Chapter 14 Chapter 14

"Killing implies intent to end a life. I had no intent. I simply processed what was available."

Leo stepped forward. His knee screamed. He did not care.

"Where is he now?" Leo's voice was loud and shaking. "What is left of him?"

The Interlocutor's clockwork hands pointed at the floor.

"Everywhere. The walls of the mall. The tiles of the food court. The carpet of the hallways. The sigil you touched at Grand Street Station. The air you breathed in the elevator. He is part of the Game now. He always will be."

Leo's hands went to his head. He pressed his palms against his temples. His breath came fast. Too fast.

"No," he said. "No no no."

"Your father is gone. He has been gone for twelve years. The man you remember was consumed long ago. What remains is function. Not memory. Not love. Not hope."

"Shut up."

"Just fuel."

Leo looked around the room. His eyes landed on the table by the bed. There was a coffee cup there. A small chip on the rim. Denise had brought it from somewhere. Leo did not know where. He did not care.

He grabbed it.

He threw it at the Interlocutor.

The cup went through its chest and hit the wall behind it.

It shattered.

Pieces of white ceramic fell to the floor. They bounced twice and then, it layed still.

The Interlocutor did not move. It did not react. It just stood there.

"Anger is inefficient," it said.

Leo's chest heaved. His eyes burned. His throat tightened.

"You took him from me," Leo said. His voice cracked. "You took him when I was twelve years old. You let my mother spend three years calling the morgue every Tuesday. You let her sit by the phone every night waiting for a call that never came. You let me grow up without him."

"I did nothing. The Game did. I simply work here."

"You are the Game."

The Interlocutor's papers spun faster. The clockwork hands clicked.

"I am the Clerk. The Game is larger than me. Older than me. I serve it. I do not control it."

Leo laughed. It came out wrong. Wet and broken.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I expect nothing from you. You are a Player. Players are temporary. Clerks are permanent."

Leo wiped his face. His hand came away wet. He was crying. He did not know when he started.

"You are crying," the Interlocutor said.

"I know."

"Tears are also inefficient."

Leo looked at the Interlocutor. At its paper face, its clockwork mouth and its empty eyes.

"I do not care what is efficient," he said. "I care about my father."

"Your father is gone."

"You keep saying that."

"It keeps being true."

Leo stood there. His hands hung at his sides. His chest heaved. Tears ran down his face. He did not wipe them away this time.

He thought about his father's hands. The way they tied a climbing knot. Always leave a loop, mijo. In case you need to come back.

He thought about his father's voice. Quiet. Steady. The city forgets everything. That is why someone has to remember.

He thought about the jacket in the sinkhole. The blue one. The one he saw right before he fell.

His father had been here. In this nightmare. And Leo had not known. He had been looking for him for twelve years. Walking into abandoned buildings. Searching through dead malls. Climbing through sinkholes. And all that time, his father was already gone. Already consumed.

Leo fell to his knees.

The floor was cold. His knee hit the ground. Pain shot up his leg. He did not care.

He put his hands on the floor. His head hung down. His shoulders shook.

He cried. He hadn't cried like this for a very long time. The kind that hurts your throat and makes your whole body shake. The type that leaves you empty after.

Denise watched from the corner. Her hands were still over her mouth. Her eyes were red. Tears were still running down her scarred cheek.

The Interlocutor stood over Leo.

"Tears will not bring him back," it said.

Leo looked up. His face was wet. His eyes were red. His nose was running.

"I know," he said.

"Then why cry?"

"Because he was my father. And I loved him. And you took him. And I cannot do anything about any of it. Yet.”

The Interlocutor was quiet for a split second.

Then it said, "That is the most honest thing any Player has ever said to me. But yet. What do you mean by yet?”

Leo stared at it. "I do not care."

"I know."

The Interlocutor raised its hand. The long paper-and-brass fingers pointed at Leo's chest.

"Your father lasted three missions. You have completed one. The Game will decide when you finish."

Leo got to his feet. His legs shook. His knee screamed. He stood anyway.

"I am not going to be fuel," he said.

"Every Player says that."

"Every Player is not me."

The Interlocutor's papers spun faster. The clockwork hands clicked louder.

"No," it said. "Every Player thinks they are different. Every Player is Wrong."

"We will see."

The Interlocutor tilted its head. The papers slowed.

"Yes," it said. "We will. Same as always.”

“What about Maya? She has been here long enough. Why haven't you taken her?”

“She is different than you already know. She is not like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will find out. Or maybe never.”

The air got heavier. The room got colder. The Interlocutor's shape started to fade. The edges of its suit became transparent. The paper face spun into nothing. The clockwork hands faded. The eyes closed one by one.

"One more thing," it said. Its voice was quieter now. Farther away. Like it was speaking from the end of a long tunnel.

Leo waited.

"Your father did not cry. At the end. When he was being processed. He did not cry. He did not beg. He did not scream."

Leo's throat closed.

"He said your name. Once. And then he was gone."

The Interlocutor disappeared.

The room went warm. The mirror was whole again. The cracks were gone. The glass was clear. The purple sky was back outside the window. The hum returned.

Leo stood in the middle of the room.

His face was wet. His hands were shaking. His chest hurt. His knee hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurts.

Denise came out of the corner. She walked to him slowly.

She put her hand on his arm.

Leo looked at her. Her green eyes were red. Her scar looked dark against her pale skin. Her hand was warm.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Leo shook his head.

"No," he said. "I am not okay."

Denise nodded. She did not say anything else. She just stood there with her hand on his arm.

They stood like that for a long time. Leo did not know how long. Minutes. Hours. Time did not matter.

He looked at the mirror. At his reflection. His face was a mess. His eyes were swollen. His nose was red. His lips were cracked.

He thought about his father saying his name. One time. At the end.

Not crying. Not begging. Not screaming.

Just his name.

Leo turned away from the mirror.

He walked to the window. He pressed his hand against the glass. The glass was warm now. It had been cold when the Interlocutor was here.

Somewhere out there, in the walls or the floors or the air, his father was fuel.

Leo pressed his forehead against the glass. The warmth felt good on his skin.

He closed his eyes. “He told me I could find my dad and we will go home together. He clearly manipulated me to play the useless game. This deception, I won't let it slide. He said he is just a clerk. I will find the owners and I will put them in their place.”

Denise took a step towards him. “That's impossible. No one has ever tried that.”

“They can hear you.”

“Of course.” He said out loud. Then he thought to himself. “ And they must be underestimating me right now. This game seems to be giving me some abilities. I will use it to my advantage and end this game. They have killed enough people already.”

He lifted his head from the glass. "I remember you, Dad," he whispered. His voice was raw. Broken. "I remember the way you tied knots. I remember the way you drank coffee. Black. No sugar. I remember the way you smelled after work. Like rain and metal. I remember you."

The hum got louder.

Leo took a step backwards.

The window cracked. Something on the other side was hitting it.

Not the Interlocutor this time. It was something else. Something that had heard him.

Denise grabbed his arm. Her fingers dug into his skin.

"Leo," she said. "What is that?"

Leo did not answer.

The crack spread faster. The glass bulged outward. Something was out there. Something that knew his father's name.

And it wanted in.