Look, two chapters in 24 hours! Probably could have squished them both into one chapter but I had no idea I'd write this second one.
Riley
.
This stunk.
I'm gonna blame my sudden flashback on my exhaustion, relative dehydration, general pain, and Tomas's looming presence.
Washing dishes. Like I did pretty much every other day in the summer between my senior year of high school and my freshman year of college. I hated washing dishes. The warm water made me feel feverish, the old spaghetti sauce in the cans and on the plates made me nauseous, and when ever I reached into the cupboard below me for more dish detergent I'd get a waft of the compost bucket. Then I'd straighten back up and look into the brown, slightly-sudsy water, little bits of waterlogged rice that had been sitting at the bottom of a bowl collecting all that summer dampness, shreds of fermented mango from the Tupperware that had sat on the counter, closed, for two days, and of course the Tupperware itself, which would never shed the smell of rotting mango, no matter how much I scrubbed. Man, I hated Tupperware. I even hated the word Tupperware. 'Tupper'. Where the cow did that come from?
And now I had to wash that stupid, cursed cast-iron flipper.
I hated cast-iron more than I hated Tupperware.
Cast-iron was heavy, bulky, heavy, hard to clean, and heavy. But the worst, the flipper, wasn't heavy. It was smelly. It made me gag. I hated cleaning it. It smelled like rotten fish that'd been frozen and then thawed and then stuck in front of a fan for everyone to enjoy.
I washed it in the soapy water and put it on the counter. I realized that I wasn't supposed to wash cast-iron with soap, and mentally laughed. Sucks to be the cast-iron flipper.
I think, given the choice, I would have chosen to be the cast-iron flipper over the Riley Poole of the next few hours.
Tomas shoved me through the doorway, an act which was entirely unnecessary, uncalled for, and very painful, as I stumbled and ran into the sharp marble counter edge by the check-out. I knocked over a stand of Natural Tea-Tree SPF 15 Chapstick and as a result of having the wind knocked out of me by a Natural Chapstick bearing counter, I fell to the floor.
I writhed on the floor, as anyone who'd had the wind knocked out of them would, and while my autonomic system tried in vain to draw breath into lungs that wouldn't work, my mind wandered elsewhere. Leave the hard, impossible work to someone else, I always say, even if it's still technically part of your body.
That couldn't possibly be real marble, could it? Co-ops don't make that much money. Crusty white and pink gum stuck to the underside of the maybe-faux-marble counter. Ben was reaching down, trying to help me up, totally oblivious to the kumquat he'd almost stepped on. I'd seen the orange fruit on the way down from the counter to the floor, and I'd done my best to avoid squishing it.
"Riley!"
I sat up, drawing a shaky breath. Ben's hand was stuck in front of my face, and Tomas's gun was stuck behind Ben's head. I grasped Ben's hand in both of my own, he covered both of my hands with his other one, and he hauled me up. I could see in his face how hard he was hauling, which meant that I wasn't putting very much strength in getting up myself, which was weird because my legs felt like I had just lifted three anvils.
"You ok?" he asked me, his hand on my forearm, which was, I noticed with surprise, shaking. I didn't know if I was ok, but I nodded. The Chinese Man and Crandon were watching us, both looking slightly frightened.
Tomas pushed Ben forward, in front of me, but Ben resisted, giving Tomas a look that would, if expressions could do such a thing, have withered a lampshade. Ben tried to guide me in front of him.
"I'll go last," Ben said, the tone of his voice a lot calmer and gentler than the look on his face. I was grateful for his effort but wished he wouldn't put himself on the line for me.
"Ben, don't-"
"You'll go where I tell you to go, Gates. Go ahead."
"Let's let Riley go first. Riley, go on."
"Riley, stay here." My nerves were frazzled. I wanted to obey Ben because, one, I really didn't want to be right behind Tomas, and two, I wanted to show Ben I was grateful. But Tomas wasn't going to let that happen. He was still aiming his gun and had an 'enraged pit-viper' look on his face.
"Ben, go on," I said quietly. I could see his frustration at the situation as he hesitated, but he finally started walking forward, and I followed. I kept close behind Ben but Tomas kept close behind me, so all that accomplished was making a walking Riley Sandwich.
Imagine walking through an old, abandoned house. Seriously, see this in your mind's eye: It's dark. It's October, and it's cold. It's cold because you're walking past an old window whose glass pane had sagged and been shattered long ago, wisps of rotting curtain reaching blindly into the dusty, stale air. Oh look, a dark corner off to your left – you'll have to pass it to get to the next room, where an old, rickety grand piano with keys like broken teeth waits like the skeleton of a dead king. Don't look too closely into the dark corner, you might see something beyond that frail shroud of cobweb. Oops, you didn't notice the other dark corner off to your right, or the one behind you, under the watchful, faded eyes of some long-dead dude who thought his glory could be immortalized by a portrait painting. Look how far it got him. Yeah, ignore him. Ignore him, ignore the dark corners, and don't look through the window – what if something is looking in? – just keep your eyes on that self-important grand piano. Grand pianos never harmed anyone, unless they're falling out of the sky and they land on you. Keep walking, but don't trip over the corner of that dirty rug. And don't turn around when you hear the floor creaking behind you. Warm breeze across your neck? Why of course, the window is open. Isn't it October, though? Forget that or you might panic. Oh, a shadow on the wall, following your own as you sneak into that room with the grand piano. Pretend its your friend. Just tagging along for fun.
Shove.
Suddenly your shadow's friendly tag-along has shoved you down some stairs that have mysteriously appeared out of no-where. You grab for the handrail but you don't reach it on time so instead you barrel into your best friend Ben and just about knock him over as well.
That's how Tomas made me feel. He's the same thing as that feeling you get in dark, scary places that something must be following you. I knew he was there but I thought maybe if I was good he wouldn't get me. Maybe if I just kept walking.
I was quite grateful that Ben wasn't an old grand piano; I was fed up with running into blunt objects with sharp corners. Also, a grand piano wouldn't have caught me and prevented me from bouncing down the rest of the stairs and possibly killing both the Chinese Man and Crandon as I landed on their heads.
"Thanks, Ben."
.
.
Ben
.
.
"You're welcome," I said, pushing Riley back up to his feet. He took a moment to regain his footing, and I took the opportunity to glare back up the stairs at Tomas. Tomas was, I'm sure, enjoying his position of being much higher than me at the moment. He had a smug look on his face. Before my rage exploded into something quite unreasonable, I turned back around, again wanting to place Riley ahead of me, but I descended. The Chinese Man and Crandon turned back around as well, kept going down. We reached the bottom and Crandon turned left, flicking on his flashlight. We entered a hallway, three doors on the left side and one on the right.
From behind, Riley stepped on the back of my shoe.
"Sorry," he muttered automatically, but he didn't back off. He was following very closely behind me. I risked a glance backwards and saw that Tomas was doing his best to keep as close to Riley as Riley was keeping to me.
Crandon walked past the door on the right and went down to the third door on the left. He fished his set of keys out of his pocket again, keeping an eyeball on the Chinese Man, stopped three feet away and looking thoughtful. I stopped walking and half expected Riley to run into me again. He didn't. I turned around again and grimaced as Tomas's flashlight blinded me. He probably didn't like how I kept turning around and glaring at him like I wanted to kill him. Which I did and I'll bet he knew it.
Crandon got the door open. He stepped in and the Chinese Man followed, then I stepped through the doorway. It was another hallway, this one short and ending in a single door. It was also locked; Crandon's keys made quick work of opening the door. Crandon entered, flicked on a light switch, and stood by with his gun as we all filed in.
The first thing I thought when I stepped in and took a gander at the place was Star Trek. I could have also thought Star Wars, or Andromeda, or Firefly, or any other cheesy-or-otherwise space show or movie out there. Four swivel chairs were positioned near the back wall, in front of a huge display of electronics, screens, switches, blinking lights, the works. If this had been a spaceship, the chairs would have been facing the front, and the front would have been the giant equivalent of a windshield, except there's no wind in space. I suppose they may have called them alien-body-and-other-space-debris-shields. But no grandiose view was to be seen down here, in the basement, under the Cleveland Co-op. There was a little 10" by 15" framed photo of the moon, though, which was close.
Riley ran into me from behind again, with a considerable amount of force, and I could only assume Tomas had pushed him again. I held out my arm to steady him.
"Sorry," he muttered again.
"You're fine."
Tomas elbowed Riley on his way in, and then, after shutting the door and locking it, put his hand on my chest and shoved. I stumbled backwards and ran into the wall.
"Thought I'd share the love," said Tomas, smirking.
"Why don't you all have a seat against that wall?" The Chinese Man and Riley moved towards where I stood, but Tomas snatched the collar of Riley's shirt.
"Not you. You go to the controls and don't touch anything." Riley complied, flinching as he went as if expecting Tomas to propel him there. Tomas seemed content to stand and wave his gun at us. Crandon stood a few feet away, also aiming his weapon.
"Alright, here's the deal. Riley is going to help him and I get into the network," Tomas gestured at the Chinese Man.
"Why?" the Chinese Man asked.
"You don't ask questions. Riley?"
"Huh?"
"Do what I say or I'll hurt Ben."
"Okay." Riley's reply was immediate, quiet, but shocked. I had seen that coming but I'd hidden it from myself. It had come to this. And I had no doubt that Tomas meant that. Now, would Riley choose me over the entire human race? Hadn't I just wracked my brains over this whole issue a few days ago? Except it was me on the other end now. What would Riley do? Frankly, I wasn't sure that Riley had it in him to say no to Tomas and watch me get hurt.
What did I want? I thought about it as Tomas approached Riley and took a seat next to him. Chinese Man stood and took the seat to Riley's left. Crandon stood back and watched the room.
Good God, I didn't want to die. And I didn't want to get hurt. I'd been in danger of being hurt, and had gotten hurt, this entire expedition. But to have someone say, hey, I'm probably going to be torturing you in the next half hour or so, well, that's different. Then you know it's coming. Like getting hit by a bus versus withering away on death row. I'd opt for the bus any day. And I'm not sure the death metaphor was going too far. Tomas was capable, more than capable, of killing.
Oh, selfishness. I didn't want to start up on that. Everyone was selfish. I know I'm not as important as the human race, but man, I wanted to live. I wasn't a saint. I didn't want to sacrifice myself. At the same time, the booming voice of my conscience yelled out, sacrifice yourself for the planet! Then again, the voice of reality didn't care how loud my conscience could shout – the end all was I wasn't ready to die and however much I hated myself for not stepping up to the plate and making the sacrifice, I couldn't will the selfish part of me away.
Could anybody?
Anyways, it wasn't my decision to make. It was Riley's. All I had to do was sit here. That gave me a bit of relief until I realized that, yes, it was Riley's decision, and if it wasn't hard enough to decide weather or not to sacrifice yourself, it must be harder to decide weather or not to sacrifice your best friend.
Or maybe it wasn't hard for him, I had no idea. Maybe he'd already made his choice. Maybe his conscience was greater than mine and had decided not to go through with it. Then again, maybe the thought of putting me in danger scared him enough to keep any heroistic thoughts from his head. Heroistic or murderous?
What?
I could have punched myself, but I had no doubt someone would be doing that for me soon enough. Where in hell had that thought come from? Murderous? Obviously I didn't mean I thought Riley was up there thinking, huh, time for Ben to die, but… what had I been thinking? I'd thought that if Riley chose to save the world and not do what Tomas asked, he'd be, in a way, a murderer. Because I'd probably die, in that case.
Well, I didn't really think that.
Stupid little thoughts pass through everyone's head once in a while. Thoughts that they don't really believe, fed by extreme situations and emotions. Besides, what would Riley be if he saved just me? What would he be to the rest of the people?
Sucks to be Riley right now, I thought sadly, watching him puzzle over the various buttons and keys before him.
.
Chinese Man
.
"How old is this thing?" Riley asked quietly. His voice, although he was doing a good job sounding calm, also made it sound like he was on the verge of tears.
"Just turn it on," grumped Tomas, hovering over his shoulder.
"Jeez, this isn't even a computer, how the heck do you expect me to-"
"Shuttup, Riley."
"Here," I said, leaning over and pushing an inconspicuous button. Tomas leapt to his feet, gun pointed at my face. I backed away.
"You don't touch anything. Understand?" I nodded.
"It was just the 'on' button," I said. Tomas sat back down and I glanced over my shoulder at Ben. We locked eyes for a moment; he didn't know what to do, and now he knew that I didn't either. I turned back to the controls. I had a basic idea of how to navigate but I wasn't sure I wanted to help Tomas get what he wanted. I don't think Tomas wanted my help, either. He was probably afraid I'd push the 'self-destruct' button.
Lucky for him there wasn't a 'self-destruct' button, or I might have.
The screens started processing, brilliant emerald letters popping out against black. This thing was old. After a few more lights turned on, some clicks, and some whirs, Riley chanced a look at Tomas.
"Okay," said Riley. "What do you want me to do?"
What indeed… Perhaps we'll all find out what Tomas's (kind of unoriginal) evil plot is in the next chapter. O suspense. HEY YOU! DID YOU, at any point while reading any of this, think, "Hmmm, I think Sveedish Chef sucks at --", or, "I'll bet this story could be better if Sveedish Chef did more with --", or maybe, "Sveedish Chef should work on --" ? IF SO, you should TELL ME! So I can improve! BORK!