The Removed(38)

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” he said again. “I thought maybe you wanted to.”

I shook my head.

He got up and left the room, closing the door behind him. I stayed in bed for a few minutes, wondering why, how I had given him the wrong impression or said something to lead him on.

Soon I got up and stepped into the front room. Jackson wasn’t there, but the door to the basement was open, so I went downstairs. It felt too warm and smelled of cigarette smoke. Jackson was sitting at a desk down there, working on his laptop. There were some military and sports magazines scattered on the floor. Other than a cabinet against the dark-wood-paneled wall, the walls were bare except for two screens: one against a wall and the other on the floor. Jackson looked up at me, then back at his laptop. Our shadows spread across the floor from the light.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said, typing without looking at me.

“What?”

“It was uncomfortable, I get it.”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”

“I shouldn’t have done that, Edgar. I’m embarrassed.”

“It’s not a big deal, though.”

He stopped typing and looked at me. I could see he felt bad about trying to manipulate me. “Seriously, I’m embarrassed.”

“It’s all cool,” I said. “Really, no big deal.”

He nodded. “Can I at least film you for the game, since you’re down here?”

“That’s fine.”

“For the game,” he said. He got up and went over to a cabinet, took out a plastic assault rifle, and handed it to me.

“It’s not real,” he said. “Just pretend like you’re firing it at the camera. I’ll get some shots with the camera.”

I looked at the assault rifle. He had me stand against the paneled wall and point it at the camera while he recorded me. I saw the red blinking light on his camera. He had me stand in various poses, holding the rifle in one hand or at times with both hands. Then he handed me a fake hatchet, an old Halloween prop, and told me to pretend I was attacking the camera. I lunged forward with it. Jackson got down on one knee, working the camera. The red light kept blinking.

Finally we stopped, and he told me he was happy with the way I looked. “It’ll be great for the game,” he said.

“I guess I don’t see how this is all part of the game,” I said. “I mean, what it has to do with playing sports.”

“It’s tricky,” he said. “I’m working on bonus features, those kinds of things. It’ll be great, Chief.”

“I’m stepping outside for a smoke,” I said.

“I’ll be down here working.”

I went upstairs and stepped out into the backyard and smoked a cigarette. I tried to think about how I felt about Jackson. It was confusing. While I smoked, I noticed a creek nearby, with muddy water that rippled and bubbled. I walked to it and found myself staring at something in the water. It resembled a thin snake but was moving very slowly. The water, though shallow, was so dirty that I couldn’t see how long the thing stretched, but it looked too long for a snake. I saw no head, only a silvery body moving underneath the water. I remembered my dad telling me a haunting Cherokee myth wherein a boy reached down to a snake and was pulled underwater. I had a snake phobia. I didn’t like rivers or lakes, even though I grew up close to them.

A man sitting on the porch next door called me over. “Hey, who are you?” he called out, and then stood up and walked over to me. When he got closer, I could see he was old, and his face was sagging and covered in blemishes. “Who are you?” he asked again.

“Edgar.”

“Have I seen you before?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m staying with Jackson Andrews.”

“The game maker?” He had a low, gravelly voice and sounded out of breath when he spoke. “You take a bunch of pills?”

“What?”

“Pills,” he said. “You take a bunch of them? Like all the people walking around, stoned on death. How we got here.”

“I took pills in Albuquerque.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m looking for a way out. We all are. You’re stuck here with the rest of us.”

“What do you mean?”

He coughed dust, shook his head.

“My stomach is in knots here,” I said, unsure what I meant.

He looked toward Jackson’s house, then back at me. “I need to go,” he said, and he started to walk away.

“Wait, what does it all mean?” I said, but he wouldn’t stop walking. “Wait,” I called out to him.

Back inside the house, I went straight to my room, closing the door. I lay down on the bed and thought about what he meant, being stuck there, unable to leave. I could leave anytime I wanted, it seemed to me. I imagined myself walking around town, people staring at me. I had a sudden coughing fit in bed. My eyes started watering. After a few minutes I relaxed and was about to drowse into sleep when my ears started ringing. I turned over on my side in bed. My eyes were tired. I heard the toilet flush in the hall bathroom, and then fell asleep quickly.

Now this happened. At some point I woke in the middle of the night, confused. It took me a moment to remember where I was, my surroundings. A steady rain was thrumming on the roof. I could see a glass of water on the nightstand beside me, as well as my bag and my shoes on the floor. When I sat up, I saw the figure of an old man standing in the doorway, an apparition. I didn’t recognize him. His hair was long and silver and hung languidly. I was too afraid to say anything.