Time & Space (Short Fiction Collection Vol. 2) (16 page)

We thought we had found heaven.

What we had found, was a trap!

Stern faced men in dark clothing quickly surrounded us. We fought bravely, but to no avail. That was forty-one days ago.

Why?

God damn it…
WHY?

The old one with the dry gravely voice says it’s because were not like our captors. He says that we’re different and they hate us because of it. He also says that they fear us because we are so different from them.

Different? So they have the right to kill us?

Thousands have been eliminated in our captor’s fleshy smelling torture rooms and gas chambers since Peter and I arrived. Thousands will probably die after we are gone. They seem to have a scheduled day to die for every one of us. Today is day forty-two. My day – Peter’s and mine.

Genocide.

There’s nothing that we can do about it.

…Except wait, in semi-darkness.

***

…We wait, in early morning sunlight.

A blinding sun slowly reaching into our cell with a hand we’d rather not shake.

Peter is silent, his mind thankfully gone from this terrible place.

“It’s okay Peter,” I reassure him anyway. “They’re not here yet.”

I know it’s a lie. I can hear them talking among themselves at the end of the hall.

I hold Peter close, comforting myself probably more than him.

It helps me calm down. A little.

Again we wait, in early morning sunshine…

It’s strange the things you think about when you know you’re watching the sunrise for the very last time. Of course I’ve been thinking about my family, they are always first and foremost to me. I hope my beautiful wife Heather is going to be okay. Damn these bastards if they ever lay a finger on her. I pray she carries on without me with her head held high and raises our daughter to be strong and proud of our race. I hope my dear little Samantha isn’t too young to remember me. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

I pray for Peter’s family too, and the rest of the friends and relatives we know. Hopefully, God will spare all of them the fate he has chosen for us.

Maybe God doesn’t have any say in it.

Who does then? When I think of our captors it makes me want to scream. One second I want to rip their well fed guts apart, the next I find myself praying for their souls. I hate them for what they are doing, but I’m not capable of hating them the way they seem capable of hating me. Like the old dry voiced prisoner keeps telling me – I’m different. Our race doesn’t hate someone without a reason, like they do.

They?

Who are…
THEY?

That’s something I wonder about. I wonder who it was that has ordered me and Peter do die? Who’s calling the shots, in other words? What does he look like? How can he possibly go to sleep at night feeling at ease and justified in what he’s doing? I’ll probably never know. I do know that it isn’t one of the big sweaty men around here that are in control. There has to be people above them. Their boss, or perhaps even higher – who knows just how high up the chain of command the orders come from.

In this poor excuse of a degenerating world we live in, the almighty corporate dollar is usually the boss. Those in control of the money are those in control of the power. Some people will step on and destroy anything and anyone that gets in their way of obtaining this power. Once they have it, they’ll crush anyone trying to take it away.

It’s really sickening, but quite obviously true.

Peter and I are living examples of this modern greed.

Not for long, though. Soon we’ll be dead examples!

They’re coming for us now. I can hear heavy footsteps rhythmically echoing off the cement floor, like a grandfather clock chiming out the hour.

The hour of our death.

We are removed from our small cell and roughly taken to the torture chamber at the far end of the hall. The sad, haunted eyes of our fellow prisoners follow along with us.

Our executioners are huge muscular men in pale white uniforms. They tower above us like giants as they strap us down on a large blood stained table. Maybe it’s just my fear that makes them seem so large. After all, I am very frightened.

One of them notices me trembling and it makes him smile. He simply walks away to help his partner prepare our death. We watch helplessly, as they fill two shockingly large syringes with some unknown amber liquid. There’s not much time left for Peter and I. We look into each other’s terrified eyes and pray. Besides that, there’s nothing left to do.

…Except wait, in early morning sunshine.

***

…I wait, in silence.

A paralyzing fear gripping my heart like a thousand slowly tightening cast iron bands.

Peter is dead.

“They murdered him,” my mind screams.

They are going to murder me next.

“No!” I try to convince myself, but I know it’s true.

I can clearly see them preparing the next needle for me.

I’m trying to stay calm, but my composure is starting to slip. A little.

Alone I wait, in silence…

How can they be doing this to me? What have I done to deserve being treated like this? So what if I’m different than them, these people aren’t God. I have every right to live in peace.

Don’t I?

The smaller of the two men slowly walks toward me. He has the long needle in his bloody hand. Poor Peter’s blood!

I have time to pray for Peter and hope he’s moved onto a better place. A place where there’s no more pain… no more hate. I say a quick prayer for myself too.

And then the syringe is viciously jabbed into me.

I feel the tip of it enter me just above the base of my long pink tail. My sharp claws are digging involuntarily into the hard wooden table and the whiskers on my face are beginning to twitch spastically as the poison swiftly courses through my small furry body.

Why is this happening?

Why?

Through a haze I see and hear my two executioners talking above me. I see that it says '
LAB TECHNICIAN'
 on the pocket of each of their white coats. They’re talking about me… saying something about some big cosmetics company and how they’re trying really hard to develop new products for them.

That can’t be it!

Please tell me that I’m not dying just so some big company can get rich developing a new shade of lipstick. Please tell me that isn’t true! Who gave them the right to decide my life was worth so little?

Maybe if I shout out to them, scream my little heart out, maybe they’ll begin to understand. I could let them know that I’m more than just some disposable plaything to experiment with. I could tell them that I have feelings just like them. I get scared, I get lonely, and I get confused!

I wonder if they would even care?

I wonder if anyone cares?

My strength is almost gone now. I’m struggling for just a few more ragged breaths. I know I should at least try to make them understand but it just wouldn’t do any good. I’m just a little nameless white rat, and my feeble words would never be enough to put a stop to this madness. The corporate heads of business and science that run this world will always carry more weight then the little defenseless animals like me.

Am I in the middle of a quiet war? Is what they’re doing publicly supported genocide? I don’t know. I just know that it’s wrong. There has to be a better way. There just has to be. Maybe someday, someone will find it.

But that day won’t be today.

So I wait, like Peter and the millions of test animals before me, for my death. I should try to talk to them, but I won’t. I won’t do anything.

…Except wait, in silence.

STORY NOTES

This story is one of my earliest publications. It was published in a long defunct E-zine called Sinister Element back around 1999 or so. I set out hoping people would think it was a horror story but then be surprised when I hit them with the twist science fiction ending. At the time I thought I was being quite clever but now that I read it with my more experienced eyes, I should have been a tad more subtle. The tale is a bit heavy handed and preachy, especially at the end, but even with its warts I’ve always liked it. It marked a significant turning point for me when I realized stories could actually be about something other than just blood and gore and that I could write about things that were important to me. For that reason alone, I wanted to include it in this collection.

MEMORIES OF A HAUNTED MAN

Toni knelt in front of her son in the foyer and wrapped the scarf around his neck.

“How come we had to come to Canada, mom?” Robert asked as his clumsy mitten-covered hands pulled his woolly hat down over his ears. “Why couldn’t we have stayed in Tennessee?”

She understood her son’s heartache, but there was no choice. The doctors had only given her father Sam a year, and that was if everything went well. “Honey,” she said with a sad smile. Her complexion was white as the snow on the ground outside their Nova Scotia home, and her curly raven hair was the same shade as the sadness she felt about losing her father. “Robby, Mommy had to come take care of Grampa. He’s really sick. Can you understand?”

Robby nodded his head. “Yeah, I guess. I suppose it’s not all
that
bad here.”

“That’s the spirit, honey,” Toni smiled. “Besides, we’re not looking after Grampa all by ourselves. Aunt Pam is gonna help us out.”

“That’s good. Why isn’t Uncle Dave here with Aunt Pam?”

“Now, Robert, mommy told you we don’t want to bother Aunt Pam with that right now. Be glad she’s offered to help.”

Pam’s relationship had gone south years ago, but Dave and her had stayed together for a couple years just to make sure it was dead. Toni’s older sister—as dear as she was to her nephew—had a gift for solitude and loneliness. With Dave gone that meant husband number three was no more, and it wasn’t that she didn’t try. She had always been a loner. As far back as Toni could remember, the only person Pam had ever had a relationship with besides herself was their father. And soon that would be ending.

“Okay, I won’t say anything. Promise.”

Robby’s eyes dropped to the floor, and his chin began to quiver. Sensing his distress, Toni hugged him. “What’s wrong, big guy?” she asked gently.

“Is Grampa going to die while I’m at Stan’s house?”

She felt her son’s pain and shook her head reassuringly. It took everything she had to keep from breaking down herself. She couldn’t understand why this was all dragging on, why Robby had to suffer watching his grandfather decay into nothing. “He won’t die while you’re away, but remember what mommy told you, okay? If Grampa
does
die it won’t be sad because he’ll be up in heaven. We’ll miss him terribly, but he’ll be in a far better place.”

The boy practically clubbed himself in the face with his mitten as he wiped his tears away.

 ***

When Toni walked into the kitchen, she was wiping her puffy tear-stained eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said to her sister seated at the table. She was trying hard to keep her mixed emotions in check, part of her wanting to laugh, part ready to burst into sobs. “This whole thing has been so hard on Robby.”

“I know,” Pam sympathized. “It’s been hard on all of us.”

Pam had the same black hair as Toni only it was cut in a bob and streaked with a hint of gray. Their father’s suffering had marked a turning point in their relationship. The four-year difference in age no longer meant anything, their considerably different lives having been suddenly thrust together. Seeing Toni in such bad shape tore at Pam’s heart; she wanted to say something, do anything to help, but she felt numb.

Pam let go of her warm coffee cup and leaned forward onto her arms, wrapped in the warmth of her blue polar fleece. “I was able to rent the house down the street. With Dave out of the picture, I can finally put my attention on dad where it belongs.” Pam continued after another sip, “We can take turns watching Robby and caring for dad.”

Toni smoothed her hands down her brown sweater and the front of her green pants. Then she sniffled as she walked over to the coffee pot on the counter and poured herself a cup.

“I didn’t mean for you to give up your life, too,” she said as she sat down. “Dad lived with you for so long after mom died. It’s my turn to take care of him.”

“We can’t look at it that way, Toni.” Pam reached out and clutched her sister’s hand. The lump in her throat was difficult to speak around. “Besides, I have to do this. He means everything to me…you know that! Daddy sacrificed everything for us when we were growing up. He and momma didn’t even have a honeymoon because he was working two jobs and doing carpentry work on the side just to keep a roof over our heads. How do you repay that?” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “How do you say thanks to a man for giving up his life for you? How do you thank him when he doesn’t even know who you are anymore?” She shook her head in regret. “I should have come sooner.”

Toni squeezed her sister’s hands. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “I didn’t know mom and dad didn’t have a Honeymoon. I knew they’d suffered a lot for having us before they were married, but I didn’t realize just
how
much they’d suffered. That’s so sad!”

Pam nodded, breaking down as her face fell into her hands. “Family’s all you have in the end.”

Hearing her father’s favorite words brought a wave of sorrow crashing down on Toni, making her feel empty, longing to somehow turn back the hands of time so she could thank her father for everything he’s ever done for her. Pam must have been troubled with similar thoughts. “He worked himself half to death so I could waste his money at the University of Kansas and have nothing to show for it.” Pam’s regret mounted and she bawled like a child. “He never said a word…not one, just told me to hang in there; I’d find my niche someday. God, what a fool I was! I wasted
all
that money,
all
those years, bumming around from one useless man to the next, getting married, getting divorced, getting so depressed I wouldn’t leave my bed for two weeks, then starting the same stupid cycle over and over again. I must have been crazy. Hell, I
was
crazy for a while there! I got so damn caught up in my own miserable problems, I forgot all about the only man who ever really loved me for who I was…dad! I’ll never forgive myself for that.”