White and Black

The conference room was shaking with noise: laughs, cries and occasional wing flaps. The wood table was already in place, stretching endlessly left and right.

Between the wall and the table stood a raised platform, almost hovering above the table. Behind it, the gold door was firmly shut, and John was expecting it to open any moment.

He was standing at his spot and was surprised to see the empty seat on his right.

“Paul, you’ve seen Mike?” he asked.

A chubby man of about forty was sitting on his left.

He shook his head.

“He’s never late,” John murmured.

He sat down and started his morning routine. He started from across the table, and counted toward the left. With time, he’d gotten very fast at it, and yet he’d never reached the end. Whenever he thought he made it, he’d blink, and more people would appear.

He’d never gotten to count the people on the right side at all.

He was at three hundred thirty one when someone nudged him.

“Excuse me—”

He ignored it and kept going.

Another one came, and then a third one, which was more of a shove and almost sent him toppling over the table.

“Hey!”

“Excuse me, sorry!”

A young boy of barely twenty was standing behind him.

“What is it?”

“Is this Mike’s seat?” the boy asked, pointing to the seat on John’s right.

“Why?”

“I’m— I am Mike.”

He put out his hand.

John looked at the boy’s hand, then looked up at his face.

“You’re not Mike,” he said. “Mike’s ugly.”

“They sent me to replace him,” the boy said. “Mike’s retired.”

“Who’s they? Are you lying, boy?”

The boy’s cheeks flushed.

“He. He sent me.”

John turned to Paul.

“Was Mike that old?”

Paul shrugged.

“Wish I could retire,” John murmured.

The two wings of the main door opened with a loud creak, and the conference room quieted down.

A tall bulky man stepped through. He wore a gold crown and the dark red cape was stretched across his shoulders.

It covered a hump on his back.

“Gabe’s here,” John whispered and turned to Mike. “Alright, sit down. We begin.”

The man stepped up on the platform. He put a book down and spoke, his voice reverberating up and down the table.

“Good morning.”

Everyone responded.

“Good morning Gabriel.”

“Tasks are assigned,” he said and snapped his fingers.

A square cutout appeared on the table in front of John and descended. It rose back up a moment later, with a white piece of paper.

John read as Gabriel continued.

“A new cycle starts today. New agents will be starting their watch. You may help them, as long as your assignments are handled.

“If you see a new agent mess up, feel free to report.”

John re-read the letter, then pulled it closer to his face and started reading again. A ball of rage started growing inside his stomach.

“It is all. Godspeed,” Gabriel said.

He climbed down the platform.

John stood up.

“Gabe— Gabriel!”

The tall man turned back, his eyebrows furrowed.

John was waving his paper in the air.

“What’s this?”

Gabriel’s face showed no reaction.

“I have a convicted criminal,” John said. “Why do I get a convicted criminal?”

“You know I don’t make the lists.”

John’s shoulders slouched and he stepped back. He looked at the paper again.

“But… I don’t understand. I’m sure there’s plenty of good people that need looking after. Why—”

“We don’t question his decisions. But if you really are hesitant, I can ping his assistant for you.”

“I— No. I’ll be fine.”

“Very well,” Gabriel said.

Without a sound, the table sank into the floor and everyone made their way to the offices.

John arrived at his desk a minute later.

His office was a square surrounded by thick floating mist that kept it separate from the others. His desk was pushed against the mist wall opposite the entrance and an ash wood chair was neatly tucked under it. A green and a red button were placed on each end of the desk.

John put the paper down and sat in his chair.

“Let’s see what you’re up to, asshole,” he said and pressed the green button.

The mist in front of him floated away to reveal a display. It flashed three times and then an image appeared. It showed a poorly lit apartment, with a small kitchen on one end, a leather sofa in the middle, and a small bar behind the sofa. In the far-right corner of the room was a wooden cot.

Carl was forty-five years old. His thin hair was brushing his shoulders and had started to grey. He was sitting on the sofa. His belt dug into his belly, which spilled over the waistband of his jeans.

John looked at the file again.

“Three counts of grand theft, two counts of burglary, two counts of robbery. One count for drunken assault. Thirteen years in prison.

“You got off easy.”

Carl reached in his pocket, pulled a cigarette and lit it up. A puff of smoke filled the apartment.

“Scum,” John said and leaned back in his chair.

He’d lost track of time when a sharp voice called.

“Hey, John? Do you have a minute?”

He shuddered in his chair.

Mike’s head was peering through the mist.

“Ring the bell next time!” he said. “Go away, I’m busy.”

“My assignment went to sleep. They said I could tag along with senior folks to learn. Do you mind?”

John looked at the camera above his cubicle.

“Fine,” he said. “But grab your chair. I don’t have spares.”

Mike was back a minute later.

“Just keep your hands to yourself, okay? I don’t want you accidentally throwing me on the floor.”

“Wait, I can do that?”

“Didn’t they tell you?”

Mike’s face lit up.

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” John said.

“No!— No. They must have cut it short.”

“The single most important rule, and they cut it short?”

Mike blushed.

“You can control other agents,” John said. “Like me, or Paul. And you must never do it.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Don’t ask me. Something about equality. But you must absolutely never do it. Got it?”

“What’s the punishment?”

“Exile,” he said. “You’re sent down.”

Mike’s jaw dropped.

“Down? Like, all the way down?”

John laughed.

“Do we look like brutes? You are sent down with the humans.”

“Has anyone been exiled?”

“There’s been a few. I’ve never heard of them after, though. Enough, come. Time to learn."

Mike looked around.

He pushed his chair next to John and sat down.

He kept his hands in his pockets.

“I was wondering,” Mike said. “How often do we need to assist? Since I started, my assignment had a coffee, went for a smoke, and then watched TV for…”, he said and pulled out a notebook. “Thirty four minutes. Then he fell asleep.”

“You writing everything down?” John asked.

Mike looked at his notebook and smiled.

“I like keeping track.”

“You’re having a great first day if your assignment is already asleep,” John said.

“I don’t feel very… useful.”

John rolled his eyes.

“You don’t want to be running around holding their hands and putting on their shoes all the time. You’re gonna get burned out.

“On an average day you might need to assist once or twice at most. They get rowdy around the holidays, though. Always drinking one too many, and then you need to move slippers away and wipe water off the floor.”

Mike was writing in his notebook.

“Have you done anything for your assignment today?” he asked.

“No,” John said.

Mike was looking at John’s display, and then pushed his chair closer.

Carl was walking to the far-right corner.

“What’s that?”

“What?”

“The cradle. I think there’s something inside.”

John moved the display.

“What the—”

A baby was asleep in the cot, wrapped in a white blanket. A small birthmark on its right cheek stood out.

“Motherfucker! He was smoking here!”

John grabbed the assignment paper again and looked it over.

“He doesn’t have any offspring,” he said. “It’s not his baby. And he was smoking!”

Mike was looking in, his head almost touching the display.

“Can’t you get the baby out?”

“What?”

“Lift the baby up, and get it out through the window?”

“We can’t control them. Only their surroundings.”

“We can control other agents, but not humans?”

“I told you, don’t ask me.”

Carl bent down, grabbed a blanket and pulled it over the baby.

“It says here he had a sister. Died two weeks ago. That has to be her baby,” John said.

He leaned back in his chair and threw the paper at Mike.

“Look at this. Did you know he spent thirteen years in prison?” John said. “Got drunk and assaulted a woman. I don’t know why anyone would be assigned to look after this guy.”

“You sounded quite angry earlier. With Gabriel,” Mike said.

“Of course I was! Thirteen years in prison. Two years in alcohol rehab, two years in coke rehab. Gambled his savings and his mother’s pension,” John said. “This guy is a walking dopamine deficit.”

“Maybe it’s his second chance?”

“Second? Are you not listening? This guy’s had a dozen!”

Mike pushed his chair further back.

“Sorry kid. But he’s not a good guy.”

“It says here he’s been volunteering at a soup kitchen for three years now,” Mike said. “Maybe he’s changed.”

They sat in silence for a while before Mike spoke again. He was pointing at the display.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” he asked.

Carl was at the bar behind the sofa, uncapping a bottle of whiskey.

“Let him.”

“But you said he was a drunk. He might do something. To the baby.”

“He already smoked near the baby. Let him ruin his liver a bit more. He’ll probably just doze off after.”

Carl filled up the glass and downed it in one go.

He poured another right after.

“I really think you should do something,” Mike said.

“It’s not—”

Carl looked at the second glass for a moment, then raised it to his lips.

“Alright, alright,” John said.

He got up and stretched his arms.

“Have you seen interventions before?”

Mike shook his head. His eyes gleamed.

“Your powers only work in a small area around your assignment. For safety reasons.

“First, you want to focus on the person. See them, feel them. Then, look at their surroundings,” John said and spread his palms forward.

“Try to visualise what you want to do. Maybe you want to move a chair. Or block a falling rock.

“Then, feel it,” he said and moved his hand through the air. “And execute. Like so.”

John yanked his hand up.

The whiskey bottle shook and the liquid floated up through the bottleneck.

John waved his hand forward, and the dark-brown cloud moved toward the kitchen.

John closed his hand in a fist, and the liquid dropped down.

Part of it poured in the sink, but a part splashed on the wooden floor.

“Whoops. He’ll have to clean it up.”

Mike’s mouth was wide open.

Carl grabbed the bottle again. He grimaced, and then pulled another cigarette from his jacket.

He lit it up and headed for the sofa, stumbling on every step.

“I think you let him have one too many,” Mike said. “He can barely walk.”

“That explains everything. Guy’s a lightweight.”

Carl lurched toward the kitchen.

“Can’t you plop him on the sofa?”

“I told you, we can’t control them. Only their surroundings.”

“You can get the sofa to him,” Mike said.

John hesitated.

He twisted his fingers, keeping his hand out of Mike’s sight.

The whiskey bottle tumbled down from the table and broke, sending shards all over the wooden floor.

The loud crash spooked Carl. He stumbled, tripped on the carpet and fell forward.

He caught himself on the backrest of the sofa.

“What was that?!” Mike said. “Did you do that?”

“What? No. He must’ve put the bottle down wrong.”

Carl propped himself up and walked around the sofa. He was at the armrest when he screamed.

“AAAH!”

He was hopping, trying to stay off his right foot.

“Did the moron just step on glass?!”

Carl hopped again, but couldn’t find his feet on landing.

His ankle twisted and he toppled.

His body hit the floor first, and then his hand landed with a crack.

Mike cringed.

“Ouch!”

The cigarette fell from his lips and onto the floor.

It rolled toward the kitchen.

John realised a moment too late.

He screamed.

“NO!”

The flame erupted in a blink.

The whiskey on the floor ignited, and the flames travelled up the cabinet and into the sink. The flame tongues reached up and threatened the wall cabinets.

“Fuck!”

John waved and a shadow flew across the room.

A blanket landed on top of the flames and calmed them down, for a moment. The flames blazed through the cotton in seconds. The inferno roared again, throwing shadows on the walls.

“Water,” Mike said. “Water!”

John waved and glasses flew out of the shelves and landed in the sink. The tap blew off and water started pouring into the glasses.

John raised them in the air once full, and smashed them on the floor.

It only provoked the flames.

Orange tongues curved against the ceiling and reached toward the living room.

A cry came through the display.

“Shit, the baby! The baby!” Mike yelled. “Get it out!”

“I can’t! It’s a human, I can’t move it!”

“Do something!”

John closed his eyes and grunted.

The cot shook, but didn’t move.

“It’s not working! I can’t move the baby!”

John leaned on the desk, his head almost touching the display.

“This is all my fault.”

Feet shuffled behind him.

By the time he turned, Mike was already at the red button.

“We need help,” he said, and pressed the button.

He waited for a moment, then pressed it again.

He pressed it again and a gust of wind shook the mist.

Gabriel stood between them.

“What is it?” he said.

He looked at the flaming display.

“Is that your assignment? Is he dead?”

“He fell,” John said.

“He fell? What were you doing?”

“He— He tripped. Alcohol, cigarettes— Fuck!”

“Wake him up!”

John put his eyes back on the display.

Wooden spoons and steel ladles flew through the air and jammed against the static body.

Nothing happened.

“It’s not working,” John said.

“Good job,” Gabriel said. “You’re going to lose your assignment.”

“Can’t you do something?” Mike said.

“I can give the both of you a spanking if that’ll make you happy.”

The fire had almost reached Carl and was latching onto the curtains.

“There’s a baby,” Mike said. “You have to do something!”

“There’s nothing I can do!” Gabriel yelled at Mike.

John was bent over the desk.

“Send me down,” John said.

“What?”

“You know what I mean. Send me down.”

“Are you insane? No! I need you here!”

John put his hand up to the side.

Mike’s chair croaked, then his feet came off the ground.

“Hey!” he objected. “What is this?!”

His entire body was up in the air a moment later.

“Hey! Put me down!”

Gabriel’s face melted with anger.

“You are insane! You—”

John closed his palm, and the boy landed back in his chair.

“There,” John said. “I’ve broken the rule.”

“You will—”

“We don’t have time for this!” John yelled. “Send me down!”

Gabriel stepped back.

His long black hair was sticky with sweat and his gold crown was tilted to the side.

He put his hand to his crown and chanted.

Behind him, the mist shifted.

“I won’t witness this.”

Gabriel was gone.

A man stepped out of the mist behind him.

“I’m sorry,” John said.

The man pushed his red cloak aside, revealing a pearl white tunic.

“Why, John?” he said.

John kept his head down and pointed at the window.

“The babe— It’s my fault.”

The fire reached Carl.

“Please. There’s no time,” John said again, his voice down to a whisper.

“Look at me, John,” the man said.

John raised his head.

“Please, while I can still save him.”

“I am sorry,” the man said.

He raised his right hand.

“Farewell, son. Be strong.”

The man waved, and John was gone.

“Okay, here we are,” the nurse said. “This is the main stay. Most of them are in bed, so you can have him all to yourself.”

The nurse stepped closer and kept her voice down.

“But please, go easy on him. He… he’s a tormented soul.”

Anna silently unclipped the pen from her notebook.

“I promise, I’ll be gentle.”

Anna sat down next to the white-haired man.

He was a thin man, with thick beard running down to his chest. He could have been anywhere between sixty and eighty.

“Hi Mr. Dimesh. My name is Anna. I would like to ask you some questions,” she said.

“Go away,” the man said.

“Please, just a few questions. We’ll be done before you know it.”

The man waved, as if chasing flies away.

“Go away!”

“What happened in the fire, Carl? That day, how did you get out?”

“I told you. I told you!”

“They found you unconscious on the pavement with two broken ankles. How did you get out?”

“Go away! Nurse!”

Anna unclipped a photo from the notebook and held it in front of the old man.

Carl hesitated.

He took it, and put it close to his face.

It showed a blonde girl with freckles holding an ice cream.

A dark birthmark was etched into her right cheek.

“Is this…”

“Yes. I found her.”

A tear rolled off Carl’s cheek and he started sobbing.

“I should have died that day,” he murmured.

“He saved us.”