"The Eye in the Sky(ies)?"

“The Eye in the Sky”

The clickety-clack of high heels strolling across the marble tile, the lobby attendant being ignored despite his nightly attempts to greet the residents, and the doorman stepping inside every so often to ward off the bone chilling temperatures this winter evening are just a few scenes unfolding. Nine p.m. and all is well, yet somewhat stimulating for George, as he peruses over the six CCTV screens in front of him. Conversing with himself out loud, as usual, his slumped stature transfers to a noble “back straight in the chair and chin held high” demeanor whenever something or someone catches his eye.

George has been the night security guard at La Vista Apartments for the past three years. An impeccable record of rarely missing a shift, eagle eyeing all who enter and depart the building, as well as thwarting a skilled burglar six months ago have granted George a certain level of aptitude and confidence. Along with these noble attributes, he has self-cultivated a degree of arrogance and entitlement; he truly believes he deserves more power and attention than anyone he encounters. Why? Because of his supreme “authority” over the inhabitants of La Vista.

This particular blustery night presents George sitting in his usual position while in his bland uniform, eating one of six candy bars he has stashed in his desk drawer…stealth eyed. Problem is, George is not guarding as much as he is being a voyeur. The unsuspecting occupants of this luxury apartment complex believe they are being protected, but George has designed this job into more of a safeguarding for HIS agenda. Sure, George began like most security guards, propelling their keen observation skills into protecting the citizens under his watch. The inevitable tedium followed in only having the occasional melee or menace happening on the grounds for which he was called into action. No, most days now were spent glancing over the screens…then staring…then ogling the patrons of this fine establishment. George even graduated to speaking to himself aloud his thoughts, ideas and opinions of what he was surveying.

Tonight was no different. Along the wall of TVs, George witnessed the entry of Mr. and Mrs. Colehouse, occupants of the penthouse. Mrs. Colehouse saunters into the lobby with her Louis Vuitton pumps, a plush evening coat over a sparkling dress which almost blinds George from the glare off the security cameras. Mr. Colehouse is in his long, posh winter coat over a suit that surely cost more than George makes in a year. “Countdown to the explosion,” George spoke once he saw Mr. “Penthouse” meander over to the lobby attendant. He is surely going to inquire about his three missing packages which were supposedly delivered last week. With no sound on the CCTV equipment, all George can observe is Mr. Colehouse smugly approach, speak and wait while the lobby attendant shakes his head in the negative. Mr. C.  appears to say something curtly; temper tantrum detonates.

Mr. Colehouse’s arms begin flailing around, he shoves his way behind the desk looking in any and all cubicles, while screaming about incompetence and conspiracies. At least that is what George concocts in his mind, again not hearing any speech. The intense ruby red flush in Mr. Colehouse’s cheeks makes it evident that a torment of expletives and insults are emanating freely from his sneering mouth.

“Aww, does the ever so powerful Mr. Colehouse feel slighted in some way? You ain’t all that high and mighty with your penthouse and expensive clothes! Can’t even get your packages on time,” George sternly says while smiling deviously. He then opens the fastened locker assigned to him when he was hired and admires his handy work. There lay three packages addressed to the bloke who believes living up high means he is better than everyone else. “Who is the bigger man now, Mr. Entitlement? I am the all and powerful top dog here.” George long ago decided he would maintain his control over La Vista by deciding when and how items and people arrive, depart, and interact. They see security guard, but George sees a trailblazer; a man dedicated to justice and power.

Just as the couple step into the elevator, in walks young Casey. She is the daughter of Ms. Langdon; the two of them comprising an amenable and unassuming family. A young man follows behind Casey, clearly walking her inside from what George has surmised is their first date. Jittery and fidgeting with his cellphone, the youthful chap clearly is looking for a way to kiss Casey goodnight. Although she seems inviting to this dalliance, George has decided this is not proper and no physicality shall ensue. Just as the young man starts to lean in, George hits the bell on the freight elevator, startling all in the unassuming lobby. The lobby attendant apologizes and runs over to inspect the opening doors, only to find no one and nothing in the lift. He slyly looks up at the security camera, surmising what George was plotting. George grins and tips his hat, knowing no one can see him, but wanting to absorb the credit for his ingenious idea. Casey seems disappointed as her date shakes her hand and abruptly leaves the building. “Goodnight kisses are earned fella and you ain’t earned it yet! At least three dates before I even consider a non-interrupted attempt.” Satisfaction and hubris emanate from George, causing his chest to puff out just a little more and his smile turn a bit more devious.

An hour later with his feet resting on the desk, George is writing in his daily journal about all he has observed tonight thus far and his intended strategies for upcoming shifts. “You should all bow down to me considering I am the one person who knows all your habits, your actions, and your lifestyles. I don’t only protect you all…I just about own you all. The side glances when you think no one is watching, the behind the back gestures are known by one man and that is me. I can laud you or destroy you, yet you have no idea of this power which makes it that much greater.”

Next to arrive in the foyer are Mr. and Mrs. Campbell. George hurls himself up and immediately zooms the camera in to accurately ascertain their moods. “Ahhh, just as I suspected. Your mouths are tight lipped but clearly you are fighting,” he says as words seem to be spewing with acid at one another. “Could this be due to you, Mrs. Campbell, having your friend Jonathan over all four nights your husband was away on business? And by business, we know it was to vacation with that tall, lanky legged blonde who only seems to visit you, Mr. Campbell, when your wife visits her mother in Fort Lauderdale. I predict you two will be divorced within the year, and I have never been wrong with such predictions in the past. Afterall, I am the one who always seems to acquire the ‘anonymous’ photographs of all indiscretions, merely to keep my residents completely informed of the comings and goings in their own homes.”

George returns to his journal to record this latest encounter. The satisfaction overflows within him, acknowledging his supremacy. He sits back again, opens another candy bar and beams with pride. He may live in a one room studio apartment miles away with failing heat and a serious rodent issue, but this is HIS building. This is the center of his world where no one looks down upon him. Afterall, he is “the eye in the sky.”

“Tomorrow, we will apprehend him and uncover all we need to know,” Twilon’s monotone voice declares as George slowly gets smaller on the screen, a camera on the spaceship panning out.

“Yes, General Rog will be proud of us for capturing the leader of this world. The man himself states he is the controller of the people. The experiments on his brain will tell us more of this planet before the impending invasion,” states Ziphon.

The blue and green faced aliens bump shoulders as they disconnect from the space satellite and set their course for home.