Authors: Bill Leviathan
Pim was waiting nearby the gate with two others. They were just as pimply faced and goofy looking as Pim. I wasn't introduced to them, and frankly I didn't much care to know their names.
“Pim, how the hell did you kids manage to get into this fortress before?”
“Well, Pete, they have to have someone man that gate. Of course, such a menial task is far too lowly for any occupant of Vanderbilt Park, so they hire out to us common folk. My old high school friend Brian is at the gate tonight. He'll let us slide right on in.”
“He'll just let us walk in through the gate? What about security cameras?”
“Yeah, we’re just going to walk in through the front gate. No one is going to sit down and review the hours of CCTV footage every night to make sure he's doing his job. No one has time for that. As long as we don't cause a disturbance, no one will be asking Brian questions.”
Pim was right, we were able to just waltz right in through the gate. The place was a bit bewildering from the inside. The streets were all uniformly paved. No potholes or cracks to be seen anywhere. None of the homes appeared to be missing patches of shingles on their roofs. Their lawns were all a pristine, deep green, and evenly trimmed. There weren't any breakin bars on the doors or windows, and all the doors and windows appeared to be unbroken and intact. The street was well lit, yet it didn't appear like anyone in this group was the least bit afraid of someone spotting us. There were no drunks shambling through the streets at the end of their nightly bender. No cops were cruising around to pick up the shambling drunks and other riff-raff. Everyone was asleep in their perfect little homes, assured that everything outside their walls was safe and quiet.
“Hey, Pim, is there a specific house we're going to or are you just aimlessly wondering around right now?”
“Toward the northwest corner there is one house that's secluded from the rest of the neighborhood. It’s at the end of a cul-de-sac with no immediate neighbors. I figured that house would be our best bet. It’s only about a mile from here.”
Getting to the house was completely uneventful. The home was surrounded by tall pine trees, and there was what seemed like a half mile radius around the house where there were no other homes. I'm not sure if those bozos were so stinking rich they could buy up so much more land than everyone else in the neighborhood, or if the area simply wasn't developed yet. Whatever the case, it made no difference to me why they were all the way out there. All I cared about was that it made sneaking up to the home that much easier. I had no idea what those kids planned on doing to get inside the house, though. I imagined breaking a window or kicking down a door was going to set off alarms. Then, more than likely, attack helicopters and drones would come swooping in and we'd be nothing but a pile of ash on this nice rich family's driveway. What a terrible dilemma they'd have to deal with come morning.
When we got to the house, Pim just walked up to the door and tried the handle.
“It's unlocked.”
“You've got to be shitting me. Well, I guess when you live behind walls that look like they belong in Helm's Deep you don't need to worry about your doors too much.”
We began creeping through the house, none of us sure as to where we should be going. Everything in the place looked immaculate and gaudy as all hell. I couldn't even imagine how people were able to acquire so much stuff. There were tables that served no purpose other than to hold a single picture frame or a decorative lamp. There was enough seating for a family of twenty. I think I stumbled past four bathrooms, and I had only been on the first floor. There were more pots and pans in their kitchen than I'd seen in most city soup kitchens.
It was just a matter of time before one of those dumb-as-nails kids did something stupid. One of the nimrods, I didn’t know him yet, but regrettably I would soon, must have taken quite a fancy to some picture he saw on the wall. In his attempt to take it down, he dropped it, knocking over a lamp, which shattered on the ground in a loud crash. It wasn't long before we heard people upstairs scrambling around muttering to each other.
Pim turned to the kid and began saying, “God dammit, Kevin. You better hope they aren't springing up to hit an alarm.”
“I-I'm sorry Pim, I-I didn't mean to.”
I turned to both of them, “Keep it down you fools. They don't know what's up yet. You three head up there and hope there aren't too many to corral.”
The three of them started up the stairs, not taking stealth into consideration after the cover was blown. I slowly followed, keeping an eye out by looking out the windows for police lights. I then heard a shriek and a thud, and bolted up the stairs after the kids.
When I got to them, they were in a bedroom with a man, woman, and two young kids. The woman was holding her shoulder, her hand over top a big red mark. The little dumbass named Kevin was holding a bat.
“What the hell is going on in here?”
“She made for this bat, Pete, so I grabbed it from her. She wouldn't stop trying to take it from me, so I hit her to get her to back off.”
“Jesus Christ, kid. We're just here to ask these nice folks some questions, not to beat them bloody.”
“Oh man, what do we do, Pim? What do we do?”
“Calm down, Steve, Pete has some questions to ask these nice people. He'll take care of it.”
Great. I just got battlefield commissioned to the leader of their pretend organization. I don't even remember why I had to be here in the first place. It was all part of Pim's and his stupid organization's conspiracy theory. All I wanted to do right then was sit on my ass and drink myself into oblivion. Maybe it was my destiny. To take charge of some snot-nosed brats and terrorize a family into telling me where they got their water. Thanks a lot, Universe. You picked a great one for me.
“Ok, mister and missus, we're not here to hurt you. I just need to get one little piece of information out of you, and then we will go. No one is going to get hurt from here on out, I promise.”
“P-p-please, just let the children be. You can do whatever you want to us. Just let them go. Please!”
“Alright, alright, don't worry. Hey, Kevin, drop the bat already and stop standing over the kids like some God damned Gamorrean.
“Now, to the thing I need to know from you people. You get all your water delivered, correct?”
“Yes,” the man answered.
“You don't use water from the tap for anything?”
“No, of course not. We don't have any taps in this house. I don't see what this ha-”
“Don't worry about that. Just listen to me and answer my questions, ok? Now, why is it that you people don't drink anything from the tap?”
“Uh, because that water is no good. It’s basically poison. Why are you asking this?”
“What's wrong with the regular water?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. Now answer the question like I’m a God damned know-nothing infant.”
“Uh, um, well, the mining companies have been dumping all their waste into the rivers and lakes around here for years. The water from the tap isn't even suitable for cattle to drink. I wouldn't water my lawn with that crap.”
“How do you know that?” Pim piped in.
The man turned to Pim with a look of abject confusion, “Well, I mean, I work for the mining company, but who doesn't know about the waste dumping?”
“No one outside those gates seems to know.”
“You people aren't drinking the water from around here, are you?” the man asked.
I leaned in close to the man's face, enough to see how perfect and spotless his skin was even when just pulled out of bed in the middle of the night. “Of course we drink the water. It's all we have, and no one seems to think it's worth telling us it's filled with God knows what you and the mining companies put in it. Kevin, I take back what I said earlier. Pick that bat back up, and swing for the fences.”
To think, I had spent all that time beating myself up over how I was destroying my health with all the alcohol I consumed, and instead what was killing me was the water. That had to be what Paul was on to. It explained so much. All of us commoners were walking around hacking up our lungs, our skin was pale and blotchy no matter how much sun we got, our hair was thin and brittle, and we were always suffering from one ailment onto another. Those people in Vanderbilt Park though, they were built like the Greek gods, rivaling the likes of Michelangelo's David. It had gotten to the point that biologists would classify us as a different species from them. A stunted, deformed species who will soon die off if they know what's good for them.
At first I started telling myself that now I had to drink more alcohol, as it was the only way to know that the liquid I was drinking was safe. Though after I put some thought into it, I don't think a small amount of alcohol was going to do much to remove heavy metals. I don't think boiling the water was going to do much either, but I'm not what you would call an expert on the subject. I could try and distill the water? Could the chemicals evaporate out with the water vapor or not? I guess it was all moot, as there was no way I could have afforded to start distilling my water. I might as well save the cash and die early.
I heard a knock at the door. I didn't know who the hell would bother coming around my shack to see me. I thought if it was that pipsqueak Pim again stopping by to go on another panicked rant that literally and figuratively went nowhere, I was going to lose it. Maybe that rich family finally went to the authorities and it was the cops banging down my door. Kevin only hit the man a few times as we were leaving, but I couldn't imagine the man was feeling too good the following morning. It was going to be somewhat of a challenge to explain to his peers how he got so bruised up living in his cushioned little cocoon. Maybe it was something worse than the cops, maybe the mining companies had some sort of secret police force that they were siccing on me. I was sure I had a dark, dank future full of sensory deprivation and missing patches of skin if they were coming for me. I figured I might as well just face it, and opened the God damned door.
“Are you Pete?”
“Yes, what's it to you?”
“Someone told me to deliver this to you. Good bye.”
He handed me an envelope, and then immediately bolted to his bike and hightailed it out of there, looking back over his shoulder as though he was being hunted by a tiger. To say I was a bit taken aback is an understatement. The envelope was blank, not a single marking on the whole thing, so I wasn’t sure how he knew to deliver it to me. I guessed someone had to hand it to him in person and tell him where to go. It’s not like he was a real postman.
It looked like a letter of some sort. When I unfolded the paper, a key fell out onto the floor. The key looked identical to Paul’s storage unit key I had given away to the mining company. On the paper was a handwritten letter that went:
Pete,
If you are reading this, I have died from some unnatural cause. I always feared that what my brother first stumbled upon, and then I picked up, was going to get me in the end. I have left you a key to a storage unit. I dare not say what's inside the unit in this letter. The key alone won't get you into the storage unit. There is a pin code you must enter as well. Again, I can't say the code in this letter, and my only hint to you is that it is related to what you loved to do most. I hope the information you find in there does you well.
Sincerely,
Paul
Paul’s crap conspiracy kept getting weirder and weirder. I guess Paul was able to intuit his own demise. I could only assume that whatever was in the second storage unit is what Paul believed got him in trouble. With the letter, what we discovered out about the water in Vanderbilt Park, and piecing together Paul's ramblings from when he was alive, it seemed almost certain that the 'accident' that killed him had to be staged in some way. Now it looked to be my turn to meet my suspicious, yet somewhat explainable from an outsider's perspective, death. I was sure it would be just as miserable and painful as Paul’s, when he was burned alive.
The storage facility was a few miles away. At the very, least checking it out and walking over there would give me some good exercise when I would have otherwise sat around drinking a cheap bottle of liquor until I passed out. The key had the number of the unit engraved on it, so it wouldn't be too hard to find. I wasn’t sure what to make of the pin code, though. What I loved to do most? Bitch and moan? Whine and complain? Run away from my problems? Beat myself up over my regrets? Bottle my emotions until I eventually burst? I couldn't think of any numbers that were related to those things. Maybe it had something to do with my alcoholism Paul always loved to rag on me for. Seven and Seven? Two numbers doesn't make for a particularly good pin, so it couldn’t be that. 40% 80 proof? 40oz of 800? Paul was so repulsed by alcohol I doubt he could ever bring himself to make the pin something like that.
I had arrived at the storage facility. It looked like the pin was supposed to be four characters long. Birthday dates? Neither mine nor Paul's worked. Our address? The office address? None of that was something I loved to do, and great, I had just locked myself out for too many failed attempts. At least I would have a few minutes to think it over. God dammit Paul, why are you doing this to me? This was worse than all those little 'training' expeditions he took me on, or those pointless water tank inspections. Wait, maybe that was it. The stupid bastard was trying to be sarcastic. Water Tank Inspection, Form #0289. Something I was able to look forward to whining about seemingly every day during that summer. I just had to wait another minute for it to unlock so I could enter in the code, and, fantastic! It worked. Thanks for making it easy on me, my dear friend Paul. Your sense of humor continued to confuse me even after your death.
I opened up the door, and there wasn't much to see. Not sure what I expected, but there was only one small box in the corner. It had a note on it:
Pete,
As I am undoubtedly sure, the mining companies have seized all the documents my brother left me. Of the hundreds of thousands of documents he left to me, only a few contained anything significant. You'll find all those documents in this box. There was so much other junk that it will be weeks before the mining companies realize that these documents are still missing. I hope these find you well, and you don't meet the same fate that I did.
Good luck,