Everything was quiet. No birds chirping, no breeze rustling the leaves of the trees, no dogs barking in the distance... Silence. I wondered where everyone had gone. The searing silence only made the fact that I was alone worse. I was alone in the world. I continued to walk down the empty street. The houses all the same bright white color, with small white picket fences separating the lawns. White mailboxes lined the curb for as far as I could see. Why was everything such a pure color? It seemed as if I had been placed into the middle of the ultimate suburb. Everything was matching. All the houses the same, all the yards the same. I walked. I wondered. That’s when I noticed it. Each mail box that I passed had something in common, apart from their color. The number 42 was embossed neatly on the door to each and every one of the mailboxes.
I continued down the street, checking every mailbox. Sure enough, the same pattern continued on and on. 42... 42... 42... I started running, the street never ending. 42... 42... I ran so far and for so long that I couldn’t breathe. I walked again. Everything was so perfect, so precise, that there had to be a reason this neighborhood looked this way. Each box was spaced out so precisely. I counted my steps beginning at one mailbox, with my sights set on reaching the next one. One, two, three, four... The box drew closer and closer with each step. “Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty five...” I had begun to count out loud making sure that I didn’t skip a number, having to start over. The box was within my reach. “Thirty nine, forty, forty one, forty two...” I stopped. The mailbox was parallel with my body. I looked at the mailbox, and sure enough, the embossed 42 stared me in the eye.
There was no possible way! I ran back to the mailbox I had started my counting at. I walked swiftly, counting out loud as to not lose my place. “Twenty nine, thirty..” I said aloud not taking my eye off the next mailbox. I stopped again when the box was directly across from my left shoulder. “Forty two...” I said in shock. I ran again. 42.. 42.. 42 everywhere! On the mailboxes, the houses, even the speed limit sign read, “42 MPH”. Where was I? Down the street I ran, away from the silence, everything still the same. The never ending street behind me and ahead of me. There was no direction to run besides forward. 42.. 42.. 42! My running footsteps the only sound.
I ran for as long as I could before I felt my knees giving out. I had always had weak knees. One time, during a hot summer day, back when everything made sense, Nick and I were playing on the youth tee-ball team. I wasn’t older than seven or eight, Nick probably five. I remember because this was the first game Mom and Dad came to. I was up to bat. I stepped up to the tee. I could hear my mom cheering from behind the fence, on the bleachers. My dad whistled his unique ‘WHOOP’ sound, kind of like a cattle call. It was the loudest thing I had ever heard. My dad loved to whistle. He’d whistle while we played catch in our backyard. He whistled while we built our treehouse. He whistled as he would tuck us in for bed at night. My mom got irritated with it mostly. I just assumed she was jealous of his talent.
As I brought the bat up to hit the ball, I heard the ‘WHOOP’ from my dad. I turned around to tell him to be quiet and that I was concentrating. The crowd laughed. I inhaled deeply, gripped the small metal bat, and swung. The ball flew from the tee and I ran for first base! The crowd cheered, my dad whistled, and I ran... Much like I did just now. Running away from home base, with first base in sight. Growing up, I always watched the pro games and was amazed how they always dropped to the ground and slid to first base. I thought I’d try it, not to escape from getting out, but just to impress my dad. I fell to the ground and that’s when the pain sent me into a fit of tears. When I had dropped, I sort of forgot to keep moving to make me slide, and all my weight landed on my right knee, popping it out of it’s own socket. My dad was the first one to reach me.
“That was an impressive slide, son!” he joked.
“I didn’t slide Dad!” I managed to choke through the sobs, “and you know it!” My dad was never properly taught that you don’t use sarcasm around a seven year old.
As I stopped running, feeling my knee begin to pop out, I hobbled over to the curb side. I sat down to try and move my leg in a way where my knee would just pop itself back in. I had gotten pretty good at it since it popped out almost every day. Feeling the pain as my knee fixed itself, I stood backup. I stopped running, due to the fact that I now had a slight limp. The haunting mailboxes still lining the street. The number 42 every where I looked. That’s when I heard it. The first noise I heard besides my heavy breathing and loud, clunking footsteps. A car!
A car moved swiftly down the road. I waved my arms in a frantic way to make it stop so I could get a ride to where ever it was going. I wanted out of the white suburb, and most of all, I needed to get away from the number 42! The car was a white Mazda, with tinted black windows so you could barely see inside. “STOP!” I yelled, “I need a ride!” The car slowed down and stopped feet in front of me. The driver inside, killing the engine. I winced at the silence. It was nice to have at least some sort of sound around me. I looked towards the license plate to get some sort of idea where I was, knowing which state I was even in would be nice. But there was nothing on it. There, on the white car, was a white license plate. Written on the plate was a simple, two digit number... 42. The door slowly opened. As it did, sound filled the air again, whoever was driving the car was whistling the tune of Zipadeedoodah. As he stood up, out of the car, I fell backwards with a startle.
“Dad?” I stuttered in shock.
“Forty two.” He said. “Nick, he’s in room forty two! Wake up!”
I awoke from the dream in a cold sweat. I opened my eyes and looked around. I was strapped to a bed, this time with metal instead of cloth. I was in the same room as I was before. The familiar machine beeped it’s usual chorus, and the mysterious John Doe was still covered to my left. How long had I been out? Long enough for them to lock me down with metal braces. Surely this was to ensure that I didn’t escape next time. If there was a next time. What exactly had happened to me in the first place? All I remember is that I felt a rush of strength fill my body and the next thing I know, I’m passing out on the floor.
“Nice of you to rejoin us.” said a voice. I looked in the direction the voice had come from, and there sitting in the corner, was the man in the black suit.
“I recognize your voice, “ I said, “you were there that night at the church. You only wanted Nick until you saw what I could do.”
“And what, exactly, can you do?” he said, his tone unwavering.
“I was hoping you could tell me that.” I said, my tone matching his.
He snickered, “Clearly, there are things that we need to discuss.” He stood from his chair, and walked over to me. His bald head was the only thing I could focus on. “Why do you think you are here?” he asked.
“I’ll answer your questions when you tell me where my brother is.” I forced. He looked at me, amused. He placed his hand on my shoulder, walked below my table, around my feet and over to the dead body on my left.
“He’s been here the whole time. We couldn’t dream of separating you two.”
“You’re lying!” I shouted.
“Honestly Derek, after what you’ve been through, you think that I would stoop so low as to tell you your brother was dead if it were not true??” He said in his suave, well behaved school boy tone.
“Show me then! Show me that my brother is...” I was cut off by the sheet being pulled away from the corpse’s face. The face was almost as white as the room itself and nearly unrecognizable. His cheeks were sunken in and his lips were a deep purple color. There, on the table next to me, was my brother, Nick.... Dead.
I was in a state of shock mixed with anger. The machine that I assumed was monitoring my heart rate beeped faster and faster. “HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU KILL MY FAMILY!” I shouted, trying to escape my bonds. “WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE...” I hesitated, “YOU’RE DEAD!”
“Ha!” he snorted, “Not even an atomic bomb could help you break those restraints. Not to mention, at the rate the cortisol is pumping through your body, you’ll be out like a light in no time.”
The machine could barely keep up with it’s own beeping noises. Derek, calm down. You can’t let him make you angry. It’s not what it seems. Remember, room 42! The voice came from with in the room, but there was no one there but me and this monster. Confused, I asked the suited man, “What?” The heart monitor slowed.
“I said, you’ll be out like a light in no time.” He repeated.
“No, didn’t you say...” The voice interrupted my speech. Quiet! Whatever he tells you is a lie. That body is a lie!
“That body is a lie?” I repeated.
“Of course it’s not a lie, Derek,” the man said, “how can one clone and kill someone? Impossible! Even for people like you!”
“What do you mean people like me?” I asked. Good! Change the subject! The voice said.
“Derek,” he said disappointingly, “surely you don’t think that everyone has momentary brute strength? You see, you’re special, Derek. You can... Do things... That others only dream of! For you, our studies have concluded, that your anger emits a hormone called Cortisol, a kind of natural steroid. Now, this steroid that courses through your veins is emitted via high levels of stress, and as we all know, anger equals stress. Now you might be thinking, ‘But everyone has cortisol! Why am I the only one who can lift a double decker bus when I’m on the stuff?’ Legitimate question, Derek,” he stared into my eyes, “why can you?”
Listen carefully to what he says next, Derek. It’s all so very important. The voice buzzed in my ears like a mosquito.
“You remember when you were just a boy, don’t you, Derek? You remember that day when your brother hid in the tree house while the planes were flying overhead to drop bombs on your precious little town? You remember, then, that you didn’t make it down into the bomb shelter and that both you and your brother were exposed to what we like to call, Ion Radiation. You see Derek, Ion Radiation is one of the most harmful things to the human body. It takes your cells, you see, and it jumbles them up so that all they are is mush!” he seemed far too amused by all of this, “But then, the radiation had another side effect. An unknown side effect. See, when they mushy cells were exposed to even more Ion Radiation, they grew back! But, did they grow back the same? Oh no, no, no! ... They grew back stronger! You may recall, that they approximately dropped ten Ion Bombs on your home town. Well, wouldn’t you know it, but ten is the magic number in this little story! Five times your cells were destroyed, and five times they grew back, bigger and better every time. Especially your brain cells. This magical number of ten just so happens to be the point where your brain cells developed an ability. Be it super strength, reading minds, talking to animals, whatever, your brain cells changed that fateful day. In your case, your brain cells take the cortisol that your body emits and turns it into, ‘super-juice’.” he made the quotes with his fingers in the air, “Extra adrenalin, Derek. Therefore, your body reacts the only way a body should when there are extra amounts of hormones running through your blood. It gets rid of it to make room for more. Derek, you have momentary strength because the Ion Radiation mutated your brain cells into a kind of trading post. Your body trades the cortisol for extra adrenalin which makes you unbelievably strong.”
His eyes locked onto mine, then with a single stride, he moved in close to me, our noses almost touching. “Derek,” he said with a crazed look in his eye, “Why do you think your strength is momentary?? Why do you pass out every time your body uses ‘super-juice’?! Because when all of your adrenaline is used up, which takes about 32 seconds, your super brain cells produce a drug called ‘ionastic meprosol’. The glands in your brain are the only ones that can produce this drug. It knocks you out instantly in order to preserve your body so it can make more cortisol and therefore make more adrenalin. Derek,” he backed away to my dead brother again, “you are special.”
Now is the time to mention Room 42. Do it! NOW! The mysterious voice, that only I could seem to hear yelled at me.
“That’s great and all, but now it’s my turn to talk. I know things. One, that I am some sort of super human. You know, the kind of things we read about in comic books. Two, that my brother is not dead. I know you’ve somehow disguised that body to resemble Nick’s. I know that he is somewhere in this building. I ask you now only one question... Where is my brother?” I said. The face on the main never changing.
“You know, for having a super human brain, you’re not very smart.” he said, “Your brother is dead. Here is his body. End of story. Any more questions?”
“No. No questions. Just a request....” I looked at him right in the eyes as he did to me just a few minutes ago. “.... Take me to Room 42.”
That was the only time I ever saw his face change expression.
