1.
“Hello?”
“Hi mom...” I whispered into the telephone as Trixie slept on the floor of the hotel room.
“Oh, hi Mason! How are you?”
“Not so good, mom. Do you know of any houses in Redbrook that are for sale?”
“Oh dear, why!?” I could sense the happiness in her voice, even though she was trying to hide it.
“Because, mom, I got kicked off the base. I'll stop by your house when I get to Redbrook and explain.” I didn't want to talk about it over the phone in case they were still watching me.
“Okay baby. When can we expect you to get here?”
“Tomorrow at the latest. Right now, I need some sleep. I love you.”
“I love you too, baby. Get home soon!”
“I will momma. Bye.”
After my conversation with my mother, I stood up, accidentally bumping Trixie
“Sorry girl!” She looked at me like I had awoken her for the most amazing and glorious dream she'd ever had.
After Trixie rose up from her bed, made from blankets and pillows from the extra bed in the hotel room, she walked to the door, indicating that she wanted to go for a walk.
“Come on, girl! It's ten o'clock!”
She looked at me and cocked her head to the side, which I interpreted as “You woke me up, damn it, and now I have to PEE!!!”
I gave a long sigh, got up, grabbed the leash, and headed out into the Interstate lit night.
Outside the Denny's sign that Trixie pissed on, we stood and watched the traffic drive by. I've always thought that late-night traffic was very thought-provoking. I always wondered when someone passes me on the highway at twelve o'clock in the morning, what their story was. Did they just get home from the War and are rushing home to their family? Did they just need to go out driving after a fight with one of their loved ones? Did they just bludgeon someone to death with a T.V remote? I'll never know.
After about ten minutes of pondering people's late night trysts with the open road, Trixie and I walked back to the Ramada Inn. Outside the main office, an old man, wearing an old and dusty suede suit, was sitting in a rocking chair.
“Hello there, Boy. That's a nice looking dog ya got there.” He said, with an elderly accent and a creepy, almost disturbing, air about him. I couldn't figure it out, but he disturbed me on some level. Kinda like an all-too-happy clown...
“Yeah, that's my Trixie.” I said, as I tugged the leash to move her away from the old man. Trixie growled at him.
“What kinda dog is she?”
“German Shepherd.”
“Well, thats a nice breed." The old man's toothless smile and white-coated tongue gave me the heebie-jeebies. He leaned forward in his rocker, I could see large liver colored spots on his scalp. "You wouldn't happen to want to give 'er to a nice old man now, would ya? The road's tough on a dog, ya know?” He split his face in another gaping grin, to me his chin seemed to resemble that of the wicked witch..
“Umm...” I stumbled, “that's alright. Well, It's getting late”- I could see the disappointed look on his face-“I should get going.”
“Alrighty then. Guess I'll see you around, aye Roddy?”
...what?
“Yeah, see ya.” I don't have any idea who Roddy is, but I didn't want to find out, so I let his senility go. I was too tired to investigate.
After my abnormal and bizarre encounter with the well dressed old man, I went into my room, as Trixie followed. I packed my things in preparation for the noon check out tomorrow, as Trixie jumped onto her “bed” and went back to her dream of bones and squeaky-toys. After I was done packing, I soon followed.
The next morning, I awoke to the wet tongue of my companion slathering my face with doggy-saliva. After a shower I threw my bags behind the seat of my 1972 Ford F-100 and opened the door for Trixie. As I did, I glanced out toward the main office of the hotel. The confused old man from last night sat in the same rocking chair from before. The only difference between him this morning and yesterday was that his suede suit was ripped, and he had what looked like claw marks on his forehead. Even with his injuries, he seemed to just sit there, rocking back and forth, hypnotically. I debated whether or not to ask him what happened and see if he was alright, but after the feeling I got last night, I decided otherwise.
I hopped into my truck and drove off west on Interstate sixty-seven. After fumbling with my map, which Trixie insisted on trying to take from me, I found my destination.
Redbrook, Missouri was in the south-west part of the state. With it's size, I expected that the city might not be on the map, but there it was. This is probably due to the Redbrook Reservation, located near it's border, which houses the small population of Quapaw Native-Americans in the south-west Missouri area.
We drove for maybe ten minutes, when I spotted something. A coyote was laying across the gravel on the side of the highway, slain in a pool of its own blood. The worse part of the
animalistic murder was that the head of the coyote was severed from its body, except for the spine, which seemed to hold it on, as if displaying this horrible act of nature. I thought for a minute, then decided to pull over and take a look at it, and maybe call someone to haul off the fowl-smelling thing.
I pulled onto the small gravel curb where the animal lay slain. I stepped out, making Trixie stay in the truck, and studied the coyote.
It had two legs that were, obviously, broken, and possibly another. To my knowledge, only two animals could have done this, a bear (not likely in these parts) or a hunter (who had no ethics of hunting at all).
The only thing that made sense was a bear, but I couldn't get it out of my head that a human had done this horrible act...
After calling the authorities to come an get the animal on my cell phone, I zoomed off west towards Redbrook.
2.
Redbrook, Missouri used to be a stop for wagons full of food from the farmlands in Ohio and Kansas. Now it's just a small town of eight-hundred and nineteen people, which I believe the claim to be a little high.
I approached it from the east, and with it being 5:30 in the afternoon, I got an amazing view of the sunset over the city. The many plain white buildings and houses of the town were drenched in a reddish hue, and the forest surrounding the town just added to the effect of color.
I grew up here in Redbrook. When I was young, I always resented living in a small town, but looking back, it's better than the “big-city life” you see in cheesy movies. There's not as much noise and things to fuss about, not to mention, people don't bludgeon people to death with T.V. remotes.
I drove up to my mother and father's humble two bedroom house. It had stucco walls, and when I was a kid, all the neighborhood kids called it the “Mexican House”, due to its old western-adobe look.
Before I got out of the truck I adjusted myself in the rear view mirror. My parents haven't actually seen me since last Christmas. That was eleven months ago. I fixed my lopsided shirt, which said, in big, camo print, ARMY, and put on my pilot shades. I fixed my hair, which I knew Dad would disapprove of. It had grown considerable since last time he had seen my shaved head. Almost three inches in length, I knew I was in for a tongue lashing when he saw me.
I got my suitcase, full of shirts that read “ARMY”, and walked up to the door, with Trixie following. Then I took a deep breath and knocked on the glass screen door of my boyhood home.
John and Judy Tucker greeted me on the threshold to the house I grew up in. Mom opened the screen door and gave me a big hug that made Trixie jealous; at least a little.
“Hello, Mason. How are you?” Dad said in his bouncy but baritone voice. Kinda like Santa Claus.
“Y'all got room for one more?” I said in my horribly fake southern accent. When I said this, Trixie bumped me on the leg.
“Sorry girl. Two more?”
“Oh yeah, honey.” Mom said, in her completely real southern accent. “Come on in. I guess you can sleep in your old room.”
I stepped into the house, which I hadn't entered in probably two years. A feeling of nostalgia instantly took me over. I remembered the faux-wooden walls, which were actually plastic. I remembered the shag-carpet and the faded yellow ceiling. I walked across the living room into the hallway, which led to my old room, as Trixie followed me, as always. When I got to my true boyhood home, I plopped my suitcase down on the batman sheets.
“Oh cool. The piano's still here.” I spent many years not knowing how to play my piano, but mom always did. I still remember her sitting and playing classical song by Beethoven, Bach, or Verde. I loved sitting in my chair as I watched Mom play some William Tell on the piano, which, in my mind, equates to classical metal.
After setting my things on the bed, Trixie and I walked back into the living room. Mom sat down on the 70's love-seat with Dad, and Trixie and I sat in the recliner.
“So...” Mom said, as if she was expecting something.
“What?”
“Why did you get kicked off the base!?”
“Oh yeah.” I thought I could avoid that subject.
3.
“Well, first off, let me tell you Fort Pershing is not just an army base." I almost decided not to tell them the truth, but I had to tell someone. "It's also the headquarters of MSEP. MSEP is the Military Scientific Exploration Program. It was designed to improve military technology and knowledge in the fields that the military uses.
But, in the end, MSEP ultimately was failing. They couldn't get funding anymore. Every project
they did turned out useless. One scientist, Dr. William Ross, wanted to go a different direction than they were. Up until all this started, they were working on new weapon systems, like new, faster, ballistic missiles, or so-called 'smart weapons'. Dr. Ross wanted to explore genetics and its uses in the military.”
“What uses could genetics have in the military?” Dad said. He knew his field of medicine. Dad has been a doctor for twenty years.
“Well, they started developing biological agents that enhanced the soldiers genetically.”
“You mean...some kind of 'super-soldier'?”
“Yeah, kinda like steroids, but they make you super-strong and super-fast. So anyways, they started developing the agents to enhance the soldiers. Dr. Ross had a dream, you might say. The only problem with his 'dream' was the side effects of the agent. It made the 'super-soldier' highly aggressive, almost a blind rage. They didn't care who they killed, as long as they kill someone, or something.
“So obviously, they had to fix that problem. Dr. Ross changed the agent a bit, trying to get rid of the side-effect. But this time, he accidentally added a new side-effect, and wasn't able to get rid of the other. This new side-effect was more perverse than the last.”
“What was it?” said Mom, with interested eyes.
“It made the soldier have a yearning, and thirst...for blood.”
“Oh my god! You mean, It turned them into vampires?” said Dad.
“Well, sort of, except the soldier wanted to rip apart it's prey, then suck the blood out.
“They would have given up on the project and everything would have been okay, but they didn't know about the side effects. The reason MSEP and Dr. Ross got in trouble was the fact that they rushed it to testing and wanted to hurry and get a grant for it so that the Pentagon didn't shut them down. The first time they tested it on a human was in front of five pentagon representatives, that were there to judge if the project was worth it.
“So that day, Dr. Ross had two voluntary soldiers take the agent, and two that didn't. I was one of the two that didn't. They put us in a big glass room, with observation windows in the top corners for Dr. Ross and the pentagon reps.
After about 5 minutes, they told us to try to take one of the 'super-soldiers' down, by grappling them to the floor. The other person who didn't take the agent, Lt. Jones, tried first. He went over to one of the agent-soldiers and grabbed him. When he did, the “super-soldier” attacked him.
“Oh my God! What did he do?” said Mom.
“Well, the agent-soldier jumped on Jones and pinned him down. In the blood thirsty frenzy of the agent-soldier, he broke his arm trying to jump on Jones. When he pinned Jones down, he snapped Jones's back, obviously breaking it with a crunch.
“When Jones fell backward, his gun went flying out of his back pocket, sliding on the floor towards me. I picked it up and aimed it at Jones's attacker. There was a lot of movement, but I fired, and I missed. Jones's attacker bit him on the stomach. I fired again, this time hitting the agent-soldier in the head. When the bullet pierced his skull, his head exploded, spraying blood and bone fragments everywhere, including all over me. When I did, the other agent-soldier attacked me.
“He flew at me as soon as I shot Jones's attacker. The 'super-soldier' jumped on me, pinning me down. He tried to bite me on the face, but I held him away with my arm. Then, when he backed up for just a moment, I shot him in the stomach. When I did, blood in his stomach spewed all over my shirt and my pants. He fell off of me, and I got up and ran to the other side of the glass cage. I looked up, just for a second, to see that the pentagon reps and Dr. Ross ran, and weren't watching anymore. The agent-soldier let out a scream, like a banshee, and, with a hole in his stomach, jumped at me again. I shot at him, and luckily, shot him in the head. He fell over after his head exploded, just like the last one.
“In the aftermath of the bloody tragedy, I stood, surveying the carnage. Jones lay in the floor, with his unknown injuries. What was left of the two 'super-soldiers' lay on the floor as well. The one that attacked Jones sat upright, against the wall. The one that attacked me had no head, and a three-inch hole in his stomach.”
“Holy-crap, Mason! Did you know this test would be so dangerous?” said Dad, whose Irish temper flared.
“No I didn't. If I did, I would have brought a bigger gun, (or maybe a big T.V. Remote). After I found the door release for the glass cage, I left the bloody room.”
“After walking down the hallway to the science lab, a man in a SWAT uniform sprang from another hallway, jumping, tackled me. He kept yelling 'Get on the ground, get on the ground!!!' After he attacked me, a SWAT team, in HAZMAT uniforms, ran down to the glass cell.
“I asked the SWAT man what was going on.”
He said to me “Where you one of the men who took the biological agent?”
“No. they attacked me though!'”
“After letting me up, the 'SWAT' man led me to a room. The room had one table, a chair, and on of those 'one way mirrors'. It looked like an interrogation room from a bad cop movie.
“Sit there and be quiet about it.” He pointed to the one chair in the room.
“I waited there for probably twenty minutes until a man in an ARMY uniform came into the room.
“So, who was he?” said Mom, whose hair seemed a little grayer after hearing that her son was almost ripped apart by monsters.
“The man in the ARMY uniform was L.T. Charles. He was the head of the Science Department. He walked in the interrogation room and sat down some papers on the table. After he did, He said “You're in a lot of trouble, son.”
“For what?”
“You just killed two men that were part of a test and, technically speaking, U.S. Government property.”
“But they attacked me and L.T. Jones!!! Why would I be in trouble? It was self defense!!!”
“That's not what I saw..”
What? He wasn't there; no one was!
“And you're gonna do down for this, son. Down damn hard.”
“But I didn't do anything!” That was the first time I yelled at someone since I was a teenager.
“Actually, you did. You interfered with testing of a chemical agent for military purposes. That, my friend, is treason.”
I'm not your friend...
“That's crazy. I defended myself from those monsters you created!”
“Do you not get it, Tucker? Let me tell you a little secret. On every test the government does on dangerous things, we have, what we refer to as 'fail-safes'. If something goes wrong, the 'fail-safe' is blamed, instead of the U.S. Government. See what I mean? It's an honor, really...”
“So, I'm you patsy? A little tool for you to use to save your own butt?”
“Exactly, Mr. Tucker.” He said, with a finality to his voice.
“And here's the deal.” He said. “We let you go, scot-free, and you never show your face in Fort Pershing again, and we don't press charges.”
I glared at him with obvious anger in my face.
“And if you talk to anyone about this, we'll find you. If you leave, and never return, we tell everyone you died in the accident, and they won't ask questions. That's all I got, Mr. Tucker. Any questions from you?”
“No.”
“Good. See you around. At least I better not.” he said, with a sick chuckle.
After our conversation, he left, leaving me in the white room, alone, and bloody.
4.
“So after that, I packed my things and was escorted to the Maine-Vermont border, Where I purchased the Ford with the little cash I had and headed home.
“Wow. Thats pretty crazy, huh John?” said mom, shaking.
“Yeah. Just goes to show you can't trust the government.” Dad had always been a government watchdog. “If I ever see this 'Lt. Charles', I'll kill 'em!”
“Well, Mason, now what?” said Mom
“I guess I'll try to find a place to live and a job.”
“Well Mason, I'll tell you what. You stay here until Sunday, and you can look for a job and a house in the newspaper. Sound like a deal?”
“Sure dad. Deal.”
Over the following few days, I lived with my parents again. Wednesday I went down to the local Century twenty-one to look for real estate in Redbrook.
There were no houses in Redbrook, except for the houses in the “Green” district. It's called the “Green” district because I couldn't afford it.
On Saturday, I went to Wal*Mart. There selection of Indonesian made goods was amazing.
Always low wages, Always.
While I was there, I returned to my truck to find a yellow flier on it. The flier was about a church in some place called Pleasentville, Oklahoma. The Missionary Baptist Church was having a new bible study class. I have no interest in religion, but the town seemed nice.
Later that day, I went home and asked Mom and Dad about Pleasentville.
“Well, thats in Oklahoma, ain't it?” said Dad to mom and I.
“Yeah, sounds like a good town.” I said “You think that would be a good place for me to look for a house?”
“I don't know. The only time I've heard of it is on the channel 7 weather report.
“Hmm,” I said “I'll check it out in the paper tomorrow.”
So, the next day, I checked the paper for houses in Pleasentville. There were two. One of them was in my price range, so I threw my stuff in the Ford, said my goodbyes to Mom and Dad, then headed off to Pleasentville.
5.__________________________________________
The drive was, well, pleasant. There wasn't much traffic, and the fall scenery was nice. Trixie saw a schnauzer in the car hovering beside us. She looked, waited, then resumed looking at me. It was an almost telepathic exchange. Sometimes I wonder if dogs are much smarter than we give them credit for.
After about an hour, I had to pee, so we stopped at a truck stop. JJ's Truck stop was the name, and awesome, greasy food was the game. We walked in, and the waitress stopped us.
“Sorry sir, but that dog can't come in here.”
“Oh sorry.” I walked Trixie back to the truck, thinking how Trixie was probably the cleanest thing in the restaurant.
I walked back into JJ's and sat at the counter.
“You want anything boy?” the waitress asked with a country accent that seemed out of place.
“Coffee please, with plenty of milk.”
She looked at me, sighed, and walked to the back, muttering something about a “city-boy”.
A large man in a your standard trucker outfit, trucker hat, overhauls, and a flannel shirt, sat down beside me at the counter. He didn't even look at the menu while he order something I've never even heard of.
“Hey there boy,” I was really getting tired of being called boy. “where you headed?”
“To a town in Oklahoma, called Pleasentville. Ever heard of it?”
“Pleasentville? Yeah, I've been through there. 'Bout a thousand people. It's a small town.
I don't think I've ever seen a person out on the street. Weird place.”
“Huh...Well, I better get going.” I stood up, left the weird tasting coffee (with little milk in it), and walked back out to the truck. As I walked, I saw Trixie barking at a van on the other side of the street.
“Calm down girl!” though I must admit, the black van gave me the creeps. There was just something about it that looked out of place. “Get in the truck, Trixie.”
She jumped into the truck after one last bark, and we drove of toward Pleasentville.
After a few minutes, we took the exit that led to Pleasentville, Oklahoma. Upon arriving to the small town, I noticed the house that we were to buy. It was a small, quiet little house, with white walls and a reddish roof that looked shabby from the outside, yet it had an air about it that just said “Home”.
We pulled into the driveway, got out, picked the “for sale” sign out of the yard, and entered our humble housing. It was furnished, but only with the necessities. It had a fridge, a couch, and a bed. I placed a T.V. that I brought with me from Pershing on a cardboard box in front of the couch, which officially made it a home.
Over the next few days, I searched for a job. There wasn't much in the classifieds for a person who was discharged from the Army with only a High School diploma. The only job I found that I wouldn't mind was as an employee at the local Kroger. I would be an “assistant to the customers, as well as an inventory specialist.” also know as a stock boy. I went to the Kroger to apply, and came out as the next big thing in the stock boy industry. I wonder if they have their own magazine? Stock Boy Quarterly?
The next day, Trixie and I went out to see what Pleasentville had to offer. There was two grocery stores, a local public swimming pool, and a bar. Not really being a big produce or swimming fan, I chose to visit O'Harrah's bar and grill. It had the traditional neon Miller and Budweiser signs on the door, so it couldn't be that bad. The best thing about this place is they would allow dogs to enter, but Kyle, the manager, said no beer unless the dog was twenty-one. It was dark on the inside, with only the Galaga arcade machine and the lights above the bar to illuminate the place. There was a smell that was very complex. I think it was steak, alcohol, and body odor mixed into a perfume that I wouldn't wear on a date. Or ever, If I had a choice.
Trixie and I walked up to the counter and I sat on a “Miller Time” barstool. I ordered a beer and looked around. Everyone was either wearing biker clothes or a tank top. I noticed another thing; everyone looked very angry and tired, almost as if they hadn't slept in days. Even the bartender had dark circles around his eyes, which were very visible in the light coming from the lamps above his head. He slammed my beer down on the table, with just enough force to keep the glass from breaking. With a grunt, he walked away to get something else. I looked over at the pool table to see what was going on. A big, hairy man hit the cue ball with enough force to knock the railing off the side of the table, sending the ball cracking into the wall. What's weird in the look on his face. It was a mix between the tired look, and a look of frustration, almost as if he didn't mean to hit the ball that hard.
I picked up the ball from the floor and handed it to him. He yanked it from my hand and slammed it down hard on the pool table. The burley man tried to hit the ball again, but the same thing happened. He became extremely frustrated and broke the pool stick in half with his bare hands. Taking that as our cue to leave, Trixie and I left O'Harrah's before the burley guy went Rambo on the place.
6. _________________________________
The following Monday, I reported in for work. My boss, Ms. Rivers, gave me a smock that was embarrassing to hold, much less wear. I put the damned thing on over my button up shirt and went to the meat counter, where I was assigned to stock the shelves. This section of the store seemed to be the busiest of all the section. There was a line that led to the area behind the counter, where the butcher cuts up the cute little animals.
I was in the process of hating myself for not going to college when a women in another Kroger uniform (which will be referred to as the Kroger “death trap” from here on out) approached me. She was tall and pretty, with brown hair and good legs. Apparently, she is new to this hell-hole as well. Her name tag read “Jennifer”.
“Hi, I'm Jennifer. I'm sure you got that from my name tag...”
“Yeah. (for proof, see above) I'm Mason. You new here?”
“Two weeks of this crap.”
“I'm proud of you. I've almost killed myself twice since I started twenty minutes ago.”
She laughed.
“What's with that line over there?” I asked her, truly curious.
“That line is for the show. People can go to the back and see the butcher kill the animals.”
Eww
“It seems to be popular.”
“Yeah. I've never seen it. One of our jobs is to clean up after the butcher. If you have a weak stomach, you may want to transfer.” She said, foreshadowing gross events.
“Let's see...this week I've seen an old creepy man drool and a coyote that had it's head ripped off. I think I'll be alright.”
She looked at me with a funny look
“Okay, I won't say I told you so then. See ya, I gotta go take my lunch break.” She said, as she took the smock off and walked out the sliding door entrance.
“Bye.” I was truly sad to see her go because she was the only one here that didn't make me want to go crazy. After Jennifer left, I went back to reality, one steak shelved at a time.
Near the end of the day, I had to do the dreaded task Jennifer told me about. Ms. Rivers handed me a bucket and said “The Butcher, Carl, will tell you what to do. He's in the back.”
I reluctantly took the bucket and walked to the back. Carl, who was a handsome man, like a mobster in a wife-beater with a hairy chest, was standing beside a table with a carcass of what used to be a cute animal. He had the same tired look that the people at O'Harrah's had.
“Here's ya job, rook.” He pointed to the table. “Put the cow in the back of me truck.” He pointed to a pickup behind me. “Then put the blood in that bucket there. Don't throw the blood away. Put the bucket in the back of me truck with the cow, understand?”
I stood, dazed by his charm...or chest hair...It's hard to tell.
“Got it. What do you do with the blood?”
“I take it to Jerry over on the hill.” He pointed to a hill on the back side of town, visible to probably everyone in Pleasentville.
“What's he do with it?”
He looked at the ground with anger in his face, then looked up at me.
“Stop asking questions, Rook! Just get ta' cleanin'.”
So I got ta' cleanin'
After the gut wrenching job was done, I left work. Upon arriving home, I noticed a van in my driveway. The van was white, like a van some pervert would use to lure little kids into. I peered into the van and found nothing in the front seats, so I walked up to the front door and opened it.
There was two men standing in my living room. One had a muzzle around Trixie, holding her down, while the other stood with his hands in the pockets of his business suit.
“Hello, Mr. Tucker.”
“Uhh...What's going on? Let her go!”
“Mr. Tucker, we needed you to know something.”
“Let her go!” I repeated futility.
“Mr. Tucker, we need you to stay here and not go anywhere else, Okay?”
“What?”
“You must stay in Pleasentville. You are not allowed to go anywhere else, or you will pay the consequences. Understand?”
“What? Why?” I asked
“It's not your place to know, Mr. Tucker.” He looked at the man holding Trixie. “Mr. Holt, release the dog and let's go.”
The man holding Trixie released her and walked out after the other man.
“Oh, and Mr. Tucker, try not to know to much, okay? Your not that important to us.”
“Important to who?” I said, as he got into there van and drove off without providing an answer.
“You okay, girl?” I asked Trixie while I took the muzzle off of her. She licked my hand, which I took as “Yeah and Thanks”. I stood out in the driveway, looking off in the direction where the van drove off.
“What was that about, girl?”
No answer.
“Things are getting' weirder and weirder.”
The following night, I decided to go to bed early. I took a shower, got into my night boxers, and laid in my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the events of the day. After a few minutes, I noticed something.
There was a light blinking beside my dresser.
I got up to investigate, as my curiosity got the best of me. I reached in and grabbed the light. When I turned on a lamp, the blinking light turned into a little futuristic device.
I recognized it as something Fort Pershing was working on while I was there.
It was a sound bug.
I jumped up and grabbed the nearest heavy object, which turned out to be a shoe, and slammed it into the bug, destroying it.
After looking around the house for more spy devices, I closed all the blinds and locked all the doors in the house.
Someone is watching us.
The following day I got up, took a shower, stepped outside, looked around for any sign of anyone watching, and drove off to work, trying to make life as normal as possible.
7.__ _______________________________________________________
Over the next few days, I would work from nine to four, then immediately go home to search my house for more bugs. I had an odd feeling that if they knew I knew they bugged the place, they would probably kill me, so I searched and searched, not sure what I would do if I found another device. I guess I couldn't destroy the bug, that would be too obvious, so I would find them and avoid them. The more I know and the less they know I know is the only thing that can probably keep me alive.
On Wednesday, I woke up and went through the normal process of showering and shaving, when I got a call from someone. It was Ms. Rivers, and she wanted me to bring my truck to the back when I arrived to work that morning. It seems Carl quit, and I had to take the cute little animals to the “hill” he so eloquently described earlier.
“Sure thing, Ms. Rivers”
I truly did not know what I was getting in to.
So I drove into work and pulled my truck to the back of the store. There was another butcher working today, so I guess what Ms. Rivers said was true, Carl did quit. This new butcher didn't have the flaring chest hair that his predecessor had, yet he had that same New York mobster look that Carl flaunted.
“Hey kid...”
Why does everyone have a nickname?
“...You cleaning this junk up today?”
“Yeah. Just put it in the back of my truck, and please don't spill any.” I said to him, trying to make him think it was his job to load everything. That was the worst part.
“Okay kid. See ya at four.”
“Yeah, see ya.” I said as I walked away to do my duty as a stock boy. What is with all these demeaning names?
When I returned at four, the dirty deed, (probably done dirt cheap) had been done. The new butcher place the carcass and a bucket of blood into the bed of my pickup. Unfortunately, he seemed to have spilled about a liter of blood in the back, but I could wash that out when I get home.
“Thanks...uh...what was your name?”
“I'm Henry,” He said with a grunt
“Yeah...thanks Henry.” I said as I got in the rusty blue truck to drive off towards “the hill”
“The Hills” was almost as scary as the T.V. show with the dumb blonds on it. I went up a curve, then around another one, on a winding path that went around the hill, hopefully leading to the top. It was getting dark, as well as cold. The tree line that marched along with me as I drove was quite creepy. It had everything that was needed for the hero to get into trouble, and as I see myself as the hero of my story, I started to get kinda worried.
As I drove up this winding hill, I spotted a sign that might tell me how lost I am. It read “The F. Goya Institute.” I'm not sure, but I have heard of this place before. Or maybe, it's because it's named after my favorite artist. Whatever the case may be, it still looked like a mad scientist laboratory that only Victor Frankenstein could appreciate.
Not being sure where to dump the carcass and blood, I buzzed the office at the main gate.
“Welcome to the F. Goya Institute,” It was an automated voice “where we are researching todays great scientific mysteries. Please hold until someone can assist you.”
Elevator music. I sit here, in my truck full of blood and a giant carcass that has been decimated, and I am forced to listen to elevator music.
Actually, It's kinda catchy...
“Hello, this is Katrina of the reception office. How may I help you today?”
“Uhh...Hey Katrina, I have a shipment from Kroger. Where ya want it?”
“Oh, please hold just for a second...”
More music.
“Is this Mason Tucker?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Please enter, Mr. Tucker.” She said as the gate started to slowly open and it started to rain a cold and dark rain.
That's never a good sign.
I pulled up the winding driveway and parked the truck, carcass and all. I got out and walked up to front door, which read “F. Goya Institute” in very fancy font. Classy.
I met Katrina at the front desk.
“Mr. Tucker?”
“That's me.”
“Okay,” she typed something into her computer. “Will you come this way please?”
I followed her to a hallway, then to an office that read “Jerry R. Butler, Chief Research Executive”. She led me inside, told me to have a seat, then left, closing the door behind her.
Two minutes later, a man with an obvious toupee and a button down shirt walked in.
“Jerry, I presume?”
“Yes, my name is Jerry Butler,” He shook my hand. “And you must be Mason Tucker.”
“True dat. What do I do about the blood and junk in the back of my truck?”
“Don't worry about it, I'll have some people go out there and get it. Would you like to have a look around our facilities?”
“Uhh...sure.” I was not sure if Carl ever got to, but I was kinda curious.
“Well, follow me then, my good man.” He said with a jolly accent. I'm not sure if I like him or not.
“What kinda research is going down here?” I asked him, as we peered into one of the many labs. Everything in this place is very white. Like an insane asylum.
“Well, mostly genetic scientific research. We do testing on many different biological weapons, as well as medical research, to find cures for diseases that seem to evade other research companies.”
“Huh...That's cool, I guess.”
“Very cool, Mr. Tucker.” He corrected me. We even have a place for some more security guards, if your interested. I see you have a military background?”
“How could you know that?”
“We know all, Mr. Tucker. We're scientist for God's sake. Would you be interested in working for us as a part time security guard? It would pay triple what that grocery store is...”
He really wants me to work here, doesn't he?
I stood there, thinking...
“Okay, well here is my card. If you decide you want to, call me, and we'll set something up.”
We continued walking down the bright, white hallways, until we came upon a big glass door that had a tint on it that made the door impossible to see into.
“What's in there?” I asked him.
“That, my good sir, is a restricted area. That is where our top secret projects go on.” He said, with a finality in his voice. He looked rather uncomfortable about the subject, almost like he didn't know if he should tell me.
“Oh.” I didn't press the issue.
“Alright, Mr. Tucker. That ends our tour...Katrina!” he called “Please escort Mr. Tucker to the front door. Good bye Mr. Tucker. Call me when you decide to come work for us.”
“Uh...Bye.” I said, as I followed Katrina to the entrance I walked in from. I then walked out to my truck, which had been relieved of the carcass, yet they didn't give me the courtesy of washing the blood out of the bed of the pick up. I got in and drove home, deciding if I wanted to get involved with anyone that had anything to do with science. It was a difficult decision, but I have a way I can know. I will find out what was behind that tinted window.
Or at least try to. I haven't exactly been lucky lately.
As soon as I got home, I changed into the clothes I was saving for when I finally got my career as a spy. I'm so excited I finally get to use 'em!
The alleyway beside The Goya Institute was dark. It was about two a.m. The trees behind me ruffled, and I jumped, when a raccoon ran out of the woods and lept up the light pole down the street.
Calm down Mason. It's cool. Your just about to break into a multi-million dollar facility that is possible funded by the government.
Ah crap...
I pulled myself together, realized I am an idiot, and sneaked up to the back entrance. There are many windows that show the insides of this place, if it's bright outside. If not, they are virtually impossible to see into. I peered in, and after deciding it's too dark to see inside, I pulled out my handy-dandy flashlight. A little circle of light appeared emanating from the flashlight that showed some lab stations and some tables. It also showed cages where, I presumed, they kept the poor little mice they use in their testing. I have seen the same thing at Fort Pershing. If the rat dies, then it didn't work, or at least, that was the saying.
I would say, if the rat dies, then get the heck outta there.
I crept over to the side entrance, which contained more windows for me to observe. I believe this is the room the tinted window protected. It didn't seem so top secret. There certainly weren't any crazy blood sucking super-soldiers in there to worry about. At least, ones that weren't awake. I debated whether to break the glass, but I was certain a big place like this would have a security system, so I decided I was okay with this place and left.
When I walked up to the street where my house was located, I noticed a light in my driveway.
Not again...
There was a pool of people standing around my truck, which I had decided to leave behind tonight, do to the fact that it roared like a dying lion. Two of these people were holding flashlights, pointing them to the bed of my truck. The light illuminated the bed just enough to let me see a head with it's face buried into the truck. It was gray, with obvious hair loss and huge, dilated eyes. The thing looked like a monster from a bad movie; the kind you take a girl to so she will lay her head on your shoulder. This head jumped up, looked at me, then ran away towards the city lights. The twelve other things that stood around the monster, including the ones with the flashlights, ran away as well.
What the hell?
I cautiously approached the Ford and shined my flashlight into the bed of the truck.
The blood.
They were eating the blood I had forgotten earlier that day.
Or drinking.
Or whatever it is you do with blood.
Oh man.
8.__________________________________
I'm pretty sure that luck is a lady. She follows you wherever you go, yet she is invisible. If you piss her off, or it's that time of the month, she tries to push things into your path, or push you down, or just tries to have bad things happen to you.
I think mine is bi-polar.
Or at least pregnant.
After observing this odd occurrence, I ran into the house and shut the door, locking the deadbolt.
“Trixie?” I called. Just then, she came running into the living room, licking my face and happy to see me.
I wish I was a dog.
The next day, I decided that the Goya Institute had something to do with the monsters that I saw the previous day. Which meant one thing.
I called Mr. Jerry Butler.
“Hello?”
“Yes? This is Mason. I'll take your offer.”
“Oh! Good. Come down to my office to get the application. Thank you, Mr. Tucker. I think you will be a good fit here at Goya. We really are in dire need of a good security guard. Someone actually was caught on camera, trying to break in last night.”
Oops...
“You will start work on Monday. If you have any questions, please feel free to call me.”
Did you make those monsters?
“I will.”
“Good bye, Mr. Tucker.”
“See ya.”
So the next day, I went to Kroger to hand in the death trap and my resignation. I said quick good byes to everyone, except Jennifer, who I asked out to dinner.
“Sure!” She said, excited.
We had dinner at the “Seven Tables”, which is the fine Italian restaurant that sits on the corner of Elm and Chaney Street. It's one of those places that has the checkered tablecloth and the wine bottles on the counter.
Pretty Classy.
She was wearing a red dress that was nice, but not too formal. I had on a dress shirt and slacks that I had for funeral occasions, as well as a new experimental cologne. We sat at the first table on the left. She looked at me, her face looking beautiful in the light illuminating from the candle on the table.
“So...” she said awkwardly. “Where are you gonna' work after Kroger?”
“I got a gig...”
“Oh yeah? Where about?”
“I'm gonna be a security guard at Goya.”
“Huh...That's cool.”
“Yeah...”
Silence.
Wait! I think I heard a cricket
...
Never mind...
“So...” I said, trying to salvage the conversation. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Uh...sure.”
I leaned in close.
“I think the government is behind a race of super-soldiers that are trying to kill me because I know about them.”
......“Really?”
“No.”
“Oh. That would make I good book.”
“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”
So we continued the night with witty, awkward conversation. Eventually, we were done with our meals and had to go home.
We sat in my truck, in front of Jennifer's house.
“Well, good night.”
“Good night.” She said, with a kiss on the cheek.
I drove home, feeling good about myself.
And my cologne, which I'm going to use on every date from now on.
“Here is your uniform, Mr. Tucker.” said the big one with the glasses.
“Alrighty.” It looks like something from Men in Black.
Then the smaller women took me to a room where she instructed me to sit down. She place my head into this machine that had a red light inside it.
“Look directly at the light, Mr. Tucker.” It seemed to be some sort of rental scanner.
After the scan, she gave me a card that had a password on it.
“L57211PWQ” I read aloud.
“Got it?” She waited a second and then took the card from my hand, burning it in an incinerator that was in a room down the hall.
“Hope you do...” She said.
“Change into your clothes, Mr. Tucker. Your to report to the front office for instructions at nine o'clock, right after you sign this.” He handed me a big stack of papers that had a line to sign at the bottom.
“It's basically a confidentiality agreement. All employees are required to sign one.”
So I signed it.
Will this hold up in court if their activities here are illegal?
Then the big one, the small women, and I walked to the front desk. We were greeted by a group of about twenty men and women, all wearing the Men in Black uniforms.
“Listen up people.” said the big man that gave me this uniform.
“My name is Andrew Robins, and I am the Chief Security Officer for Goya. Basically, I am your boss. Every Monday we will meet here to hand out your security detail for the week. Here are your assignments for this week.”
Then he started calling out names of people I don't know yet. Finally, he got to the T's/
“Tucker, Mason.” He called out. I approached him, actually kinda nervous.
“Mr. Tucker, you will be on detail in the front office of the building. Basically, you stand right there.” He pointed to a corner of the office.
“Give good assignments to the rookies, Huh?” I said.
“What? No. You have to earn the good assignments.
Obviously, he has no sense of humor.
So the rest of the day, after all the Men in Black agents left the main office, I stood in the corner I was assigned to.
The room was rather small, as most of the space in this building is committed to a large reactor looking thingy they are developing. It's suppose to be able to power the whole town when it is finished, which would be very environmental. I guess they are using it for P.R., because I've only seen two researcher in that room. Ever.
There is some faux-paintings on the walls. One of a farmer in a windy field. One of a lake with a mountain behind it. None of these painting are by Fransisco Goya, the famous artist this place is named after. Mr. Goya painted scenes of horrible, gross things. And that's an understatement. His painting are morbid to the utmost extreme. One of his paintings is of three men. One of the three men is handing from a rope in the tree. Another one of the men is laying in the dust. And the last man is hanging up-side-down from the tree, with his head and arms displayed on the branch he is hanging from. The armless, headless man is still dripping blood.
Yeah, cool
Told you it was gross.
If there are things going on in this place that I suspect, than the F. Goya Institute is aptly named.
So I did my job. It was very basic, and the pay was good. I love any job where I sit on my butt all day. Plus, awesome outfit. I even bought some aviator shades to go with the whole 'I could kick your ass' feel this suit had about it.
I got a call from Jennifer one day on the way home.
“Hey big boy”
“Hey foxy lady. What's you twenty?” I'm no trucker.
“At home...” She knew what that meant? “Hey, you wanna go to a Christmas party tomorrow? We're having one at work...” Holy smokes, it's almost Christmas! “Everyone is bringing someone, and I didn't want to look like a loser...I wanted you to look like one!”
“Gee, thanks. When is it?”
“Seven o'clock.”
“I'll check my schedule and have my people call your people.” I said
“I don't think Trixie knows how to use a phone.”
“Ouch. I'd love to go.”
“Okay. Be here at six thirty. See ya.”
“Buh-Bye.”
Later that night, I got another call, this one from Mr. Robins.
“Yello?”
“Cute. Anyways, this is Robins. I'm calling because I need you to come in to work tomorrow night. We got a tip that there is going to be a group of animal lovin' hippies that will try to break in tomorrow night. We need everyone up here at five. Your off work until then. See you there, Mr. Tucker.”
-Click-
“Crap.” I said, dialing Jennifer, thinking that I hate phone calls like this.
9.__________________________________
“Well, dang it.” said Jennifer, as she hung up. She was hoping the Christmas party would count as a second date. “I guess I'm all alone tomorrow. Same old, same old.”
The next day, Jennifer tried on a few different skirts to wear to the party. After finding the one she wanted (The plaid, black and white one) Jennifer got in her Santa Fe S.U.V and drove off towards Kroger.
Everyone was lined up near the food, already getting their chow on.
Didn't even wait on me
She sat down at a table with some acquaintances she knew from the pharmacy.
“Hey Jennifer!” said one girl. She was rather young to be working in a pharmacy, but it was okay, because she was the manager's daughter.
“Hello. Chilly tonight, isn't it?”
“No kidding. Did you bring a date?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
Then the girl turned to her male counter-part and began gossiping about her mother.
Her hair was annoyingly beautiful, thought Jennifer.
Tired of the girl, whose name Jennifer couldn't remember, she got up and went to the food table.
If I don't have a date, I might as well be fat.
“Hey Jenn!” said a man behind her. It was Robert Hill. Robert was in charge of inventory for the store. He was a pretty cool guy with a very loud personality. He also had on a nice suit. I don't think I've ever seen him in anything but nice clothes.
“Hey Rob! Guess your as bored as I am?”
“Yeah. Not a big party type of guy.”
“Me neither.” I said.
What does that mean?
“So, who are you here with?”
“My wife, whose over there takin' care of the kids.”
“Oh. She's looks very pretty.”
“I'll tell her you said that. She could use a good compliment like that. Bye Jenn.”
“Bye Robert. See ya tomorrow.”
Jennifer watched him walk back over to his family, longing for a family of her own.
“Hey, Adam!” I said
“What is it now, Tucker?” said the small, odd looking fellow.
“I need to use the restroom. Could you cover my spot?”
He sighed. “Go.”
I walked into the bathroom and pulled out my phone.
“Hello?” said the beautiful women on the other side of the line.
“Hey Jenn. You havin' fun?”
“Not really, but it's now, all-of-a-sudden, better.”
Yay.
“Sorry about leavin' you high and dry like that.”
“It's okay, but I better get a good dinner this weekend.”
“I know this dusty bar we could go to.”
“Try again, smart ass.”
“We could try the one of the other six tables.” I said.
“That will work.”
“Alright, I better go. Gotta get back to keeping rats safe.”
“Alright. Bye Mason.”
“Bye Jenn.”
“Tucker, Come here.” said Robins as I came out of the bathroom. “I have good news and bad news.
“Whats the good news?”
“We have concluded that the threat was a false claim.”
“Bad news?” I said, nervous.
“Just as a precaution, we want you to stay here and watch things. Everyone else is going home.”
“What? I have a place to be though.”
“Oh well. Your here for the night. Keep an eye on the security cameras in the front office. Thats all you have to do. And don't let the place burn down, got it?”
“Alright.” I said, but he didn't hear me because he and the rest of the security team were already on their way out the door.
“Hi.” said a man at Jennifer's table. She didn't know the man, but she was desperate to talk to someone interesting. He had on a suit that looked made him look like a secret service agent.
Pretty nice dresser.
“Hello. I don't remember you. Where do you work at?” I said bluntly.
“Oh, I don't work here. I'm here as a friend to someone. They went to the bathroom.”
“Oh. Okay. So you having fun?”
“Not really. Kinda bored. And I could use a drink.”
“Me too.”
“I'm about to go get one. What do you drink?”
“I would like an Apple Martini. Thanks.”
“No problem.” He said as he got up from the table and headed to the bar.
10._________________________________
It's dark...
Why is it so dark?
I can't open my eyes.
Or move. Jennifer heard a motor running loudly and gravel being crunched under a tire.
“Hello?” called Jennifer into the darkness. In the distance she heard a man speaking.
“Hey. She's up.” said a man with a scratchy voice.
“Is she tied up good?” said another man whose voice was loud and obnoxious
“Oh yeah. She ain't goin' anywhere.”
“Good. Where should we take her?”
“I don't know. Where did Robins say take 'er?”
“'Where no one would find her.'” he said, in a mocking voice.
“Well...”
I need a drink...
Thanks...
What is your name...
This is a terrible martini...
Darkness...
The vehicle stopped moving and Jennifer heard two doors closed. Then, another door opened and one man grabbed Jennifer's arm.
“Come on, sweetie.” said the scratchy voiced man, talking through his teeth. He pulled her out of the back of the van and threw her onto the ground. She fell with a thump.
“Get up, bitch.” said one man. Then the man kicked her hard in the stomach. Jennifer tried to cry out in pain, but her mouth was full of blood. The man pulled her up on her feet with force. She could barely stand because of the pain in her stomach.
“So, you wanna do it?” said the loud and obnoxious one.
“Sure. Give it here.” commanded the scratchy man.
A little brighter, yet painfully so.
I'm outside, with mother nature. Please take care of me, mother.
Then a loud bang.
Then silence.
I sat at the office counter. I was pretty jumpy, mostly because I have an odd fear of white, dark, distant places.
Don't ask.
I spied the television monitor.
Nothing.
“This sucks!” I yelled as I pounded the counter. I don't know why, but I'm much more angry when I'm alone.
I looked around the desk, trying to find something to investigate. I found a bunch of files that said “Testing and Demonstrations” at the top. I flipped through them, not finding anything particularly interesting.
I need something to do.
I took another look at the monitor. I saw two lab rooms, where the testing and weird experiments take place. I also saw the reactor room, which has not been used in weeks. There was one room I didn't recognize. It was a small room with one table and seven file-cabinets. The room was completely dark, except for the table in the middle, which was illuminated by on light hanging from the ceiling. After deciding that no one is coming tonight, I walked down the hallway and went to the room.
And don't worry, I turned the light on.
The two men entered a white office with no windows and only one door. The taller, louder man remembered last time in this office. It had been pitch dark, and when they told him the bad news, a knife came hurling out of the darkness, missing their heads by inches.
In the middle of the room was a wooden desk with a chair behind it. In the overstuffed leather chair was the man that scared the crap out of the taller man.
“Well?” barked the man in the chair.
“Yes sir, it's done.” said the man with the scratchy voice. “Now what?”
The taller man kicked the scratchy voiced man in the foot.
“Next, you find the next target and get rid of them. Do anything you need, short of nuclear explosion. Here is the targets file.” The man handed them a manila envelope. The loud one opened it.
“Two old people?”
Inside the room I didn't recognize was a vast file system. It had every experiment and report that Goya has ever done. In the dark I could see seven file cabinets. Stumbling around, I finally felt a light switch on the wall.
“Oh man.” There were about twenty more file cabinets behind the other ones.
This is gonna' take a while.
So I searched through the cabinets. I looked for one that said what experiments they do here. Finally, I found one that said “Research and Experiments”. It was the largest cabinet, of course.
I looked through the headings of each file. One was labeled “Diseases and Cures”. Another was labeled “Physiological Experiments” . The last one in the cabinet was called “Military Experiments”.
That's what I'm after.
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