By Haylee Wilkie
Charles sat at his desk peering through the double-sided glass. He sipped his coffee in an attempt to shake off the lingering pull of sleep. He straightened his back and pulled his attention forward. He hit the large red button in front of him and the buzzer rang out, which opened the large metal door. Charles watched as the couple waltzed into the room in front of him. The couple sat across from one another at a small table that sat in the center of the room. The room’s only furniture was the small table and two metal chairs. It was surrounded by flat, dull white walls and checkerboard floors. There were no windows, only one large, darkened glass that took up almost the entirety of the fourth wall.
The man took off his coat and hung it around the back of the chair. He gestured for the woman to do the same, but she did not budge.
“Now, will you tell me what this is all about?” the woman asked.
The man’s brow was creased, and he fidgeted with this wedding ring. His anxiety seemed to spill out onto the room like a wave, and it engulfed them both in it.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while…” He trailed off, unsure where to begin. “I just didn’t know how.”
The woman gave a great sigh and rubbed at her temples. “Out with it, Jared.”
“Martha — you know I love you,” he began. “But, as I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, I do fancy men.”
Martha bit her lip.
“Now?” she said. “Now, you choose to tell me?”
“Well…,” he began.
“Jared, I’ve known this.” Her voice wavered slightly. “Or at least I thought but I had hoped maybe…”
“I’m not going to leave,” he said. “I love our sons too much. I would never leave.”
“This isn’t fair. And here, why here of all places? You know it won’t make a bit of difference. You’re a coward.”
Martha took out a handkerchief and blotted her eyes. Her mascara was starting to run. Jared continued to play with his ring and barely looked her in the eyes.
Jared shrugged to himself. “I know, and I’m sorry. I hoped that subconsciously we could move forward. I just wanted to get this off my chest.”
Charles drifted out of the conversation and fell back into this swivel chair. He had jotted down notes in his small handbook. He smirked to himself. Liam owed him 20 dollars as soon as he came into the office. Charles checked his watch; Liam was already 37 minutes late to work. He frowned. If Liam were to ever be punctual he was sure the sun would roll out of the sky and flatten them all beneath it. He wasn’t sure how Liam had kept the job for so many years without being fired. Charles turned his attention back to the couple before him.
“Our time is almost up, darling,” Jared said.
“Don’t call me darling.” She blinked back tears looking around the room, anywhere that wasn’t Jared.
“Have there been others?” Her voice was at a whisper.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
The door opened abruptly, and Liam staggered to his chair. He gestured to the couple behind the glass.
“Divorce?” he asked Charles.
“Nope, confession,” said Charles. “You owe me 20 bucks.”
Liam let out a loud curse and fished around in his pockets.
“I’m a little low at the moment. I owe ya one?” Liam asked.
Charles could smell Liam’s pungent aftershave covering up stale alcohol. Of course, Liam would be out of money. The job didn’t make much, but if Charles was able to save up for university then Liam should be able to scrap together 20 dollars.
Charles watched as Martha bolted for the door and Jared trudged forward. Charles continued to sip on his barely warm coffee as he allowed the door to open. He looked at the monitor to the door outside. It was raining heavily, and by the time Jared caught up to Martha she was shivering. They both blinked a few times, looking around quizzically. Jared put his arm around her for warmth.
“Now, what was this about again, darling?” Martha asked.
“Well, I can’t quite recall,” Jared said.
They continued to look around for a moment before returning to their car.
Charles logged their exit into the computer. It seemed that the couple was not bright enough to write down the course of the events before leaving the room. Charles didn’t blame them; the confession today was not pretty.
They had called them the “Forgotten Rooms.” After the last world wars, a wave of post-traumatic stress disorder affected the country. Both soldiers and families alike were tormented and plagued by the past. Recovery seemed out of sight by therapy alone, thus scientists began isolating specific human memories in hopes of removing unwanted and traumatic memories. This was proven unsuccessful until one scientist realized that long-term memory couldn’t be affected, but short-term memory could. The trauma continued to be repressed, except for government-mandated forgotten rooms which allowed people to let out any emotions they needed to for one half-hour. As soon as the individual left the room, “poof!” All is forgotten. The job was easy enough — push enough buttons and be sure to log every meeting. This was Charles’s temporary job until he began university. His one complaint was Liam. Charles knew this job would bore him after a while, and half blamed Liam’s addictions on boredom from staying in the job too long.
Charles stretched his arms and legs out from his swivel chair. His body was starting to become stiff and heavy from a sedentary life. Liam had buried his head into his arms on the table in hopes of sleeping. Charles never knew if he was hung over or suffering from withdrawals, but every few days Liam looked like death incarnate walking into work. It was fortunate none of the clients could see either of them back in the room. The clients would probably question the reputation of the organization — a young man and a junkie alone in the large building.
***
Charles watched the monitor as three men came out of their cars towards the building. “Do you ever feel like this job is like a confessional?” Liam asked while lifting his head up.
“A confessional?” Charles asked.
“Yeah, like, people come in with these problems and we listen like we are priests. Do you think it actually does any good?” Liam asked.
“Psychologists find that being honest and releasing tensions does create endorphins despite the memory itself being erased, so yes, it does help people,” Charles said. Liam knows this, of course, so why was he asking?
“Sometimes I just wonder what we are doing here. Like any of it actually matters,” Liam said.
The three men were waiting at the edge of the large metal door. Two men were large and stocky with aftershave and beady, angry eyes. One of them carried a massive suitcase in his arms. The third was a frail man, shaking terribly. Charles bent down to press the large red button but Liam pulled his hand back.
“Wait just a moment,” Liam asked.
“We need to let them in,” Charles said. Liam was starting to aggravate him.
“Just,” he paused. “Do you think this job means anything, or not?” Liam asked again.
Charles rubbed at his temples. “Whatever man, sure, this job means something.”
Charles hit the red button and the three men went inside. Charles pulled out his handbook. Three people were unusual unless it was a family. Charles peered in closely and surprisingly to Charles, so did Liam.
“You know why we brought you here, don’t you?” the first man asked. He and the thin man were sitting across from one another. The other larger man was standing behind the thin man, almost menacingly.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” The thin man said. He was sweating and was pale. Charles wondered if he was coming off of some kind of drug like Liam.
“Our boss isn’t happy with you, Xavier,” the first man said.
“I know, and I can make it up to him — you just have to give me time,” Xavier said.
Charles bit at his thumb. He didn’t understand — what good is a scare tactic if everyone would forget?
“Well, that’s the thing, Xavier. You’ve already had one extension, and you didn’t provide,” the first man said.
Xavier started clamoring. “Listen, I know that I haven’t been the most reliable, but I promise — no, swear — that I can give him anything he needs,” Xavier pleaded.
The second man placed his hands on Xavier’s shoulders. Xavier froze.
“I’m tired of the nonsense. Bueler?” The first man gestured to the second man, Bueler. Bueler nodded.
Bueler took Xaviers head in his hands and in one swift motion, he broke Xavier’s neck.
Charles’s blood ran cold as he stared frozen in place. A man had just been killed in front of him. He couldn’t hear Liam’s orders until he shook his shoulders violently.
“Charles you need to make sure they stay in that room. We can’t let them leave. I’ll stay and call the police.”
Charles nodded quickly, unable to feel his body. Liam gave him a steady push towards the door.
Charles staggered down the hall feeling his lungs contract. He was sucking in air as fast as he could, but it felt as though he couldn’t get enough breath.
He reached the door and Liam buzzed him in.
“Don’t go anywhere.” Charles tried to yell but it came out feeble. His eyes wouldn’t leave the suitcase, now stuffed with a body. They had written a note on top of the zipper that read “job completed.”
The two men chuckled to themselves. Bueler grabbed Charles and shoved him into the corner of the room. They turned, and the buzzer rang, opening the door, and the two men walked out with the suitcase in tow. Charles was left alone in the forgotten room. Charles screamed for Liam to open the door banging incessantly on the cold steel.
“Liam, I swear to god, open this door!” He needed to leave and never come back to this godforsaken job.
After a small eternity, the door buzzed open.
Charles sat at the table, warming his hands with his morning coffee. It had been a slow, uneventful morning and he was getting impatient waiting for Liam’s arrival.
The door kicked open, with an unusually charismatic Liam.
“You seem chipper this morning,” Charles noted.
“Well, I came into a small windfall of money yesterday afternoon,” Liam said.
“That’s fantastic, Liam!” Charles noticed that Liam was only in a great mood after finding either lots of alcohol or his next fix. Either way, it made Charles’s life significantly easier when Liam was in a good mood.
“How was your afternoon, Charles?” Liam asked, with a hint of concern.
“To be totally honest, I can’t really remember. Did you close up yesterday?” Charles asked.
“I did indeed. And I’ve been thinking, I think I agree with you, Charles. This job really does mean something, doesn’t it?” Liam said.
“Whatever you think, Liam,” Charles said.
He picked up his coffee and let the next group enter the room.
