They Are Watching

Chapter Eight

He watched as she slowly opened up to him, though she still had her arms crossed, tightly holding onto herself.

“I remembered the voice and even the workers said something about this experience. They never called it a vacation just plain and simple,” he continued to talk. “As far as it seems, everyone knew exactly what would happen here. Even,” he paused, remembering the bellhop who brought up his bags. 

The man told him to eat before dinner because the portions served are so small it’s like they are barely there.

His eyes widened when he remembered that fact, “Everyone knew.”

He was sure of it.

“What is WIC? What do they do, exactly?” He could feel himself getting passionate, losing control over his feigned calm. “Do you have any ideas?”

“How are you so sure everyone knew?” She asked first, holding her hand up in front of her to slow his rapid-fire questioning down, so she had a chance to consider what it was he was trying to say to her. 

“The bellhop warned me,” he told her, an edge in his voice. “I can’t remember his name, but he told me to eat lunch cause I practically wouldn’t be eating dinner. The host that greeted me when I first got here told me to enjoy my experience! Even the automated voice says it repeatedly. All of them must work for WIC, but what kind of company would sponsor something like,” he paused, fumbling for an appropriate word to describe what they were going through, “this?”

He was so wrapped up in his explanation he didn’t see when Terrie slid back down to the floor. She looked like she was having her own epiphany at the moment.

“I looked them up before I filled out the application,” she was back to speaking in a lower tone, her aggression practically gone. “They are a council, a world council.”

“What kind? Are they a bunch of counselors?” he asked, trying to get an understanding of any kind.

“No, no,” she looked at him. “A council, like a round table of people who make decisions. And it’s a world council, so that table is a very big one.”

Adam could feel his mind, expanding to take in that knowledge. A world council was purposely holding them hostage, withholding food and water, and asking them questions about death?

“What are they making decisions about, exactly? What does W. I. C stand for, exactly?”

“Ideation, that is the word I saw on their website,” she mumbled. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s everything that encompasses an idea and then brings it to life.”

“So they are a world council that brings ideas to life?” his voice rose in pitch. “How does that affect us trapped here? Those questions they asked us, were they trying to give us ideas or use our answers for something else?”

“I don’t know, I can’t possibly know the answer to that,” she shivered, looking small.

“I need to figure this ou-,”

“Adam, thank you for participating in our questionnaire. Once again, your experience here is one to be remembered. Your admittance to killing your father is one that has shade insight to all who are interested. Your honesty is appreciated and will be rewarded. On the front desk is a bottle of water. You may have a drink.”

He froze as soon as he heard that automated voice, the tone slowly becoming one he dreaded to hear. As he looked at the front desk, there was the bottle of water even though he couldn’t be sure how it got there without either of them noticing.

He could feel his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and despite his apprehension, he was going to drink the water. He needed it.

“You may think your choice to end your father’s life is an unacceptable one. But on average, most people choose their fathers over their mothers-,”

“How many people have you done this to?” He shouted, fist clenching the bottle of water in his large hand.

“Because of the nurturing aspect their mothers provide, one could not fathom ending the life of the one who showed them compassion, kindness, and motherly love. Imagine someone choosing such a person for death-,”

“Why are you still talking?” He could feel his blood boiling as he listened to that voice speak in its calm, automated tones.

“-imagine their face of betrayal after all they had done for you. But now. Let’s not forget the one you chose for death. Your father. A person equally responsible for your life-,”

“Shut up!” He yelled, panic rising up his throat like a burning vile.

“-And in your case, Adam. A man as dedicated to your happiness as your mother. How interesting that he was chosen when he was the one who brought you back twice after your overdoses…”

The unopened water bottle dropped from his hands as he stood motionless. How could they have known that? Why did they bring it up? Were they using that information to torture him?

He placed his large hands over his ears, trying to drown out the automated voice, as he shook his head from side to side. Hearing it was worse than the music that was blasted all night previous. Eventually, he began to scream to drown the sound out. Falling into a squat position, he screamed until he felt light-headed. His eyes were squeezed shut to block out the world, to avoid having to see anything. 

Past the noise he was making, he could still hear that the voice was talking, and someone other than him was crying.

~

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only an hour, the automated voice stopped. Adam was lying in a fetal position on the floor, hands still over his ears as he hummed deliriously.

Terrie watched over him from a spot not too far off. 

Though the automated voice was speaking to and about Adam, she knew her turn was next. And watching him react the way he did let her know they were hitting spots sensitive to him. She could imagine what the voice would say to her.

“Adam,” she called to him from her distance. “It’s over.”

He didn’t respond, still raggedly humming while he stayed in a ball. He had to be at least 192 cm, so it was interesting to see someone as tall as him ball up so tightly. Even still, his back and shoulders should be hurting him after all the time that passed. But she didn’t trust that he wouldn’t lash out at her if she got too close. After all, she gave him more than enough reason to despise her.

She tried calling his name again, hoping she’d receive more of a reaction. To her dismay, she didn’t get what she was hoping for. She had to approach him.

“Adam,” she called again, walking a little closer before dropping to her hands and knees. She crawled the rest of the way, reaching out to quickly tap him on his broad shoulder.

His entire neck and face were a nasty red as if he were straining to breathe. When she tapped him again, he peeked a tear-encrusted eye open past the long hair hanging in his face. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, making his hazel-colored irises glow gold. She recoiled slightly once he looked at her, pulling back out of self-preservation, “Adam, it’s over. I fear it’s my turn next.”

He only shook his head, closing his eyes against the light and her stare. She didn’t tap him again, choosing to sit and watch as his pale skin slowly returned back to its original color instead of heat red. Eventually, he removed one hand from his ear, using it to push his thick black hair off of his forehead as he rolled onto his back. With him fully stretched out, he looked even longer than he did standing. His blue shirt was damp with sweat, sticking to his chest and stomach as he breathed deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a deep, dejected voice. “I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

She didn’t understand why he was apologizing.

Anyone in that situation would lose their cool at least a little bit. She couldn’t guarantee how she would react, but she knew it’d be similar if not worse than Adam’s own reaction.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she reassured him. “I should, for attacking you the way I did earlier.”

He peeked his eyes open again. They were still terribly red and glassy, “You don’t look too good. How are you feeling?”

He chuckled dryly, causing lines to appear in his face like long dimples, “My head is killing me.”

She reached behind her and pulled the unopened water out to sit it in front of him, “You should probably have some of that. You might be a little dehydrated.”

He groaned as he pushed himself to sit up. She wanted to back up further, he seemed all-encompassing even while sitting down. She wasn’t even a short woman, she was just fine-boned, but he had hands that looked like they could snap her in two if he wanted.

“How about I drink half and you have the rest,” he suggested, not meeting her eyes.

“That’s your reward, remember?” She looked at the tempting bottle of water. She’d thought about drinking it while he was distracted and afterward pretending like she didn’t know what happened to it when he went to look for it. But she couldn’t after seeing him suffering, no matter how her brain told her she needed to survive. “I’ll get my own reward.”

He looked at her, wariness written all over his face, but she didn’t say anything more. She knew he knew what she meant.