SCOURGE

TheMad Fool

Chapter3

SCROUGE

            The girlremained still and silent for some time, with the only noise heard beyond thevagaries of the city was the incessant vibration coming from Ray’s phone.  Ray seemed not to notice and remained silentas well, his head leaning on his palms, staring into nothingness.  The girl waited for him to speak, hearingonce again the phone vibrate. 

            “Willyou tell me more of the story?”  The girlasked softly.  He looked at her, butremained silent.  He seemed to begathering his strength, taking slow deep breaths.  He exhaled even more slowly, concentrating onhis task. 

            “Yes.”  He said his eyes closed. 

            “Can Iask you a couple of questions?”  Sheasked.  She hoped she might be able topiece together some of the riddle.

            “No,that is close to cheating.”  Hesaid. 

            Shesighed with disappointment and leaned back in the chair, waiting for him tocontinue. 

            “Do Ineed to give another dollar?”  Sheasked.  She stuck her tongue out at himand laughed.  At that moment, his phonevibrated once more. 

            Ray glancedat the phone and grimaced with disgust. He tapped the code into the phone and read the message.  He shook his head and without a word to thegirl, began packing the few possessions strewn about the book into a backpackhe picked off the hot cement.  When hewas ready to depart, he finally looked at the girl.

            “I haveto keep an appointment.” He said quickly before rushing headlong into the bustleof bodies and strollers and Mexicans flipping Escort cards. 

            She lethim get some hundred yards ahead before following him, careful to keep him bothin sight and him from seeing her, staying close to the casinos.  Ray walked quickly, pushing violently throughthe crowd, which made it difficult for her to keep him in sight.  She ran across a street, ignoring the do notwalk sign, desperate not to let him escape her. She pulled out her phone and called as she walked, her breath beginningto grow heavy.

            “Yes, Iwill be late for the signing.  There issomething I have to do.  No, I can’texplain now.”  She said in a rush,returning the phone to her pocket.  Thehonking of horns trumpeted her arrival to the curb.  She stopped for a moment to rest, the heatpounding into her head and her chest, her thin long legs straining from thesudden exertion. 

            She sawRay enter a casino and looked up to see HARRAHS.  She muttered quietly to herself and madedirectly for the gift shop near the poker room. She quickly picked and purchased a hat and a new shirt, putting them onhurriedly before leaving the shop, the thick set woman with dark sunglassesstaring at her in amazement. 

She turned the corner toresume her search for Ray and nearly tripped over an elderly gentleman as shesaw him sitting in the Starbucks.  Shemoved behind a pillar near the front desk and watched him.  He seemed to be waiting for someone, tuggingon his beard in agitation.  She lookedabout for a better vantage point and decided to move closer, willing to riskbeing seen to give a better view. 

She pushed herself againstyet another pillar just as a woman approached Ray.  She stood over him for a moment, her straightblonde hair shining in the light; her long tan legs accenting the pink sundressshe wore.  Without a word, Ray got upfrom the table, put his backpack over a shoulder and followed her the shortdistance to the elevators.  The girlstared after them, waiting a few moments to follow. 

“He is a lucky man.”  She heard a voice behind her.  She turned to face a gentleman, older, withcropped hair speckled with gray, his eyes still watching Ray and the womandisappear. 

            “Why doyou say that?”  The girl asked, notcomprehending. 

            The manlaughed and took a picture with his phone before the two disappeared into theelevator. 

            “Youreally don’t know who that woman is?”  Heasked, as if the girl not possessing the knowledge were the most fantastic bitof trivia in the world. 

            “No,tell me.”  The girl said with impatience,wanting to run after them.  

            “That isBunny Love.”  The man said, as if thatanswered her question.  “She is a hookerworking out of the Bunny Ranch.  I haveno idea what she is doing here with that homeless man.” 

            The girldidn’t wait for further explanation and ran for the elevators.  She looked up quickly, in time to see theelevator stop at the twentieth floor. She pressed the button and waited, nervous excitement building insideher.  She couldn’t have said why shefollowed Ray, but something compelled her to follow.

            “Hedoesn’t seem the type to consort with hookers.” She said to herself as she got on the elevator.  She rode to the twentieth floor alone,wondering how she might find the room. 

            Shestepped out of the elevator and stood for some time, trying to plan a course ofaction.  After a few moments she turnedleft and slowly began walking on the soft carpet, trying not to make a sound.  Her phone began to vibrate, a return call,and with a soft curse she shut off the phone. She continued down the hall, creeping close to the doors, listening forthe sound of his voice. 

            Thesound stopped her dead in her tracks, mid step. It sounded like a whip against flesh, followed by a muffled cry.  She took a step in the general direction ofthe sound, stopping with a flinch when she heard it again.  The sound most definitely was a whip snappingagainst flesh.  The muffled cry grew involume, in rhythmic time as she tiptoed towards the room.   

            She movedclose to the door and placed her ear against the cool metal.  The sounds were amplified.  She heard vicious snapping sounds followed bymuffled growls and screams of pain.  Shefelt a pit in the bottom of her stomach and felt a sudden desire to end theescapade on the other side of the door. 

            “Whiphim until he feels no desire.”  She hearda strange voice say.  She looked aroundher to see nothing save empty hallway. It was her and whatever was happening inside the room. 

            “Whiphim until the only desire he feels is to give service and praise to thelord.”  The man said again.  The whipping resumed with more ferocity,bringing a tear to her eye as she listened to the muffled screams. 

            The girlcouldn’t stand the tension any longer and knocked loudly upon the door, wipingthe tear away from her cheek.  Thewhipping sounds continued and she wondered if indeed she had been heard.  She pounded the palm of her hand on the metalseveral times. 

            CRACK. 

The whip sounded again,which caused her to shudder and hammer upon the door more loudly. 

The door opened slowly toreveal a giant of a man, with thick bulging arms covered with dark tattoos, hissimple tight white tee shirt threatening to burst from the pressure of hisbody.  Without a word, he moved aside andgestured her forward with one thick, callused hand, all the while his darkbrown eyes watched her with interest. 

She stepped into the livingroom area of the suite, flinching again at the sound, this time louder, of thewhip digging into bare flesh.  She turnedtowards the sound, coming from the bedroom. She closed her eyes and summoned the strength to walk towards the sound.  With much effort, she forced her foot forwardand with a rush, stepped into the bedroom. 

She took in the room, seeingRay tied to the bed, shirtless, blood dripping like tears down his back.  The woman from the lobby stood over him,holding the whip, which glistening with Ray’s blood.  A fat balding man sat on a chair a few feetfrom the bed, holding a bible.  None ofthe people in the room paid her any attention and seemed oblivious to herpresence.  She watched the woman raisethe whip and before the girl could speak, brought it down with vengeance acrossRay’s back, which was crisscrossed with welts and cuts.  Ray cried out into the towel tied in hismouth. 

“Be purified by pain and maythe blood wash away your sins.”  The mansaid, his voice ripping to the core of the girl’s stomach, bringing a wave ofnausea. 

The woman raised her armonce more, the whip seemed to levitate. 

“No.”  The girl said, her voice failing her at thatmoment.  She took a step and grabbed thewhip, pulling it away from the blonde woman. 

DEAD SUNDAY AFTERNOONS

                                                DeadSunday Afternoons

            Iwait in cold sterile anticipation for Monday, for this day, a rather staleSunday afternoon in the month of birth, reeks of decay.  Indeed, Monday calls, with its promise offive more days of hell, growing old, old, and old.  Sunday feels limp and crawls slow and suretowards further nothing, a repeating forgettable day, endless malaise of boredom.

            Iwatch others move, action.  I can’t feel,or maybe will not give in to the urge to commit to a single motion, for nothingcan be accomplished.  The dead power ofnothing, Sunday claws with blades of steel, scraping the sides of myveins.  Can this ever be different?

            Robertsipped at his beer, an attempt at motion, not feeling comfortable with hishands lying limp at his sides.  Hedesired silence instead of motion, but the music throbbed insistent into hisears, all the while he eyed a young blonde talk and talk and talk to an elderlygentleman, the curled ringlets of her hair shanking as she looked around her, atangled boredom visible in her movements.

            Hereyes met his; singed nerves, running down his spine, her eyes locked with hisas she traced her fingers over elderly man’s face.  He forgot about his hands, which he no longerknew existed, his body entire ceasing to exist. Numb, the feel of her stare crushed into his thoughts.  He closed his eyes and still there remained apicture of her eyes, hazel, framed thick and heavy with eyeliner, almost as ifshe were a circus performer, the heavy color making her look whorish.  He breathed a hope outward that her eyesstill watched him, prayer, and exhale! 

He opened his eyes tothose same greedy, heavy hazel eyes, which bit into his skin.  He looked at her, seeing, feeling; the slopeof her neck caressing his hands.  Hecould feel velvet on his fingers.  Slow, slow,slow, waiting for time to begin anew, fresh raw emotion digging wounds into hisback, he jumped as if from a physical pain. His thoughts remained blinded, the want of his senses alive.

            Timestopped, silence broke through, the music blinked out of existence. 

            “Hi.”  She said, from the distance, her fingers fullof grey hair, her silken skin touched by the gnarled fingers of age.

            “Ifeel faint.”  He said.  Air pressed in his lungs, desiring escape,the fair life within him revolting all in one moment with a feeling of lightexploding in star shapes, fireworks, as if brazen heaven arrived to taunt himwith a wagged finger. 

            “Softmorning will break and the sight of her eyes will remain with me.”  He said softly to himself.

            “Sarah.”  She said. Words, clouds, light airy being.

            Hazelburned scars on his flesh.  Once more heclosed his eyes.

           

            Robertwoke to the sound of the phone.  His earsprotested, leading to a general feeling of disgust at being awaked, a feelingwhich passed as a wave over his body.

            “Yes.”  He said. He looked at the clock beside his bed, whose red numbers bled harshlight into the darkness.  It was seven o’clockin the morning.

            “No.  I’ll be in at nine.”  He said, irritation in his voice, which stillthick with sleep sounded angry. 

            “Nine,O’clock.”  He repeated, slowly andangrily.  He hung up the phone and rolledaway from the glare of the alarm clock. He closed his eyes once again.

           

            Hesensed her near him and saw her standing next to his chair as he looked in themirror, all of her at once; the thick flesh of her breasts, her thighs pressingagainst his hand.  He ran his palm overher skin, dragging his fingertips slowly, memorizing the feel of her bytouch.  She leaned in close to him,kissing his ear and whispering.

            “I’vebeen watching you all night.”  She said.

            Robertlaughed and put his arm around her waist.

            “Isn’tthat supposed to be my line?”  Heasked.  He breathed deep and called tothe bartender for another beer.  He spunhis chair to face her, pulling her between his legs. 

            “Whatis your name?”  She asked.  She pressed herself against him, which causedagony in his midsection.  He held hertightly against his jeans, the sight of her exposed skin making his head swimwith pleasure.

            “Robert.”

            Shesmiled and asked him to dance.  He didn’tanswer and she put her hand in his and led him towards the back of theroom.  He saw the others, the girls,talking and flirting and sitting with men, bare skin and smiles.  He let himself be led, following Sarah to asmall room, which contained black leather recliners and little light.  He sat and watched her as she waited for thenext song to begin.  She fluffed her hairand pulled a strap of her bra off her shoulder onto her arm.  The music started and she came to him, separatinghis legs with her hands.

            “Sitback and enjoy.”  She said.

           

            Robertslammed the alarm with his hand, silencing its persistent ringing.  He rolled out of bed and made his way towardsthe bathroom, sleep in his walk.  He ranthe water as he shaved the warmth of steam a comfort.  He stepped into the shower and stoodmotionless under the water, letting it run over his face.  Moments passed, which turned into minutes,and he remained under the water, thinking. Then, as if he remembered the business at hand, he grabbed the soap andwith a sigh, began to scrub.

            Hesat with Sarah at a table near the stage, talking.  She sat next to him, rubbing her hands on hislegs, smiling, and her eyes bright and shining. He sipped his beer as she talked and talked, her hands moving, her legsstretched out next to his.  A fast dancesong began to play and Sarah exclaimed with delight.

            “Thisis one of my friends; I want to see her dance.” Sarah said as she turned round and sat between Robert’s legs.  He saw a tall, slim brunette strut onto thestage and swing round on the poles that ran from floor to ceiling. 

            Sarahmoved with the music, her hips pushing back against him.  He put his arms around her and crossed hishands below her breasts.  He felt dizzyfrom excitement and tried little to follow the brunette’s movements across thestage.  He kissed Sarah on her back andher neck. 

            “Isn’tshe good?”  Sarah asked.  She kept moving her hips with the music.

            “Yes.”  He agreed. He ran his hands over her stomach and traced over her breasts with hisfingertips. 

            “Don’tget too frisky now.”  She said her voicelight and airy, the sound of which tickled his spine once more.

            Hemoaned as she rubbed against his erection, his hands getting closer to herbreasts.  The music seemed to fade as hisdesire turned hot in his blood.  The roomaround him vanished, leaving him alone with her, the feel of her flesh in hisarms the singular experience of existence. He gasped as she made time with the music, eyes closed, inhaling herfragrance, the smell of sweet decay.  Hegripped her arms tightly and pulled her closer. He laid his head against her back and with his eyes shut, the worldceased into perfect nothingness as his body shuddered against hers.

           

            Robertdressed for work as he listened to the traffic report on the radio.  The man reading the report sounded dead hethought to himself.  ‘Traffic is moderateto heavy on I-95, with a twenty minute delay at the I-195 exit.  Traffic northbound is heavier due to anaccident at exit twenty five.  That’s thetraffic at ten to the hour.’ 

            Heshut off the radio and grabbed his keys from the desk.  He looked into the mirror near the door,running his hands through his hair, wishing for more time to be ready.  He put his hand on the doorknob andpaused.  He closed his eyes for a moment,his head leaning down.  With a sigh, heopened the door and stepped out into the cold sunlight of January.

THE CLIFF

                                                            TheCliff

            Ryanstrolled past the bench he of usual occupied as a rest during his afternoonwalk, not liking the old gentleman, whom with a scruffy, salt colored beard,sat reading the morning paper.  Hecontinued on through the park, his feet crunching the gravel under his shoes ashe passed a row of maple trees, which lined the path to the northernentrance.  He rarely walked so far on hislunch hour, preferring to sit for some time upon the bench, letting his mindclear of work anxieties as he ate his lunch.

            Hecame into the opening, which spread wide and green before him, an ocean ofspace in contrast with the maple trees of the park.  The field sloped downwards and he saw in thedistance a cliff, whose rocks leap upwards at their end, protecting one fromfalling into the lake below.  Wide sunshinelit the grass and rocks, leaving him silent. His eyes ran over the field, dark brown following verdant lush greenwhich kissed blue in the distant field.

            Helooked at his watch and frowned, creases appearing round his eyes. He lookedover his shoulder towards the park, a pained expression on his face, thethought of returning to work no doubt upon his mind.  He looked once more out at the cliff,marveling at the way the sun danced star shaped kisses upon the jutting rocks.

            “Ishall return.”  He murmured, turninground to leave.

            “Itis beautiful.”  He heard, or rather felt,from beside him, a voice, tender and feminine, filled with quiet mirth andsecrets.

            Heturned to face her, seeing her hair first, dark and long brown.  She stood smiling, looking towards the cliff,and her hair moving across her face as the wind played.  She wore a white sun dress, simple and plain,her breasts small and visible through the cloth.  She did not look at him, which gave him amoment to look at her, taking in her wide hips and thin bare legs.  In her hands she held sandals, her fingerslooped through the straps.

            Hefelt waves of desire pass through his body, the urge to reach for her, touchher quite strong.  He looked behind him,at the park’s entrance, which led the way back to work.  He decided to stay a few minutes longer.  Her skin reflected golden in the afternoonsunlight and held him where he stood.  Heattempted to speak, but words failed him.

            “Willyou walk with me?”  She asked.  Her voice whispered light and pleasantagainst his ear, a delicate sound.

            “Mylunch hour is over.  I must return towork.”  His voice struggled to sound thewords clearly.

            “Takea chance.”

            Sheheld out her hand towards him.  He lookeddown at her hand, as if it were a foreign object.  Her fingers, thin and pretty, seemedtranslucent to him, seeming to blend with the grass beneath her feet.  He reached his hand forward and put it inhers.

            “Idon’t even know your name.”  He said.

            Shesmiled at him, which combined with the feeling of her skin being pressedagainst his own, made his head swim with pleasure.

            “Namesare not important.”  She said softly, yethe heard her easily over the wind, which blew the smell of the lake towardshim.  She led him by the hand, walkingslow and sure.

            “Tellme about yourself.”  She said.  Her eyes still focused on the cliff.

            “Iam a writer.”  He answered.  He intended to say more, but somehow he felthis statement to be sufficient.

            “Cute.  The salesman writer.”  She clapped her hands together, taking herhand from his for a moment.  She turnedto him, smiling.

            “Yes,I am in sales.  How did you know?”  He asked.

            “Thesuit gives you away.” 

            “Icould be a banker.”

            Shenodded in agreement.

            “However,you are not.”  Her statement made senseto him.

            Shereturned her hand to him and kept walking. Ryan stayed silent, looking into the sky, which cloudless and beautifulblue, hurt his eyes.

            “Tellme about your writing.”  She asked.

            Helooked at her and sighed.

            “Iprefer not to talk about my writing.”  Heanswered.  They walked a few moments asshe pondered, getting closer to the cliff.

            “Thisis serious with you.”

            “Yes.”

            Shesqueezed his hand and smiled at him, understanding.  They came at last to the cliff, walking rightto the edge of the rocks, affording them a view of the lake below.  The wind blew in their faces and brought withit the smells of the lake, of the summer burned grass around them.

            Thelake extended out from the cliff’s base, narrow at its beginning, shaded bytrees on either side before opening wide and bathed with sunlight some hundredyards from where they stood.  Ryan lookeddown and thought to himself that the dark water leading up to the rocks must becold, very cold.  During prior visits tothe cliff, he wished to jump, to fall to the water below.

            “I’vealways wanted to leap from the peak.”

            “Whyhaven’t you?”  She asked.  The question caught him unprepared to answer.

            “Lunchbreak.”  He answered.

            “Ofcourse.” 

            Shenodded in agreement.  She squeezed hishand once more and let go, letting her arms fall by her sides.

            “Ididn’t expect to hear that from you.” She said.

            “Expectwhat?” 

            “Doyou like your job?”

            Heshook his head in the negative.  He knewthe point she hinted at and waited for her to finish.

            “Whydo it then?”

            “Itpays the bills.”

            Sheshook her head from side to side, visibly disappointed with his answer.  She brushed hair from her eyes and looked athim.

            “No.  You must work to pay for those things you donot need:  a nice car, your suit, cabletelevision, and all the other things you have that are not necessary.”

            “Imust pay rent, utilities.  Even withoutextras, I need a job.”

            “Youcould work a job you find more appealing.”

            Helaughed and shook his head in disagreement.

            “Iam a writer.  Having to work at all isthe source of my frustration, the job matters not at all.”

            “Workless hours at a job that doesn’t force the corporate slave mentality on you.” 

            Ryansmiled.

            “Yousound much like I did a few years ago.”

            Shesighed and looked out at the lake.

            “Youhave given up your fight.”  She saidsoftly, the words hard to hear over the wind.

            “Ithink that is a harsh assessment.  I am realistic;it does not mean I’ve given up hope.”

            “No,but you have just the same.  I can hearit in your voice.”

            “Ihave not.”  He answered, firmer.

            “Thenjump.”  She said.  She extended her arm towards the lake, as ifinviting him.

            “Whatdoes that prove?”

            Sheturned to him, her eyes intent upon his own. She reached up and placed a finger on his lips.

            “Oneday you must decide to dedicate yourself, to give all, to sacrifice thosethings in life that take time and energy away from what you need to do, which isto write.”

            Hetried to answer, but she held her hand over his mouth, silencing him and hisobjections.    

            “Youmust throw off society and its rules, become free of all else but looking atwhat you see around you.  You must removeyourself from the world to see it clearly, to able to write without bias.”

            Shestood in front of him, giving him time to think about her words. 

            “Youare a slave and only you can free yourself. I can only offer you my hand and show you the way.”

            Sheremoved her hand from his mouth and took a step in the direction of the forest.  She turned to him, for the last time, andwith tears in her eyes, spoke to him.

            “Ihave hope for you, Ryan.”

            Hefelt tightness in his throat as she walked away from him.  He wanted to speak, to run after her, but heremained still and silent.  Sheapproached the forest and seemed to disappear as she reached the first row ofoak trees.  Ryan remained motionless forsome time, staring into the forest, hoping to see her again.  He heard her last words to him, heard thesoft delicate voice in his mind.  Hesmiled and took a tentative step towards the park, his legs unsure and unsteadybeneath him.

            “Ihave hope for you, Ryan.”  He heard againin his mind.  He spun round, but wasalone.  There was not a soul to beseen.  He stopped walking some twentyfeet from the cliff.  He felt sure now ofwhat he must do and with a smile on his face, turned his body around, lookingonce again out over the lake.

            Withthe smile still on his face, wide and youthful, he began to run, joy surgingwithin him as he took the few strides needed to reach the edge.  His insides pulled him downward and thedizzying rush of air brought tears to his eyes. He saw the blur of the sky blending with the lake, which remained calmand still below him.

            “Iam free.”  He whispered to himself amoment before he plunged into the cold darkness of the lake.

            

TRANSITORY

                                                Transitory

            Michael heard his alarm sound, aninsistent chirping he couldn’t slay, as he put his alarm clock on a tableacross the room to ensure his rising from the deep slumber of another latenight of drinking.  He head felt heavyand a constant throbbing pushed into his temples as he forced himself from bed,smashed his hand down onto the alarm clock in anger and made his way into thebathroom.  He began his routine ofgetting ready for work though clearly not fully awake, as a significant amountof toothpaste fell useless onto the bathroom sink as he mindlessly squeezed thetube. 

            He turned on the shower and steppedunder the light spray of water, without testing the water.  He screamed out a reaction and nearly fellout of the tub, frantically turning the knobs in an attempt to lower thetemperature. 

            “The same routine, every goddamnedday.”  He cursed aloud.  He washed himself vigorously in anger,shaking his head as he thought of how little time he had before work. 

            He left the shower in a rush and ashe dressed, he looked at the clock, which announced he had less than fortyminutes until hell began again.  Hesighed, put on his work shoes and shut off all the appliances.  He exited the apartment in a rush, thinkingof the tourist traffic in his future.  Ashe left the building, he felt a wave of heat crash into him.  The scalding mid-afternoon sun said anomnipresent hello, shook hands with the sky and left a dazzling blindness inMichael’s mind as he jumped into his truck.

            The air inside his truck seemed tobe on fire, making it hard to breathe as he started the engine and immediatelyturned the air conditioning to its highest setting.  He pulled out onto the street, a majorthroughway with almost no traffic, but he smiled knowing that a parking lot ofvehicles lay waiting for him merely a street away from this emptiness.  He turned onto the main street, which led tothe highway, and saw the cars backed up for over a mile.  He turned on the radio, bushed the sweatgathering on his forehead, and settled into his seat, knowing the snarl oftraffic ahead of him might take twenty or even thirty minutes to unwind. 

            He arrived at work with less than aminute to spare before his scheduled in time. He ran for the door and pushed past a co-worker, seemingly new that hedid not recognize, in an attempt to clock in before being deemed late.  The computer did not comply with him and gavehim an error message that he was not a scheduled employee.  Michael shook his head in confusion and madehis way through the kitchen, seeing two more employees he did notrecognize. 

            He knocked on the manager’s door andwaited, seeing a woman sitting at the desk, seeming to transcribe papers intothe computer.  She turned towards thedoor after some moments and finally rose to let him into the office.  

            “Yes?”  She asked, as if confused as to the reasonfor his presence. 

            He stammered for a moment, trying tothink of something to say.  He knew her,but she stared at him as if she had not seen him before that moment. 

            “The computer did not let me clockin, it said I was not scheduled.” Michael finally managed.

            “What is your name?”  She asked, still not recognizing him. 

            “Michael Adams.”  He answered. He followed her and sat down in the chair offered.  He watched as she punched his name into thecomputer and waited as the machine whirred with effort, trying to find him.

            The machine beeped and his fileappeared on the screen.  She tapped theglass knowingly and wagged a finger at him.

            “You are not scheduled tonight, asthe computer told you already.”  Shesaid, as if admonishing him for wasting her time.

            “I wrote the schedule down lastweek, I know it is correct.”  He retortedquickly, the anger rising within him.

            She scrolled through his file,finding his schedule at the bottom. 

            “It says here you are not scheduledagain until Sunday evening.”  She saidwith finality.

            “That can’t be the case.”  He argued. 

            She held out a palm to him and thensimply pointed at the screen.

            “The computer has spoken.”  She said. She clicked the red X at the top of his file and his name disappearedfrom the screen.  She returned to the businessof transcribing the papers next to the computer into the database, without asalutation of any kind towards him.  Helet himself out of the office and mindlessly made is way towards his truck,passing unknown co-workers.

            He sat watching television thatevening, but did not pay the least bit of attention to the program.  He could not comprehend what happened in theafternoon.  He always took great care inwriting down the schedule the moment the managers posted it on Tuesdayevening.  Had they changed it withouttelling him?  Had they simply eliminatedperceived unnecessary shifts?  Questionsswirled through his mind. 

            He grabbed his cell phone and send atext message to a co-worker he sometimes shared a beer with after hours.  He paced the living room, biting his nails ashe waited for a response.  His phonefinally beeped, after what seemed an eternity and he rushed to read themessage.

            “Who is this?”  It said. He stared at the screen, in confused horror, wondering if indeed hemight be going crazy all in one day.

            “This is Michael Adams.”  He responded quickly.  He waited again, but the beep from his phonecame much more quickly this time.

            “I do not know you.” 

            He closed his phone and placed it onthe coffee table.  He sat with a thud onthe couch and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. 

            “I do not know you.”  He repeated slowly, carefully articulatingevery word. 

            The days that followed passed slowlyin the heat of dead afternoons, watching the endless traffic of people movinginto and out of his apartment building, an occurrence so common that he watchedwith unseeing eyes as faceless neighbors hurriedly piled their meagerpossessions onto the back of rusted pickup trucks and scurried out of thecity.  He watched an endless stream ofmovies rented from automated boxes he found to be at nearly every business aroundthe city.  He waited for Sunday evening.  He needed the money and hoped the shift mightbring a lot of business.  He fell asleepSaturday night with a bottle of whiskey next to him, thoughts of the week onhis mind. 

            He woke to the sounds of his alarm,which ripped into the dead silence of his whiskey induced sleep.  He groaned as he rolled out of bed andslammed the alarm clock, feeling an intense throbbing in his head.  He stumbled into the kitchen to force down aglass of water, an intense feeling of dehydration ripping through his limbs.  He ignored the pain and made the journey tothe shower, starting the water without being conscious of it.  He stepped into the tub and screamed asscalding water burned his skin.  Hecursed himself once again, hurriedly turning the knobs to change thetemperature. 

            He dressed and took several painpills to dull the headache pounding at his brain.  He pulled on his shoes, shut off all theappliances and left the building.  Theheat of midafternoon slammed into his chest, taking his breath away.  He walked quickly to his truck, the simpleeffort bringing beads of sweat to his forehead. He started the truck and blasted the air conditioning, the heat rippinginto his mind, erasing all save the need to cool his body. 

            He pulled out into traffic, heavy fora Sunday.  He left early enough to ensurehe arrived on time for his shift.  Hedidn’t want management to have the smallest excuse to send him home.  He turned onto the highway and was surprisedto see very little traffic.  He smiledand turned on the radio, finding a talk radio station.

            “…And we’ll cover Michael Vick’sreturn to the NFL next on W___.”  Theannouncer said before the commercial break. 

            “That figures.”  Michael muttered as he pulled into theparking lot of his restaurant.  He put onhis apron as he approached the building and looked at his watch.

            “Ten minutes early.”  He said to himself as he entered the buildingand made his way to the front, wanting to know in advance what section he hadthat evening.  A tall young boy stood atthe host desk.  He did not know this boyand the boy stared at him quizzically, almost a question to Michael.  Michael leaned around him and looked at thefloor plan, trying in vain to find his name. 

            “What section do I have?”  Michael asked the host, confused. 

            “Um, I don’t know.”  The boy stammered.  His face flushed a deep red.  A server, a young girl wearing a plain blacktee shirt and dark blue jeans, which seemed to be the uniform, differing fromhis own white shirt and black pants, approached him.

            “Can I help you?”  She asked. Her voice was thick with curiosity. 

            “I’m here for my shift tonight and Ican’t find my name on the floor plan.” Michael explained to her. 

            She eyed him carefully, looking overhis foreign uniform slowly.

            “Are you sure you are in the rightrestaurant?”  She asked.  He wondered if she thought him to becrazy. 

            “I’m quite sure.  I’ve worked in this restaurant for over sixmonths.”  He said with confidence. 

            She stared at him and said nothingin response to his statement.  She simplyturned from him and walked into the kitchen. A few moments later a tall fat man holding a clipboard approached him,giving his uniform the same confused once over as had the server.

            The man extended a hand to him,which Michael shook.  The tall fat manseemed friendly enough.

            “Can I help you?”  The man asked.  “I’m Roger, the general manager for thisstore.”

            Michael stared at him, never havingseen this man before this moment.  Hefelt a sinking in his stomach and a tightening in his groin, feeling as if hehad to urinate suddenly.

            “I was scheduled for work.”  Michael said finally. 

            “What is your name?”  Roger asked. Michael told him and waiting as Roger scanned his clipboard.  “I’m sorry, but you are not on my list.”

            “That can’t be.”  Michael said. “I was here on Wednesday and the manager on duty showed me in thecomputer that I was indeed scheduled for this shift, Sunday evening.” 

            “Do you know the name of thismanager?”  Scott asked.  His face showed his lack of belief. 

            “No, I do not.”  Michael answered softly. 

            Scott sighed and motioned for him tofollow.  He led the way through thekitchen, which seemed changed somehow from what he remembered seeing Wednesdaynight.  Scott opened the office door andled Michael inside, offering him the seat next to the desk.  Scott opened the folder with the employeefiles and typed in Michael’s name, both of them waiting with impatience whilethe machine whirred in effort.

            After some moments the computerbeeped and a message appeared on the screen.

           

            NO MATCHING NAME FOUND IN DATABASE.

            Michael stared in disbelief at thescreen, his vision clouding for a moment as all of the facts of the dayattempted to crowd into his brain.  Hefelt physical pain in his head and place his hands on his ears, as if to stopthe entry of further stimuli. 

            “No, this can’t be.”  He said. 

            Scott frowned and pointed at thescreen once again.

            “You are not in the computer.  Therefore, you do not work here.”  Scott said, as if the logic in his statementwas incontrovertible.

            “I work here.”  Michael said quietly, a weak attempt todisagree. 

            “You do not exist.”  Scott said as he rose from the desk.  He led Michael towards the exit at the rearof the kitchen, opening the door for him in silence. 

            The door opened into an alley and ittook him some time to find his way to the main parking lot.  He looked for his truck, but the spot he leftit in was empty.  He ran to and fro,looking in vain for his vehicle.  Infrustration he returned to the restaurant, hoping someone inside might have ananswer to the riddle of his lost truck. 

            He opened the door, but found nobodyat the host desk.  He ran from room toroom, finding not a soul.  He made hisway through the kitchen towards the manager’s office and pounded his fists onthe door.  He saw a small figure sittingat the computer.  The person did notrespond to his repeated assaults. Michael stopped and simply waited, watching the figure typing into the computer.  After many minutes, the figure turned andvery suddenly opened the door.

            A man stood before him, a small thinman with a receding hair line.  He lookedat Michael with questioning eyes, as if waiting for him to explain hispresence. 

            “Where is Scott?”  Michael asked. 

            The thin man looked at him, hisexpression void of comprehension.

            “There is no Scott here, boy.”  The man said, his voice ripping intoMichael’s mind.  He indeed wasn’t sure ifthe man actually spoke or somehow was speaking inside of his head.

            Michael turned, wanting to hearnothing further on this day.  He ran forthe exit and burst forth, screaming and waving his arms.