Quantum Poppers (13 page)

‘Did you say
something?’

‘No,’ he
whispered.

‘Sounded like
you said something about
placed me
.’

‘No. When did
you see me last?’

‘Would have
been when you left for work last Tuesday. John, what’s the matter? Please, come
home. No more questions, please.’

Last Tuesday
John was fleeing from a prison cell. Fleeing from gunfire. He wasn’t going to
work, hadn’t done anything remotely normal for a whole year. Someone else had
been sleeping with his wife, kissing his kids goodnight, and going to work in
his place.

‘It’s ok, I’m
coming home. It might not be for a couple more days though. But I’m on my way,
and I’ll explain all that I can.’ He needed to learn how that man she had
kissed goodbye to last week wasn’t him. How he had been away a whole year, and
yet no one had realised until last week. Any form of peace and closure he had
gained from initial contact with his wife now vaporised into a whole cascade of
additional questions. Bartley needed to answer, but he couldn’t return to a
prison he had been praying a release from. They had fired at him when he left,
they clearly wouldn’t be open armed and welcoming if they saw him headed back
to the scene of his miraculous escape. Which, thinking about it, had been a
little too easy.

‘John, I need
you.’

‘And I need you
too. I love you, tell the kids I love them too. When I get home, I will never
leave you again.’

‘Promise,’

‘I promise.’

He said I love
you one more time, hung up the phone, and collapsed backwards onto the bed. It
wasn’t Bartley he needed to find now, it wasn’t even his wife and kids he
wanted to track down. There was only one person he needed to locate, to see, to
speak to. Maybe that person held no answers, but it seemed the most obvious
path to take.

He needed to
find himself.

3113.11

I can’t believe
it’s been six months since that initial test. These journal entries are racking
up quicker than I expected; over three-thousand now, and so much work still to
be done. I'd make a quip about how time flies, but the connotations of that
phrase when uttered in the context of my work is an additional confusion best
steered clear of.

4598.25

I doubt
Bartley’s parents will be happy. He visited me today with the news he has
dropped out of school. He only had a few months remaining of compulsory
education yet I can’t deny the guilt I currently feel at his decision. He wants
to join me full-time. And I want him to, perhaps as tea boy, he can work his
way up. I’ll give him my own personal helping hand in his rise within the
group. He is already my right hand man, even at his age, although I should
probably leave it a few more years before we make anything official. I hope his
parents don’t realise I am most likely the cause for this drastic decision, but
like myself, once the concept of all this draws you in, it never lets go. It’s
a mission we now undertake, and one you wouldn’t want any other way.

3141.9

The present
needs a new name. I will refer to it from here on as the Quantum Plain. A base.
A prairie from which we all remain constant. It carries us all, except for when
I journey away from it to the strands I am creating. This is how I now
visualise it. The present as a large basin containing everyone, and little old
me riding ever so slightly behind on my own strand of time.

5027.5

After all these
years, the university have shut us down. It’s time to approach a more
authoritative contractor. I can’t keep these findings quiet any longer. There
is only one place to go. They will have to believe. I have proof. Maybe I’ll
openly threaten to go public with my findings if they refuse, see how they
react to that.

But who can be
trusted?

Who can be
trusted?

‘And the award
for most fanciable male goes to,’ there was hushed silence as the envelope was
opened and from it a card was pulled. ‘Jason Read.’

Applause rang
out and a few sarcastic whoops joined it as Jason went to collect his prize. He
waved his arms in the air, clasping his hands together aloft in acceptance of
this glorious victory, and took the bottle of Eau de Florence from Louise. John
didn’t care, Jason always won this particular award - being under twenty-five
and flashing your six-pack at the end of each staff drinks night would
guarantee that.

The Alfred and
Sons annual quiz/drinks/awards night had been Louise’s idea. She had joined the
firm around four years ago, a personal assistant to the board. In an attempt to
boost the team’s morale and introduce a little forced sociability to the group
she had decided to crowbar in an awards ceremony as part of the company’s
annual end of summer drinks. Each year, around the time when everyone had drunk
enough and wanted to go home, the awards were announced, voted for by each of
them in a mad rush that very morning despite Louise’s months of emailed
reminders to get the votes in quick. Most fanciable male was always won by Read
but there was most fanciable female (always the most recent female employee
under twenty-one), funniest moment (something that had happened the morning of
the voting), maddest employee (slightly un-PC award and a tossup between kooky
Lucy from accounts and loner Charles from IT), plus the obligatory employee of
the year (a moment for the bosses to pretend they had been paying attention to
the worker's efforts).

Everyone sat
perched on desks or crossed legged on the floor, ties astray and beer cans or
wine glasses clasped loosely in hand, all hoping for it to end soon. Next year,
the decision to hold this event on a Thursday would have to be addressed.
People were beginning to accept the knowledge that they had to be back in work
first thing in the morning to strive for the goal of Most Present (the only
award based on fact) at next year’s ceremony.

John drank from
his can of Kronenberg and smiled at Kerry from across the office as she faked a
yawn and glanced at her watch.

‘And the winner
of most likely to get promoted this year is: David White.’

It could have
been very easy to fall asleep now. The glass walls had faded to black as night
took over, the random lights of London flickering on sporadically around them
as they loomed nine stories above the nearest buildings. The interior lights
had been dimmed and John had no doubt that some people would end up staying the
night. There was one sofa in the staff room which most would fight over but
some would gladly fall asleep at their desks to avoid the hangover-fueled
journey to work the next morning.

‘Ok,’ said
Louise, ‘only two awards to go. Employee of the year as sponsored by Mr. Kelly
and Mr. Holmes but first, the biggie. The one we’ve all been waiting for. The
one where we get to air the gossip and let out a few home truths for us all to
voyeur over. That’s right, the year’s hottest couple.’

It was almost
over, this award allowed Louise to pick at random (it was common knowledge that
votes were not correlated officially) two individuals and attempt to make out
they were secretly having a sordid affair right under the company’s nose. The
annual ritual would then see the lucky couple get locked in the stock room for
ten minutes in the hope alcohol would fuel action that could be discussed over
early morning coffee the next day. The results were often hilarious as a
nineteen-year-old work experience junior would be drawn against a
fifty-seven-year-old marketer. Hilarity would ensue as they were jostled, often
not entirely against their will, into the stockroom. It was probably quite nice
to get a bit of peace and quiet away from the growing legion of drunk
co-workers outside.

‘Wow,’ said Louise, as she opened the
envelope. ‘It’s a bit of a surprise. The winners of this year’s hottest couple,
and inhabitants of the stockroom for the next, however long it takes’ - she
winked – ‘are, Kerry Santine and John Johnson.’

John shook his
head and glanced up to Kerry. She gave a look as if to say, what a surprise,
and shrugged. She was his secretary after all which pretty much guaranteed
jovial ribbing about sordid affairs, and to be honest, it would be quite nice
to have a quiet chat with Kerry. John had mostly been accosted by Fredrick the
whole evening regarding the Philips account which was due to be closed next
week.

‘I think you’ll
find that’s the happily married John Johnson,’ he said to rambunctious applause
and further sarcastic whoops.

‘The results
are the results,’ said Louise. ‘You know the rules, the votes don’t lie. The
lucky couple will now spend ten minutes in the stockroom to consummate their
award.’

Most years the
couple would be forcibly dragged in, the girl in particular embarrassed about
the consequences which would befall the next day but John quite fancied the
solitude. It would be nice to get away from all this for a moment, and to be
honest, he could think of a lot worse people to be trapped in a stockroom with
than Kerry Santine. As they approached Louise and the lone door that stood
central in the office, he finally noticed the shortness of Kerry’s skirt and
the tanned legs he swore were getting longer. The low cut dress was also
receding further - but perhaps that was just the three Kronenburgs, two glasses
of wine and a whisky playing tricks on him. They converged by the door on a
wave of cheering and lude comments. Both John and Kerry shrugged again, Kerry
in particular now looking embarrassed. John was mostly just tired.

‘Ok,’ said
Louise, ‘here we go, the happy couple have ten minutes. Let’s leave them alone
to enjoy their deserved victory together.’ She opened the door and the two
‘victors’ walked in of their own accord.

‘They could
have put the light on first,’ said John. As the door closed behind him the room
fell dark and the noise outside drained away to a gentle murmur. The only light
was a sheen that crept under the door illuminating the shelves of A4 pads, a
vacuum cleaner and bucket, and boxes of leaflets that John could never guess
what they contained. He glanced around for the light switch.

‘Don’t worry,’
said Kerry, ‘it’s outside. I think Louise likes to set the tone for the
rendezvous.’

‘I see.’ He
glanced around the cramped conditions. Up above was a lone bulb which hung like
electric mistletoe, tempting them.

‘Wonder why she
chose us?’ She sounded as though she didn’t really care for the reason, just
needed to make conversation to pass the time.

‘Senior
manager, assistant half his age. Tongues wag. Conclusions are made.’

‘Half your age?
Don't be stupid. I can only be five years younger than you.’

‘Really, I’m
forty. You really in your thirties?’

‘Well, not quite.
Thanks for the compliment.’

‘My pleasure.’
The alcohol was beginning to weigh on him as any amount of liquid would. He
wasn’t particularly tipsy, he just wanted to get out, go to the toilet and go
home.

‘You think
they’re out there listening in?’ said Kerry.

‘I’m sure half
have already forgotten we're in here. The other half probably assume we’re up
to no good.’

‘You’re right.
We could do whatever we want in here. Half the people wouldn’t care, half would
assume it anyway.’

John looked at
her and really took her in. Was she suggesting something? They’d always got on
well with each other but the thought of anything remotely romantic happening
had never crossed his mind. But now, looking at her in this dimly lit room, the
two of them heading towards drunkenness and placed in a scenario where
shenanigans were expected, he realised she had never looked so hot. The main
reason for this was that she wasn’t restrained by her job. She wasn’t his
assistant, she was a woman he had been locked in a cupboard with for the
titillation of Louise. No one but the two of them would know the truth as to
what would happen in here. And if Caroline found out they had been locked away,
she would surely laugh it off in the knowledge nothing had happened within.

Kerry took a
step forward, staggering slightly in her high heels, out of which grew tanned
legs, into which turned toned hips, an impressive chest, and a cheeky, almost
crazed glint in her eyes that stared right into John.

They kissed,
nothing more, for the entire seven minute duration that remained. Louise
knocked on the door to indicate thirty seconds remaining at which time they
drew apart, straightened shirts and dresses, palmed down hair and took calming
breaths. When Louise finally opened the door they walked out to more muted and
sarcastic cheers and the acceptance that nothing like that would ever happen
again. Although John secretly thanked god it had happened at all.

And now, on his
return, the building loomed over John much more menacingly than it ever had
before. Maybe it was because this was the location of the scene that had
started all this craziness: his abduction, and the sighting of the man who
somehow was himself. John had played over this in his head for the past couple
of days whilst formulating his next step. He had been replaced. He had seen
someone in the moment of his abduction who until now he had been trying to pass
off as a misread or trick of the light. He had looked similar but could be no
more. Now, according to Caroline, his doppelganger had taken his place these
last twelve months before he too had disappeared about a week ago. The thought
sickened him. The idea that this person had crept into his life, stepped in
unknown to his wife and kids, and to have taken over as if nothing had happened
was disgusting. He had kissed his kids, touched his wife, and gone on living
the life John had been expelled from. And yet he could still see no reason why.
Bartley had never mentioned, not even intimated that something like this had
gone on.
Trust me, they do not think you are dead
. These words echoed
through John’s mind as he stared up at the large white clad building. It was
true, his family didn’t think he was dead. As far as they were concerned John
had come home from work that day a year ago and continued life as if nothing
had happened. Did Bartley have something to do with his replacement’s apparent
disappearance?
Probably
, thought John, but this was yet another question
he forced to one side. It was time for answers, but at each step all he was
bombarded with were more questions.

He would go
home to see his wife and children, but first he needed to return here. Where it
had all started. It was a Monday afternoon and although John apparently hadn’t
been home it was possible he was still at work. And failing that, perhaps
Kerry, the only other person he had any sort of relationship with these past
few years, could shed some light on his recent situation. It was one of the
many perilous truths of work that you ended up spending more time with those
you were stuck within the stucco offices walls with than your only family.
Returning at 8pm from work each night, getting up at 7am the following morning
to do it again; it sickened John to think that virtually 80% of the time he
would then spend with his loved ones he would be asleep. It had never occurred
to him before, at least not troubled him. There were times he got home from
work, perhaps after a drink or two, when Jennifer and Jessica had already been
put to bed. This had been a relief. He could spend a relaxing evening, TV on,
no overly energetic kids, and then bed. This thought now sickened him. Spending
time with his kids should have been his highest priority, it would be now.

He approached the building which stood
detached from any other, a solitary white tomb sticking forty stories into the
air like a Lego block. Black outlines throughout gave the impression it was
waiting to be coloured in and a thin plume of steam rose from the roof. John,
as well as many of the other workers inside had no idea what this could be. It
was clearly some sort of ventilation system but word got around that down in
the depths the bosses were up to something no good. Either burning the retired
or burning paper work they did not want the taxman to see. It wouldn't have surprised
John either way.

He slowed his
pace as he neared. He could recall the conversation he had had with Alan the
doorman the day of his capture. He could almost see himself being thrust head
first into a waiting car which must have appeared as he re-entered the building
after some heated debate about under-eights footballing practices. The first
doubts as to what he was doing sprang to mind. Was this an obvious place for
him to return to? Probably, but he couldn’t hide forever in a dingy hotel room
without taking action. He was going to go home. He just needed to take this
opportunity to face whoever might be up there sitting in his office right now.

Before checking
out that morning from the hotel, making sure to fill his pockets with the
complementary coffees, sugars and milks that had been on offer, he had dressed
in a suit. If he was right, then he hadn’t been missed. He would walk in
dressed as if for work, walk into his office and let be what may. A charity
shop was all it took to find a shirt, tie and trousers; and black shoes were
found for a tenner in the shoe shop next door. They would no doubt fall apart
by the end of the week but he had no intention of wearing them again after this
visit. The illusion should have been completed by a jacket but small luxuries
like that could be ignored. If seen by security, then he could say how he had
just popped out for a smoke without his jacket. It was a sunny day, nothing
suspicious there. He was now simply heading back upstairs, half dreading and
half excited as to what, or who, he may bump into.