throwing their rain upon the already soaked concrete pathway that led away from him like some magical wet brick road to who knew where. He could hear distant traffic as if they were near, or only part of, a larger industrial complex. A lone magpie took flight dislodging a can of Pepsi from the heap of rubbish. John watched it fall. A tiny piece of reality he never would have registered before. ‘You should have heard some the abduction theories I’ve had floating around my head. I’m just relieved to see I’m still on the same planet.’
Bartley made no response as to whether he’d heard him. ‘All this is simply reality.’
‘I don’t recognise this place.’
Bartley remained silent
‘Are my family out there, looking for me?’ John continued to stare out at the narrow alleyway under cover of the corridor. He’d never felt so free in his entire life.
‘I’m s...’
‘No. Don’t say a word. Even if I could believe you were sorry I...was my disappearance covered up?’ John didn’t expect any kind of answer and got what he expected. He could see Bartley out of the corner of his eye stare down at his feet as if dejected, at least wanting to answer yet sticking strongly to his desire or apparent need to not say a word. ‘Let me walk, it can’t hurt.’
This time it was the guard to his right he saw motion out of the corner of his eye. He had stepped back, perhaps awaiting John to flee and ready to grab him if need be.
‘Nobody wants you here John. We wish you could be let out, set free, as want of a better phrase. But the actions we have taken are dwarfed by what could happen if you were let out, even briefly.’
‘Could happen? So I’m being held here on the supposition of what could happen, not what will?’ The defeated calmness as to how John spoke scared even him. Had he really lost this much hope? Part of him wanted to return to his room, the same part that hated Bartley for teasing him with this look at the rain soaked reality before him.
‘If you were told the truth, no doubt you would go out of your way in doing what we tell you for safety reasons. But, we cannot take that chance. No matter how small the chances are for you doing what cannot be done, the consequences would be disastrous. Contact could...’
‘Contact? Contact with who?’ John pleaded. He finally turned to Bartley, close to shouting.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Bartley.
‘Stop, stop,’ shouted John. ‘You go on and on without telling me a thing. Please, let me just walk out to the end of the alley. Let me see life continuing. Let me feel one more natural sensation. At least glimpse another human being. And do not say sorry!’ added John as Bartley was about to speak.
John and Bartley stared at each other. It was the longest they had ever made eye contact. John tried to read the blank expression on Bartley’s face in an attempt to surmise what was going on behind the heavy lidded eyes. Those eyes glanced briefly to the two guards that occupied the corridor, seemingly to check that they were still there rather than gauging opinion from them. ‘Come on,’ said John. ‘I doubt there’s much I could do. I guess I’m being watched.’
‘A camera has never left you whilst you’ve been on this site. And even out in that alley, it never will.’
John turned back. There were no signs of cameras. It was either a bluff, or more likely, smaller concealed ones were trained on him. It looked as though this was still being treated as a public route, one that led to a heavily secured door with no sign as to what was held within. Expensive camera systems would alert people.
‘Please’, he said and closed his eyes as a particularly strong gust of wind rushed into the corridor. He felt it engulf him and savoured the sensation.
‘Ok,’ said Bartley, it was he who now sounded defeated. ‘Up to where you can see. We will be with you. Please, take this as acceptance that we’re not the bad guys. This is our gift to you. All this is for you. This walk is for you to maybe hate us a little less.’
John wanted to say how it couldn’t be possible to hate them any more but kept his mouth shut. ‘Thank you,’ he said and took one step forward on to the rain soaked concrete.
His senses were heightened. The lack of natural light, air, and most of all company brought even the most intimate of details into high clarity: the way the water splashed upon his face and out from under foot in miniature arcs; the graffiti on the mottled walls which told John the number of where he could find a good time; the cat that fled from behind one of the bins, darted away from him towards the wall ahead before shooting right and out of sight. These moments would have to be treasured, he could no longer afford to take anything for granted not knowing where his time here would take him.
All four of them walked in silence towards the brick wall which marked the end of the path. The light to the right of it grew stronger, indicating ongoing life around the corner – just out of reach. There was still no sign of cameras but he knew they were there. He also knew Bartley would be having kittens in fear at the way events were now transpiring. Bartley was still in control but this walk outdoors alone had shown John a chink in his armour. Perhaps it was the brief glimpse of humanity he had mentioned, and John was prizing it open ever more slightly.
‘John. John!’ The words called to him but did not register. His thoughts lay more than ever on his two treasures which he missed more than ever. His beautiful girls. Had they been told anything? Surely not the truth, but could the lies really be more comforting? ‘John.’
He stopped, one step away from the brick wall and the corner. One of the guards stepped hastily forward to block the new alley which moved into sight on his right. It was brightly lit, as if it opened out into daylight with none of these foreboding prison walls towering either side. He knew that if he could just see what was around that corner all would be well. He needed to see, and then he would return. He edged forward and turned to face the man who was blocking the path.
Daylight backlit him, as did more buildings and the dim sounds of passing traffic which he could not see. At the end of the alley, to the left, he could now see a staircase leading down. It appeared that they were at least one story raised and the traffic, which could be heard but not seen, passed somewhere below. All blocked by this nameless captor.
‘I’m dead already aren’t I? My family, friends. My girls. Doesn’t really matter what you’ve told them. I’m dead to them now.’
‘Trust me,’ said Bartley. 'They do not think you are dead.’
John turned to Bartley. He looked pathetic in his rain-drenched mac. His hair, usually thick and curled lay limp against his skull. The other guard also looked diminished in the soaking rain. Somehow John managed a smile. ‘That’s the first direct thing you’ve told me. “They do not think you are dead.” Finally a fact. You’re beginning to let things slip.’
And this was all it took. It was the key, the reason for facing the man blocking the alley. His justification for accepting that death didn’t really matter.
‘They don’t think you are dead,’ he said out loud for all to hear.
And then he ran.
The guard was taken unexpectedly and slipped in the mounting rain. John barged him to the side, it sent a strike of pain through his arm but he no longer cared. The path ahead was now clear, one which led to his future of only a few seconds. Up ahead the path made another right turn but not a turn he planned to take. There was a loud crash. Someone had opened fire. At least two bullets had exploded into the concrete barrier to his right which had replaced solid wall. There was a shout of which John recognised as coming from Bartley but he kept on running as the alley ended. To his left the set of stairs opened up and for a split second he weighed up his chances of fleeing on foot. But then a figure appeared below blocking the route. They registered each other in an instant and the idea of freedom, which had flickered briefly in his mind, was destroyed. This part of the alleyway ended with a waist high barrier, and below it the sounds of roaring traffic. It was like a multi story car park. All he could now see as he approached the barrier, clearly raised from street level, were windows of buildings and even the roof of one single story building opposite. He had no way to know how high he really was or what was below. This was his release, his only escape from a year to the day of solitude and lies. They were never going to explain a thing. All he had been told was that his family no longer thought he was dead, and with this final notion he leapt and flung himself over the barrier. No more bullets could be heard but Bartley’s voice seemed more amplified than ever as it screamed out his name and faded as John fell.
