Atlas

A loud ring snapped me from the daydream that held onto my attention, keeping it from the reality of my situation. That ring—it awakened me from the trance the steady hum of the vending machines put me in. The steady metronome droned on as I sat before the guy sitting at the motel desk. He was reading a comic book titled “Villain.” The pages showed him the contents inside, so much so, that I wasn’t sure if he noticed my entry. Before I even told him, he tossed me keys as if they spoke in a chanting jingle for me to “take them.” They beckoned and I didn’t ignore them. Without looking at me, he told me my room number, which was scratched on the key tag in ink, 210.

“It’s on the second floor to the left,” He finally looked me in the eyes, “What’s the occasion, Leonard Smith?”

“Running,” I said, “Is there a landline?”

“Wouldn’t be a room without one. Enjoy. If you need anything, you can call down here,” He said, going back to his comic book, “You’re interrupting me. The Fix is about to finally beat Doc Happy.”

“Interesting. How did you know my name?”

He thumbed through the comic’s thick pages, “They called looking for you. Expecting you.” He said.

Much like me, he was using fantasy to run from his reality. Run. The reason why I’m here. And the run was for some miles. Did I physically run to this place? That was a stretch to make that assumption considering how many miles it was. I arrived via Mustang. As for the seedy motel, it carried a musty scent that dangled before my nostrils, solidifying its age. I followed instructions. I heard different events happening inside. In certain rooms, people were carrying on the average activities. Anywhere from recreational drugs, to watching TV, to sex seeping through the walls, the place showed signs of life. Room 210 was on the second floor, and immediately, I knew I was in the right place.

I’m not sure what the Bureau had planned, or why they lead me here, but there had to be more to what was transpiring. Upon entering the designated room, I placed my hand on the door’s cold, hard surface, and stopped. Unbeknownst to what was lying in wait for me beyond, I hesitated. My heart pounded. I wondered if this was a ploy, and if so, it was an expensive one at that. Carefully, I moved into the room, shutting the door behind me. That same musty smell permeated through the room. It had nothing better to do than hang in the air. I checked to see if these walls had ears. I felt along with them. I searched, all while spotting the object in question, staring at me from the bed, beckoning me to pick it up. Beckoning me to open it. The misshapen, brown package looked like the bastard child of the bureau, sat on the bed. Did someone prepare this solely for my demise? I moved towards the package. I didn’t hear anything ticking. When I lifted it, there wasn’t any discoloration or damage to the package from what I could see. I was enticed to open said box and reveal its contents. Then my mind would eventually run from reality, and inside the box would reveal itself to be some fatal explosion. I was about to give the box another go-around before a ringing emanated from the rotary phone jolted me from my thoughts. That was refreshing considering such thoughts were from all those Bourne Identity movies my mind consumed. I Putting the receiver to the side of my ear, the disembodied voice spoke: “You’ve secured the package?”

“It’s secured.”

“Good. You are now ‘The Supervisor,’” The voice continued, “Hence, why you’re relegated to running. When you wear that title, you must adhere to the rules and regulations. Understood?”

“Sure,” I tell him.

The Supervisor was more than a title. It made me a target.

“Consider what’s in the box a commemoration of initiation. Once you become the supervisor, you know what happens.”

I sighed.

“Right, it’s like asking me to carry a heavy load, but I’m not Atlas.”

“You just might be tonight. You know what’s coming, right? The box should contain an ample amount of preparation.”

And with that, he hung up. Almost as it was on cue, the lights began to flicker like a candle in the wind. It jarred me away from the phone call. What was causing such a stir? I felt as if I already knew the answer. Once I became the supervisor, it’d only be a matter of time before they’d track me. I tucked the box underneath my arm. So this was what the darkness lusted after. And its presence didn’t falter. The tv switched on to which an old, black and white talk show host spoke in an animated tone similar to Johnny Carson. His intro was accompanied by the classic 1950s jingle and an applauding audience. Darkness was soon approaching. I wasn’t about to be the next dead Supervisor. I unveiled the box’s contents: a black pair of leather gloves, a black, handgun, state-issued, with a rubber grip, a suppressor, and a silver, rectangular tape recorder. I slid my leather gloves on, semi-balling my fists to make sure they were a nice fit. Like a glove. The handgun was next removing my handgun and suppressor, screwing the extended barrel onto the muzzle until it tightened. I picked up the tape recorder and pressed the triangle symbol for play. A small click later, and the tape inside the deck began to turn. A crackle was followed by a voice. A monotonous tone droned through the tiny speakers, one that was looking for someone in particular. One that was looking for me.

“The last Supervisor couldn’t finish me. He couldn’t do it. He sought refuge at this very hotel before he’d taken his own life. It was these gloves and this gun that made it possible. Why cover up your suicide? Will the following be able to carry out the deed?”

The tape ended with a room number, followed by another fizzling of the lights. Instead of it brightening, the light grew dim. The darkness knew I was close. I readied the pistol and made sure it was loaded. Sure enough. My movements were calculated. As cold and as cunning as the predator lingering towards its prey. I left the room and down the hallway. I was soon stopped by a sudden sound. A loud BOOM carried throughout the motel, nearly knocking me off balance like an inebriated bar-hopper searching for his keys. This was Ohio, so earthquakes weren’t a natural occurrence. The Bureau would’ve warned me otherwise, so what was that? No telling, and I didn’t have time to contemplate. The room door, from the recording, popped into view. It was the lonely door at the very end of the hall. That door beckoned me to end it all. I walked to the door and he was already aware of my presence.

“Come inside. It’s unlocked. Shut the door behind you.”

I followed instructions. Inside, the room felt hazy. It was as if someone had smoked a lot of cigarettes inside, but refused to allow the smoke to escape. The power went out once again, agitated that I’d arrived. He sat there, smoking a cigarette, a favorite pastime of mine. One that I put off to the curb. Immediately, I pointed the gun at him, but he laughed.

“Is that supposed to intimidate me? If you can awaken the previous supervisor from his permanent sleep, you can ask him the same.”

“You must the Darkness.”

Cigarette dangling from his mouth, he held his hands up, feigning surrender, he said: “Guilty as charged.”

His long, stringy brunette hair reminded me of Jesus if He didn’t care for the world anymore. Instead, he was a guy in ripped, denim jeans, and an old parka with blue and white stripes. The parka gave up on life as much as he did. Bags were under his eyes. I put the pistol to the side of his head. It was only right to put him out of his misery.

“Life is such a burden, y’know? I can’t see the forest through the trees, considering what my title is.”

“You’ve got a point,” I said, “I guess we’re all relegated to ‘titles,’ unfortunately,” I said.

“You better hurry, otherwise, I’ll devour this place.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice, seeing as the monster attempted to work its way in. I was cut from a different cloth. Nothing like the last supervisor. I pulled the trigger. His brains splattered from the side of his head. His body slumped onto the bed, staining the sheets of the old-style bed. The sunlight poured in, blinding me from the windows. The giant, four-legged creature was gone, consumed by the light.