“If somebody stops you,” they said, “just tell them you get paid a little extra for working on Saturday.”
It was almost true—Napalm assured him—but Drew never had to say that anyway. The building sure was quiet on a Saturday, especially late at night. Almost spooky, Drew thought. He might have been too scared if Napalm wasn’t with him. But he did just what they asked. He went to the top floor and found a folder in a desk drawer like the men said. Then he made copies of all the papers in the folder and put the folder right back where he’d found it.
When Drew got back to his little apartment, the men thanked him and took the copies and gave him a stack of cash.
“They’re not very smart,” Napalm told Drew after they left. “The paper they gave you is worth a lot more!”
Drew got a chuckle out of that, and he got a new television with the cash. It sure made the ballgames look nice.
He kept on doing little errands like this, and soon enough he had a new chair and a new apartment, too. He even started going to the movies, where he could buy all the Coca-Cola and popcorn he wanted. His favorite movie was Star Wars. But there was one big problem. He didn’t live to see The Return of the Jedi.
There was a Tuesday in August, one of those hot and sticky days when walking to work made Drew feel like he was wading through maple syrup, when he was mopping the floor spit-shine clean, same as always. A few men came up to him with badges and guns. They didn’t look nice.
“Are you Andrew Forrester?” they asked.
When Drew told him that he was—he was an honest man, after all—they told Drew he was under arrest and before he could even ask why they put handcuffs on his wrists.
“They should pad those things!” Napalm shouted inside Drew’s mind. “This isn’t fair!”
But Napalm’s complaining didn’t do any good. The men led Drew out of the building. They made him leave his mop bucket right there in the middle of the floor. He still doesn’t know who finished his work that morning.
The men put him in a police car outside. He kept thinking they’d turn on the blue light and siren, like police always do, but the car just drove down the street like any other car, not in any sort of rush. As they drove off Drew tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. He was a good citizen, as far as he knew. He paid his taxes, followed the speed limit, and even went to church on Sundays before the football games started. Napalm said it was probably about time Drew got punished for fleeing during a battle, for being a coward. Drew remembered something his mom had always told him before he ended up in that jungle, running, afraid. Ya sins gonna catch up with ya, she’d say.
So Drew, sitting handcuffed in the back of the car, asked the police if that was the reason. “Is this because I ran away in the jungle?”
They only stared at Drew, confused. They wouldn’t talk.
The police car stopped at a red light, then all of a sudden a big black truck rushed to a stop right beside them. Drew remembered the sound of the truck’s tires—braking and squealing—and the smell of burnt rubber, not quite so bad as the fumes in the jungle, but he wanted some fresh air all the same. Sure enough, a man helped him out by smashing something through his window. The air came in, even stickier and warmer than the morning, and a man stood there looking angry. This was odd, because he was one of the nice men who had the deal with Drew, paying him to do little errands. Now the man pointed a gun at Drew. There was a loud bang, like a hammer hitting something. Then Drew woke up right here, on this nice plot of land that he reckons is heaven.
5
“THANKS FOR LISTENIN’,” Drew says with a carefree smile. “How about you? Ya die too?”
“I think so,” I say.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t wanna talk about it, eh? Can’t blame ya. Most folks round here are the same, and they don’t listen much either. You were mighty kind to let me talk.” Drew yawns and stretches his arms high. “Beautiful day, ain’t it?”
I gaze around and can’t help but smile. The three suns are high overhead. There’s a warm breeze and not a cloud in the sky. Drew is...different. His memory of the past is vividly clear, and tragic, but it hardly seems to affect him. A spirit? Napalm? In my past, as a doctor, I would diagnosis some form of mental disorder, due to potentially major brain damage. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was probably caught spying on behalf of a foreign government. His memory of Star Wars would place him in the 1970s, which means it was likely the Soviet KGB. The poor guy had been caught in the middle of something he’d never understood.
“Your story was very interesting,” I say. “Did you know all that when you first came here?”
“Oh, goodness no,” Drew laughs. “I came here wiped clean as those spit-spot floors. The memories come in my dreams, starting in the jungle and then eventually I’m scrubbing and scrubbing those endless hallways. I reckon I’ve cleaned them more times in my dreams here than I ever did on Earth.”
“What about that last part?”
“You mean with the angry man and the gun? Gee, I ain’t seen that but a few times, and only after a real hard day working, planting seeds or harvesting. I’ve learned better. No need to work that hard. You’d be amazed at how fast plants grow here. Ain’t nothing like this dirt. Or maybe it’s the three suns. I reckon it’s a farmer’s paradise.”
“Why do you think you came here after you died?”
“Heck if I know! My momma always said, if anyone don’t believe in the Lord he’ll be burning in hell. She told me heaven was where I wanted to go, and I agreed. Well, this place sure don’t seem like hell. Ain’t hot enough, right?”
I smile. “I guess not.”
“Well, neighbor, nice talkin’ with ya. Here, try planting a few of these.”
He suddenly tosses a handful of grains toward me. They pass right through the invisible wall without a trace of resistance. I reach forward and my hand hits the wall. It hasn’t budged.
“Funny, ain’t it?” Drew says. “I reckon the grains are all that can pass through. Them and the critters.”
“Critters?” I scoop up the oats scattered over the dirt.
“Boy, you sure is new! There’s all kinds of critters. Cats, dogs, goats, horses. They roam the land. Didn’t you wonder how you was gonna fill up ya milk jar? Don’t worry, you can’t miss ’em. Well, all this talkin’ got me sleepy. Time for a nap. I’ll be seein’ ya. Wait, what’s ya name again?”
“Cipher,” I say. “Nice meeting you, Drew.”
He waves and walks away toward his hut. I watch him all the way until he’s inside the building, thinking about his story and Max and the grains and whether I will ever learn how I died.
When I turn back to my hut, I see a mottled grey and white cat strolling along outside it. The cat keeps its distance as I approach, eyeing me curiously. I go inside the hut and lay the oats on the table. Remembering what Drew said, I decide to test the jar of corn kernels. I turn it upside down over the black pan until all the kernels have poured out in a heaping pile. But that’s it. The jar stays empty.