Tom Moses

He laid the lint brush on the table to his left as he tied a single winzer knot in his tie. Jackson hated the double, he could never make it work right and for expedience he opted to stop trying. The lint brush ran over his shoulders and he stared in the mirror to make sure his appearance was as professional as he liked to keep. Satisfied after a few more strokes he made his way downstairs and once again hoped to smell a breakfast that was never in the air anymore.

She was slumped on the recliner this time, her late night was still probably ongoing in her strung out mind and he shrugged it off and placed a pop tart in the toaster. The car keys weren’t where they were supposed to be, but sitting on the kitchen table, a small thought ran across his mind to look out the window to see if the sedan was still in one piece. Thankfully it was intact and he wouldn’t be taking the bus to work again, he was still trying to recover their savings account from the hit it took from the impound lot and her bail from the month prior. Despite it all, he kissed her forehead and let her sleep it off while he headed off to work.

There was an odor to the car now, every so often the smell of vomit would rise and the only thing he could do is roll down the windows and makes a note to buy another air freshener on his way home. He sighs and backs out of the driveway, his neighbors looking away when he tries to wave or make eye contact anymore, and despite it all, he just tries to shrug it off and make it through his commute.

Never any music in the morning, talk shows litter every station that comes in clear enough. His CD case is missing and the iPod he purchased months ago was long gone as well. There was nothing more to do than to turn the volume low and listen to the weather and traffic report, only to wish it to continue and spare him of lame jokes and disc jockeys wasteful expenditure of airtime.

The watch on his wrist was a full fifteen minutes faster than the clock on the car radio, as most of the city wouldn’t be starting rush hour for another fifteen minutes; Jackson sped through the expressway with the windows down and breathing in the cool air. His thoughts try to look at the world as though he had a different pair of eyes, this morning it worked for the first few miles but ultimately he worried about the woman passed out on the recliner and wondered where her step-sister was off too this time, as his wife and degenerate step-sister were never far apart these days.

Jackson took in a deep inhale of the cool morning air, shielding his eyes from the rising sun that was nearly directly in front of him. His fingers searched for the sunglasses he kept in the visor to no avail, one more thing missing. His heart started to sink as it began to look at reality through a lens that wasn’t manufactured by his wishes to get to work once in a while without incident.

He sighed loud enough to drown out the toilet humor on the radio. Trudging on as he always did, there was no point to fretting over the items missing, and hell there was two culprits he already knew of anyway. His exit neared quickly, turning gradually and pulling off the expressway there was a matter of three traffic lights and some pedestrian crossing that he had to watch for the morning runners before coming into view of his parking garage. A detour took him off schedule and broke his distraction from memories of better days as he was forced to take an unfamiliar turn, an extra right took him less than a minute off schedule, but he still had time to burn anyway.

He pulled into his usual spot for a Thursday morning. He was only slightly more early than his usual commutes, even the detour couldn’t take up too much of the time he saved by leaving as early as he had. Looking down from the rooftop of the parking garage he could almost marvel over how empty the city looked as the day was only beginning. He readjusted his tie, as he always loosened it while he drove, and simply stared into the red hue of the rising sun as it rose behind the buildings. Catching glimpses of its life giving light, not yet feeling the heat it would smear across the earth later in the day Jackson just stood and enjoyed the crisp air.

The wind was smooth as it passed through his suit jacket and thin blue shirt, though his tie never budged. It was a calm day, like so many other days before and his money is placed on the table that tomorrow will likely be the same, unless of course it rains.

The security officer waved him through the checkpoint and simply nodded his hello as he did every morning. His name was Stan, he was five foot seven and two hundred and twenty pounds, give or take five. He never stood for long periods or spoke many words to anyone. The fat bastard’s left eye was lazy, and he couldn’t bother to shave more than twice a week, and never the same days on schedule. Stan was anti-confrontational, never giving anyone hell, not because he was a particularly nice guy, rather avoiding confrontation because it kept his life simple, kept him confined to his plexi-glass booth. Jackson couldn’t bother to chuckle at thinking his safety was in the hands of someone such as Stan any longer, and just kept walking to the elevator.

The floors passed him by with the single chime of a bell that irritated him every time it sounded. Six chimes made his head uncomfortable, but the doors opened soon after and he left the noise for a few more minutes of tranquility before his co-workers would arrive and send the day spiraling downward until quieting down for an hour at lunch where we would devour whatever the cafeteria prepared for him and sit alone where he wouldn’t bother with the people who called him a colleague.

Two women were getting a head start on their day as he walked to his desk, he politely waved and said hello, the red-head didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence and the pudgy blonde did little more than raise her hand and bend her fingers four times and just quick enough that she didn’t lose pace with her typing. Janice would continue to type at her usual fifty five words per minute pace, stopping only to correct the sparse mistakes while the red-headed temp without a name he could remember utilized her hunting and pecking method of ineffective efficiency.

His desk was just as he left it, though the cubical next to him was celebrating a birthday by being humiliated by having his desk trashed. John would throw a hissy fit and likely try and talk to Jackson about it throughout the day and there wouldn’t be much that he could say to dissuade John about his inability to care for his plight. A high strung kind of guy that took offense at everything, Jackson looked forward for the day his promotion would go through that maybe someone would be moved into John’s desk, someone more likely able to tolerate.

The sports coat draped easily over his chair and he allowed some time for the computer to power up while walking to the break room to brew the coffee just as he liked it. Too many people liked it too weak, but it wasn’t a surprise, civilians often liked their lives to be weak. A danish from the vending machine fell from its home and he placed it into the microwave as the coffee brewed, all in all twelve minutes would pass before he left the break room with his thermos filled with an entire pot of coffee that he could enjoy throughout the day.

He sat down at his desk and he could hear a pen click coming from across his cubicle row to the left of his group. Clicking open and closed, the top moved up and down and the sound of the metal grated against his ears. Counting to ten, Jackson took ten deep breaths and tried to center himself and let his hand move to the left slightly with his eyes closed and push a CD tray closed. Sweet sounds of distracting music filled his ears with his headset pressing against the lobes of flesh and cartilage.

Jackson wasn’t the sort to listen to the top forty pop songs or such disposable music that might not matter until its starlet either ate the business end of a shot gun or gained a few pounds. The CD was a mix of sorts that kept his brain moving, he never listened to the same artist two songs in a row and often the CDs he would make would often make no sense in organization to any music purist. Moving from indie rock music, to the incoherent spattering of rappers who considered themselves musicians and a ten minute interlude of one of the classic composers, Jackson loved the variety, loved the chaos. The chaos would keep focused on his work, at the very least.

Eight hours would pass by him without any need to remember any moment or distinguish a new face or name. Just like every other day, he would perform what was asked of him, eat his lunch, make several phone calls and finish his coffee. Stan’s replacement, Bill or something would be standing guard and watching people leave. Jackson took his time to climb back into his car, as the rest of his co-workers would be in a rush to leave he decided rather to soak in the heat that his car had collected and listen to a few songs before driving into the gridlocked traffic. He would return home an hour and a half after he left the building; three accidents upset his drive home and a detour to return to an electronics store to find a new music player to replace the missing one. A new pair of sunglasses would also prove prudent.

No new cars wait in the driveway today, Jackson takes the blue plastic bag and locks his sunglasses in the glove box and walks to the door only to find it wide open. He closes his eyes and sighs. The house is silent, not even the old floors creak with his footsteps, but he would tend to avoid those weak spots in the wood anyway. His wife is nowhere to be seen, though it would not be hard to imagine her mid evening nap spilling to dinner time leaving him to cook his own dinner and still eat alone once again. He thinks to call for Emily, but what would be the use? Defeating as the though really was, Jackson went to the kitchen to spread some peanut butter over a couple slices of bread and grab a beer. At least it was still football season.

* * *

He was always one to consider himself the master of his own environment. There was no such thing as coincidences in his realm of thought, if anything happened — good or bad — it was a consequence for some action or inaction on his part. As the fourth can of beer cools the lining of his stomach and finds a home with the other empty brethren at the coffee table, Jackson decides it’s time to pick himself up and find his way to the bedroom.

Stretching is almost automatic, after sitting for so long, before he starts shutting down everything electronic. The silence across the house is almost calming, if it wasn’t for that damn refrigerator ruining his serenity. But completeness, he discovered, was a fools’ dream, it was always best to be thankful for the small favors first.

Blackness blankets the house and he stands for a moment at the foot of the stairs, wondering only if the footsteps outside are those of his once-lovely wife or just the wind. The iridium of his watch said it was just after eleven, her bender surely wouldn’t be over this early. He sighed after taking that first step, stopping to listen to the air, hoping to catch some noise, but giving up after hearing nothing at all.

He climbed the stairs, his mind more and more numb with every step.

The bathroom was his first stop, laying out his toothbrush, mouthwash, floss, and face wash all in their proper order, he turned the hot water to mix with the cold and let the shower start. It would need two minutes and thirty three seconds to warm and then cool to the right temperature, it would be plenty of time to go into the bedroom and remove the towel and robe from their places in his closet.

Lying across the bed as though she fell asleep most literally, her face was as calm as death itself. She often slept like that, a serene look on her face almost as though she hadn’t slept in weeks and was finally catching up with herself. Her legs hanged loosely from the edge of the bed and looked entirely uncomfortable as her slow breathing filled the room with its only sound. Jackson sighed; scooping Emily into his arms and helping her body find a position that would truly help her rest.

Propping her head against the pillow, he started to remove her shoes and socks, and some of the jewelry from her body. Most of it was costume, she was at least smart enough not to wear the real thing to her parties, he collected the mess of plastic and aluminum into his hands and dropped it all on the nightstand next to the bed and slipped her wedding ring back onto her finger. He would come back later and try and remove the smeared make up from her face with a warm wash cloth, but he had other things he needed to attend to first.

Jackson slid the key into the closet knob and shut it behind him before turning on the light. Letting the woman sleep off whatever was in her system he shed the clothing he first put on in the morning before work and slipped on the robe and pulled the towel off its drying rack. The light extinguished it the moment he flipped the switch and he closed and locked the door behind him, thinking nothing of the woman sleeping in the bed without him.

The bathroom door closed behind him, the room filled with steam and he breathed in deep as he sat on the toilet trying to keep hold of the emotions that welled up inside. Everything had a cause, there was never such a thing as coincidence and all things were a consequence of actions taken or inaction ignored. The sight of Emily dead to the world around her, dreaming whatever acid dreams that coursed through her mind was everything to remind him of all his inaction each time she cried for his help.

Inaction, the inaction of never being there.

After a deep breath, filling his lungs with the moist steam that permeated the air, Jackson stepped into the shower his skin screaming as the hot water splashed against his chest for a moment before settling and becoming accustomed to the temperature. The steam and heat washing away the stress from the day prior as it washes over his head and face. Just another end to just another day.

* * *

He almost stumbled into the front room; the fucking welcome mat never seemed to be where he remembered placing it the first time. Just like every other day he beat the sunlight from reaching the horizon, his eyes burned as a few drops of sweat fell into his eyes, just one more hazards of running so hard. He stopped the watch timing his progress, three miles in seventeen minutes.

Not bad for an old man.

Jackson cleared his throat and walked into the den he usually kept locked to make sure Emily stayed out, he surveyed the room for a moment happy to find everything still in its place this time and sat down on the rubberized matt set out and started pumping out two minutes worth of sit-ups before rolling the matt and tossing it in the closet and jumping up to his chin-up bar pinned to the closet doorway. The morning ritual ended with several dozen pushups before a timer sounded.

He checked his progress chart and marked the days’ activities. Down from last week by seven pull-ups, he’d make it up tomorrow, push himself a little harder next time. His timer quieted with the push of a single button and he left the quieted room, making sure it was locked this time and moved upstairs with a hot shower on his mind.

Eight minutes is all he needs to shower, shave, and take a minute or two to relax and he’s back on track to his routine in the morning, walking into the bedroom and finding that Emily has all ready vanished. His heart sank slightly but he only shrugged it off, there was only so much he could control and at the moment Emily was not on that list. Jackson stepped into the closet, taking the Friday shirt and tie from the hanger and the black slacks he ironed last Sunday. He always wore red and silver on Friday, not sure as to why but it was just another thing Jackson liked to notice about himself, how so many habits formed without him taking ready notice.

His watch chimed just as he tied his shoes and walked over to the nightstand knowing where to pick up Emily’s wedding ring, sliding it onto the sterling silver chain that he fit around his neck, he was ready to go through another day his corporate existence.

* * *

Eight hours, thirty nine minutes and god only knows how many seconds would pass before the day would end, and Jackson found himself sitting at the usual table on the usual Friday. Ordering the usual steak and potatoes, sided with a tall draft import beer.

He waited for the waitress, her name was Felicia, but he munched on the free peanuts that everyone loved to toss around one another. She was a pretty little thing; another life time ago he might’ve found it in his heart to tell her. Those times were long ago, however, and it wasn’t a woman’s company he came to this place to ponder, there were other things that he would finally allow to run through his mind, instead of the penance he puts himself through.

“How’s the Misses?”

The familiar voice only causes his deep brown eyes to shift upward and to the right and consequently follow the man as he took a seat in the corner booth they used each Friday night.

“She’s the same,” Jackson would always say.

Jackson’s scratchy voice and the tired breath that pushed the words out would always strike Dean Phillips right through the heart, “That’s too bad, Jack.”

He only nodded and shrugged, opening his mouth to speak but silenced just in time for Felicia — the waitress — to offer her the usual greeting of a refilled beer and Dean’s usual drink. “Same thing again guys?”

“I think I’ll switch it up a bit, tonight.”

“Oh!” Felicia feigned surprised, letting her failed acting classes take over for a moment and exaggerating a pair of weakened knees as she grabbed for the edge of the table, “Be still my heart!”

Dean laughed, Jackson allowed himself to smile, “Gloomy here won’t be changing anything about what he wants, I’m sure.” Jackson only nodded in the affirmative. “But I think…yeah, I’ll go with chicken tonight.”

“Oh dear!” She continued her performance, “which kind?”

Dean smiled at the pretty girl, not any older than twenty six, “Surprise me, beautiful, I don’t care.”

She smiled at the generous tippers and went on her way to the kitchen. “The others going to show?”

Jackson moved his head, “nah, not tonight.”

“A shame.”

Dean watched Jackson nod his head and then sip on the beer he’d been nursing for however long he’d been waiting. “Dave said work was begging him to stick around, John just said no.”

“Ah, ever the cryptic and workaholics. How’s the resident gloomy bastard feeling today?”

“Gloomy, you expecting me to change any time soon?”

Dean swigs down a mouthful of beer, swallowing before setting the glass down and sliding a business card to Jackson. “This fella called me through some of the contacts that aren’t quite still in jail.”

“Don’t want anything to do with ‘em.”

Dean frowned, “C’mon Jack, you need this just as much as I do, we’re a package deal and you know it.”

“Too much hiding, too many aliases, fraudulent employment is a crime in those circles Dean, and you know it.”

Tapping his fingers, Dean tried to look disappointed but deep down he knew Jackson was right, hell it wasn’t as deep down and his own inner voice was telling him the same, but it was something to break up the monotony of the nine-to-five grind. “I’ve got to get away from this man; Mel is driving me through my wits again.”

Jackson chugs down the remainder of his beer and slaps the glass down, “You’re not the marriage type.”

“And you are?”

He nods, and fishes Emily’s wedding ring from underneath his shirt and matching it with his own, “I’m a happily married man. The idea of my wife is more than enough.”

“The idea of being married, yeah, it’s a wonderful idea.”

“Fuck the reality of it, though.” Jackson finally admitted, “I have to keep everything I want locked up or it’ll disappear.”

“Fuck man.”

Jackson sighed, “Tell me about it. I don’t even get any of that either and she’s so strung out half the time, all I’d have to do is toss a joint under her nose to get her naked.”

Jackson returned to his beer and Dean dipped his head down, muttering a single expletive again and again. “She needs help, Jack. You need help.”

“Not gonna afford that on eighteen an hour, forty-two hours a week.”

Dean nods, “That’s the truth.”

The truth is what normally quieted them down, though the duo was missing two of their usual number when their meals arrived. Raising their new glasses that Felicia was kind enough to bring, “Health, happiness, and the freedom to enjoy it.” Their toast was almost a mockery these days, but if anything else it was just enough to break down their monotony, enough to pretend as though they still enjoyed life if only a little.

* * *

The Honda Civic pulled into the driveway and the yellow parking lights shinned just long enough to illuminate the path of his driveway without pouring on bright white light into the house. He never could tell if she would be asleep when he returned home, but then he could never tell if she would be home at all. Friday nights were too hard to keep to a pattern for Emily, to her Chaos was her master and the only lord by which she lived by, that alone was enough to drive Jackson insane.

Stepping out he marveled at just how quiet the house was this Friday night, almost as though the dead were even quieted down and could not be driven out of their slumber.

He walked to his door, pushing the slab of wood into the house, marveling how useless of a door it was when there was nothing locking it. A nightmare passed through his mind’s eye and he slowly climbed the stairs hoping that he would not have to confront a man sleeping in his bed, or worse. He avoided every creaking area of the hallway on the trek to his bedroom and pushed open the door, his heart sinking at the sight in front of him.

Jackson punched the wall, hitting the light switch and commanding the light to fill the room. “No.” He muttered to himself as he gazed on Emily’s bleeding nose and foaming mouth.

Her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her skull and her breathing too slow to even see. Her chest remained still for a moment before Jackson could spring into action and fumble through the keys on his ring and break into the closet he kept locked from her. A safe tucked away, behind a shelf full of towels, sang with an electronic tune of a combination.

He burst back into the bedroom, filling a syringe with the prescribed amount as he was told to give her and jammed the syringe into her chest and pushed the adrenaline into the cavity where her heart and lungs had started to slow and yanking it out to start chest compressions.

“God damnit, No!” He screamed and continued to pound down on her chest until she gasped for air. His own heart possibly beating faster than hers pumped full of adrenaline he took a step back and slid against the first wall his back could find, reaching for the phone he kept on his nightstand table.

“Doctor Evans? It’s Jackson Black,” he paused, “Yeah its Emily again. The ambulance? No I haven’t called.”

The phone connection died and Jackson pushed the receiver against his forehead, dialing 911, once again. “932, Elmwood Avenue. Drug overdose, possibly heroin.”

It was enough shame to hear the sirens in the vicinity of his home again, but the shame that hurt him more was the desire he had to force back. The desire to put the woman out of his misery and let her die this time, the phone receiver against his head he sobbed and a paramedic wanted to console him, but there was no consolation to the death he wanted tonight.

* * *

Tags: addict, always the same, Commuters, consequences, corporate, Death, going through the motions, indifference, life, schedule, soldier

This entry was posted on Friday, May 22nd, 2009 at 8:00 pm and is filed under Fireteam Spectre. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.