The Participants (4 page)

I’m not the only one. I’m not the only one. I’m
not the only one.
The mantra ran through
Elza’s mind on a constant loop. She stared at Hess, unable to order
her chaotic thoughts. For seven hundred years, she observed
creation under the assumption that she was the only agent of the
Creator. Suddenly, she wasn’t alone. It made her a hell of a lot
less important.

Another thought came to
her.
How many are there? Just the two of
us? Ten? A hundred?
There was no way to
answer that question. Elza didn’t understand why this knowledge had
been withheld from her. At the moment of creation, Elza knew her
purpose, understood the memories implanted in her mind were
fabrications, and recalled the knowledge that one day the sky would
open so she could leave existence to make her report. There had
been no indication that other Observers walked the
Earth.

“Look at her. She likes the idea of having a
man.”

The whispers of the women bothered her. “I
don’t care for Hess,” she said. The women chuckled and went about
their gossip. Elza scowled at their levity. Hess had done this to
them, exchanged their terror for hope. He should not have
interfered. His actions were inexcusable. The Creator was greater
than all of creation. How could an Observer ever justify placing
some tiny bit of creation above the Creator?

Elza felt a fire grow in
her chest. She had endured beatings and humiliations in service to
the Creator, while this
man
set himself up to live in comfort and
indiscriminately altered events to his fancy. He didn’t even switch
tribes to avoid revealing his unnatural lifespan. Hess leveraged
his nature into personal power.

She opened her mouth to tell the women that
Hess had lied to them, then hesitated. Harsh words would not return
them to a state of ignorance. One interference would not cancel out
another – they were already contaminated. Anything she said would
only inflict distress upon the women for no cause.

They do not deserve my
anger. He does.
Elza folded her arms and
glared at Hess, willing him to come speak with her again. She
intended to make him regret his interference. That he tainted his
own observations was bad, but compromising her work was
unforgivable. Elza was about to have the worst experience of her
life and it would be useless to the Creator because this man had
contaminated the entire tribe.

Noon came and went. The brutes, their women,
and Hess ate smoked meat, figs, and pine nuts. The captive women
had nothing to eat but dandelions they picked from the same ground
that they relieved themselves on. Elza ignored the hunger pangs.
Her body was prone to fatigue, but she could ignore that infirmity
when necessary. What she could not ignore was the fact that these
men were going to brutalize and violate her in front of that man.
Elza ground her teeth until her jaw sent stabs of pain all the way
to her temple. Because he was an Observer for the creator, she
couldn't even bring herself to request he not watch.

Glaring at the impassive Observer did no
good. Elza finally plopped her rear to the ground. The good spirit
of the other women had departed. They could fool themselves for
only so long. That their captors denied them food and water and
shade proved a lack of regard. These women were accustomed to
hardship, but their resilience did not include trusting the brutes
who had murdered their men and their children. Elza wasn't sure
just when the change of mood had happened. She had been too busy
trying to bring Hess back.

“You are a very odd woman, Elza.”

She spun at
his
voice. He had waited
until her attention was elsewhere to sneak up on her. “You are
participating,” she said.

Hess raised one brow on his
handsome face.
Why is one such as him
given an attractive form and made a man while I must be ugly and
endure the touch of brutes?
Her best glare
brought only an amused smile in response.

“I have nothing to do with what the men of
this tribe do. You can blame me if it makes you feel better, but I
am not involved.”

“You are
participating
.” She
emphasized the word.

Hess narrowed his eyes. “What are you
saying?”

“The Creator did not send you here to bed
beautiful women and tease Kallig.”

The man sucked in one cheek as he pondered
her words, but gave no other clues to his mental state. Finally, he
spoke softly. “How many of us are there?”

“It doesn't matter. You are violating the
Divine Command. This entire tribe is contaminated because of you.
My observations are ruined.” She spoke firmly, but kept her volume
low to avoid a spectacle.

Hess sucked in his cheek again. “We
participate just by existing. You can claim that I participate more
than you think right, but you can't say I am wrong to do it. The
Creator made us in this form. He obviously intended us to interact
with people to make our observations.”

She climbed to her feet. “These people fear
you. That is manipulating, not observing. You said this world is
wrong. That is judging, not observing. You comforted these women.
That is interfering, not observing. She didn't place you in this
world for your own enjoyment.”

“She
?” Hess flashed a smug grin. “You think the Creator is a
woman?”

“Do you really think a man would create a
world?”

Hess gestured around them. “Does this look
like a world created for the benefit of women? Clearly the Creator
must be a man.”

This conversation is
ridiculous. The Creator doesn't have flesh. Gender doesn't apply to
Her.
Then Elza saw the conviction in his
eyes and stiffened her resolve. “What do men make? Nothing. On the
other hand, women make everything people need. Clothes. Tents.
Rope. Pottery. Children.” Her legs wobbled beneath her.

“I have yet to observe a woman who could
make a child by herself.” Hess looped his arm through hers just
before she dropped to the ground from exhaustion. “We can argue
some more after you eat.” He pulled her arm over his shoulder.

“Let go of me,” she hissed.

Hess hesitated. “I don't know what good you
think you're doing here, but I know what will happen to these
women. You want no part in it.”

“I don't interfere in events like you,” Elza
said.

“Don't make this about your pride. The
Creator doesn't require this of you.”

“Let me go.”

“You said that I contaminated this entire
tribe. If you believe that, then there is no reason for you to
observe anything further here.”

“Let me go.”

Hess released her. “If you think enduring
pain proves something, then go ahead and flatter your pride. All I
see is stupidity.”

Elza knelt to relieve her shaky legs. “As
for me, I see a coward.” The pity in his eyes burned her. “Get away
from me. You are interfering with my observations.”

Hess returned to his rock on the other side
of the camp. She intended to glare at him for the remainder of the
daylight, but hunger and lack of sleep conspired against her. Her
eyes drifted closed.

One day after the incident, a reporter from a
Pittsburgh station came to the convenience store. Zack spoke to her
briefly, explaining the video was a prank by some of his coworkers.
The reporter asked him if he believed in miracles, Zack told her he
wasn't religious, and she went on her way.

That same day, Kelly called him into her
office so the store's owner could yell at him over the phone for
escalating the situation with the robbers. Zack insisted he didn't
think the man would shoot, apologized for making the gas station
look bad, and begged to keep his job. The owner berated him for
fifteen minutes before conceding Zack could keep his job.

Maggie didn't show for her shift and Zack
learned later that she had quit. Kelly, never close to him, now
spoke to him only when necessary. The other employees watched him
constantly when they shared shifts. Many of the customers
recognized him from the news and had questions or wanted to make
comments. It tainted his observations and distracted him at the
same time.

Zack decided he would give things two weeks
to settle down. If he was still being scrutinized at the end of
that time, he would get a job somewhere else. Provided he could
find the energy.

For three days following the shooting, Zack
went nowhere but work and home, skipping his customary trips to the
library for internet access. He skipped the nightly news as well.
He spent the time freed up from those activities laying in bed,
staring at the ceiling and forcing his mind to stillness.

The fourth day, a Saturday, he wasn't
scheduled to work. Zack spent the day with his wife, preparing the
second bedroom of his trailer for a baby that was not his. The jobs
Lacey assigned him were assembling a crib and changing table while
she organized baby clothes, baby toys, and two hospital bags – one
for her and one for the baby.

She prattled about the prices of everything
until Zack made a throw-away comment about the cost of paying for
college some day. That idea took hold in Lacey's mind and she
insisted they immediately stock up on children's books. When they
finished book shopping, Zack listened to Lacey's plans for the
delivery. He rewarded Lacey for her productivity by ordering a
pizza that stretched their budget more than was prudent, then was
receptive to her advances later that night.

The fifth day, Sunday, his shift started at
five in the morning. Zack worked the deli counter and watched the
customers without any great interest, pondering happiness. Not the
fleeting happiness that briefly accompanied success. The other
kind. The kind that appeared when it shouldn't. In an elderly man
whose every proud step brought pain. In a shy, obese woman who
gambled away two dollars every morning at the lottery machine only
to declare tomorrow must be her lucky day. In a long-haul trucker
who announced he was single after catching his wife in the act.

As tempting as it was to diagnose these
individuals with stupidity, Zack resisted the urge. They were
functioning adults. They understood the circumstances of their own
lives. Were they delusional? Did they intentionally lie to
themselves in exchange for the taste of happiness? Zack gained no
insight into the enigma despite devoting the entire morning to its
consideration.

The arrival of a voluptuous blonde
interrupted Zack's thoughts. Something caught his attention the
moment she crossed the threshold. He studied her appearance and her
mannerisms as she perused the shelves. The woman wore fashionable
off-brand clothing, a conservative black blouse whose contours
subtly suggested things to every man in the room and tan skirt that
emphasized the movements of her hips. Her calm, curious inspection
of her environment suggested intelligence, self-confidence,
purpose, and situational awareness. Her appearance was a remarkable
coordination of an outfit, a body, and an attitude.

He had no idea how to categorize this woman.
If she were better dressed, he would say she was wealthy. If her
movements were less seductive, he would guess she worked in law
enforcement. He dismissed roles in rapid succession. Criminal? No;
too relaxed. Celebrity? No; too natural.

She looked directly at him
when her path through the store came closest to his counter. Her
rapid assessment of him was obvious from the manner in which her
eyes leaped from one feature to the next, pausing for brief
inspections. Zack leaned forward.
Who is
she?

The woman smiled and swayed
up to his counter. A tilt to her head told him she was about to
slip into a less-than-honest role. He lifted his chin a hair and
narrowed his eyes for an instant. The woman's demure shrug said she
knew he could see through her and apologized for the act. Zack let
out a slow breath.
We just had a whole
conversation without a single word. Who the hell is this
woman?

“I saw you on the news the other day,” she
said.

Zack cleared his throat. “That was a
hoax.”

The woman's eyes darted towards the camera
mounted to the wall beside him – the same camera that had caught
the damning video. “You were sloppy.”

She knows.
“Who are you?”

“Call me Bridgette. I believe you go by
Zack?”

“That's my name,” he said.

She waved her hand in dismissal. “Names
don't matter.”

“Who are you?”

“Who do you think I am, Zack?” She leaned
forward in anticipation.

Zack's eyes traced the outline of her face.
“A model? Maybe a reporter?”

She shook her head. “My job is a lot more
important than that.”

Job. That suggested she was an employee and
not an employer. “Professional manager, secret agent, scientist,
preacher . . . . No? None of those? I give up.”

Bridgette blinked and stepped back. “You're
serious. You really don't know what I am.”

“Why would you expect a complete stranger to
be able to guess your job?”

Bridgette looked into his eyes as she spoke.
“Hess, it's me.”

Zack glanced down at the counter before
responding. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“No, Zack, I don't. I know exactly who you
are. Who you have been for a hundred and forty-four
iterations.”

He cleared his throat. “Why don't you tell
me who you think I am and I'll let you know if you're right or
wrong?”