The Aftermath

I saw my wife at the grocery store yesterday.

Except she was supposed to be at work. And when I called her name, the woman turned around and it wasn't her. Just someone who looked exactly like her from behind. Same hair. Same jacket. Same way of standing.

I stood there in the cereal aisle for a full minute trying to remember if my wife actually owns that jacket.

She does. I'm pretty sure she does.

This is what it's like now.

I've done six Special Tasks in the last four months. Can't talk about any of them. Signed the NDAs. Took the money. Did what they told me to do.

My Contributor Score is 931. Best it's ever been.

My marriage is falling apart.

Lynn knows something's wrong. She's not stupid. I disappear in the middle of the night once or twice a month. Come home at 5 AM and won't tell her where I've been. The money shows up in our account but I can't explain what I did to earn it.

"Just tell me it's not an affair," she said last week.

"It's not an affair."

"Then what is it?"

I just looked at her. Opened my mouth. Closed it.

The NDA is clear. Discussing any details of a Special Task with anyone results in immediate legal action and score reduction to zero. Zero means you're basically unemployable. Uninsurable. Your kids can't get into any school that checks scores. Which is all of them now.

So I said nothing.

She cried. I held her. She asked me again.

I said nothing.

Here's what I can't tell her.

The second Special Task, I watched my neighbor Rick through the glass. Same setup as the first one. Four of us observing. They asked us to evaluate his responses to questions. Determine if he was lying.

Then Rick walked into the room. Except Rick was also sitting in the chair. Two Ricks. One asking questions. One answering.

I haven't spoken to my actual neighbor Rick since then. I see him getting his mail. Working in his yard. I wave. He waves back.

But I have no idea if that's really him.

The third task was worse.

They had me in the chair.

I sat there under the lights while they asked me questions. Stuff about my childhood. My job. My marriage. Whether I'd ever thought about leaving. Whether I'd ever thought about hurting someone.

I could see the window. See the silhouettes of people watching me from the other side.

One of them was Lynn's exact height and build.

When I got home that morning, she was asleep in our bed. I stood in the doorway for twenty minutes watching her breathe. Trying to determine if it was really her or if they'd replaced her with whatever I'd seen in the chair.

She woke up and asked what was wrong.

I told her I couldn't sleep.

She believed me. I think.

The fourth task I don't want to talk about.

The fifth task was three weeks ago. They had me deliver a package to an address across town. Handed me a small box. Told me to give it to whoever answered the door. Don't look inside. Don't ask questions.

I drove to the address. Knocked on the door.

I answered it.

Not someone who looked like me. Me. Same clothes I'd worn that morning. Same coffee stain on my shirt from breakfast. Same expression on my face.

The me that answered the door took the package. Said "thank you." Closed the door.

I stood on that porch for five minutes.

Then I drove home and Lynn asked how my day was and I said "fine" and we ate dinner and watched TV and went to bed.

But I kept thinking about the me that took the package. Where did he go after he closed the door? Is he still in that house? Did he drive home to a different Lynn?

Does he wonder about me?

The sixth task was two nights ago.

I can't talk about it. Not because of the NDA. Because I genuinely don't know if it happened.

I remember getting the notification. Remember driving to the location. Remember walking into the building.

Then I remember waking up in my car in the parking lot three hours later. The money was in my account. The task was marked complete.

But I have no memory of what I did.

Lynn asked me this morning if I was okay.

I said yes.

She said I'd been talking in my sleep. Saying numbers. Just numbers. Over and over.

I don't remember dreaming.

Here's the thing that's really bothering me.

I called Xavier last week. My buddy who warned me about the first Special Task. The one I saw in the chair. Or thought I saw. Or saw a copy of.

I haven't talked to him since that night.

The number was disconnected.

I drove to his house. Different family living there now. They said they'd been there for three months. No, they didn't know a Xavier. No forwarding address.

I checked with his work. They said he'd quit back in February. No, they didn't have contact information.

I searched for him online. Nothing. Social media accounts gone. Like he'd been erased.

Or like he was never real in the first place.

I'm starting to think about the other people I've seen in those rooms. The ones watching with me. The ones in the chairs. The ones asking questions.

How many of them were real?

How many of them still are?

My score is 931.

Best it's ever been.

I got another notification this morning.

NEW OPPORTUNITY ASSIGNED

Gig Type: Special Task
Pay: $3,200
Time Commitment: 4 hours
Location: 1847 Riverside Industrial Park, Unit 12A
Start Time: Tomorrow, 2:00 AM

Same industrial park. Different unit.

Higher pay. Longer duration.

I stared at it for a while. Thought about declining. Watched the decline button gray out before I even touched it.

Lynn came into the kitchen. Poured herself coffee. Asked what I was looking at.

I turned off my phone.

"Nothing," I said.

She looked at me for a long moment. Really looked at me. Like she was trying to figure out if I was still the person she married.

I wanted to tell her I don't know anymore.

Instead I kissed her goodbye and went to work.

Tonight I'll go to Unit 12A. I'll do whatever they tell me to do. I'll take the money. I'll come home.

And I'll wonder if the Lynn I come home to is the same one I left this morning.

Or if she's wondering the same thing about me.

My score is 931.

I don't know what I'm being scored on anymore.

But it keeps going up.