Monday, Second Shift

“MOM’S BIRTHDAY.” The message flashed across my iPhone screen as I glanced at it for the time. Right. I forgot, I had to pick up a gift. There was a lilac cardigan and a bottle of White Shoulders waiting for me at Percy’s Department store. Maybe I’d get her a cupcake too. Not a cake. I squinted at my lumpy thighs. Neither of us needed that.

Whoop! I focused on the time. I was going to miss the bus! As I accelerated, I saw the bus stopping a long half block away. I sprinted, yelling. The bus driver waved back as he drove by. Ass.

My pulse thudded in my ears. Ten minutes to the next one. I’d be late, but not deadly. As I considered whether to walk on to the next stop to fill the time, I noticed two burly men in warm-looking grey suits bearing down on me.

“Bus is gon—” I offered, but the two swooped in and grabbed my arms. “Excuse me? What is this? You can’t just—” I started struggling as they slid cuffs onto my wrists.

“You know what you did.” The men pulled me into the back seat of a dark-windowed sedan purring by the road. I was in shock as it pulled away.

“What the hell is this? I have rights. I’m a Canadian. You can’t just grab people. What do you think I did? Are you white slavers? What is going on?” I babbled in fear, whipping my head from one stony chiseled face to the other. They didn’t react in the slightest.

The car was going too fast. I was already in a neighborhood I didn’t recognize. “Stop the car. Please! Stop and let me out! This is a mistake!” I was waiting for their grip on my arms to lessen but my struggling had no effect on them. “Where are you taking me? I’m going to be late for work!”

I realized I was sounding ridiculous now.

I fell silent, breathing heavily as my eyes twitched around the car looking for help.

Oh my god, I was still holding my phone! What a dolt! I wasn’t sure they had noticed – they continued to stare woodenly ahead, as if getting me in the car had been their task, and, accomplishing that, they had shut themselves off.

I discreetly unlocked my phone with my thumb and angled my phone to get a photo of one of the men and part of my frightened face. I concentrated on quietly and with minimal movement opening a message to my mom and sending the photo. Then I remembered the last message on my phone was from my boss – it was to him I’d sent the photo. Would he understand? I tried to imagine what he was thinking as I typed, “help me” and hit send.

“This car is shielded.”

The voice from beside my left ear made me jump and almost drop my phone. “Wha-what?

“You will not be able to send a message to anyone. Your phone is useless.”

He was bluffing. Wasn’t he? I risked a look at my phone. It looked dead.

“H-how did you…”

“Relax Miss Lovelace.”

They knew my name.

Was there a driver in the front seat? There was a window between, it was hard to tell, but it looked empty.

“Is … is someone up there?” I nodded my chin to the front. “Or is this car on autopilot? Who are you? Do you have badges? Show me your badges!” I was vacillating between terror and anger. They hadn’t shown any weapons, so I wasn’t really scared, although their iron and unrelenting grip on my arms suggested that they didn’t need guns.

I tried a different tack.

“What are your names? I mean, maybe there is a valid reason for this, but how do I know if you don’t tell me? Did some old landlord say I had overdue rent or something?” I was pretty sure this was the plot to an old Law & Order episode but I felt if I stopped talking, the silence would actually seriously frighten me.

The man on my right spoke for the first time, tonelessly saying, “You know why we're here.”

I started crying.

Lefty shifted his head a bit. “I think she may actually not know.”

Righty mirrored the slight head turn, gazed at her profile, and agreed, “She is reacting in a genuinely puzzled manner.”

Unexpectedly Lefty sighed. We were on a highway ramp now, leading west to one of the small suburbs of the city, and beyond that, toward the rest of the country. “Not again.”

Lefty released my arm and removed the cuffs. I flexed my wrist to restore circulation. I turned to look at him. He held his forearm in front of him and with the other hand, reached over to grasp it. With a tug, his arm, jacket and all, cracked opened like a small casket lid.

My mouth hung slack. “Wha..”

He reached inside where 35 years of science fiction film consumption had told me there would likely be metal and wires, but it looked smooth and buttery soft like old wood. He pulled forth a small pen-shaped device.

“Are you from the future? Are you a robot? Are you an alien? What are you?” I was jabbering now, equal parts scared and fascinated.

He grasped my arm again. “I am a cleaner.” Righty had changed his grip on my arm and was tapping his fingers along it like it was a player piano. He stretched a hand across me to take the object from Lefty.

“A… a cleaner? Like on Breaking Bad? Are you going to ki…kill me?” I whispered, staring as Righty tapped the object on my arm.

“Kind of.”

Suddenly I felt…. A prickling? A strange sensation in the crown of my head. As I stared, my forearm too swung open.

“You do this every time, Elsie. Skip your shift. Play human.” He tapped an indented button in a complex code.

“You’re late for work.”