Greg Krojac - The Schrödinger Enigma

It was dark inside. Of course it was. There were no windows. Slowly his eyes became accustomed to the poor light, and he could make out the shape of several rows of tall racks packed with cardboard boxes. There was a forklift parked in one of the aisles, but he didn’t feel safe enough to risk starting the engine. Just because the gunfire had stopped didn’t mean that his two pursuers had gone. Perhaps they had, but he wasn’t going to risk it. He chose a rack two rows down that wasn’t too full of boxes, allowing him more room to climb up the structure. Standing on the wooden baseboard, two shelves up, he used his knife to open the first box. It contained packs of disposable diapers, so there was no point in taking those. The next box contained packs of toilet paper. There was no way that he could take a complete pack with him – his backpack was large, but not large enough to waste valuable space with a sixteen roll pack of toilet rolls. He’d take a couple with him though, knowing that the importance of toilet rolls should never be underestimated. Another box yielded first-aid kits; now that would certainly come in useful. He was just about to open the fourth box when a noise from the far corner of the warehouse caught his attention. It was probably a mouse, or maybe even a rat, but he may as well take a look anyway. He was pretty sure that nobody else had entered the warehouse, so he didn’t think it would be his pursuers. He drew the pistol from its holster – just in case – and took a flashlight out of his pocket. He didn’t switch it on though, silently making his way to the source of the noise.

Whatever was there was keeping very still but Jason could just about make out the sound of slow breathing. He came within five yards of the mystery creature and then pointed both the gun and the flashlight at the origin of the breathing, simultaneously switching the flashlight on.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

There was a man, crouching underneath an empty rack, his exaggerated shadow cast on the wall behind him by the bright flashlight. The man, dressed in dark blue denim jeans, and light blue denim shirt, raised a hand in front of his face to shield his eyes from the bright light. On his feet were a pair of Adidas trainers. The man looked at Jason, a mixture of fear and curiosity evident in his eyes. Jason meant to ask the stranger who he was, but that’s not what came out of his mouth.

“Who are you?” [17] this doesn’t seem realistic. based on what Jason is seeing, there is no reason for him to assume this.

The stranger understood that Jason had the upper hand and clearly recognized the threat of the revolver that was pointing at him.

“Who are you? Come out and stand up so I can see you properly”

The stranger understood Jason’s gestures and did as he was told. There was nowhere to run to anyway, and he was unarmed. Jason looked at him again.

“What’s your name?”

The stranger said nothing.

“You must have a name. Everybody has a name.”

Again, no response. A thought crossed Jason’s mind. Perhaps the man was deaf or dumb, or perhaps he just didn’t speak English. Jason asked the question in Spanish but got the same response.

“Can you hear me?”

The man looked puzzled and gestured towards his right ear, behind which was located something that looked like a hearing aid.

“So you’re deaf then.”

Jason was confused. The man opposite him was a man, but yet not a man. He wasn’t a man like any that Jason had come across, anyway. He stood about five foot five tall, and was obviously very strong; his arms and legs, although they appeared to be a little shorter than normal, were very muscular. His head, however, seemed elongated and his brow was more pronounced than anyone’s that Jason had ever seen. His nose was broad and seemed to project quite a lot from his face, but his chin was almost non-existent. His eyes were unusually large, but just the right size to fill the evidently larger eye sockets of the man, although slightly obscured by the size his brow. Was Jason face-to-face with an alien? Perhaps, but he didn’t think so. This was definitely a human, albeit a rather strange looking one. The man didn’t seem to be threatening, although he was obviously feeling nervous, which was hardly surprising really, considering his present circumstances Having got over his initial shock, Jason continued.

“My name’s Jason. Jason Green.”

The man pointed at Jason’s mouth.

“That’s my mouth.”

Jason felt like he was having a conversation with a two-year-old. Jason resisted the temptation to speak in broken English. The man might look like a caveman, but he was still human. The stranger opened and closed his hand, like someone might do to signify that somebody is talking too much.

“You want me to stop talking?”

The man became agitated.

“Oh. Sorry. You want me to keep talking?”

The stranger opened and closed his mouth several times, all the while pointing at Jason, who was unsure what to do.

“I don’t know what you want, so I’ll keep talking. If you’re deaf you won’t hear me anyway, so it won’t matter.”

Jason was pleased to have someone to talk to, even if the conversation was all in one direction. It didn’t explain why he didn’t seem to be able talk though. Jason had met a few deaf people in his life, and most were able to speak to some extent or another. Maybe, the stranger had been deaf and dumb from birth. That could explain his silence.

Jason told his new companion his life story. He told him about his schooldays, about his dating experiences, about the jobs he’d done in his life. He told him about his family, and about his divorce. He wasn’t really sure why he told the stranger so much personal information, but the man had a kindly face and seemed to be listening intently, even though he couldn’t hear Jason. The autobiography ended with Jason explaining how he had ended up in the warehouse.

“And that’s my story. I wish you could tell me your story, but I understand that you can’t.”

The man nodded and Jason nearly jumped out of his skin when he spoke to him.

“Thank you, Jason. I will tell you about myself, but now is not the time. We have company.”

Jason’s pursuers hadn’t given up. The metal door opened and two figures stepped through the opening, silhouetted in the glare of daylight, before advancing into the darkness of the warehouse. Jason put a finger up to his lips to gesture to the stranger that he should remain silent but was surprised to see that the man had disappeared. He was on his own again.

He ducked behind a packing crate and tried not to even breathe, lest the men hear him. He watched as they made their way along the aisle between the racks, peering between the spaces, looking for their prey. Suddenly, one of the tall racks started teetering at an angle, until a dozen boxes slid off the racking and landed directly on top of the intruders, knocking them out cold. Jason emerged from his hiding place and joined his stocky saviour who was looking at the two unconscious men.

“Obviously those boxes weren’t full of diapers.”

He grabbed his new friend by the arm.

“Come on. We’d better get out of here. There were others who’ll miss them.”

Sitara had cried herself to sleep the previous night, and she was grateful that her mind had allowed her to do so, for she couldn’t have taken any more stress that day. She felt like giving up and letting go of life, but clearly that wasn’t what Allah had planned for her. She’d slept right through to the next morning, waking up exactly where she had lain down in the playground. She dragged her body up off the asphalt and looked around her, hoping that yesterday had been a bad dream, but the little girl was still dead on the swing, and her mother was still dead on the ground behind her.