My job is Watching a Woman Trapped in a Room

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Hello, I'm Wilkins, stories all the time.

Glad you are here.

Let's get into it.

Three years ago, I was looking at the local job

classified online when one of the ads caught my eye.

Not because of what it said, but because it said so little.

Best I remember at the adjust free job available.

Good pay.

No benefits.

Discretion required.

If then listed in email address.

And that was all.

At the time, I was managing a music store,

but I had already started hearing rumors.

We would be shutting down within the next year

and the likelihood of a transfer to another store was slim.

I'd be morosely looking at job listings for the last few days,

but this was the first one that stood out.

If only because I was bored and it was weird.

So I sent an email.

Half an hour later, I had a response,

telling me to go to a particular office building

in an obstacle part of the city

at the precise time for my screening.

I went and after waiting for a few minutes in the lobby,

I was taken into an office where I was given a series

of forms and questionnaires to fill out.

They collected them and told me they would be in touch.

I had almost forgotten about the whole thing

until a month later.

I got a call saying I had moved on

to the second stage of the hiring process.

I was again given an address in time,

and when I arrived, this time it was a different

nice office pocket 20 miles away from the first one.

I was met by a man who introduced himself as Mr. Solomon.

He escorted me into a large room

that contained a chair and a desk.

On the desk were two large monitors,

the keyboard and mouse,

and a bolted down metal box with two oversized buttons on it.

One read and one green.

He told me this room was a model for the place

I would be working if I took the job.

He described the job as follows.

I would be working seven shifts of six hours every week.

My job would be simple.

I would arrive at work 10 minutes early

and enter an outer area that was like a locker room.

I would have my own personal locker.

I would store all belongings in a locker

and change into the provided work clothes.

I was never under any circumstances

to carry any item of my own into the surveillance room.

I was never under any circumstances

to take any item with me from the surveillance room.

As for what I was to do in the surveillance room,

I was told that the monitor on the left

would constantly show a live stream

from a high-definition camera in a remote location.

My job was simply to watch the camera.

Once in Iowa, I would get onto the computer

attached to the right monitor

and enter a brief log describing anything interesting

that could in the last hour.

I would have no pens or pencils or paper

and I should never try to take any kind of written notes

about the work.

As for the read and green buttons,

the read button was only to be used

if there was an emergency.

This meant something in the video

or in my workspace that required outside help.

The green button was to be hit

if it saw something on the video

of feet that was particularly noteworthy.

It would tell other people somewhere that,

at least in my opinion,

something interesting was going on.

Solomon's stress that while I was given discretion on

when to use this button,

I should err on the side of only using it

if and when something of real significant occurred.

He pointed out the camera

and the ceiling of the room we were in.

He said the real room would be the same.

My work would be observed

and other people were watching the room

on the video of feet as well.

He said I was only a redundancy

in case of the systems failed.

He then smirked and asked if I knew

what he meant by redundancy.

I nodded trying not to show my irritation.

I don't talk that good to people,

so sometimes they think I'm dumb.

That's okay.

Let him think that if he paid me good enough,

the pay was very good.

Very five dollars an hour.

This worried me.

I was already thinking this was

some kind of psych experimental secret

government job, which I was okay with.

But that kind of money to sit and watch a screen.

My mom always told me that if something seems

too good to be true, it probably is.

And this was seeming too good to be true.

I asked if I was going to be doing anything illegal.

Solomon laughed and said no.

I asked if anyone was going to get her.

Again, he shook his head now.

He said the reason they were paying so much

was because they needed employees

that were motivated to be professional and discreet.

The work they were doing was important

and for various reasons it couldn't be discussed.

If I took the job, I would have to sign papers promising.

I would never discuss my work there

or I could be sued or locked up.

I'm only breaking that now because of everything

that's happened, so I took the job

and because they wanted me to start right away,

I had to quit the store with no notice.

I felt bad about that, but I was excited

about the new job too.

It was a lot of money and seemed like easy enough work

if a bit boring.

I was nervous that there was something more to it,

but I told myself I would just have to see.

No point in chickening out, I'm wasting a good chance

because I let my imagination go crazy.

I was given the location of the job itself,

and when I went there, I was amazed

that it really was just like the model room

I had been shown with, only a few differences.

There was a locker room you had to pass

through to enter the surveillance room

and there was a small bathroom attached

to the real surveillance room also.

The real room had a small water cooler in the corner,

but because I wasn't allowed to bring anything in with me,

I had to eat before or after every shift.

The biggest difference, of course,

was that the monitors were turned on.

The right monitor was just a black

and white terminal like you see in movies sometimes.

I could type in my logs, but no internet to look at

or anything like that.

The left monitor, however, it was video from a room.

You would call it a bedroom, I guess,

because it had a bed in it.

But it had lots of other stuff too.

A TV, a sofa, and chairs, a couple of tables

and plenty of empty space in between.

The camera must be high up in a corner

because I could see pretty much everything except

for the fast side of furniture.

At first, though, I didn't notice any of that stuff.

All I saw was her.

She looked to be a little older than me and was very pretty.

When I first saw her, she was laying on her side

on the sofa.

That was a part of the room fathers from the camera,

but the picture was very clear

and I could tell that she was sleeping.

I found myself leaning into the monitor more

so I could see her better

and then I thought about what I was doing

and felt embarrassed.

It's like I was buying on her.

A peeping tom, my mom used to call it.

I didn't want to be a peeping tom,

but I didn't want to be silly either.

I needed to think about it slow.

It was a good job.

And I wasn't doing anything wrong, right.

I wasn't hurting anybody.

The woman looked fine and the room was nice.

She probably agreed to be there

and it's all some experiment or something.

I was just overacting.

So I sat down in a chair and began my work.

It didn't take long before I understood more.

The woman I took to calling her Rachel

wasn't there of her free will.

I never saw her hurt, but it was clear

that she never left that room except to go

into what I think is a bathroom area

that my camera couldn't see.

Well, she never left the room on her own.

Periodically, usually a couple of times a week

during my shifts, men and women in strange looking outfits

would come in and take her from the room.

Sometimes she would struggle,

but usually she would just go along with her head handle.

They would always bring her back,

though the times when she wasn't brought back

during my shift were always the worst for me.

I would worry about her until I got to work the next day

and saw her in the remorching TV or painting.

She never looked hurt or even that upset

except for when they took her

and even when she fought, they were always gentle with her.

Still, I knew something was wrong.

I consider quitting the job or hitting the red button

and getting someone to come so I could get some answers

or calling the police and showing them

what the camera was showing me except I was scared.

Scared of losing my job

and scared of what these people might do to me

if I quit or told on them.

Solomon told me when I took the job,

the part of being discreet was not asking questions.

I would never be asked to do more than I had already been told,

but I could never tell anyone what I did or saw

and I could never ask questions

about what I was doing or why.

So I made excuses.

It was all an experiment.

She was crazy, it was second, they were trying to help her.

She was doing a job just like I was

or if she really was a prisoner somewhere,

at least I was watching to make sure that she was okay.

If they ever tried to hurt her

or I saw that she really didn't want to be there for sure,

I could get help then.

In a way, I told myself I was helping to her by watching.

I don't expect you to think much of my excuses.

I don't think much of them myself, especially now.

But in my defense, when things changed,

I didn't ignore it or try to explain it away.

I knew something had to be done.

Rachel would usually paint for an eye or two every day

and it seemed to always be during my afternoon shifts.

The room had no windows as far as I could tell,

but I guess she either used a clock

or her own body's time to keep her kind of schedule.

I always liked to watch her paint.

The thing she was painting was always facing

the wrong way for me to see it,

but I could see her face as she worked.

She always looked peaceful and happy when she was painting

and sing her that way, smiling serenely from time to time

as she got something the way she wanted it,

always made my day.

I first noticed something was wrong

when she started painting more frequently a few weeks ago.

Her expression was more focused and serious

and there was attention to her movements

that I wasn't used to see.

At first, I thought she was just really trying

to work hard on something

and I wanted to tell her not to worry.

Every few weeks, the others would come in

and take the old paintings out anyway,

bringing in a new stack of I think the word is campus,

but it was more than her being focused.

Something was wrong.

She didn't look happy and she was going for ire's at time.

In the span of three days, she had finished four paintings.

I had been growing more and more word-watching her work

and when she finished the fourth,

I found myself telling her to just stop and rest a while.

I had grown accustomed to talking to the monitor,

talking to her in my own way, but she didn't stop.

Instead, she began moving the paintings,

arranging them on the back and seat of the lawn

so far at the far end of the room.

This was the first time I had gotten to see any of the paintings.

Even when the others were taking them out,

they always seemed to be turned away from the camera.

I was still worried about her,

but I was also happy to finally see something she had worked on.

Happy and amazed.

They were beautiful.

One was a beautiful green forest.

Another was an old-son well.

A third was a house sitting alone on a small island.

The last was an old-fashioned looking movie theater.

All of them looked like something out of a dream

with trailing lines of color mixing in the air around them

like leaves caught in a wind.

It was only when I looked close

that I realized the lines of color weren't random.

They were words.

Easy to miss if you weren't looking close

and by themselves they didn't seem to mean much.

Just a ghost of a word somewhere in each of the paintings.

Easy to lose in everything else that was being shown.

I leaned into the monitor and squinted,

trying to read the words.

Then my heart started thudding as I made them out.

The linking and rubbing my eyes,

I looked again,

reading them out loud in order.

Left to right, top hair, then bottom.

Please.

Help.

May.

Thomas.

I pushed back from the monitor,

my hand over my mouth.

I didn't know what to do.

I didn't know how any of this could be happening.

It wasn't just that she was asking for help,

though that was a big part of it.

It was that.

My name is Thomas.

I thought about the camera above me

and took my hand away from my face.

I rolled back to the desk and sat there

trying to stop from shaking,

trying to make myself take a breath.

Think about it slow.

The first thing was, should I hit a button?

The red button was for an emergency.

If she was a prisoner or something

and she was trying to escape,

they might think that was an emergency.

But no one had been her that I knew of.

And I think Mr. Solomon meant

to save that for something that was like a police

or ambulance emergency, not something like this.

But what about the green button?

This was definitely something noteworthy.

Not only that she was asking for help,

but that she was asking me for help.

I made myself stop for a moment.

I couldn't know for sure she was asking me.

I had gone to school with several boys named Thomas.

It was a common name,

but the chances of her painting that name

when I was working here.

I didn't want to be silly,

but I was trying to be too what's that were.

Mom used to say it when she read her angel books.

Skeptics.

I didn't want to be a skeptic either.

I had to believe it was probably meant for me

and that was something they would want to know.

But should I hit the green button?

My hands were drifting toward the metal box on the desk,

but I hesitated.

I didn't like breaking walls

and I was scared of what would happen if I broke these.

If they really were holding her prisoner,

then they were probably very bad people.

But I didn't know that.

Maybe they were good and she was bad.

But I just,

I looked back at the monitor for the first time

since reading the words.

Rachel was already moving the paintings back off the sofa

as though she knew the message had been received.

A canvas in each hand.

She glanced up at the camera,

she moved across the room

and it felt like she was looking right at me.

My chest tightened as my hands moved away from the buttons.

No, I didn't think she was bad.

I had watched her for years.

I felt like I knew her would know if she was bad.

Strange as it seemed in a way she was my friend.

And I was going to try and help her.

I spent the rest of my shift trying to act normal

and think of what to do.

And you, wherever else was watching

might have noticed the paintings or seen how I acted,

but I couldn't worry about that.

I would try to play it cool

and try to think how I could help her.

The only people I had actually met connected

to this job were a couple of people

when I filled out the papers

and then Mrs. Solomon,

when he showed me the model room

and told me the job.

I had no way of contacting any of them

except through the buttons.

Much X would have posted electronically

and I had never run into anyone else

who worked at the surveillance room.

That thought made me stop a second.

I had always thought it was weird

that I never ran into someone

when I was coming or going.

The person I was taking over for

or the person who was taking over for me,

I have always figured there must be other people,

other surveillance rooms even.

And they just scheduled us

so we didn't run into each other.

And I still thought there were others.

Part of why I thought that was because it seemed

like I wasn't the only person

who used my surveillance room.

The water cooler, the toilet paper, the soap.

They all seemed go damn faster

and I think I was using it by myself.

If that was true, maybe I could figure out who they were

and maybe they would be safer to talk to than whoever

it was that I worked for.

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I got off work at eight that night

and instead of grabbing some food and going home,

I drove my car around the block

and then parked down the street

from the building where I worked.

Nothing had changed while I drove around for a minute.

No new cars had parked or anything.

And if I was right, it didn't send anyone to replace me

until they were sure I was gone anyhow.

So I sat and waited.

I was tired and the street was pretty empty and boring

but I was too excited and scared to fall asleep.

Every time a car passed or someone walked down the sidewalk,

I tensed.

I kept imagining a SUV or a van pulling up behind me.

Then getting out and pulling me from my car,

taking me somewhere like where they had Rachel

to kill or torture me.

After a dozen times, I almost cranked up and drove away

but every time I would think of her alone in that room.

She had no one but me to help her and I had to try.

Two hours later, a fat, balding man parked

and started heading for the building.

As soon as I saw he was able to unlock the door and enter,

I opened my car door to go talk to him.

Then I stopped.

I needed to be smart.

I didn't know where they were

but I was sure there were hidden cameras

in the locker room and outside the building.

If I go running in there and confront that guy,

they'll know for sure that I'm up to something.

Signing with frustration is shut the door back

and waited until his shift was over.

I considered tailing him like in the movies

but I was scared I would just lose him

or he would call someone for help.

So if I waited until he was walking back to his car

after a six-hour shift,

hopefully far enough away that the cameras wouldn't see.

And then I met the man I came to know his child's jeffers.

Sorry, I don't have any money.

Have a good.

He froze as he glanced back at me while talking.

Oh God.

No, no.

You need to get out of here, kid.

We aren't allowed to talk.

I could tell he was scared

but I couldn't risk letting him go yet.

Not after all this.

I stepped up and pushed the door back shut

as he was trying to get into his car.

So you know who I am.

I tried to not sound mean

but I could hear how mad I was in my voice.

He yanked at the door again

but I was still holding it

and I was stronger than he was.

After a second, weaker took

he turned around his face straight and tired looking.

Yeah, I know who you are.

You work here just like me, I'm telling you.

We aren't supposed to be talking.

We aren't supposed to meet, ever.

I frowned.

Mr. Solomon never told me that.

He never said it was one of the rules.

The man shook his head.

Mr. Solomon, yeah.

Well, there are plenty of rules they don't tell you.

I bet they didn't tell you what you were going to be

watching before you started.

They, when I just lured my eyes, he went on.

Yeah, me either.

I've been at this job for 10 years.

I've seen other people come and go

usually because they broke one of those rules

they never mentioned.

The only reason I'm still here

is because I keep my head down and my mouth shut.

He wired a finger at me.

He should do the same if it's not already too late.

I felt my stomach curling into a coldener, too late.

The man rubbed his face.

Kid, do you think they don't know we're talking?

Do you think anything happens that they don't know about?

He looked back toward the building,

a look of sadness and fear in his eyes.

Hell, for all I know, you've already killed us both.

Shaking his head, he pushed me back

and started opening the door.

Either way, I'm done risking it.

You need to stop asking questions and just do your job.

It's a lot healthier with that.

He got into his car and shut the door.

I didn't try to stop him this time.

Even though I had already been worried

about what he was telling me,

hearing it confirmed was paralyzer.

What exactly was my plan?

He probably didn't know any more than I did.

And even if he did, what could I do with anything he told me?

I walked back to my car with a heavy heart.

I was still afraid, but more than that,

I was sad and ashamed.

I wanted to help Rachel, but I wasn't sure how.

I wasn't giving up.

But as I drove back to my apartment,

I couldn't think of what I should do next.

This wasn't a movie.

I wasn't a hero.

And the only ideas I had left were to either go to the police,

who might be controlled by wherever I worked for,

or try to get proof of her being held prisoner myself.

As I parked my car and walked into my apartment building,

I made a decision.

Unless I thought of something better overnight,

I would do both ideas tomorrow.

I would break the rule about carrying anything in.

I'd use my phone to record a video

with the surveillance room of Rachel

and how she was dropped somewhere.

And of me telling everything else I knew

and I would email it to every newspaper, website.

And internet channel, I could think of,

I'd then go to the police and give them a copy to

if I could make it that long without getting caught.

Maybe if I did all that, even if they got me,

someone would help Rachel.

I was filled with worry and dread at the idea

of being hard or killed.

A part of me kept saying I should just do

as I was told and told that it all went away.

But I couldn't live with myself if I did that.

Even if I messed up,

I felt like I had to try.

I was so preoccupied that I didn't hear

the person coming up behind me

as I unlocked my apartment door.

Thomas, I turned around and felt my legs weakened

as I stumbled back against my door.

I had to be dreaming or crazy.

I grabbed the doughnut for support

as I looked at the woman in front of me.

It couldn't be her.

But somehow it was Rachel.

She hesitated a moment before breaking into a smile.

Is that what you call me?

I like it.

My name is actually Melanie though.

I felt my face reddening.

Of course, her name wasn't actually Rachel.

That was just something I made up in my head.

Still, my embarrassment couldn't keep up

with my confusion and joy.

Is it really you?

She nodded, yeah, it's me.

Melanie grunted as I stepped forward

and started hugging her laughing.

She hugged me back for a moment,

but then she whispered in my ear, Thomas.

We knew to talk and nod up here.

Can we go inside?

I broke away and nodded,

wiping at my eyes as I tried to finish

unlocking the door with a shaking hand.

My heart was pounding

and I still felt like I was in a strange and wonderful dream.

But when we had gotten inside

and sat down on my living room sofa,

I forced myself to focus

on the biggest question I had, how Melanie

had still been smiling as we sat down.

But now she looked forward inside, Thomas.

That's what I'm here to tell you.

Things aren't like you think they are.

They never have been.

I frowned, a new line of fear cutting through my happy haze.

What do you mean?

She held the bridge of her nose for a moment,

looking done like she was trying to figure out

how to say whatever it was she had to say,

Thomas, you're a part of a psychological experiment.

I've been a part of it for longer

than you have as one of the actors.

And I still don't know all the details.

I'm pretty sure it's run by some government agency

and I know they're investing a lot of money

and time into it.

But for what reasons that I'm not so sure?

I realized I was ringing my hand.

No, that wasn't right.

It couldn't be right.

This was some kind of trick.

Melanie went home.

What I do know is that you're being watched

as a long-term subject.

They have constructed this whole scenario

where you do a secret job watching someone me

who looks like they might be trapped,

they give you instructions and a way of making choices.

You've got buttons or something.

You can choose between, right?

I nod it weekly, my tongue thicker, my throat.

Yeah, a red one and a green one.

She sighed and nodded.

I think they're testing how much you'll obey

what choices you'll make based off of your morals,

your intelligence and your fear.

It's interesting.

Least of thoughts, so when I first joined up six years ago,

they've never officially given me many details.

Just the overall just, but people talk,

the other actors and me.

Sometimes we hear things and we gossip.

She smiled sadly.

That's what caused me to start feeling bad.

I interrupted other actors.

Melanie's eyes widen.

Oh shit, yeah.

Sorry.

I think they still call him Mr. Solomon.

And there are others too.

When I just stared at her, she went on.

Anyway, for a long time, it was just the normal job, right?

I spent six hours a day acting like I'm this trap girl,

many faking painting or watching TV.

You know, boring stuff.

I couldn't help but interrupt again,

hating the hurt-trumping in my voice.

You fake the painting.

You aren't really painting those wonderful pictures.

Now Melanie looked embarrassed.

No, sorry.

I can't paint a bit.

I'm a pretty good singer though.

She tried to smile, but faltered, reaching forward.

She touched my arm.

That's why they always have the paintings turned

where you can't see them.

They're already done before and all you ever see

some blank canvases and well,

when they want me to show you something.

Her expression darkened as she went on.

That's why I had to break the rules and contact you

when they started doing this hidden message.

My in-game bullshit, I got worried, worried.

You would take it too serious

that you could get hurt or even hurt yourself as soon

as you left your shift tonight.

I talked to one of the guys in the video department.

He told me about how you had reacted,

showed me how you were still parked down the street

from the building.

I drove over for the bedroom,

set as in a building outside of town.

I saw you sitting in your car

and I almost approached you then,

but I was scared of getting caught and fired.

So I parked and waited until I could follow you

somewhere else and then she knew I was okay.

She blinked back to yous.

I'm ashamed to say I almost left a couple of times

that I don't want to lose this job

and I tried to tell myself you would be okay

after a day or two.

I could get them to change the script enough

that you felt like I was okay and wouldn't worry too much.

That I felt an angry heat growing in my chest.

Well, this nice of you.

She looked up her eyes red.

I know.

I'm a shit.

I'm so sorry.

I was being selfish and cowardly,

but I didn't actually leave.

And then when I saw Charlie leaving the building,

so you're running over to talk to him.

I knew they were escalating it even further.

Charlie?

Melanie rolled her eyes in frustration.

Shit, yes, sorry.

Charlie Jeffers, he's another actor.

In an older version of the experiment,

he actually played Mrs. Solonman,

but they decided he wasn't scary enough.

So now he's usually in one of the suits.

He's actually done that for your version a lot.

You just can recognize him under all the get up they wear.

I kept calling it and calling my hands on my lap.

It was all too much.

I felt like a pimple going between anger and relief

and embarrassment and confusion.

So all the stuff he told me that was all just scare me.

See how I'd react?

She nodded as she sniffled

and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

Yes, I'm sorry.

That's why I knew I couldn't wait any longer to tell you.

I could see how worried and scared you were going back

to your car.

I pulled my arm back from her touch.

Well, thanks.

I guess at least you stopped me before I went to the police

and looked like a joke in front of them too.

I just wanted her gone.

Her sympathetic, pitting eyes off of me.

Thanks for stopping by and letting me in on it.

I tried to make my voice sound hard and unfeeling,

but it came out watery instead, standing up.

I turned away from her so she couldn't see her.

As I started to cry, if you don't mind, I,

I knew time to think about everything.

It's a lot, a moment path.

And then her hand was on my shoulder, Thomas.

You don't have anything to be embarrassed about.

They are very good at what they do.

All you did was what you thought was right

because you're a good man.

I shrugged.

I thought that you were in trouble

and I wanted to help.

She gently turned me toward her.

And when I looked up, she smiled and sniffed again.

I know her, but you need to realize

most people wouldn't have tried to help not

when it meant giving up their job or risking themselves

like that, not for a stranger.

I wiped my face as I looked away.

Well, I still feel dumb, but I'm glad it's not real.

I'm glad you're okay, that we both are.

I paused and caught her eye again.

We are aren't we safe?

I mean, she has stated before nodding.

Yeah, I think so.

Like I said, they have a lot invested in whatever this is.

And the fact that they're willing to go as far as they have

with you makes me wonder,

but I've never seen any signs of anyone getting hired.

I think the worst that could happen

is when our birth of us get fired.

I felt my face getting right again.

Oh, don't worry about that.

I'm going to crit tomorrow.

I'll finally get to hit their damn buttons.

Maybe both of them.

I started to smile, but then I saw the look on

Melanie's face, Thomas.

Please don't do that.

I don't think they would help us.

But if you open quit, they'll figure out I've talked to you.

I don't think they watch us all the time.

But I don't know what they can find out.

You know, tracking cell phones, spice satellites, whatever.

I'm taking a big risk just being here.

And I don't want them catching on.

I took a step back from her.

So you want to keep getting paid to trick people like me.

She reached out and grabbed my right hand.

I had been clenching it unconsciously,

and it relaxed her touch.

No, I don't want to, but I wasn't expecting this

how the experiment has changed.

Getting to actually meet you, I can do it long term.

But another month or two to save up money,

now that you're in on it.

And won't be scared or hurt by any more.

She smiled that I can do that we can both do.

We can keep going like normal.

Tick some more of the money.

And then one of us can quit the next month.

The other one can.

How does that sound?

I shrugged in certainly.

It made some sense.

And once I'd come down, it would probably make more.

She gave my hand a squeeze, and when this is all over,

I want to get to know you better.

I know I've been playing a role, but for the most part,

that's been me, you've been watching all this time.

I think it's only fair.

I get to see more of you too.

She blushed, assuming you're interested in that.

I felt my hand growing clammy in hers

as my stomach fluttered.

Well, I mean, yeah, yeah.

I would really like that swallowing.

I added, how long do we have to wait to see each other again?

Melanie grinned at me.

What can other month or so?

Save what you can, and then quit.

I'll wait another two or three weeks,

and then I'll do the same.

And then she looked up at the ceiling

as she punted it for a moment.

And I was struck again by how beautiful she was,

even if she was a little different in person

than I had imagined.

Three months from tonight, we'll meet right here.

I'll come over and we can start getting

to know each other better.

How's that sound?

Returning her smile, I nodded.

That sounds great.

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When she left the couple of minutes later,

a part of me hated to see her go,

but another part was relieved.

I was so exhausted, and while I was so happy she was okay,

and we had finally met, I felt like the burned out wire

in an old light bulb.

I needed time alone, time to think and calm down,

and most of all, time to rest.

I didn't really even remember falling asleep,

and when I woke up, I realized my alarm had been buzzing

for over 30 minutes.

I jumped up and raised to get to my shift at work,

as she had been leaving.

Melanie had stressed again how we needed to have

completed the same that men not freaking out,

but it also meant not acting like everything was okay either.

If I suddenly showed no signs of being worried about her

that would tip them off to, I promised,

and she left after a brief hug and kiss,

remembering it now through the haze of my tiredness the night

before it felt like a dream still.

I went into the surveillance room with a much lighter heart.

I didn't have to worry or feel guilty

anymore about not helping her,

and there was some satisfaction in finally pulling one over

on the people that had tricked me for so long.

Besides, in three months, I would be done with this place

and get to see Ratch.

I mean, Melanie again, in person at least,

because I got to watch her on a video fee as soon as I came

into work.

She was asleep when I first got there,

and I found myself wondering if she was as tired as I still felt

when she woke up later and started reading a book.

I found myself beginning smile and had to stop myself.

I should still be worried acting.

Not smiling like I had a crush,

I had to do better so Melanie didn't get in trouble.

And I wrote so later,

she started working on another of her paintings,

watching her work.

I was amazed at how real it all looked.

It was hard to see everything from my angle,

but I would have sworn she had paint on those brushes

and was really painting whatever it was in the canvas.

I found myself feeling proud of how she really was a great actress,

not only didn't I see her giving any clues

that we had met or talked,

but she really did sin different in the room

than she had in my apartment.

I suppose that was what she had meant by playing a role.

I was almost at the end of my shift,

and while I hated to leave her,

I had to admit that I was ready for some more sleep,

trying to guard my reactions all day,

it'd been exhausting.

And I was drilling the next few weeks,

but then I realized she was done painting.

I expected her to just go and ease something else,

but instead she picked up the canvas at its edges

and carefully walked it over to the sofa.

Her body was blocking it at first,

but then she stepped aside.

It was a painting of a massive tree.

The bark was a dark wrap with a huge toasting trunk

that broke off into a dozen branches

of those branches were covered in leaves

that were so deep green.

They almost reminded me of stormcards more

than the top of a tree, like all the paintings.

I felt touched by it.

Even now that Melanie had told me she didn't paint them,

the images and cells,

combined with the colors and the small details,

they really were amazing.

Just like this one, if you looked close enough,

you could see that there were several small blackbirds

in the branches of the tree that was funny,

but they almost looked like they were made out of words.

I felt my heart start to hammer,

and I forced myself to stay calm,

no point in being silly.

I knew it was all again now,

and I just had to play my part a little while longer.

Still, the worry of me would want to know

what the words said, so I might as well try to read them.

I squinted.

Following the bird right to left and top to bottom,

that girl isn't me.

I looked away from the painting to see Rachel

still staring up at me, she looked terrified.

Oh no, I had to do something, and I had to do it right now.

If Melanie was somehow fake, that meant they must have sent her.

And if they sent her, it meant they knew.

They knew about the messages in her painting,

they knew about me asking questions,

then they knew I didn't hit a button during any of it.

I felt panic and fear crawling up my chest,

making it hard to breathe standing up.

I started basing periodically glancing back at the monitor

to see if Rachel could help me tell me what I needed to do next,

but she had laid down on her bed.

It was hard to tell for sure with her back to the camera,

but I think she was crying.

No, I needed to fix this, get her out of there,

and if I didn't have a better plan,

I'd just have to go with the one I already had,

feeling the hard eye of the ceiling camera on me,

I went to the door and stepped back into the locker room.

My phone was in my locker,

and after messing up the combination of first time,

I got the door open and got it out, gripping it tightly.

I tried to hold it by my side casually,

but I knew there was little point.

If they knew everything,

I wasn't going to be able to hide anything they just had to try

and be fast, get some kind of message out to people

that could help Rachel before they got to me.

I opened the camera on the phone

as I re-entered the surveillance room and hit record.

It made a small beeping noise,

and once I was sure it was recording,

I turned the camera on myself, my name,

my name is Tommy Thomas Callell,

and my job is watching a woman trapped in a room.

This is not a joke or a movie, or whatever.

This is real, for three years.

My job is to sit in this room,

and I move the camera slowly round the room,

taking in the door to the bathroom, the water cooler,

the desk with the monitors, keyboard, and button box,

and watch a video feed of a woman locked up in a bedroom somewhere.

I stepped close to the desk and made sure

the monitor showing Rachel was clear and in focus.

I didn't know this woman was a prisoner at first.

I tricked myself into thinking she wasn't

because the money was good either way.

I know she is now, she is in danger,

and so am I.

After lingering on video for a few more seconds,

to make sure every detail could be seen,

I turned the camera back on myself.

I had to hurry, but the video might be too big to send quickly.

I was trying to stay calm,

but I felt myself tearing up as I went on,

and I did my best to keep my words clear.

Please help her, I don't know where she is.

I don't know who has her,

because I don't know who I really work for,

but they are bad people, and she's not safe.

All I know is that I work at a building right

outside of San Antonio.

I only know the names of two other people connected to this place,

the man who hired me, Mr. Solomon,

and the man who might have a job like mine,

Charlie Jeffers, no Jefferies, I think.

I don't know if they are real people.

I mean, I don't know if that is the real name,

please, they're not crazy.

I know how the sounds just come here,

see the room, figure out where she is, and help her.

And I heard the muffled sound of the outdoor opening

into the locker room,

and I frantically fumbled with a phone to stop the recording.

How do I send?

Oh no, how do you either it is?

I hit a button to share,

and felt a new panic rising, who should I send it to?

I had only a handful of contacts,

and I just selected them all.

Maybe at least one of them would take it seriously,

and get help,

as I heard the door to the surveillance room

opening behind me, I hit send,

not connected to data service,

or why if I please send again and connect it?

What? No, no, no, no.

I turned to see Mr. Solomon entering the room.

He was flunked by two large men in dark suits

that looked like bodyguards or something,

raising a finger, he wiped it at me,

no service in here, Thomas,

but then you should never need service in here,

so long as you follow the rules.

They took me easily.

I tried to make it to the bathroom and close the door,

but the two guards stopped me and drove me down,

they put the, what do you call them?

Sip ties on my hands and feet,

and pulled a black bag over my head,

then I was being carried out of the room,

and it felt like they must have put me in the back of a van

that was pulled right up to the building.

I was lying on what felt like thin,

way it smelled and copied that covered

a hard metal layer underneath,

I heard someone get into the van with me

and asked where we were going,

if they would just take me and let Rachel go,

there was a short laugh overhead,

and then Mr. Solomon's voice,

as he told me that he would explain everything

when we got where we were going.

For now, he said,

I needed to relax, there was a long drive,

and I would need the rest, I want to say more,

but then I felt a short pain in my neck,

they had studed me, or no,

the injected knee was something,

I was feeling so strange now,

but I had to stay awake,

I had to try and get away, I had to,

and then it was just darkness,

fell over again, Thomas.

I blinked as I began looking around,

my mouth was dry in my head hurt,

but otherwise I felt okay,

I wasn't tied up anymore,

instead I was laying back on a padded table

like I'd seen when I went to the doctor,

but this was to doctor's office,

the room was large,

and aside from the padded table to held a small bed,

a desk with a computer monitor on it,

and a couple of chairs sitting in one of those chairs

was Mr. Solomon, I raised up slowly,

blinking at him, where is she?

Is Rachel okay?

With the man's mild,

he really is something, Thomas.

Trying to be the hero,

even if you don't quite know how.

I respect that.

Lips, he leaned forward slightly.

In fact, I respect that so much that I've decided

to start our new relationship

with as much honesty as I'm allowed,

some of my colleagues disagree with this approach,

but you know what, fuck them,

this is my project,

and I think you deserve to know what's going on,

looking more serious.

He stood up,

lifting the gun he had been holding casually in his lap,

but before we get into the details,

would you like to see Rachel?

I slayed off the table and nodded

as I caught myself from falling,

my legs were still wobbly from whatever they had given me,

but I barely noticed, yes,

please let me see her, the real hurt.

Mr. Solomon gave a small laugh

and gesture toward a near bed door.

Yes, reality is always best,

she's just there in the next room.

I stumbled my way forward,

my legs getting better as I walked,

and when I grabbed the donap, it turned easily.

I expected the door to lead to her bedroom,

but instead it opened into another room,

a lot like the one I had been in,

though the stuff in it was different,

strange machines filled the walls,

and in the back.

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And a mean-ness in them.

My legs felt heavy again now,

but it wasn't from the drugs this time,

shoving forward.

I could see the shape was a person,

or at least a body because it was clear

from just looking at it that the person was dead.

It was very well preserved.

But I could see how the skin hung around

and looked bloated in spots.

Oh, God, oh, Christ, it's here,

which had been floating like seaweed in front of its face.

Drifted away as I've reached the glass,

and I could see Rachel staring out at meat murderer.

I turned on Salomon and started to run toward him

when he shot me.

Suddenly, I was in the ground convulsion

as he stepped closer.

Don't worry, Thomas, it wouldn't kill you.

Just make you unable to move much for a bit.

I heard more frivolous as my body began to stilt,

get him up, tick him back to the other room,

but could barely feel anything

as it was carried back to the padded table

and propped up into a sitting position.

This time I was strapped down,

but I guess it was more so I didn't fall off

because I couldn't move anything other than my head.

And even that just a little,

I could hardly see it all from crying.

But I recognized the blurring shape of Salomon

sitting back down in front of me before you asked,

well, when you are able to ask anything again, yes.

That is Rachel, not a fake Rachel, not a dummy,

and not some kind of trick, as I said.

The time for tricks has passed.

Now is the time for truth.

Frowning slightly, he went on Thomas.

I understand the showing you that,

showing you her body that way might seem very cruel.

You may hate me for it right now.

I would understand it if you did,

but you called me a murderer,

and at least in this specific context,

I think that is unfair

because I didn't kill Rachel in truth.

I've been with this aspect of the project for only seven years.

He just should back to the door behind him

and Rachel has been dead for over eight.

I felt my eyes widen as though they belonged to someone else's body.

It was more lies, more tricks,

all of it, oh God, it had to be.

Do you know where remote viewers,

he rolled his eyes, sorry, right?

You can't talk right now.

I'll just assume you don't.

Remote viewing is a broad term for the ability

to see things that are far away from you physically,

to know things you shouldn't be able to know through your normal five senses.

Some describe it as a psychobility,

though there are several skills of thought as to how and why it works.

His eyes fixed on mine intently

because it does work at Thomas various governments

and private organizations have studied it for a very long time.

And while publicly, it has always ridiculed the pseudo-science

and foolish superstition.

The reality is that some people have the innate ability

that means it comes naturally to some,

I see other places Rachel was one of those people.

She came into the program when she was 17,

having been identified via front-facing screening process

that was ran as a psychological test

that paid subjects well at a time

when Rachel was looking to make some money.

Three months after being identified as a good candidate,

she was taken.

And after the initial adjustment period,

she became a largely compliant asset

that quickly rose to the top of our talent pool,

so lumen folded his hands on his knee.

I know you cared for her, Thomas.

So I think this is worth sharing.

Rachel was never treated badly,

other than her confinement

and the occasional test that was mildly unpleasant.

No, we all treasure her.

She was enormously talented,

not just as a remote viewer,

but as an artist.

That's how she would convey what she saw.

You understand?

She would enter into an almost translexed state

when she painted and when she was done.

She would have given us a painting of images

and words that provided,

well, it was very valuable information.

He chuckled if you ever wondered.

That's why there was always such care

that the paintings were never shown to the camera,

picking at his pants.

He went on.

Rachel was so talented that she was selected

for a new program that we thought

might really enhance or alter her ability.

We introduced something for an into her body at first.

Nothing seemed to change.

If anything, the accuracy of her remote viewing

was declining, which was a problem for us.

And for her, but then we realized

that we were reading the new paintings wrong.

She was able to see more clearly than ever.

She just was no longer bound to only current events.

Now her sight transcended time.

He paused.

And I realized he was enjoying telling the story.

The bastard was having a good time.

Paul's in to make it more dramatic.

I would fucking kill him.

While this made some of her paintings less immediately useful,

they became much more valuable

as we were able to decipher them for a time.

It looked as though everything was working better

than we had ever hoped.

His lips thinned.

And then one day she showed a painting to the camera

and said, please help me, Thomas.

This immediately sent up all kinds of red flags.

She knew not to show paintings to the camera.

And now she was trying to communicate with someone.

We didn't disrupt her routine.

But an intensive investigation began

into who she was talking to.

Was it one of her handlers?

One of the technicians, someone from her past life.

But nothing checked out, leaning back in his chair.

A look of pride grew on Solomon's face as he continued.

I was the one that first suggested

the idea that she was intentionally or not.

Knowingly or not, seeing and talking to someone in the future.

I was still an outside consultant at the time.

But by that point, we had more strange behaviors from her,

including the second message painting, the girl, isn't me.

My theory made some sense, but it very quickly

ran into greater optical.

The introduction of the foreign material

had not been as seamless as we had hoped.

Despite her having been stable for almost three years

since it was inplanned, it was due to her increasing

emotional upset and stress.

Or simply the passage of time, she suddenly began to deteriorate.

Her work became more erratic and hard

to understand as her body began to decline.

We were monitoring her health closely,

but it didn't matter.

Five days after she painted the girl, isn't me.

She suddenly went into cardiac arrest and died.

Somewhat inexplicably, we were unable to resuscitate her.

The man's side, this was a great loss.

And it required adjustments of my theory.

Based on everything we knew, it still made sense

that she was talking to someone, someone with access

to the camera fee, and very likely someone named Thomas.

If Thomas was viewing the camera footage in the future,

as I believed, then he must be working for us in the future.

He gave me a thin smile.

And whether you believe that the future is set in stone or not,

I'm all forgiving it, a helping hand.

Seven years ago, I began a Thomas project.

Over the course of that time,

I have overseen the screening and hiring of 43

and named Thomas a several different sites,

all with one very specific job.

To watch the videos of Rachel from just before her

implant to the time of her death,

I tried to speak, but my mouth still wouldn't work.

I wanted to say he was lying.

That it didn't make sense.

That it was another trick.

But I think I wanted to hear it more for myself

because I didn't think he was lying.

I didn't think it was a trick.

I thought I was starting to understand.

The point wasn't really them watching the videos, of course.

It was how they reacted to watching the videos.

What they did and how that matched up

with what Rachel had done in a response in the past.

The team percent quit after the first day.

30% hitty to the red or the green button

after the first message asking for help

and saying their name.

22% attempted to contact the authorities

before reaching the stage where Melanie was introduced.

He shook his head slightly.

I wish I could take credit for her introduction,

but it was a message issue.

We assume from the that girl isn't me message

that there was a double of Rachel introduced to you at some point.

Perhaps to kill you or to sway to you,

I'll find out what you knew.

But it took a few tries until we felt it was well refined.

And as I've pointed out, only 27% made it that far.

And all of them failed the next test.

He pointed at me.

Her name.

You see the girl you've been watching.

They're talented, wonderful girl whose body is preserved

in the next room.

Her name was Rachel Donovan.

I had always wondered if Rachel was merely seeing you

or if there was some kind of connection between the two of you.

When you called Melanie Rachel,

I knew that we had finally found the right Thomas,

the distant point of light that our Rachel

was looking at across space and time.

I swallowed thickly and found I could film my tongue

if only a little.

Slaring badly, I pushed out a single word.

W.Y.

Solomon looks surprised.

I'd have thought that it'd be clear by now,

you're our only remaining link to one

of our greatest treasures.

Perhaps you have a similar ability

or it may be that she forged a link purely

though her own talent and will,

but either way, you are important

and you have more work to do.

He stood up and moved over to the table

where he turned on the monitor.

As it came to life,

I saw it was a frozen image of Rachel's room,

a tape pause where I had left off watching.

Turning back to me, the man looks all of them.

You have to watch the rest of it

because Rachel painted you more pictures before she died

and we have to know what they mean.

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I spent the next five days watching Rachel die.

From the outside, just watching the monitor.

It didn't seem that different

than what I had been watching for the past three years.

Rachel slept.

She watched TV, she read and she painted.

But there were signs if you were looking for them.

She seemed tired and tense

and she had taken to sleep in more.

Unoccasionally, just every once in a while,

she would glance up at the camera.

At me, it was then that I could see the fear

and sadness in her eyes.

Inside, well, inside I felt like a burned out

has collapsing in on itself.

At first I refused to watch to do anything

they wanted me to do.

Solomon didn't get mad at me, but just shrugged.

He said while cooperation was preferred

and could go a long way toward making my stay

with them more comfortable, it wasn't required.

If he was right, Solomon said with a thin smile.

Things would play out as they were meant to,

regardless of what I wanted or thought I chose.

Either way, he added the video was about to start

back playing and would not stop for another five days.

Whether I wanted to spend the time

getting to see her again was entirely up to me.

I tried to not watch, but a part of me knew

from the start I was going to.

Maybe I would find some clue that they were lying

about her being dead or Rachel could give me some advice

or warning about what I needed to do next.

I didn't know.

What I did know is that I couldn't miss

the chance to see her again.

I'm despite knowing in my heart that she was dead

and everything on the video had happened a long time ago,

I still felt that by watching, I was with her somehow.

She had been taken away from everything she knew

and she was barely grown, trapped for years,

just for being special.

Experimented on.

Treated like property.

Kept from ever having friends or family or a life.

And yet through all that, she was still beautiful.

Not just on the outside, but on the inside too.

I'd spent years watching her getting to know her

in a thousand tiny ways that so few people

ever truly know each other.

I had seen her kindness and grace in her actions

even when she was fighting against the people holding her.

I had watched her strength when she woke up

day after day in her prison and never gave up

and I saw the beauty of her soul in her paintings,

full of swirling colors and what was the word?

Wonder.

She was able to paint these things she saw with such care

and love, despite living in a world

that had abandoned her so completely.

Well, I was abandoning her.

I would watch every bit of the video I could manage,

try to burn into my memory every frame of her I saw.

Not for them and their stupid project.

But for me and for her, I may not have much left

to do in my life before they locked me away somewhere

or killed me, but I could do this one last thing.

Rachel wouldn't die alone.

I watched nearly all of it, stopping only to eat quickly

and used the bathroom until the last two days.

I would ask the guards to pause it,

but they would only shake their heads and say

Solomon said it had to play normally

until it was finished.

By the fourth day, I was in a stupor.

I had already dosed some of the first three days,

but when I woke up on the fourth day,

I could tell a few hours had passed.

There were two trays of fruit on the bed,

one breakfast and another lunch.

I looked back at the screen in a panic,

where I had missed something,

but Rachel seemed to be just waking up too.

I noticed her putting her hand to her stomach

as she got out of bed and felt my own stomach twist.

She was already heard in.

Rachel glanced at the camera and tried to smile

before moving to set up a new canvas for painting.

This was the second of three paintings she did

in those last days.

The first had been the inside of an old-fashioned movie theater

from the viewpoint of someone sitting in a back row.

On the movie screen was just the image

of a sledgehammer propped against a brick wall.

I didn't understand what it meant,

and I found myself scanning the picture

for some message or other clue.

Eventually, I found what might be on,

though I didn't understand it either.

Rachel must have come to understand

they knew what she was doing with the paintings

and didn't want to stop her,

because these last three she set up much closer to the camera.

I was still squinting and studying the painting closely

when I realized the fettips seats in the next row up

had brass number plates along the front edge of the seats.

Though they were upside down from the viewpoint

of the painting, the angle was good enough

that once I noticed them, I was able to read them.

42, 43, 26, 89.

I didn't understand any of it,

but I committed an ultimemory focusing all my attention

on the painting until she finally took it away.

Even that early, unlike a tell painting

was taking a lot out of her now,

unlike I had for so long,

I found myself talking to her,

telling her to go rest before I remembered her body

in the next room.

I almost stopped then, but no.

Maybe she couldn't tell I was talking to her,

or maybe she could.

Either way, me talking to her couldn't hurt,

and it made me feel a little less lonely inside

as I watched her.

The second painting, the one she started after I woke up

from falling asleep for a few hours,

was stranger than the rest.

It looked like it was in a room with curved walls

made of tree roots,

and in the center of the room was a little table

made out of the same stuff.

Some of the roots around the room were a deep raid,

but other parts, including the table thing,

looked burned and black.

I looked closer and saw that I could see a person's shadow

over the table,

hands holding some lawn oval shaped bundle.

I studied it for a long time, going over it again

and again in my mind after she took it away.

I couldn't make sense of it of any of it.

I wasn't smart enough, and I was failing her.

Rachel slept for a long time after that painting.

Then she got up on the fifth day, her last day,

and immediately started working again.

This time she was painting faster,

and while I saw Oben's occasional age,

she never lost her look of determination

as she slashed lines and colors across the canvas.

When she was done,

Rachel picked up the painting and turned it toward the camera,

giving me a small, tight smile as she was blocked from view.

It was looking out from the front porch of a house somewhere.

It was out in a country,

and the morning view of the yard

and the land beyond were wonderful,

but closer up the painting was of two hands.

Holding on to each other tightly,

their interlocked fingers seemed to go red

and orange in the light of the rising sun.

I found myself crying as I looked at it.

Part of it was because I didn't know what it meant.

And I felt a growing sense of desperation

at the thought that Rachel's last works

might be wasted on me.

Bob was because I knew it had been five days,

and I could sense I was close to the end.

But there was something more drew than all that too.

The lost painting, even with everything else in my head

and my heart pulling me down gave me hope.

Hope of what?

I didn't know.

But I started to think that maybe the only message

Rachel had for me in that lost painting

was that somehow,

somewhere, everything would be okay.

Outside the edge of the painting,

I could see motion in the room,

people hurriedly coming in

with some kind of medical equipment.

And then the monitor went black.

You've done well, Thomas.

Very, very well.

For the last five days of video,

we had charred at 1047 micro-variations

in Rachel's behavior that we believed

my correspond to behavior, your reactions,

and your emotional states while watching the video.

Like before,

the two of you remained in sync as though you were in the same room.

It really is remarkable.

I sat staring at Solomon.

I listened to what he said, but I didn't care.

I just wanted it over.

Whatever this was, I just wanted it over.

Clearing his throat, he went on.

That's why we've decided to move the implant

from Rachel's body to your own.

That's one of the many reasons we preserved her so.

The foreign body was still showing signs of life all this time,

but just barely,

and we were afraid to attempt removal.

Our hope is that,

given your connection to Rachel,

it will accept you perhaps even drive

any more than it ever did our girl.

I was suddenly on my feet,

and it was only the raising of Solomon's gun

that stopped me from attacking him.

Don't you fucking talk about how like that,

like any of you gave a shit about her,

I'll fucking kill you.

Solomon's face darkened slightly as his lip thinned.

No, you won't,

but if I do threads make you feel better, go ahead.

It will only make things harder, not easier.

Feeling a stab of panic fear, I sat back down.

What is this thing you're going to put in me?

The man looked at me for several seconds before responding.

I'm tempted not to tell you

after you're stupid and frankly helpful outburst,

but I'll be the bigger person.

Letting out small sigh, he went on.

Thomas, somewhere there is a tree, a very special tree.

We suspect it is the same tree

that Rachel painted for you at the time,

though we cannot say for sure,

as we have never been able to find it.

It is either hidden away very well,

or it is able to hide itself from those wishes.

I just looked at him trying to kill him

by just wanting it to be so within any case.

We have the next best thing,

the ancient clipping from the tree,

a great cost and sacrifice,

instilled for a long time without much success.

We have, however, in recent years

been given advice that this clipping

could be grown in the right soil.

We thought this soil was Rachel,

but while it did develop further inside of her,

she died before the necessary growth

was finished leaning forward.

He smiled at me.

We have it unfairly, good authority.

However, that he might succeed where she failed.

I fought them when they came,

but it didn't matter.

I woke up some time later with the doll lake

in my chest and a small,

already healing scar on my upper stomach.

I didn't really feel that different

other than the little bit of pain,

but I knew that would change with time.

Maybe I had more time than Rachel,

or maybe I had less.

It didn't matter.

I just wait.

What was that?

There was some kind of soft voice coming from where?

It wasn't in the room.

It was in my head.

I felt full of excitement.

Maybe this was Rachel's voice.

She had somehow stayed in the tree thing

they had put inside me.

No, I had never heard Rachel's voice,

but a sense this wasn't it.

This voice was too delicate to really be heard or understood,

and it reminded me of music coming from a distant room

that he felt in the back of your mind without realizing it.

It was at a melody, a kind of song,

but it wasn't Rachel's song.

I realized with a shiver that it was the song of the thing

inside of me that first I was afraid,

but that didn't last long.

It wasn't trying to hurt me.

It was trapped here just like I was,

but it started to sing.

It was time for us to be free.

I stood up and walked to the door,

and as I did so, the lights were out.

The door in front of me clicked,

and when I reached out and turned the knob in the dock,

it opened easily.

How was this possible?

Then if it could do this,

why hadn't it helped Rachel get out?

There was no answer,

but there was also no time.

I could already hear boots around the corner

as the glow from flashlight began to light up

the far end of the hole.

They would drug me back in there,

chain me up,

or take this thing back out of me before we could get away

if I was ever going to get out.

Itter to be now.

The voice was singing again,

pushing me to go further into the dock

to run until we were safe.

So I listened,

and I ran every door and locked for me.

Every turn kept me belly out of sight.

The people looking for me were barking orders over a radio,

asking someone what was the hold up on the generator

kicking on, whatever the response.

The hallways stayed dark as I drifted through them,

blind but not falling,

lost but not being found.

When I reached the final door,

I opened it into bright afternoon.

My lungs burned little at the first fresh.

I'm a cycle derailleur,

I had breathed in that week, blinking.

I waited for the voice to tell me where to go,

but it had fallen silent.

I closed the door,

as panic began to rise in my chest,

all this,

and I would get caught

because I didn't know where to go.

I was outside a plane,

brown building in the middle of nowhere

that was a road going off to the right.

And to the left though was,

Rachel's forest,

from her first painting to me,

I knew it was the same forest immediately,

and not just because of it matching the painting so closely,

I had some strange sense

that felt like a kind of magnetism,

or how birds know which way to fly,

looking around for a second.

I felt like I was being pulled

when I looked again at those woods this was right.

Somehow I knew this was the way I needed to go,

so I went.

I had made it to the edge of the forest

when I heard the noise of men coming outside the building.

I thought about hiding,

but I knew it was a bad idea.

They would just catch me,

and I felt a drive to go deeper into the woods.

I plunged ahead,

running at close to a reckless speed,

but never tripping or stumbling as I went.

I would occasionally hear a noise behind me

as they spread out to search,

but the sounds grew fainter as I ran.

I almost thought I had lost them for good

when I heard a short cough

that was quickly muffled off to my left,

someone had gotten close without me knowing.

Panicking, I looked for any places I could hide.

There were only bushes and trees

and there were well, not just a well,

but Rachel's well, the same war,

and Greystone walls capped with a weathered wooden lid.

I felt a moment of happy recognition,

but then it faded away.

How did that help?

They'd check the well if they found it,

and I didn't have any way to get down in it

without getting hard or stuck.

Then an idea struck me,

crouching low and staying to the brush.

I moved to the well and gingerly pushed in the lead.

At first, it resisted,

but when I pushed a bit harder,

the wooden circle slid aside enough

that you could clearly see someone

have moved it, glancing around.

I used back into the bushes

as I heard it's off footfalls approaching.

We need to check this out.

You think he went down the well, better hope not.

He probably broke his neck if he did,

and then it's our asses.

I could see the two men approaching.

Both of them were wearing dark body armor

and carried salt rifles,

the older the two shrugged back at the other one,

better than he was hiding in there

and we didn't check looking irritatedly

and the man nodded.

I'll look.

He went over to the well and shift the wooden lid aside,

causing it to clatter to the ground,

hitting a button on his rifle

of last night's prime to life in the barrel.

He started to shine it down into the well

as the other continued to look in every direction.

I was worried he would see me

if I moved, but I couldn't wait.

I adjusted to stay calm, think slow, and move fast.

I kept expecting to hear the male or feel something

or someone strike me in the back.

But nothing came.

As the afternoon light began to dim,

I saw the trees thinning ahead.

I was approaching a road.

It looked like a normal.

Public road to was several cars passing one way

or the other as I walked out of the forest

and up the hill to the asphalt.

The idea of hitchhiking,

especially this close to where they held me,

was frightening.

But I saw little choruses.

I was wearing sweatpants in a t-shirt

they had given me and my own shoes.

But I had no money or ID.

Off I went, my only chance was to get far enough away

that I could try and get help.

I jumped slightly at the hisophydraulic bricks

as a large semi-roll to stop next to me.

The passenger window rolled down

and an older man with white hair and a grey moustache

leaned over and peered down at me.

He looked lost.

Son, you need a ride.

I looked down at the door of the truck

due to the logo that said,

Martinez and son's construction and hauling.

Below it was a cartoon man hitting a wall

with a sledgehammer looking back up.

I smiled at him.

Yes, sir, I do.

Tyler Reddick here from 2311 Racing.

Another checkered flag for the books.

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I woke up five hours later as we pulled

into a truck stop somewhere in Nevada.

I'd planned on staying awake the entire trip,

but that had only lasted a few minutes

before exhaustion overtook me.

I glanced over at Oliver Martinez

and he gave me a toothy grin.

I'm tired, but you were pun-tuckered out.

I've got to fuel up, shower, and get some grub.

I'm going on to California after that

if you want to ride further.

Just be back here in an hour.

Sound good?

I nodded and thanked him again for the ride as I got out.

I fell groggy from sleeping.

But otherwise, I just needed to decide

whether this was a good spot to ask for help

or if I should ride with Martinez further.

He seemed like a very nice guy

and he would probably try to help if he could,

but I wanted to avoid putting more people in danger

if I could help it looking around.

I saw we were in a fairly nice little town.

I decided I would go look around for a few minutes

and then decide what to do.

I was only three blocks down the street

when I saw the flickering lights in the distance.

It was a movie theater.

As I got closer, I felt my chest tightening.

It was the one from Rachel's painting.

Hey there, welcome to the Phoenix,

the guy standing at the candy counter

of the theater looked a little younger than me.

And while he's seen friendly enough,

he also looks slightly concerned.

If you're here for the horror double feature,

I'm afraid the second movie is about 30 minutes in.

I can give you a half-rate if you want to see it though.

I shoot my head and try to not look as strange and crazy

as I felt.

No, that's okay.

I, well, I recognize this place

from a picture of a friend of mine painted.

So I came and asked if you knew anything about her.

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Okay, weird.

He smiled and added, weird.

But interesting.

I swallowed her name as well.

It was Rachel Donovan.

I expected him to look surprised or excited or angry,

but I could see right away the name meant nothing to him.

Shaking his head, he shrugged again, sorry.

That doesn't ring a bell.

I'd say you could ask the owner,

but he's on vacation this week.

Shouting, I searched my mind for something else to ask.

Some way to make this place matter

the way her other paintings had

is there anything unique about this place then.

It's history or something?

A man grand, buddy, you're clearly not from here.

This place is super boring.

Not just the theater, but the whole town.

In thought, he added,

the only thing I know about the history

of this place is that there used to be a house here

that burned down.

This was like in the 1920s or 30s,

when this wasn't even a part of town.

Couldn't tell you the first thing about it beyond that.

But I still bet it's the most interesting thing

that's ever happened here.

I let out a disappointed sigh, okay.

Well, thanks.

I turned to leave when the guy called out again.

Hey man, sorry, I couldn't help more.

If you come back, I'll get you a discount on a movie.

How awful.

If I'm not working, tell them Marshall said it was okay.

I waved and tried to smile as I headed for the door

with a heavy heart.

What did you lead me here, Rachel?

What's here that will help?

I was outside again,

staring up at the theaters bright blinking signs

as though they were going to give me some kind of

seek of signal when I noticed movement out of the corner

of my eye that was an alley that ran alongside the theater

and went behind it to something,

whatever was back there,

the light of a distance,

security alarm cast shadows all on the wall of the alley

and those shadows were moving instead of feeling afraid.

I felt excited as I started down the alley.

Rachel had led me here and I just had to trust

that there was a reason for it.

The shadows were made by leaves blowing in some wind

I couldn't feel as I got to the far end of the alley.

I saw there was a small backyard behind the theater

surrounded by a chain link fence