Contains: short 4x1
With the blonde’s father’s appearance, there came an influx of people. Just the morning after it was as though a buzzing, similarly dressed, and like-minded horde had invaded. The mansion is afloat, riding on a sea of office workers. I recognize them from my software desk jockey days, but they’re different, in key ways, from the kind I’ve known. They’re professional lackeys. They’re polished. They have more mobility, more drive, and more vision. They’re speed walkers, spirited paper-pushers, determined and eager to please go-getters. So, this is the kind of people the blonde calls around him, the people he chooses to surround himself with when he decides to be a CEO and not a gimped billionaire who’s hiding secrets from Daddy.
Black pants, white shirts, black ties...the men...
I’m creeping around, dressed as the others, blending in as best as I can. I fill my head with lies, telling myself that I’m only trying to find out why all these people are suddenly here and why they all seem very busy...but I couldn’t care less. I want to know what he’s doing. I want to know why I’ve been allowed to stay here.
I’m at his office door. It’s the first time that it isn’t wide open. It’s only slightly ajar, but it’s enough. I can see the blonde and his father. They’re in the middle of a conversation. I watch them for a while without paying heed to their words. There’s a sudden change in tone and I tune in.
“And how did you come to know this? From their personal records?”
“No, father. It was through conversation.”
“Conversation? You spoke with every employee? And what did small talk tell you?”
“A relocation for the younger workers would cause little stir since the majority are single. However, our longer term employees--”
“Sweeten their pension.”
“Father...”
“You have something to say?”
My mind backtracks as the blonde stands silent. Was that what he was doing that day in the elevator when he fired me? Interviewing? Investigating the nature of his employees? Deciding whether or not to send each to the scrap heap? He scrapped me, twice.
The blonde finally has an answer that he’s willing to verbalize. He looks back at his father. “It’s not just about remuneration. Some of our employees have been working there for decades. Yes, at present, we won’t make any profits, but there isn’t anything wrong with breaking even if it means keeping our staff--”
“Good work.”
His father was testing him.
“You’re pleased?” The blonde sounds younger, almost adolescent.
Without returning his gaze, his father replies, “For now.” The words aren’t dismissive, just cautious.
Cautious...
But I don’t have time to consider it because the blonde’s father has moved on to the next item on his agenda.
“I want to meet your personal staff.”
The blonde doesn’t respond right away. Finally, he replies, “It would be a great inconvenience to--”
His father looks back at him. “Call it a function, a meet-and-greet. Your employees will receive an extended lunch break and I will have the opportunity to meet the people supporting my son. I’ve already made the arrangements.”
My eyes narrow.
I hadn’t realized it until just now, but the blonde is clutching his right arm and probably has been for some time.
His father also notices his stance.
“What’s wrong with your arm?”
“It still hurts from---” The blonde catches himself.
“Still hurts from what?”
After a long silence, his father asks, “What did you do?” His tone is more accusing than concerned.
The blonde is still holding his arm. There’s a frown just about to mark him, but he curbs it. He looks tired.
I hear someone behind me. I look back. It’s one of the paper lackeys. He’s speed walking down the hall. I catch up with him.
He looks back at me as I snag him by his collar. “Hey--”
My tone discourages any potential disagreement. “Give me those forms.”
I’m back at the door. His father isn’t letting up. My hand is raised.
“I’m waiting for a response, Quatre. Honesty is one of the few things I require--”
I knock on the door. It swings open. As best as I can, I try to look startled as they face me. I drop my papers and begin picking them up hastily.
I hear footsteps and, when I look up, I see the blonde’s father kneeling down. He’s helping me pick up the papers as he says, “You’re a little pale. We’re having a luncheon in an hour. Be sure to drop in.”
I freeze. Eerie. They’re eerily similar. From pissed off to good-natured, at the drop of a hat.
The papers are taken care of and we stand up. “I haven’t introduced myself,” he says.
“I know who you are.” I frown. The braid’s rubbing off on me. Talking before thinking.
He chuckles. I try not to squint at him as he says, “That takes care of half of the introductions.”
He’s prodding me without making any requests.
“I’m Heero,” I say.
“What do you do here?”
I look at the blonde. His back is turned. He’s looking out of a window.
I’m still watching him as I say, “I make fonts. I take dictation.”
A week has passed since the luncheon. I didn’t go to it, but I’ve kept myself busy. I’m watching, as always.
The horde of eager employees is heading home for the day. I know everyone’s schedule. I know who skips out as soon as it’s 5 p.m. and who stays late to earn extra lackey points. A week of watching has afforded with me this information. A week of scrutinizing everyone’s habits makes me capable of discerning when I should enter the blonde’s office, when his father isn’t around, when all competing distractions are nil.
I watch the last of the stragglers walk out of his office. I’ve been pushed. He’s been ignoring me, not avoiding, but overlooking me. Like furniture. I’m furniture. I’m the chair no one sits in but requires too much effort to throw out.
I make my entrance. In my back pocket is an envelope of money, this week’s salary from Mr. Forehead.
I want answers. I want to know why I’ve been allowed to stay here, why he allows me to be paid for simply haunting this place.
I see him. He’s standing in front of his desk reading. He doesn’t turn around as I approach him, but I get his attention when I grab his arm.
“What are you doing?” he asks while looking back at me as though I’m wearing a plate for a hat.
It’s obvious what I’m doing. I’m getting his attention, wresting it.
It’s trouble. He takes his arm away.
He still looks uneasy as he says, “Not in my office, Heero. Never in my office.”
He acknowledged my presence only to dismiss me. I leave.
Ignored. Fine. Rejected. Repelled. Fine. I look up and realize that I’m in the wrong place. I’d walked into his adjoining tech room rather than out of his office. I took an unintended detour into a shadowy area with glowing, droning machines. Great. I need to find an exit, or a light switch.
I hear footsteps behind me. They’re fast, as though someone is striding to catch up with me. I turn around and the blonde is in front of me. I back up to get out of his way. He isn’t trying to get past.
The glow of the computers is on his face.
He says my name like he’s trying to catch his breath. A second passes. His mouth is hot over mine. My lips are apart. He tongues me like he’s desperate for a taste of me.
And I take it. I’m up against a desk, with my rear pressing on a keyboard. He’s got a thigh between my legs. I’m hard. He is, too.
He suddenly backs away. He doesn’t look at me.
He walks back to his office, leaving me with the hum of the machines as a backdrop.
And I stay in there. It’s not just a suspicion that he’ll ignore me once I go back in there. I know he will. The issue is whether or not I’ll do anything about it.
He fired me, twice. He told me to pack up my shit and leave. Yet, I’m still here. I hear his phone ring. I listen to him pick it up and answer in a genial but formal tone. I have no leverage. I was a guest, then an employee, now I’m just a sponge, sucking up his assets and waiting to be used.
I’m drinking with the braid...again. Three nights of this. I just need a knapsack, a five o’clock shadow, a vagrant spirit and I’ll be a hobo.
The braid makes a noise of disgust. He’s been ranting for some time.
“Great...I just hope she’s not planning on moving in. Can’t frigging take it. Well, at least I don’t have to eat with her.”
Hootie came. She, the blonde, and his father are old friends turned negotiators. They’ve been moving around as a trio for the last three days and now they’re at dinner. I’m in the woods with the braid and they’re at dinner.
The braid is shaking his can. It’s empty. The motion seems to be a nervous one. “We’re screwed,” he mutters. He crumples up the can and drops it. “If Quatre’s father is up to what I think he is, she’s going to be one huge step closer to having a rock on her finger. And you know what that means?” There’s a pause. “Hey, I’m asking you a question.”
He scoffs when I say nothing. “What the hell is your problem? God, you’ve been such a downer. You know what? Forget the beer; we’re going somewhere.”
I’m suspicious. “Where?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The braid is about twenty feet away from me. He’s on his cell phone whispering. He looks back at me and begins laughing.
I’m standing here like a fool, waiting for him. I should leave. I turn around.
“Wait a minute, Heero. Everything is taken care of.”
I’d already started walking. He catches up with me and blocks my retreat.
“You like to stare. How about staring up at the stars?”
I look back at him. He didn’t give me a choice. He’s still standing in front of me as he says, “How about camping?”
It was a 20 minute ride in his tow truck. I think we’re off the blonde’s territory and in someone else’s.
As the truck pulls into the would-be camping site, I see two vehicles. One is a pick-up truck and the other is a jeep. The drivers are standing by the backs of their vehicles. Spidey and Mr. Forehead look back at me with mild interest. I was expected and now I’m wondering what to expect.
The braid parks and we get out. Without any words, they begin moving around, doing what I assume are their customary tasks when they come out here. I settle on standing motionless, but the braid looks back at me and tells me to park myself on a nearby stump.
It suddenly occurs to me...
It’s lackeys’ night out, except I’m the interloper.
Spidey looks my way as he moves the sleeping bags. “It was a false alarm.”
I know I’m squinting. I have no idea what he’s referring to.
“There was no birth,” clarifies Mr. Forehead. He’s arranging the firewood. “His sister is still as big as a whale.”
No one says anything. It looks like Mr. Forehead is testy, testier than usual.
I look at the braid as he lets out a sigh. “Yeah...you know what? Let’s set up later... Recreation sounds good right about now.” He yawns and stretches. “Well, if we’re going to do this we might as well get out the necessary stuff.” The braid glances at spidey. “Who brought the bag? Ahh, nevermind. I see it.”
He grabs a small duffle bag from the back of the pick-up truck and drops it to the ground. In front of it, he rests on his haunches.
He’s digging through the bag. He’s tossing stuff and calling out as he does. “Heads up, Trowa. Flashlight, binoculars, whistle, stopwatch.” With minimum effort, spidey catches everything thrown his way. The braid moves on. “Wufei, pay attention. Binoculars, stopwatch, whistle, new personality...oh, wait. I’m sorry. We don’t have one of those.”
“Maxwell...”
The braid snickers. “Here’s your flashlight. Relax.” He’s digging through the bag again.
I know I’m frowning. What am I doing here? Why am I putting up with this? I should have packed up my things and left when I had the chance. He’s screwing with my head. He blew me off but—
Something grazes my ear.
I look back at the braid. From his demeanor, he’s been trying to get my attention for some time.
He has a knife. He points it at me as he barks, “Look, I’m tired of your sulking. Three days of this shit. Take the fucking paper and play along.”
Paper? I look down. I see the supplies he’d taken out for me at my feet. I’d missed something. I look back at him. There’s a folded paper in his other hand. I take the paper. He’s still holding the knife in my direction while looking deranged. It’s a side of him I haven’t seen for a while. I almost forgot that he’s crazy and dangerous.
The braid turns to his next victim. “Wufei--”
Mr. Forehead’s tone is gruff. “What?”
“God, you’re snappy. What bug crawled up _your_ ass?”
“It wasn’t an insect. It was a big busted blonde.”
The braid looks confused. He drops the knife. “Quatre in drag? That’s--”
“Catalonia,” responds Mr. Forehead in disgust.
Spidey interrupts with a murmur aimed at me. “With Quatre’s father around, he can’t be insolent.”
The braid is laughing. “It means he can’t fire back at any of her retorts.”
“Insolent? I’m not a child--”
“You’re scowling. There’s nothing to dispute,” comments spidey.
I watch them. They’re enjoying themselves in their own way, by ganging up on one of their own. I can’t find any amusement. My thoughts are elsewhere.
If I go back to the mansion, I’ll be an after dinner mint. Something you roll around your mouth, something you toy with, after you’ve had your fill.
He’s matter-of-fact with me. And it’s pissing me off.
“Hey, droopy mouth, we’re about to begin. Think you can focus long enough for the instructions?” I look back at the braid as he says, “Read the paper.”
As soon as I begin to unfold the paper, they’re gone. They ran in separate directions. I vaguely recall how we got here. I wonder if I’ve been dumped and now have to spend the night here. The suspicion is quickly scrapped. Their cars are here and there’s enough light for me to try to find my way back. I frown and look down at the sheet. It says: “Everyone has a person to capture. Find Trowa and watch out. By the way, don’t forget the magic word. It’s ‘tag’. You’ve got 60 minutes.”
I drop the paper. The wind picks it up and hurls it between the trees. I’m in some weird game of tag, where I’m the hunter and the hunted. I grab the flashlight and stopwatch at my feet and start walking. I don’t even want to think about what the repercussions of getting caught are.
There’s something moving in the trees above me. It’s large. It’s human size. It has to be spidey. I hear him. I have to catch him, but it has little to do with this farce the braid has gotten me involved in. There’s something I need to know. I take off through the woods with the branches snagging onto my clothes and arms. I’m getting scratched up, but that’s fine. I can take it. I want something to keep my mind off of other things. Something that will scab over and I can pick at. Shit. I lost him. I stop. I have my hand on a tree. I’m bracing myself against it. I’m winded. Sprinting, I have that down. But long term chases through rugged terrain... I’m out of my league. Apparently, I’m not alone.
I hear a sudden noise. It’s the sound of breaking branches, as though something is falling through them, plummeting. A pair of legs comes out of nowhere. I take a step back and just manage not to get clocked. I look up. Spidey is hanging from a tree, by one hand. The sun is setting. It’s getting darker. I shine my flashlight on him. I reach out and tap on his leg. I mutter “tag” and I get kicked.
Incredulous and ready to growl, I look up at him.
His response is sardonic. “I’d apologize but you’re blinding me.”
I move the flashlight away from him and upward at the branches. He fell through them. There’s no lingering doubt.
I look back at him. He’s hanging by two arms as he says, “The new leg is fast. At times, I can’t keep up with it.”
Keep up...
My mouth is moving on its own. “If it’s a problem, return it.”
He looks down at me.
We both know that I’ve said something stupid. He lets it slide. I ask a question. It’s something that has been bothering me.
“Are you the only subject?”
He’s still hanging by his arms. “Subject?” He goes silent. He looks pensive as he says, “You mean guinea pig. There---”
There’s something darting through the bushes. I look over. It’s the braid.
Spidey swears and hikes himself up into the trees.
I look at the braid. He’s just noticed that spidey was here and has just left the scene. “What the hell is wrong with you, Heero? You’re supposed to tag him.”
“I did.”
He blinks back at me and then suddenly laughs. “Damn, he’s cheating again. Looks like we're going to have to get the tranquilizer darts!”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. I have to get out of these woods.
I feel a slap to my shoulder. It’s from the braid as he says, “Oh yeah, ‘tag’.”
But the freak show isn’t over. I look past the braid. Spidey is hanging upside down about ten feet behind him. He managed a silent entrance, much slyer than his ineptitude only moments before.
From his lack of concern, the braid isn’t his target. He just hangs
there, staring back at me, keeping his presence a secret. He mouths something.
It’s the rest of his answer to my earlier question.