I grew up in Salinas, California, the same hometown of John Steinbeck, one of America’s greatest writers. I loved to read (and still do) and frequented the John Steinbeck Library as a child. I discovered at an early age that I also enjoyed writing. In sixth grade, my teacher, Mr. Graham gave the class an assignment to write a story for a contest. The contest required that we create our book binding as well, which we did with cardboard, glue, and wallpaper. My book was called “Mully Mully” about a creature who lived in an underwater lake city. I was sad when I didn’t win, but I cherished my book so I kept it all these years. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I decided to put other stories, roaming around in my mind, down on paper again, or actually, in my case, into a computer.
Just outside the door, a gray-haired but young-looking man, is speaking with Dr. Matus. Derek is by her side.
“Nia.” She puts her hand out to stop me from passing her. “This is Mr. Dyer. He would like to speak to you and Derek for a moment.”
“About?”
“A problem you may have experienced with an elevator this morning.”
“No problem,” Derek responds. “We made it to the lab on time. Didn’t we, Dr. Matus?”
“Yes, they did.” She shoots a concerned look at Mr. Dyer.
“I understand you went to the ostrich floor.”
“No. A man who was in the elevator went there. We were headed here,” I say.
“Nevertheless, I must take you to administration for further questioning.”
“Why can’t you ask them here?” Dr. Matus asks, her tone thick with confusion.
“That is beyond your level.”
She stabs him with a look of disdain. He walks us through the lab to the elevator. All eyes are on us.
On the administration floor, we’re directed to a room at the end of the hall, where the light appears dimmer than the light on the other end. The room is bare, with white walls and a table with chairs in the center.
“What did you hear and see on the ostrich floor?”
“Nothing.” The word bursts from Derek’s and my mouth simultaneously.
“Don’t lie to me.” His words were razor sharp, cutting into my conscience. “I have video.” The room begins to feel more like a cell.
“Then why are you even asking us?” Derek says. “You saw whatever we saw. Why are you questioning us like this?”
“I want to hear from you what you think you saw and heard.”
“I told you. Nothing. I don’t know what I saw or heard,” I say.
His eyes are deep and dark, shaped like pumpkin seeds, but with a
narrow lid.
“Tell me what you saw now!”
“We saw the man. He pressed the ostrich button and scanned his hand and arm. He got out on the floor. We heard a scream. There was a flash of color. That’s it. You know what we saw, and it was nothing, and we did nothing. Why are we here?! Tell us!” Derek explodes before snapping his mouth shut, breathing heavily through his nose.
Sweat forms in a single thin layer on my hands. “Are we in trouble?”
“Depends.”
“On what?” Derek asks.
“On whether you’re both true—” The media light on Mr. Dyer’s
temple flashes. “I need to take this call.” He steps outside and shuts the glass door. My father’s hologram appears. Derek and I watch the interaction. I’m unable to hear the conversation, but I catch one word—Immundus. Mr. Dyer notices we can see him and touches the door, changing it from see-through to white.
“He’s getting chewed out. I wonder who that is.”
“My father,” I admit.
“What floor does he work on?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”
“Well, he looks like he has more authority than Mr. Dyer. Maybe he’ll get us out of here.” Derek and I wait impatiently for Mr. Dyer to return.
He walks in, chagrinned, holding the door open. “You’re free to go.” He sends Derek a devious smirk. “For now.”
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