I’m not surprised when I see the door to Floor 1 again, although it’s kind of a joke by now. This isn’t the first time I’ve been let in through the front door, and by now I just feel less impressed about it. A floor full of psychos taking drugs to keep them happy? At least happy enough that they don’t talk to each other about what’s going on in this tower?
I’d rather live in the Creep.
Sure, I’d go hungry, but, I mean, at least I’d still be me. Are you really “you” when you’re always taking drugs to forget yourself?
See, I think about these things. I’m not just curious for the sake of being curious. I can get philosophical and stuff.
Of course, I don’t really have much time to ponder the meaning of existence as they drag me along down the halls. Dad’s with me the whole way, so that’s nice, but it’s so weird being escorted by Security while those cheery commercials shout at us from the air that “A daily will do you,” which by this time translates to some freaking terrifying behavior.
But, you know, I’m still me. I’m still curious. I might not want to live up here, but I do want to know everything I can about this place I call home. Because I really don’t know if what we’ve got going on in this tower can last forever.
Anyway, soon we enter a long hall. I know something’s different, ’cause there aren’t any doors. Well, none except the single pair at the very end of the hall.
Yeah. That looks like it might be, you know, important.
Abbott holds back my dad and gives me a push. I kinda want to tear his arm off for touching me, but I hold back my incredible strength. Heh. I look over at Dad, and he nods, so… I guess it’s cool for me to go?
I start to march, and the hallway seems to just stretch on forever. There are a few potted plants and a couple of soft-looking couches, but no windows or anything like that.
You know what it does have, though? Paintings. Lots of them.
I wish… I wish I knew who painted them. What they’re about. They were important enough to keep, right? Why, though? Does anyone even remember?
One’s of some guy, a military-looking dude with a weird white wig on. I’ll admit it, though, he looks freakin’ sweet. Guy’s wearing a cape, some crazy hat, and there’s this flag behind him in the boat he’s riding. It’s got these red and white stripes, and a bunch of stars on a blue background.
This next one… I dunno, it kinda sucks. It’s just a woman smiling at you. I don’t get that one.
Another one I spot is weird because I actually recognize the guy in it. He’s the dude that was on that cross in the Reception Hall. Uh, he looks like he’s in a lot less pain now, I think. I dunno, it looks like he’s at a dinner or something. He’s got, like, twelve of his friends with him.
This last one, though… it’s weird.
It’s got two guys. One of them’s almost naked. Glad he’s got his legs crossed. Anyway, he’s reaching out to this other, older guy. Their fingers are almost touching, just not quite. The old guy’s got all these… I guess they’re babies?… babies around him.
Actually, the old dude, if you look at him from a certain angle, kinda looks like he’s sitting in a human brain.
My mind must be playing tricks on me.
Anyway, what gets me is that nobody in this tower even knows what these are about anymore. They were important enough to paint but apparently not important enough to remember. Still, I guess that doesn’t matter at this point. I’m at the doorway. I take a look back down the hall, and Dad and the rest of the group are like specks in the distance. Dang. I didn’t realize it was this long a journey.
Too busy appreciating “art,” I guess.
So, I suck in a deep breath, grab the handles, and push the doors in.
For a moment, I’m blinded by light.
And then I hear the doors close behind me.
Recording Forty-Two
“Your name is Jackie,” he says. “My name is Edward.”
He laughs, then throws his hands in the air. “You can call me whatever you like, actually. It’s been so long since anyone remembered what my real name is. They haven’t used it since I was eighteen.”
I look around, and I’m just like… whoa.
His office is huge, and it just stretches on, lined with towers of bookshelves on both sides. Not like those crappy pieces of garbage we have that are falling apart.
These books are new. Brand-new.
He sees my mouth hanging and laughs again. “Jackie,” he says, “come here. Come on.”
I nod, but I don’t walk fast. Actually I can’t walk fast since my legs are ignoring me. The view behind him… it stretches from floor to ceiling and… and it’s so blue. The sun is spying over the clouds, and there’s a chain of mountains that are blanketed by snow. I know they’re not real, but, dang, I wish they were. It takes me a sec before I catch him waving me on to the desk, but I feel like I’m plowing through water. It’s so beautiful I almost want to cry. Then I remember the last time I had this feeling, the first time I came to Floor 1, and I suck it in. I’m not going to get lied to again. So, I take a seat in front of his desk.
The floor is white. The long rug leading to his desk is white. The shelves are white. The desk is white. His suit is white.
I look up at him. “Did I die and not realize it or something? Is this some crazy afterlife?”
The guy smiles. He’s handsome, for an old dude. Sharp face, this trimmed gray goatee. Can’t hate on those silver eyes, either. Eyes I quickly recognize from the commercials repeating on Floor 1. Anyway, he says, “No, you’re not dead. You’re quite alive, actually, despite all odds. I’m quite impressed.”
“You saw it?”
“Yes, Abbott broadcast it all. Quite a heroic attempt to destroy that creature on Floor 16, I must say. I didn’t realize that level of courage was still to be found on the upper levels.”
I’m listening to him, but my chest is just hurting. I feel like a ball is trying to jam its way up my throat. “What’s going on?” I can hear my voice crack when I start talking. Dammit. “Please, I have to know.”
“Where would you like me to start?”
I glance around, looking from the bookshelves to the window and back to him. “What is this place? Who are you? Why did you bring me here?”
He holds up a hand as his lips twist upward. “One at a time, please. We can tackle the obvious. This is Authority Central, the office of the tower director. I am he and he is I. Director Edward Pygmalion, at your service. And the tower you have lived in your entire life is properly termed Tower Pisa. But I get the feeling you’re more interested in why you’re here.”
“Well, considering it was just yesterday that I was getting sentenced… to Reinforcement…”
“Ah, yes, an unpleasant process, that. I have to see it here, you know, along with most of what happens in Pisa.”
“You have a television, too?”
He chuckles. “A television?” The director lifts his head upward like he’s going to talk into the wind. “Screens on.”
Suddenly the bookshelves that were there a minute ago are gone. I mean, I’m not absolutely sure they were ever there in the first place. It’s hard to say. What I know is that dozens of screens surge to life and hide the walls where the bookshelves used to be. One, then another, light up until they stretch all the way back to the doorway. Even the window behind the director suddenly lights up, showing a view of the gardens on the rooftop. The black clouds replace the white and the gray skies remove the blue, and again I’m staring at the crapsack junk heap of a world I live in.