CONSPIRACY

CONSPIRACY



A SHORT STORY BY CHARLES E.J. MOULTON





         “Come on, man,” Oliver said. “They’re coming closer.”

         Roger swung his head back toward his friend and gritted his teeth. The crazy look in his eyes was way worse than the drool dripping from the sides of his mouth.

         “I know,” he said. “Stop bugging me. Gee wiz, don’t ya think I know?”

         Oliver cocked his head and sneered. Inside, he was hurt. Roger and he were escaping, for crying out loud. It had been Roger’s idea. But Oliver had willingly obliged. Now, that guy acted as if Oliver was the enemy.

         “I know,” he said. “It’s not like, I don’t know. I know is ... I know.”

He took a step back and let Roger push the iron bars a bit. The made a squeaking sound.

“We are so close, you know that. I just can’t get this thing off the sockets.”

He pushed harder.

“Why don’t you try dynamite?”

Oliver began chuckling.

         Roger swung over, his ripped shirt swinging off the side of his arm.

         “Are you going to help me or not?”

         Oliver gave Roger an up-nod, an arrogant, silly up-nod.

         “What do I get for this?”

         Roger’s eyes opened wide. So wide, in fact, that his entire irises were visible. The rage was so vicious, that his hands began shaking. Roger’s head shook and his mouth began to froth.

“I want out!”

“You want in or I will kill you! Honest to God, I will rip your heart out!”

Oliver fear arose from the pits of his bowel and ended up appearing in his own eyes like a bell. Roger ran up to Oliver, grabbed him by his T-shirt and pushed him against the wall.

         Oliver felt the soot and the dust and the paint crumbling onto his hair.

         Oliver gave out a shriek.

         “Man,” Roger spat. “You know what is out there? The C.I.A. is out there. The Illuminati. They will use us to fish bait. They will turn us into toast.”

         His arm swung back toward the bars that covered the window. He hit the bars with his entire body. Now, Roger’s arm was bloody.

         “See what you made me do?”

         Roger was still looking at Oliver.

         “We have sneaked down to this cellar every day, planning this thing.”

         He grabbed Oliver harder now, blood dripping upon Oliver’s white shirt. He lift him off the ground.

         Oliver shrieked even louder now, shivering.

         “Please, Rog, let me go,” he cried. Oliver closed his eyes, hoping that this pain would end. The pain in his stomach began to grow.

         Roger let Oliver down. Very slowly, his feet reached the ground.

         Oliver’s breath was shallow. Roger went back to his work by the window.

         “I am almost ready. Almost there.”

         Oliver crouched together, his hands clutching his stomach. The cough shook in his lungs, tickled his vocal chords and exploded up through his nostrils. A cascade of vomit came through his mouth. The cough made it worse. “One day, blood will join the pea soup.”

         The tears came through his closed eyes, all energy leaving him.

         “I’m going back, Rog,” Oliver said. “I can’t anymore. I got to go, man.”

         Roger looked up, seeing his friend slowly stand up, gathering strength, sighing and trying to get enough power to move. A pool of old food rested on the floor close to the sewage cover man hole. Roger winced.

         “Yuck,” he said. “Control yourself, kid.”

         Oliver began walking back.

         Oliver gave up. It was safer up there, agents and aliens or not. It felt good, knowing that these guys were going to take care of him. It felt good.

         He heard frantic steps leaving the window. Eventually, those steps caught up with him, grabbed him by his arm and pushed his face against the wall, a second time around.

         “Aliens are up there with invisible cameras. This is Area 51, bozo. They have kept us here, because we know too much. You know what we have seen. You know that starship with the blinking lights and the tiny creature that was able to appear out of nowhere and disappear. Soon, we will have the Illuminati and the FEMA running the country. And it won’t be pretty. Didn’t you hear him speaking, that little guy?”

         “I heard him,” Oliver whined.

         “What did he say?”

         “I don’t care. Just let me go.”

         “I’ll tell you what he said. I told you, you can’t escape. So, don’t even try. Well, shoot, I’m proving him wrong.”

         Oliver broke free, his arm clashing out and hitting Roger.

         The arm that swung around was, by chance, so strong and so precise as never before. Oliver’s hand hit his counterpart’s chin and the man fell down, hitting his head on a bucket. The bucket, filled with water, spilled on Roger’s head. Roger’s mouth blubbered, his tongue lolling. The guy was gone.

         “Oh, darn.”

         Oliver took a look at the strange man laying there. What was going to do now? Split? Leave this guy laying here? Just leave? He couldn’t.

         Oliver kneeled down and began to shake Roger.

         “Come on, man,” Oliver said. “Wake up. Let’s go. Or stay. Or something. We can’t be here. We can’t ... Wake up. I’m sorry. I mean, you hurt me. Rog? Wake up.”

         Panic spread across Oliver countenance like a virus. Why had he listened to Roger? They treated them well here, conspiracy or not. Of course, they kept them locked up. They had definately seen too much. Those damn aliens had just appeared out of nowhere. Those little guys with their rainbow caps.

         “Oliver? Roger? Where are you?”

         Oliver looked up, hearing the voice of that agent again. He was coming closer. They talked. There were many of them. How many? Five? Yes, five.

         “Please, wake up, Roger. Let’s try the window again.”

         Oliver smelled his own scent. Sweat mixed with soot and dirt and old clothes.

         Oliver shook again, his stomach convulsing. No. Not again. He wanted to wake Roger up. He couldn’t. The flow of his intestants brewed. He shot up, ran to the window and rattled the bars. Then, with a click, the bars flew off the window, breaking off in his hands.

His extraordinary pull threw him to the ground. The white bars flew away and hit the wall with a loud clanking noise. Oliver looked at the window, the wall, the bars, his own bloody hands. His breath was shallow again, his heartbeat fast. Free.

Oliver crawled over to Roger, shook him hard.

“Come on, guy,” he screamed. “We are free. The aliens can’t get us anymore. We can go. Wake up. Come on. Your dream has come true.”

Roger was wet, his face wet and lifeless. He was mumbling.

“Oliver? Roger?”

“Roger, for the love of God,” Oliver whispered intensively. “Please wake up. Our dreams have come true. Now, we can escape and tell the world about this conspiracy. The little rainbow aliens can’t get us. The C.I.A. are powerless. But we got to leave now. They are at our heels.”

Oliver shook Roger. “Come on. Wake up.”

It was too late.

Down the stairs came a man.

He wore a friendly smile. Knowingly, he looked at Oliver.

Oliver shot up from his place by Roger.

Then, everything went fast.

Fast as a bullet, Oliver was out of the window on the lawn.

Other people were there, people he had seen on the inside, now in the company of caretakers. Oliver ran and ran. Never before had he run so fast. His belly shook again.

“Not now, God. Please not now.”

Several men were on his heels.

They all screamed something about Oliver being dangerous.

“Get him,” he heard them say. “Get him, now! Before he leaves the grounds.”

Oliver stumbled. His feet hit something hard and round.

A ball. Oliver got up, his chin hurting.

“They’re coming closer,” he told himself.

He crawled up, running again.

He was close to the gate now.

The agent could not get him now.

Oliver laughed. “Freedom. Sweet freedom. America will know soon what you guys are doing to us. The conspiracy will fai-...”

That was the strong hands grabbed a hold of his shoulders.

“Oliver, you know you must never leave the ward without guards. Never listen to Roger. His tales of conspiracy is a sickness. Now, let’s get back to your room. Seinfeld is on TV. You love Seinfeld.”

They were putting the straight jacket on.

No. He didn’t want any straight jacket. Wrangling out, he hit his head again. Now, four hands grabbed him and a third pair ripped off his pants and stuck a needle into his bottom.

The pain was enormous.

“No, no. Please.”

Slowly, he began to calm down.

Oliver’s heart began to calm down.

He was positioned in his wheelchair, his straight jacket was adjusted.

On the way back to Seinfeld, he heard a voice.

“I told you, you can’t escape. So, don’t even try.”

The voice was high. The voice sounded as if belonged to a small creature.

Oliver’s numb gaze met a little alien with a rainbow cap.

He was smiling.

“You’re safe here.”

Oliver fell asleep and dreamt about home.

This time, the alien stayed with him, never leaving his side.