Post by jeannerené on Jul 25, 2007 7:01:10 GMT -8
The Agenda (4th revision Jan. 2007 ... work in progress ... part 1)(sort ta Sci Fi .. Furturistic)
Jenna jerked her head in the direction of the advancing shouts. The stampeding, booted hysteria was fast approaching the old library. Straddling, on her hands and knees, a barely visible spattering of blood, Jenna was seized with terror, the type of terror that makes one incapable of moving. They would be found, she was sure, but how soon she couldn’t tell and how many were looking for them, she didn’t know. Listening to the noise outside, she could feel her whole body pulsating to the heart pounding inside her chest, a chest thumping visibly in an otherwise frozen figure on all fours.
The posse of Ministers hadn’t been far behind. Best Jenna could recall they had managed to walk about a half a mile off what appeared to have been a highway at one time. They left the highway going west at a sign reading #49 Sutter Road and finally, reached the library as he had described. He was barely conscious as they made their way into the main doors, left open, as he had assured her they would be. Thank goodness he had still been coherent. Closing the doors, Jenna found a set of keys dangling from the lock. She locked the doors, and slipped the keys in her pants pocket. Once inside the building his weight had become heavier. Jenna knew he would not be able to stay on his feet much longer and she tightened her grip around his waist and arm thrown over her neck. Jenna was not a fragile woman, still had he been a big man they never would have gotten this far.
“Which way to the basement?” she asked, but received no reply. “Which way to the basement!”
He had mumbled “get to the basement” when they spotted the library from the street. She dragged him along the rows of books. He was still bleeding. At the back wall was an elevator, but upon reaching it a sign was taped across the doors “out of service.” They would have to go down the stairs, the door leading done just to the left of the broken down elevator. Jenna opened the door and was tempted to rest on the landing, but thought better, realizing that if she set him down at this point she would never get him up again.
She braced herself against the handrail. “Come on, here we go!” she shook the body leaning against her. “Come on, you’ve got to help me. damn it, help me out!” Jenna felt his weight lessen and he motioned to the opposite handrail. They shuffled over the opposite side so he could grab it. All the way down Jenna wondered; Why the library? Why had he insisted on going this far?
At the bottom of the stairs his strength gave out completely. Now what? Was he dead? Jenna drug him past several rows of books, until finally turning in between two stacks. At the end of the aisle was desk, she let him down not too gently and propping him up between the a desk and shelve. He didn’t move. Feeling for his pulse, she wasn’t sure she was relieved he still had one. Removing her jacket, Jenna wiped the blood away around his mouth, the look of it sicken her. She wanted to call him by name, but couldn’t remember it. damn, so unlike her, she thought. With apprehension, not that she would be stopped by a sudden grip around her wrist, but with the sudden nausea rising within, she felt the outside of his pant’s pockets for a wallet. The wallet was deep inside the right pocket and despite the difficultly in getting it out, he did not stir. Inside the wallet, Jenna found neither identification nor a designation card. The wallet contained only pictures: one of which was the man himself much younger, on the back side was written, William Drew Hamilton. Yes, that was it. He had been introduced as Drew. Knowing that Mr. Hamilton did not carry either required classifications was terrifying. No time to think about it. Turning away, Jenna walked back down the aisle and threw the wallet over the stacks toward the opposite end of the room. She quickly made her way toward the stairs and headed back up.
Shots were fired. Jenna collapsed, instinctively flattening herself to the floor as the shots were followed by a barrage of commands drawing closer. She wanted to, but couldn't run, both mind and body disarmed with alien sensations. So this was panic, involuntary and animal, and she knew this panic disgusted her. Not until today, had Jenna experienced anything resembling such intensity of emotion. She understood now why the extremes were so dangerous. She understood completely why she had always strove to avoid the extremes, as recommended and rewarded. Look where her foolishness had gotten her. What had moving outside her agenda proved? She had always been taught that emotion interferes with reason and that reason must be the foundation of all action, all purpose, all will. But Jenna struggled, because she understood she was terrified and that she had every reason to be.
The posse hustled past the large-paned window just on the other side of the reception desk. As the shouts faded, Jenna slowly skewed her head from side to side, flaxen hair plastered against her cheek, sweat dripping from her brow. Eyes darting about, she tried to focus on something, anything, familiar in order to regain her former reality. Nothing. Nothing in this abandoned musty old warehouse of antiquity was real to her. . . could ever be real to her. A feeling of loathing nearly choked her. Dizzy from a bombardment of unwanted impressions, desperate, Jenna did the only thing familiar . . . the only thing tangible she could do; she looked at her watch. It read 10:57a.m., the 9th of September. She closed her eyes, regaining her composure, for in just three minutes she would have been taking her first scheduled break at work. She would have gotten up from her desk, tidied up before her departure, and walked directly to the Blue Serenity Room. Even here, belly flattened to a cold linoleum floor, Jenna thought how she favored the Blue Serenity Room above all others because it held only three occupants. Her long legs carried her with ease through gray corridors passing other co-workers desirous of the same compulsory Detachment offered in the Blue Room. She kept her eyes shut and tried to feel the room’s vibrations pulsing through her body; the quiet, the self-assurance, the tranquility of the routine. Instead Jenna felt only the odd unraveling of her confidence and anger consuming her. Impossible anger fed by the intrusion of this impossible situation. Her eyes popped open. “Miner’s Paradise” in large yellow letters advertised a hotel on a faded poster tacked to the side of the reception desk. Jenna wished for the cool, clean walls of her office and knew that was where she should be at this very moment.
A snicker of disbelief distorted the lips. “This simply can't be possible . . . can't be possible . . . This can‘t be happening to me,” Jenna hissed in a whisper. Rising up to her knees, Jenna inadvertently remembered the now sticky jacket she had used to dab the floor, cleaning the blood trail left by Mr. Hamilton. She clenched it so tightly; her knuckles were purple-blue. Opening the jacket out over her legs and smoothing it with the palm of her hands she retreated into the absurd. "Well, I'll just stand up and walk away, that’s what I'll do" she argued with herself indignantly. "I haven’t done anything wrong. Surely they will realize this is a miscommunication.” The sudden sound of breaking glass, and shouts in distance startled her. "Get up!" she cried out and stunned at her own voice, Jenna jumped up. She felt instinctively somehow that there were no such “miscommunication” forgiven by the posse of Ministers.
Clutching her jacket to her chest, she retraced her steps back through the over-flowing stacks of books. Stopping momentary, she tied the jacket around her waist, and looked back over her shoulder, hoping she had managed to wipe up all the blood. Luckily, he hadn’t seemed to be bleeding heavily. Jenna walked quickly through the rows of neatly stacked shelves. Orderly, but crammed, the old library’s pungent combination of dust, mold and mildew was unfamiliar to Jenna. It had almost overwhelmed her the second they had run inside to hide. Making her way back toward the basement, the realization that they were simply biding their time in a soon to be discovered trap cleared her thoughts. She had to get them out of here right away. She sensed it was only a matter of time before the Ministers realized they had been mislead and every building along the way back would be suspect, including the library. Deduction and logic began to unfog Jenna’s mind. It was nearly dusk outside and inside the library was almost dark. She had to slow down. Jenna, a natural perfectionist, even with the absurd would not allow anything to be out of order. She told herself she couldn't afford to disturb one single paper or chance knocking down a book. The library was in perfect order and any disturbance would surely be noticed. The obvious had driven her back upstairs to get rid of the blood, at the expense of her jacket. Perhaps her efforts would payoff. Would they bother to search an apparently undisturbed building once they had entered? Despite caution, her step quickened as the sound of breaking glass, this time coming back in the direction of the library.
What was she going to do when she got to the basement? How was she going to find him? It would be impossible to see anything down there without the lights, but she had no choice she had to find the controls and turn them off. Little plates, elbow level … against the walls … how comical and such a nuisance these old things.
Son of a b*tch . . . what if he was dead? Maybe, that would be easier. Wouldn't it? Her mind raced, calculating the odds, but at the same time her mind drifted toward the benefits of his death, Jenna felt the prick of his blood drying on her arms. Her reasoning fought against his smell saturated in the threads of her blouse drifting up under her nose. Despite the immediate situation’s need for clarity and decisive action, Jenna could not control her wandering thoughts. She recalled earlier this morning how the scent of pine and wood had startled her. She recalled even earlier how annoyed she was at Phyllis for her alarming taste for the unusual. Jenna thought back to just a few hours ago when she and Phyllis were introduced to the man, this Drew . . . this Mr. Hamilton, for whom she was now risking her life. She remembered thinking how incredibly full his lips were, and how rough and pocked his skin. Nearly the whole time he had been talking to them outside the station, Jenna had focused on his looks. She had been both repulsed and fascinated by his other than fashionable appearance. Obviously, he was, she felt, all the rational one needed to understand the necessity of advanced selection. Aware of, but ignoring her scrutiny, Drew broke Jenna’s trance, having the audacity of slipping his arm through hers and giving a roguish wink. She knew she should have politely pulled away, but she hadn’t.
But so unlike her …. the fact that she hadn’t been able to remember his name. It was not like her to ever forget a name or the color of the eyes after being introduced. Never. “His eyes are dark brown...too dark. If he's dead, I'll be spared having the humiliation of explaining . . . " the thought remained incomplete on her lips.
Maybe they won’t search the library she hoped, unreasonably. Jenna continued to rewind her day. She remembered how Phyllis repeatedly buzzed the intercom this morning, to purposely to disturb her. She recalled thinking how her friend was always amused by at her own impracticality. Phyllis the nay-sayer . . . Phyllis the square peg you had to keep chiseling to fit in the round whole. Why had she agreed to go with her? Hans didn’t care for Phyllis, but then Phyllis choose to ignore Hans. So Hans had become the moot point, the two of them had decided sometime ago to just let lie, and on which to agree to disagree. It was for the friendship and Jenna laughed in spite of herself. Where was her friend now? Glass shattered again. Closer still and Jenna ran.
Reaching the door and stairs leading down to the basement, Jenna spotted the switch to turn off the lights in the stairwell. As she closed the door behind her, the noise outside was louder and voices clearer. With a sudden on slot of musty air, and renewed panic, Jenna began to hyper-ventilate. Worse, the image of Hans’ irritated smirk as she ran out to join Phyllis flashed though her mind, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from screaming her bloody head off. At this very instant she knew she hated Phyllis. How could she have allowed herself to be so irresponsible? Here she was in an Out-Dwelling, being hunted like an animal because she had been stupid enough to be coerced to depart from her agenda. She never departed from her agenda.
Jenna spotted a row of light controls inside a tiny office space. “Don’t dwell …. Don’t dwell on it,” she pulled herself back into the moment. “Right now. . . right now. . . turn off the lights.” she ran into the office and quickly pushed against the plates. The basement went dark. . . pitch black. She turned them on again. Looking oddly at the plates she wondered why would any one prefer such a bothersome means of electrical enhancement? Such reverence and adherence to the past was beyond Jenna’s comprehension. Confused and irritated, Jenna realized she would have to find Mr. Hamilton first, and then come back and turn off the lights. Find the "nineteenth century" . . . stacks of books labeled 19th century that is where she had left him. She remembered it being to the left of the basement steps. Making her way back quickly to the stairwell, the best she recalled the 19th century sign was about halfway down the corridor along the wall. She counted her steps and made a mental note of the number of shelves.
He was still as she approached him. Slowly dropping to his side, she gently pulled at his arm. The one touch was all it took. He turned his face toward her, bruised and swollen. Jenna stared into his eyes for what response she wasn’t sure, but despite herself she knew she was glad he was still alive. She felt she needed to blurt out everything they should do in the next five minutes, “Mr. Hamilton, we should . . .” He caught her eyes in return. Instead, Jenna simply brushed his damp hair away from his cheeks and at a loss chirped rather inanely, “Drew, you look like you could use a good hot cup of tea right now.”
Earlier that morning ~~
Standing at the bay window, Jenna inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the orange spice, and held the mug under her nose momentarily before releasing her breath. Perfection, she thought to herself. The extra-hot tea, taken in small sips, warmed the back of her throat. The pinch of stimulant she added routinely each morning was all ready having an effect. Jenna hated to start the morning without a little boost. The sensor banded into her watch would beep to let her know when the stim had reached its desired effect. Always expecting herself to be alert and energized, the amount of caffeine from the tea simply did not do the trick, and the little packets of non-flavored stims were helpful. Jenna normally needed just a small amount of the additant, never the whole packet. It was just a little push she thought to get the morning going at top performance. Today, however she really hadn’t needed the extra ingredient. Today, at long last, Jenna had taken a Free Day. A day to her own doings, but routine was routine and she went ahead with the usual tea and stimulant ritual.
The Free Day was earned time off work and scheduling it was long over due. Jenna was plagued with a compulsive work ethic and as such she never made time for an allotted free days. As it was, Jenna had ridiculously amassed a great deal of time. With each of her compulsory six months reviews, over the last year and a half, Jenna had been rated exemplary, a fact which was framed and proudly announced on the otherwise sparse living room décor. Each review earned her fourteen days. As of her last review she had earned forty-two days that being the top she was allowed to accumulate. If Jenna didn’t schedule her allowed time in the following six months it would be lost. Not a fact that bothered her or her employer in the least. There would be no compensation for days not used, but that matter little to Jenna. This scheduling, unusual as it was, actually came about at the request of a friend, who begged Jenna to go with her to, as of yet, unknown destination. Jenna was irritated by the lack of detail, not being a fan of an open ended affair. More accurately is could be said she was intimated by the impulsive side of her friend. However, she found herself intrigued by Phyllis’ secrecy and despite her friend’s attraction to the unconventional, it was always quite harmless and more times than not rather dull. For Phyllis she would take a Free Day, simply just for a bit of companionship she shared with no one else.
Jenna remained at the bay window lingering with her orange spice. She chuckled at the black squirrel that scrambled up the magnolia tree after swiftly burying a meal in the soft dirt of the flower bed. The morning sky was cloudless. Reaching down, she picked up the remote on the small sideboard table in front of the window. Her wrist sensor beeped a high-pitched tone for five seconds. A smile crossed Jenna’s burgundy lips. Pointing the remote up to the glass, Jenna flicked through a series of morning tableaux; a damp plantation lawn adorned with majestic oaks, a quiet dessert scape with a brand new jeep parked in the front yard, a well kept suburban neighborhood with school children boarding a yellow bus . . . a whole assortment of quaint “good mornings” for the right season. Jenna set the remote back down on the table, leaving the window display set on the lake view, the same jeep parked out front, and a wooden rowboat tied to a small peer bobbing rhythmically on the water. The warm sun accented to the beauty of a pristine summer morning.
“Morning!” a cheerful voice shouted from top of the stairs.
“Morning!” Jenna returned in equal spirit.
Hans quickly reached the bottom step. . . . .
The Agenda (first part revised ... 4th draft)
Jenna jerked her head in the direction of the advancing shouts. The stampeding, booted hysteria was fast approaching the old library. Straddling, on her hands and knees, a barely visible spattering of blood, Jenna was seized with terror, the type of terror that makes one incapable of moving. They would be found, she was sure, but how soon she couldn’t tell and how many were looking for them, she didn’t know. Listening to the noise outside, she could feel her whole body pulsating to the heart pounding inside her chest, a chest thumping visibly in an otherwise frozen figure on all fours.
The posse of Ministers hadn’t been far behind. Best Jenna could recall they had managed to walk about a half a mile off what appeared to have been a highway at one time. They left the highway going west at a sign reading #49 Sutter Road and finally, reached the library as he had described. He was barely conscious as they made their way into the main doors, left open, as he had assured her they would be. Thank goodness he had still been coherent. Closing the doors, Jenna found a set of keys dangling from the lock. She locked the doors, and slipped the keys in her pants pocket. Once inside the building his weight had become heavier. Jenna knew he would not be able to stay on his feet much longer and she tightened her grip around his waist and arm thrown over her neck. Jenna was not a fragile woman, still had he been a big man they never would have gotten this far.
“Which way to the basement?” she asked, but received no reply. “Which way to the basement!”
He had mumbled “get to the basement” when they spotted the library from the street. She dragged him along the rows of books. He was still bleeding. At the back wall was an elevator, but upon reaching it a sign was taped across the doors “out of service.” They would have to go down the stairs, the door leading done just to the left of the broken down elevator. Jenna opened the door and was tempted to rest on the landing, but thought better, realizing that if she set him down at this point she would never get him up again.
She braced herself against the handrail. “Come on, here we go!” she shook the body leaning against her. “Come on, you’ve got to help me. damn it, help me out!” Jenna felt his weight lessen and he motioned to the opposite handrail. They shuffled over the opposite side so he could grab it. All the way down Jenna wondered; Why the library? Why had he insisted on going this far?
At the bottom of the stairs his strength gave out completely. Now what? Was he dead? Jenna drug him past several rows of books, until finally turning in between two stacks. At the end of the aisle was desk, she let him down not too gently and propping him up between the a desk and shelve. He didn’t move. Feeling for his pulse, she wasn’t sure she was relieved he still had one. Removing her jacket, Jenna wiped the blood away around his mouth, the look of it sicken her. She wanted to call him by name, but couldn’t remember it. damn, so unlike her, she thought. With apprehension, not that she would be stopped by a sudden grip around her wrist, but with the sudden nausea rising within, she felt the outside of his pant’s pockets for a wallet. The wallet was deep inside the right pocket and despite the difficultly in getting it out, he did not stir. Inside the wallet, Jenna found neither identification nor a designation card. The wallet contained only pictures: one of which was the man himself much younger, on the back side was written, William Drew Hamilton. Yes, that was it. He had been introduced as Drew. Knowing that Mr. Hamilton did not carry either required classifications was terrifying. No time to think about it. Turning away, Jenna walked back down the aisle and threw the wallet over the stacks toward the opposite end of the room. She quickly made her way toward the stairs and headed back up.
Shots were fired. Jenna collapsed, instinctively flattening herself to the floor as the shots were followed by a barrage of commands drawing closer. She wanted to, but couldn't run, both mind and body disarmed with alien sensations. So this was panic, involuntary and animal, and she knew this panic disgusted her. Not until today, had Jenna experienced anything resembling such intensity of emotion. She understood now why the extremes were so dangerous. She understood completely why she had always strove to avoid the extremes, as recommended and rewarded. Look where her foolishness had gotten her. What had moving outside her agenda proved? She had always been taught that emotion interferes with reason and that reason must be the foundation of all action, all purpose, all will. But Jenna struggled, because she understood she was terrified and that she had every reason to be.
The posse hustled past the large-paned window just on the other side of the reception desk. As the shouts faded, Jenna slowly skewed her head from side to side, flaxen hair plastered against her cheek, sweat dripping from her brow. Eyes darting about, she tried to focus on something, anything, familiar in order to regain her former reality. Nothing. Nothing in this abandoned musty old warehouse of antiquity was real to her. . . could ever be real to her. A feeling of loathing nearly choked her. Dizzy from a bombardment of unwanted impressions, desperate, Jenna did the only thing familiar . . . the only thing tangible she could do; she looked at her watch. It read 10:57a.m., the 9th of September. She closed her eyes, regaining her composure, for in just three minutes she would have been taking her first scheduled break at work. She would have gotten up from her desk, tidied up before her departure, and walked directly to the Blue Serenity Room. Even here, belly flattened to a cold linoleum floor, Jenna thought how she favored the Blue Serenity Room above all others because it held only three occupants. Her long legs carried her with ease through gray corridors passing other co-workers desirous of the same compulsory Detachment offered in the Blue Room. She kept her eyes shut and tried to feel the room’s vibrations pulsing through her body; the quiet, the self-assurance, the tranquility of the routine. Instead Jenna felt only the odd unraveling of her confidence and anger consuming her. Impossible anger fed by the intrusion of this impossible situation. Her eyes popped open. “Miner’s Paradise” in large yellow letters advertised a hotel on a faded poster tacked to the side of the reception desk. Jenna wished for the cool, clean walls of her office and knew that was where she should be at this very moment.
A snicker of disbelief distorted the lips. “This simply can't be possible . . . can't be possible . . . This can‘t be happening to me,” Jenna hissed in a whisper. Rising up to her knees, Jenna inadvertently remembered the now sticky jacket she had used to dab the floor, cleaning the blood trail left by Mr. Hamilton. She clenched it so tightly; her knuckles were purple-blue. Opening the jacket out over her legs and smoothing it with the palm of her hands she retreated into the absurd. "Well, I'll just stand up and walk away, that’s what I'll do" she argued with herself indignantly. "I haven’t done anything wrong. Surely they will realize this is a miscommunication.” The sudden sound of breaking glass, and shouts in distance startled her. "Get up!" she cried out and stunned at her own voice, Jenna jumped up. She felt instinctively somehow that there were no such “miscommunication” forgiven by the posse of Ministers.
Clutching her jacket to her chest, she retraced her steps back through the over-flowing stacks of books. Stopping momentary, she tied the jacket around her waist, and looked back over her shoulder, hoping she had managed to wipe up all the blood. Luckily, he hadn’t seemed to be bleeding heavily. Jenna walked quickly through the rows of neatly stacked shelves. Orderly, but crammed, the old library’s pungent combination of dust, mold and mildew was unfamiliar to Jenna. It had almost overwhelmed her the second they had run inside to hide. Making her way back toward the basement, the realization that they were simply biding their time in a soon to be discovered trap cleared her thoughts. She had to get them out of here right away. She sensed it was only a matter of time before the Ministers realized they had been mislead and every building along the way back would be suspect, including the library. Deduction and logic began to unfog Jenna’s mind. It was nearly dusk outside and inside the library was almost dark. She had to slow down. Jenna, a natural perfectionist, even with the absurd would not allow anything to be out of order. She told herself she couldn't afford to disturb one single paper or chance knocking down a book. The library was in perfect order and any disturbance would surely be noticed. The obvious had driven her back upstairs to get rid of the blood, at the expense of her jacket. Perhaps her efforts would payoff. Would they bother to search an apparently undisturbed building once they had entered? Despite caution, her step quickened as the sound of breaking glass, this time coming back in the direction of the library.
What was she going to do when she got to the basement? How was she going to find him? It would be impossible to see anything down there without the lights, but she had no choice she had to find the controls and turn them off. Little plates, elbow level … against the walls … how comical and such a nuisance these old things.
Son of a b*tch . . . what if he was dead? Maybe, that would be easier. Wouldn't it? Her mind raced, calculating the odds, but at the same time her mind drifted toward the benefits of his death, Jenna felt the prick of his blood drying on her arms. Her reasoning fought against his smell saturated in the threads of her blouse drifting up under her nose. Despite the immediate situation’s need for clarity and decisive action, Jenna could not control her wandering thoughts. She recalled earlier this morning how the scent of pine and wood had startled her. She recalled even earlier how annoyed she was at Phyllis for her alarming taste for the unusual. Jenna thought back to just a few hours ago when she and Phyllis were introduced to the man, this Drew . . . this Mr. Hamilton, for whom she was now risking her life. She remembered thinking how incredibly full his lips were, and how rough and pocked his skin. Nearly the whole time he had been talking to them outside the station, Jenna had focused on his looks. She had been both repulsed and fascinated by his other than fashionable appearance. Obviously, he was, she felt, all the rational one needed to understand the necessity of advanced selection. Aware of, but ignoring her scrutiny, Drew broke Jenna’s trance, having the audacity of slipping his arm through hers and giving a roguish wink. She knew she should have politely pulled away, but she hadn’t.
But so unlike her …. the fact that she hadn’t been able to remember his name. It was not like her to ever forget a name or the color of the eyes after being introduced. Never. “His eyes are dark brown...too dark. If he's dead, I'll be spared having the humiliation of explaining . . . " the thought remained incomplete on her lips.
Maybe they won’t search the library she hoped, unreasonably. Jenna continued to rewind her day. She remembered how Phyllis repeatedly buzzed the intercom this morning, to purposely to disturb her. She recalled thinking how her friend was always amused by at her own impracticality. Phyllis the nay-sayer . . . Phyllis the square peg you had to keep chiseling to fit in the round whole. Why had she agreed to go with her? Hans didn’t care for Phyllis, but then Phyllis choose to ignore Hans. So Hans had become the moot point, the two of them had decided sometime ago to just let lie, and on which to agree to disagree. It was for the friendship and Jenna laughed in spite of herself. Where was her friend now? Glass shattered again. Closer still and Jenna ran.
Reaching the door and stairs leading down to the basement, Jenna spotted the switch to turn off the lights in the stairwell. As she closed the door behind her, the noise outside was louder and voices clearer. With a sudden on slot of musty air, and renewed panic, Jenna began to hyper-ventilate. Worse, the image of Hans’ irritated smirk as she ran out to join Phyllis flashed though her mind, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from screaming her bloody head off. At this very instant she knew she hated Phyllis. How could she have allowed herself to be so irresponsible? Here she was in an Out-Dwelling, being hunted like an animal because she had been stupid enough to be coerced to depart from her agenda. She never departed from her agenda.
Jenna spotted a row of light controls inside a tiny office space. “Don’t dwell …. Don’t dwell on it,” she pulled herself back into the moment. “Right now. . . right now. . . turn off the lights.” she ran into the office and quickly pushed against the plates. The basement went dark. . . pitch black. She turned them on again. Looking oddly at the plates she wondered why would any one prefer such a bothersome means of electrical enhancement? Such reverence and adherence to the past was beyond Jenna’s comprehension. Confused and irritated, Jenna realized she would have to find Mr. Hamilton first, and then come back and turn off the lights. Find the "nineteenth century" . . . stacks of books labeled 19th century that is where she had left him. She remembered it being to the left of the basement steps. Making her way back quickly to the stairwell, the best she recalled the 19th century sign was about halfway down the corridor along the wall. She counted her steps and made a mental note of the number of shelves.
He was still as she approached him. Slowly dropping to his side, she gently pulled at his arm. The one touch was all it took. He turned his face toward her, bruised and swollen. Jenna stared into his eyes for what response she wasn’t sure, but despite herself she knew she was glad he was still alive. She felt she needed to blurt out everything they should do in the next five minutes, “Mr. Hamilton, we should . . .” He caught her eyes in return. Instead, Jenna simply brushed his damp hair away from his cheeks and at a loss chirped rather inanely, “Drew, you look like you could use a good hot cup of tea right now.”
Earlier that morning ~~
Standing at the bay window, Jenna inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the orange spice, and held the mug under her nose momentarily before releasing her breath. Perfection, she thought to herself. The extra-hot tea, taken in small sips, warmed the back of her throat. The pinch of stimulant she added routinely each morning was all ready having an effect. Jenna hated to start the morning without a little boost. The sensor banded into her watch would beep to let her know when the stim had reached its desired effect. Always expecting herself to be alert and energized, the amount of caffeine from the tea simply did not do the trick, and the little packets of non-flavored stims were helpful. Jenna normally needed just a small amount of the additant, never the whole packet. It was just a little push she thought to get the morning going at top performance. Today, however she really hadn’t needed the extra ingredient. Today, at long last, Jenna had taken a Free Day. A day to her own doings, but routine was routine and she went ahead with the usual tea and stimulant ritual.
The Free Day was earned time off work and scheduling it was long over due. Jenna was plagued with a compulsive work ethic and as such she never made time for an allotted free days. As it was, Jenna had ridiculously amassed a great deal of time. With each of her compulsory six months reviews, over the last year and a half, Jenna had been rated exemplary, a fact which was framed and proudly announced on the otherwise sparse living room décor. Each review earned her fourteen days. As of her last review she had earned forty-two days that being the top she was allowed to accumulate. If Jenna didn’t schedule her allowed time in the following six months it would be lost. Not a fact that bothered her or her employer in the least. There would be no compensation for days not used, but that matter little to Jenna. This scheduling, unusual as it was, actually came about at the request of a friend, who begged Jenna to go with her to, as of yet, unknown destination. Jenna was irritated by the lack of detail, not being a fan of an open ended affair. More accurately is could be said she was intimated by the impulsive side of her friend. However, she found herself intrigued by Phyllis’ secrecy and despite her friend’s attraction to the unconventional, it was always quite harmless and more times than not rather dull. For Phyllis she would take a Free Day, simply just for a bit of companionship she shared with no one else.
Jenna remained at the bay window lingering with her orange spice. She chuckled at the black squirrel that scrambled up the magnolia tree after swiftly burying a meal in the soft dirt of the flower bed. The morning sky was cloudless. Reaching down, she picked up the remote on the small sideboard table in front of the window. Her wrist sensor beeped a high-pitched tone for five seconds. A smile crossed Jenna’s burgundy lips. Pointing the remote up to the glass, Jenna flicked through a series of morning tableaux; a damp plantation lawn adorned with majestic oaks, a quiet dessert scape with a brand new jeep parked in the front yard, a well kept suburban neighborhood with school children boarding a yellow bus . . . a whole assortment of quaint “good mornings” for the right season. Jenna set the remote back down on the table, leaving the window display set on the lake view, the same jeep parked out front, and a wooden rowboat tied to a small peer bobbing rhythmically on the water. The warm sun accented to the beauty of a pristine summer morning.
“Morning!” a cheerful voice shouted from top of the stairs.
“Morning!” Jenna returned in equal spirit.
Hans quickly reached the bottom step. . . . .
The Agenda (first part revised ... 4th draft)
