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Just Another Government Agency
by Jayne Leitch

    He was cold.

     Gary could feel the faint, whispering movements of the chill air in the room as it brushed across his bare chest.  The sensation made him shiver, which served only to make him colder as his skin came into further contact with the metal slab he lay on.

     His arms were at his sides, and whenever he made the slightest movement he could feel stiff restraints at intervals up their length; metal bands encircled his wrists and his biceps, making him want to fidget.  There were also restraints around his ankles and over his thighs; whoever had him seemed to really not want him to get away.

     Gary was beyond terror.  He wasn't sure of how long he had been in this place, wherever it was, and he had no idea of why he was there in the first place.  The last thing he remembered before waking up strapped down was going to bed, turning on his alarm clock and turning off the light.

     That was another thing.  When he woke up it had been pitch black--and now, what felt like hours later, there was still no light.  Just the cold breeze and the colder metal.  And the darkness--

     There was a flash of brilliance and suddenly he had light.  Gary flinched, squeezing his eyes shut against the shocking brightness, feeling tears of pain and fear slide over his cheeks.  Then he started again as he heard a voice.

     "Gary Hobson."

     It was female, and not entirely unpleasant--in fact, despite the coldly factual tone, the voice held a note of harmless appraisal.  In his present state, this scared Gary even further.

     "Y-yes?"

     "You're awake.  Good."  There was no speaker present; the voice echoed around the room as if it came from every wall.  "There's no need to be frightened, Mr Hobson.  You're perfectly safe."

     Gary, blinking furiously against the light, managed a slight laugh.  "That's funny, 'cause I'm actually feeling kind of--exposed right now."

     "That would be because we took your clothes," the voice commented matter-of-factly.  "We've found that making our subjects uncomfortable leads to their answering our questions.  And nakedness is an unnerving state for most people."

     "Unnerving?"  Trembling, Gary put as much venom in his tone as he could.  "Lady, you don't know the half of it."

     "Oh, don't worry, Mr Hobson."  The voice held a note of amused condescension.  "I've seen much worse, believe me.  In fact, compared to the normal occupants of that slab, you're a marked improvement."

     Gary coloured, embarrassed by the obvious approval in her tone.  Then, making an attempt to forget it, he cleared his throat and asked, "Who are you?"

     "That is unimportant."  Gary opened his mouth to object, but the voice continued, "Do you remember the events of August tenth?"

     Momentarily confused, Gary shook his head.  "What?"

     "August tenth, 1998.  What happened that day?"

     Gary cast his mind back.  "There was an electrical short at the zoo--"

     "And on November twenty-sixth?"

     "Um--a house collapsed--"

     "What about March twentieth, 1999?"

     Gary froze, feeling a little block of ice form in his stomach.  He would remember that day until he died.  "A boiler exploded, and an apartment building caught fire.  What's this about?  Why are you--"

     "Do you remember what else happened that day?"  The voice spoke slowly, as if measuring the words.  "Do you remember a man named Jeremiah Mason?"

     "Of course I do."  Gary suppressed a shiver.  Could it be getting any colder?  "Why are you asking me all this?  Who are you?  Tell me!"

     There was a sigh, the sound bouncing off the walls.  "I suppose you can be told.  There's no rule against you knowing--while you're here, anyway."

     "Knowing what?"  His eyes having adjusted to the light, Gary scanned the room for any hint of life.  "Tell me already!"

     "We are part of a secret agency, Mr Hobson."  The voice was now entirely businesslike.  "All you need to know about us is that we keep our eyes on whatever draws our attention--usually things that no one else sees."

     The implications of this hit Gary like a fist to the gut, and this time he couldn't help shivering.  "And you've been keeping an eye on me."

     "Quite simply, yes.  For about two years now."  There was a pause as the voice let this sink in, then it continued, "For some reason, Mr Hobson, whenever something bad happens, you show up.  *Before* it happens, but you are usually prepared to deal with whatever catastrophe is about to occur.  It has been a constant puzzle to us as to how you manage this."

     Gary let out a weak chuckle.  "Well, I'm magic, aren't I."

     "Perhaps.  Your circumstance certainly has nothing to do with your physical makeup."

     Something about the way the voice spoke caused Gary to tense.  "What are you talking about?"

     The voice explained, "When we brought you here we took the opportunity to draw some samples, take a few tests.  Blood, saliva, spinal fluid.  We even ran MRI's and a CAT scan."

     "What!"  A wave of anger blew heat from his toes up.  "You people stuck me with needles without my permission?  Who gave you the right--"

     "They were purely scientific tests, Mr Hobson.  Routine."  A note of irony crept into the voice.  "Unfortunately, they didn't help at all.  The only thing we learned from the tests is that you're--" the voice paused, then finished lasciviously, "Remarkably fit."

     "Good.  I'm glad you didn't find anything."  The anger dulled a fraction, and Gary continued sullenly, "So if you've been watching me for two years, why have you waited until now to kidnap and forcibly detain me?"

     To his surprise, the voice laughed.  "Forcibly detain you?  Gary, if we were using force, you'd be much worse off.  You'd still be in the dark, for one thing--not to mention a whole lot more pain."

     The thought that anything could be worse than this made Gary's blood run cold.  "So we're on a first name basis, huh?  What should I call you?"

     The voice ignored the question.  "We had pretty much accepted your heroics as your basic SI-8.5--that's Supernatural Intervention, and the number means it's mid-range psychic class--but then you had that run-in with Mr Mason.  Why didn't you save him?"

     Feeling a little numb, Gary muttered, "Well, I tried, didn't I.  I--I just couldn't hold on to his arm."

     "I see."  Gary's dislike of the voice jumped a few notches; the tone was far too clinical to be discussing a man's death.  "But really, that was only the tip of the iceberg.  You remember your time in the collapsed carpet store?  That happened only a few days after the apartment fire."

     Gary swallowed thickly, nervously.  What exactly did this person know?  "I remember.  Clearly."

     "Would you mind telling us exactly your experience?"  The voice waited; he said nothing.  "By all rights you should have died in that collapse, Gary.  At the very least, you should be paralyzed."

     "Well, you said I was in good shape."

     "I did.  But several hundred pounds of solid materials fell on you; not even the best body-builder should be able to survive what you did."  The voice suddenly acquired a sharp edge.  "Tell us what happened to you in the subbasement."

     Gary set his jaw.  He didn't feel at all inclined to tell anyone what he'd gone through.  He hadn't even told Marissa; he was damned if he told these people.  "I thought you said you were watching me," he countered.  "Didn't you see for yourself?"

     There was a brief pause.  "Our eyes were--unable to penetrate the debris.  An odd technical glitch; we believe we have since fixed the problem.  However, we do need to account for the time of the blackout."

     "Why?"

     "It's a matter of national security!"  The voice snapped the sentence out harshly, and its clipped words echoed loudly through the room.  "Mr Hobson, we do not have to be this civilized in our interrogation!  If you do not cooperate we will use whatever means necessary to get the information.  Any means necessary, Mr Hobson, to satisfy our concerns!  Do you understand?"

     Gary was silent for a moment.  The thought of 'any means necessary' scared him thoroughly; who knew what this agency or whatever they were was capable of?  On the other hand, he was determined not to let them know about the Paper, and even more determined to keep his encounter with Snow to himself.  That time in the basement--Gary had felt his grief, his anger, his sorrow so keenly there that his memories of the experience were intensely personal.  Telling anyone else--it was unthinkable, even in this situation.  He couldn't.  He wouldn't.

     Gary took a deep breath.  "I'm no threat to anyone," he began, speaking carefully.  "If you--whoever you are--have been watching me at all, you'd know that I never try to hurt people, I try to help them.  In fact, if you're trying to find someone to be worried about, you should look in the mirror."  The voice started to speak, but he cut her off.  "You've spied on me, kidnapped me, stolen pieces of me for tests you didn't ask my permission for, put me in the most powerless position you could, and tortured me with questions I don't feel I should have to answer.  Besides which, you've turned the temperature down so low that I can hardly feel my fingers.  You've scared the hell out of me, and you haven't given a single good reason why.  And if you do this to other people--"  Gary broke off, shuddering at the implications, "Well then, I think maybe you should worry about the danger *you* pose, not whatever you think I'm gonna do."

     The voice was quiet.  Then, slowly, it spoke.  "Very well.  If you will not cooperate with us, we will have to review the situation and deal with you accordingly."

     "You do that."  Strangely, Gary felt free and strong.  He was still cold, but he felt as if he had won somehow, had beaten the voice.  "Just remember what I said, will you?  And give me back my clothes while you think it over."

     The voice gave no reply; instead, there was a slight, mechanical whirring, and Gary watched a syringe extend from the whiteness.  It was filled with a light blue liquid, and came to rest just above his left arm.

     Then the voice spoke.  "We have decided to inform you of one thing.  The carpet store--your experience was not the first time it collapsed."

     Despite himself, Gary was curious.  Keeping his eyes trained on the syringe, he prompted, "So?"

     "The first time was thirty-six years ago."  The voice sounded carefully nonchalant, as if whoever it belonged to was watching his reaction carefully.  "The building had only been built a year before; its collapse was completely unexpected by everyone involved.  A man was trapped then, as well, a man who also left the scene with only superficial injuries."  There was a pause--then, slick as honey, the voice said, "Perhaps you've heard of him.  His name was Lucius Snow."

     Gary hardly had time to digest the news before the syringe jabbed his arm and everything went black.

* * * * * * * * * *

     He was warm.

     Gary opened his eyes to the gentle dimness of his loft, and pushed aside the thermal blanket that was only overheating his sweatsuit-clad body.

     He was in his bed, as per usual, but for some reason that felt wrong.  Turning his head he glanced at the clock--then jumped up, surprised and a little angry.  "Twelve-thirty!  How did I sleep in that much?!"  He hurried to the door and opened it--and came face to face with Marissa, who had her hand raised to knock on the glass.  "Marissa!"

     "Gary, are you okay?"  His friend gave him a worried smile.  "I got here and Patrick said you hadn't been downstairs yet.  I was worried."

     "I'm fine, Marissa, I just overslept."  Glancing down, Gary saw the Paper and the Cat, right where they should have been.  Reaching down to pick up the newsprint, he continued, "I just hope I haven't missed something in the--ow!"

     "What is it?"

     "I don't know."  Angling his left arm carefully, Gary noticed a small round bruise just above the inside of his elbow.  "I must've banged my arm on something."

End.

Email the author:  Jayne Leitch
 
 

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