Michael stared at a bright florescent light on the ceiling. He knew it hurt his eyes, but he couldn't look away. His eyes blinked every half-minute as the light hummed. "W-w-whe-," He closed his mouth. He was trying to ask, 'Where am I?', but he couldn't remember the words to speak.
He felt a pair of headphones slip over his head. A woman used two hands to pull him to a seated position placing a pillow behind his back. He blinked. He knew her face but didn't know how. Before he tried to speak, she handed him a tablet. She watched from the corner of the room as Michael laughed hysterically at the cartoon.
Christine got up and paced in front of the bed. She had a lot on her mind. It'd been an hour-long potentially life-changing meeting and was having doubts it was true.
Quint had always been honest with her, but could she trust him now? Was this the first time he'd lied to her? Quint often failed to tell the total truth, but she couldn't think of a way there could be more to his proposition. The part that worried her the most was the simplicity of it. Quint was anything but a simple man.
"Where am I?" A voice woke Christine from her thoughts, reminding her why she was in the room. She turned to the hospital cot to find Michael glaring at her. His face was flushed white, and his headphones were resting on his temples.
"Oh, you'll be fine, you just had an accident," she said in a sweet voice. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped the drool from Michael's chin. "You need to get something in your stomach," she handed Michael a sports drink.
"Th-thank y-you." He smiled wildly, accepting the gift. He fumbled with the lid a few times before Christine took it back and unscrewed it for him.
"Th-thank you." He smiled wildly again. He gulped, dribbling most of it down his gown. After he was finished, she handed him a small granola bar. "You..you are..you're amazing." He took a bite and chewed excessively.
She took the wrapper and wiped the crumbs from his chest, "It's time to go home," she smiled as he grinned back.
She wrapped her right arm around his back and used her left to move his legs over the edge of the bed.
"On three." She said, "One...Two—"
Michael jumped off the bed, nearly tackling Christine to the floor. She struggled to hold his weight as he used her as a crutch.
"Three!" Michael said.
Christine and Michael hobbled across the room. She sat him in a chair so she could pull the door open, then slid under his arm and helped him back to his feet.
"Thank you." He said. His smile was filled with bits of granola.
They slowly walked across the catwalk. The office-space was dead. The monitors were black, the four screens on the back wall were turned off, and the overhead lights were dimmed. All the workers that had been scurrying around just an hour before stood silently in four single file lines at the back right corner of the room. Each stared at the back of the head of the person in front of them without saying a word.
The two struggled down the stairs. Michael's feet slipped multiple times, pulling down hard on Christine's shoulders. She'd have to buy some frozen vegetables on the way home to ice her neck.
They made their way across the ground level and joined the back of the fourth line.
"Why am I here?" Michael asked as she slid from under his grip.
"It's ok, you're ok," she reached out and squeezed his arm.
"Oh, ok." He replied and turned to face the red-headed woman in front of him. He turned and put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion at Christine, then laughed.
She estimated it'd be a half-hour until he remember his recent adventure and would start causing a scene. She just had to get him seated, and she would no longer be responsible for him.
The four individuals in front of each line walked up to the garage door. They picked up the stacks of cloth that were folded on the floor. They walked back to their lines and began passing individual sacks down their designated lines one by one. Michael turned and handed the first to Christine. When his cloth arrived, she tapped him on the shoulder.
"Like this," she whispered, helping him slide it over his head. She reached around his body and pulled his arms up from his sides. She rested them on the shoulders of the woman in front of him. "She'll guide you, and you'll guide me. Keep the covering on. They'll let us know when it's ok to remove them."
Christine highly doubted Michael would keep it on, but that wasn't her problem, she had done her part and was now done babysitting. She pulled the cloth over her own head and reached up to Michael's shoulders.
When each member of the lines had the cloths over their heads, the large bay door screeched open. Eight individuals, four of which wore matching uniforms, walked briskly to the front of the room. Their footsteps echoed off the walls as they entered the room. The four matching individuals got in front of each; the four non-matching stood to the left of each line.
The lines began to move through the open door, where four busses were waiting for them. One by one, the groups made their way to separate busses. The uniformed leader took the seat behind the wheel. At the same time, the other non-uniformed individual helped the blinded workers onto the bus.
Michael let out a surprised yelp as the lady's shoulders suddenly lift in the air. He let out a second yelp as he hit his shins on the bus's first step. Out of instinct, Michael reached to remove the cloth, only to be met with a stern slap across his face.
"You will be told when you can remove your covering." A lady's voice chirped directly into his ear. She grabbed his wrist and helped him up the stairs. She guided him down the narrow aisle, his hands grazed seated individuals as he went. She turned his body and forced him into his seat.
"Leave your covering on, I'll be watching you. You don't want me to catch you with it off."
Michael's chair was soft. He could feel the warmth of a body next to him. "Where are we going?" He whispered.
"Mr. Sinclair!" The lady's voice yelled from the front of the bus. "There is no talking."
Michael sat anxiously, fiddling in his seat. His head was spinning, and the covering didn't help. After several minutes the bus’s engine started.
"You are not to remove your coverings at any time." A voice over the intercom announced. "There is no talking on the bus. There is no eating on the bus. Please just close your eyes and enjoy the ride." The intercom turned off.
Moments later, the bus began to move.
Michael closed his eyes. He felt tired, but could not manage to doze off. As the bus ride began to stretch long, his memory of the terrible events started creeping back. He wondered whether the woman that had smashed Rafael's head into the floor was on this bus with him. He knew he should be frightened, these people turned to animals at the flip of a switch, but instead, he had an odd calm. At least he was alive. At least he was leaving whatever that place was. What could possibly come next?
The more Michael thought of the previous week, the more he questioned the week ahead. Why had someone been following him, and why had Gary chosen him? It couldn't be a coincidence, but Quint had said he believed he knew nothing. That he was innocent.
A voice over the intercom snapped Michael from his thoughts, "You may now take off your coverings."
He slid the covering off his head and looked around as everyone stayed seated, staring at the seatback in front of them.
The bus was reasonably large, sitting a little over fifty passengers comfortably. The carpeting was a forest green dotted with tiny white specks. The glow from the florescent lights overhead reflected off the black tinted bus windows making the windows look like dark mirrors.
The man beside Michael was thin and had long black hair that rested on the top of his thin nose. The two made eye contact for a split second before the man quickly snapped his head the other direction.
"Where are we?" Michael whispered. The man's left hand snapped up from his side to cover Michael's mouth. His eyes shifted between Michael and the front of the bus making sure nobody had heard.
The intercom came on, "If you are found talking, your row's lists will be activated immediately. Please, no talking on the bus."
The man slowly removed his hand from Michael's mouth, glaring at him through his bangs. He took his index finger and lifted it over his lips in a hushing motion. He held it a moment for emphasis, then slowly let his hands fall to his lap.
The bus doors open, and the first row of passengers stood. When the group stepped off the bus, the doors closed behind them. A minute later, the doors opened again, and the second row stood and exited the bus. Once again, the doors closed behind them. Row after row, the bus emptied one group at a time.
After nearly a half-hour of silence watching row by row, Michael rose from his seat and walked down the center walkway. As he stepped off the bus, he was surprised to find the sun was already down. How long had the trip been? Three days as Gary stated? A week?
The bus was parked at the front of a bay area rapid transit parking lot. The station was fairly empty. The few commuters paid no attention to the large charter bus.
Three men were standing at the curb. Each man held two briefcases. Their faces were stern, showing no emotion, they all had muscular builds. Michael's seat partner fetched a small ticket from his pocket and handed it to one of the men. The man checked the card, pulled a phone from the briefcase, and gave it to the man. The skinny man shoved the phone in his pocket and walked off into the parking lot.
The two women that had been sitting across the aisle also had tickets that they exchanged for phones. After the women received their phones, they turned and left in separate directions. Nobody said a single word during the whole exchange.
Michael stood alone in front of the three men, not quite sure what he was expected to do next. The man in the middle opened his briefcase. He was a smaller man with a pointed face. He reached into the case and pulled out a flimsy white card, an envelope, and a set of keys that Michael recognized as his own.
"Harvey Sinclair, take this card to get into the station. Your car is parked at the last stop. We put your suitcase in the trunk. Good luck with everything."
"What am I supposed to do?" Michael asked.
The man snapped his briefcase closed.
"Just go home. We'll be in touch shortly."
As Michael sat on the train, he looked over the envelope. It had no markings. He could feel something folded inside. He got up and made his way to the last seat, making sure nobody could peer over his shoulder at the contents. He slowly tore the envelope open, not sure he wanted to know what was inside. He dumped the folded card stock into his hand.
When he unfolded it, he felt his heart drop to his stomach. He stared at the photo. The photo was shot from a car parked outside Mimsy's house. She was standing at her kitchen sink in pajamas. A bright red 'X' was inked over her head. After a few moments of staring Michael dropped the photo to his lap. He noticed something scribbled on the back.
It would be wise of you to keep this a secret from everyone you know. - QM.