The Main Character

Mr. Colmes was startled by the sudden and violent knock at the door. At first, he glanced across the hall to the other room, mistakenly thinking the noise had come from there, where Rebecca and two of his body-guards were. It wasn’t until another knock came that he realized it was coming from downstairs. The front door.

Simon Colmes was not the type of person to get unexpected visitors. Quinn was the only person who ever ‘dropped by’, but he wasn’t there to see Simon. This lack of company was partially because hardly anyone knew where he lived and partially because no one would want to visit him even if they did.

The knocking continued. Simon honestly did not know what to do, so, instead of going down to answer the door with what he could only imagine to be a truly bewildered expression on his face, he decided to call the visitors up to him. Surely, he would have composed himself by the time the visitors made it into his study. He did. For a moment.

When he recognized MC, he became more befuddled than before. Seeing the tall scruffy looking man next to her whom he recognized from his list as a ‘non-contributor’, only perplexed him more. For the moment, all three were just staring at each other.

“MC,” he addressed her thoughtfully yet with a definite note of curiosity in his voice. “And…Alastair, correct? I recognize you from my list. Quinn’s not here,” Mr. Colmes said slowly and deliberately. He hoped this statement would calm his crazed looking guests.

Alastair gave a looked at MC as if to ask why Mr. Colmes would say that. He still had no idea who Quinn was but was too frightened by the ominous sounding list he was referring to to ask any questions.

“We’re here to talk to you.” MC was angry but she was speaking as calmly and clearly as she could. She did not want this to be a screaming match. She was aware that if her and Alastair’s suspicions were correct, that they were in a very dangerous situation. She thought that if they attempted a calm and diplomatic discussion about what was going on that there was an increased probability that no one would get hurt. But she wasn’t holding her breath for such a miraculous outcome.

Mr. Colmes got up from his chair and walked to the front of his desk, leaning back on it casually.

“You know I don’t usually talk politics at home…I assume that’s why you’ve come? But I guess I could make an exception for you.” His polite smile faded as he saw MC and Alastair looking at his exposed forearms. “Did you have something specific in mind?” He said in effort to distract them from his scars. He rolled down his sleeves as he turned away from them and walked back behind his desk again. Although his voice did not falter, both Alastair and MC could tell he was not as cool and collected as he wanted to appear.

MC became so furious at the sight of the scars. She spoke unsettlingly quiet and with even tone, forgetting her plan to remain amicable. She nodded toward his scars. “If you couldn’t even go through with killing yourself, why are you making all my friends do it?”

This was clearly not the conversation Mr. Colmes had expected to have with MC or her unkempt friend. He was only expecting to hear about some pot hole that needed to be fixed or a fine that MC wanted to get dismissed. He let what she had said settle on his skin. He walked toward one of the large windows, pulling the curtain further back to get a better look out. “Is there something you want, or did you just come to yell at me because you finally figured it out?”

Alastair could not contain himself any longer. “You Evil Bastard. You’ve murdered so many people. Do you understand that? You murdered people. My friends! Because you wanted to keep this stupid job so bad? This shitty house? What is wrong with you? And what do you mean ‘do we want something’, ah want my goddamn friends back.” He was shouting so loud that Mr. Colmes was grimacing.

“Clearly,” he responded coolly, “you’re missing the bigger picture here.” He strode back to his desk chair. He gripped the back of the headrest, creating dimples in the leather. “It also appears that I’ve overestimated how much you’ve put together. To be fair, your journalist friend’s death was about keeping secrets, but that’s not why your other friends perished. They just weren’t being productive. They weren’t contributing to the rest of the metropolis. What benefit was there in keeping them around?” He paused and looked at MC in particular when he continued. “They were getting to be a drain on our resources.” They both stood in shock. MC patted her pocket nervously. She was in disbelief that he was saying what he was, but also glad that their plan was working either way. She could only hope that he was speaking loud enough.

“So,” she continued for him, “you killed Rémy, and Karen, and Jack and…and who else?! They didn’t kill themselves.” She and Alastair had figured that out earlier, but she just wanted to hear Mr. Colmes say it. MC wanted to know that she had not missed any signs that she should have caught or anything like that. She wanted to know that there was nothing she could have done, and that they had not actually killed themselves.

At this remark, Mr. Colmes became interested again. He had prepared for a conversation like this, with a nosey somebody who had ‘figured him out’. He had a few ideas about how this would go, how it would end, but he wanted to try it differently this time. Though generally a very stoic and professional man, he could not resist having fun with MC. It was already over anyway. Neither of them were going to make it back to Sector 7. Why not make things interesting?

“Why do you think people kill themselves…”

“Well you’re certainly the guy who would know,” Alastair interrupted. Again, referencing Stewart’s scars to upset him. Mr. Colmes ignored him and repeated himself.

“What is it, do you think, that drives people to kill themselves? After all, I can’t get all the credit here. Not every suicide is my doing, you have to know that. So, what do you think motivates them?”

MC was staring back at him blankly with wide eyes. It had not occurred to her that Jack could have killed himself. That it may not have been a trick of swapped anti-depressants with whatever chemical compound they were using. She shook her head in disbelief, mostly to clear the thought from her mind that he had ended his own life by his own volition.

Mr. Colmes continued, “Self-loathing. I theorize that’s why people kill themselves.” He swiveled his chair slightly, enjoying himself. “Are you familiar with the sensation?”

MC could only stand there silently, she had nothing to say. Tears were welling up in her large brown-green eyes. Of course she was ‘familiar with the sensation’. She never hated herself more than she did in that moment for being so naïve and so stupid.

Alastair saw this and took control of the conversation again. “Shut up! We’ve got you now you stupid shit. We’re going to expose you. We’re going to tell everyone and we’ve got back up.” He was half bluffing but nudged MC with his elbow, signaling that now was the time to reveal the voice recorder in her pocket. They had stolen it from Karen’s apartment. But MC didn’t budge. In their haste, they hadn’t ironed out all the details to this conspiracy theory. She had a sinking feeling about the ‘back-up’ he was referring to. This had been all too organized and they were wrong about a lot of what they were sure about just a few hours previous.

Rebecca and Karen probably weren’t working on uncovering everything together since Karen had seemed generally uninterested in the whole idea when Alastair had presented it to her. So, if Karen wasn’t interested, how convenient that Rebecca was and was in earshot. What a coincidence. They didn’t stop to think about how everything had worked out so perfectly.

As it turns out, it hadn’t.

“This is so hard to watch,” Mr. Colmes said mostly to himself. He sighed a fake sigh of pity. “You just don’t have all the pieces, you can’t put it together can you? Let me break it down for you.” He picked up the phone on his desk and punched some numbers. A phone rang across the hall. Stewart spoke into the receiver with theatrical delight, “Rebecca! Yes, why don’t you come across the hall and join myself and your little friends.”

MC took a step backwards. “Fuck,” Alastair whispered under his breath.

The doors to the room across the hall swung open and two large men were pushing Rebecca across the hall. She was tied to a rolling office chair and her face was bruised and bloodied. She had been abducted from the bar shortly after MC had left. There was no back up.

Alastair hunched a bit to whisper in MC’s ear, “Ah’m sorry ah dragged you into this. He’s got everyone that knows about this in this room…ah dunny think we’re getting out of here.” As he straightened up Stewart Colmes broke into a laugh.

“You two are hilarious. You’re still not getting it. Everyone already knows! I’m going to say it again because neither of you look like you’re getting it. Everyone. Already. Knows. It’s just you artsy people. Everyone else agreed that people who aren’t outputting and are only inputting should not be allowed to participate in our society. We don’t let you guys in on the secret or else all the art would be the same, right? Or, what was the other reason, creativity is stifled by a deadline, right? Go ahead. ‘Expose’ me and my ‘evil’ plan,” he condescended. “No one cares because it’s all for the common good. There’s nothing to expose.” He paused a while, waiting for their confused expressions to go away, but they didn’t.

“Ah dunny understand. Everyone else knows? Who is everyone else? Karen dinny know, ah had to convince her.” Alastair was struggling to comprehend what Mr. Colmes was saying. It fundamentally altered his perception of the world he lived in. Every interaction he had. And he couldn’t help but wonder what Mr. Colmes meant when he said “I recognize you from my list”.

“She did know, Quinn knows, every person ever who is not a resident of Sector 7 knows as a warning to what happens when you stop contributing to the general population. Haven’t you ever wondered why most suicides are in Sector 7?”

“So, Rebecca was trying to petition for freedom of information…for us. That Sector 7 got to know.” MC was starting to get a handle on what was going on. She looked over at the tied lawyer. Rebecca was not saying anything. She was frozen in fear at what was going to happen to her. Tears were streaming silently down her round face.

“Obviously, I couldn’t let that happen. After the she wouldn’t drop those ridiculous court cases I had her followed. There was really no sense in continuing with them, my dear,” he spoke directly to Rebecca. “You had to know you were never going to win. It would alter the face of our society. No one wants that. More importantly, I don’t want that.” He turned back to MC and Alastair. “She found your friend Karen as a means to publishing her confidential court cases. She wanted to inform you all, but DO YOU KNOW HOW STUPID THAT IS?” He was yelling at Rebecca now. “Do you understand how absolutely asinine that would be? Society would fall apart! That’s all anyone would write songs about or write books about or make art about anymore. Or conversely, you’d all stop contributing anything at all,” his attention was back on MC. “Then where would we be as a society? To be balanced we need to appreciate true beauty, and without the ability to visit nature, we need that beauty to come from ourselves. From you. But it’s hard to be creative and make beautiful things if someone’s holding a gun to your head telling you if you don’t, that they’ll kill you. Therefore, this is the way it goes. You understand?” Stewart was very matter-of-fact in his explanation. His volume had returned to normal but his face was residually red.

“Not fucking really,” anger and condescension were dripping from his words as he spoke them. Alastair continued, “I dun und-er-stand. What the hell man. You’re mad. Ah’m out of here.” MC grabbed his arm. She knew that was not going to happen and it would only be worse if they ran. She turned to him with a defeated expression. They had been outdone. Outdone by Simon and ultimately by everyone they knew. They had been lied to by their friends. All this time, Quinn and Karen and Finch and everyone at all her art shows had known there was a gun pointed at her head if she didn’t fulfill quota, and no one warned her. None of her friends told her that they really knew why her friends had to die and they hadn’t told her. Each and every time she lost a friend, they just let her hurt and wonder why. Could she even consider them friends? Her whole world was shattered. She was ready to just give up.

Simon Colmes resumed speaking several moments later. Generously allowing them time to process what had been said. “I’m sure you realize you’re not leaving. Well…you won’t be leaving,” he gestured toward Alastair. Alastair’s heart sank into his stomach. He wasn’t surprised. “MC, I can just eject you from the metropolis. My way of being civil, you were a friend of sorts to Quinn as it were.” She laughed at the word. How could she think of anyone that lived outside of Sector 7 as her friend anymore. Even Quinn, he was just…humoring her? Toying with her? He took her to dinner at this very house knowing full well that she was just a puppet to them.

“Screw you,” she barked. She knew what she was doing but no longer cared. She had heard a group of people enter the house after Mr. Colmes had sat back at his desk. He no doubt triggered a silent alarm. Her anger made her change her mind. In blind rage, she decided that Alastair had had the right idea after all. MC grabbed his arm and tried to make a run for it. The last thing she remembered was a hard crack against her forehead and then another, closely following, about the back of her skull.