I'm only human

I’m only human. People only say that after doing something they know is wrong. As though being human is a justification for their mistakes. I’m only human, like our tendency to do wrong in our nature. As if doing bad things is not so much a choice as it is innate.

“I’m only human,” the man cries while squirming around in the rope tying him down to this metal chair. The moment he figured out a way to move the duct tape off of his mouth, he delivered the most pathetic speech about nothing. He began talking about his wife and kids, as though it made him appear more human. He promised millions of dollars to let him go, but he could give away billions and miss it the way you would miss a cut toenail. He apologized for things no one would care about, and for things that could earn him a seat in a place much hotter than this abandoned warehouse. Only human. Even after what feels like a millennium of blabbing, he has no idea why he’s here, or who he is pleading to. And in this moment, I wish I’d bought better duct tape.

Like a wraith, I emerge from the shadows. His voice quivers mid-sentence as his widened eyes set on me. I wear no mask, no disguise, and still I know he won’t recognize me. His expression says as much. He wrinkles his greying brows that fail to catch the sweat pouring down his face and onto his suit. His eyes fall to the gun in my hand, which points downwards as my arm hangs by my side, but my pointer finger traces around the trigger. My other hand is fiddling with a small velvet box in my pant pocket that I’ve carried around for months.

“Who are you?” he asks in a meek tone.

“No one you’ll remember.” I barely recognize the sound of my voice as it growls from my lips. But recognizing is the least of my concerns and the greatest of his.

“Almost a year ago,” I start, “a young woman died working in one of your warehouses—” I pause as my throat unexpectedly dries.

“If…if it’s money you want…”

“What I want is for you to shut up and listen!” I shout, and he flinches. I calm my voice, “I will let you go…” His eyes light up. “If you tell me her name.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says flatly. “I am. But I have over a million employees. You can’t expect me to remember one person’s name.”

“You’ll sit there until you remember.”

“Well I can’t!” he yells furiously.

I look at him narrowly, watching him cower under my gaze, fury turning to fear. “Then you will die in this warehouse.”

He pauses his expressions, pondering my words. Then the reality of the situation settles on his face—the realization that his money won’t buy him options here. He begins to blink excessively as his eyes dart around the room.

“Jan—” he begins to slowly sound out, lips trembling.

“Nope!”

“Mari—”

“Try again.”

Tears well up in his eyes. I wait until one falls before saying my next piece.

“Do you require a hint?” I ask, coldly. “I’ll only give you three.”

He nods like he’s a starving dog and I'm dangling a treat before his nose. And contrary to what I imagined, it’s more pathetic than it is gratifying.

“She died of lead poisoning," I say.

His eyes search the room like he expects to find the answer around him. Then, blinking aggressively with wider eyes, his gaze returns to me. “The North Vale location!”

He looks at me like I have a prize to give him. Instead, I return him a glare.

“We—we found lead in our products. It was a terrible accident, but we’ve rectified the situation since. We no longer purchase from TEX materials. The company regrets what happened with…with this beloved employee, and her contributions to the company will not be in vain, I swear it.”

I say nothing and watch the echoed silence bring him discomfort. Maybe he’s used to applause after his usual spewing of bullshit, but all it’s done was make me tighten my grip on my gun.

“I’m not hearing a name…” I say as calmly as my voice will allow.

“I need another hint,” he begs.

I give him what he asks. “She won 'most dedicated employee' last year at the company’s annual award ceremony.”

He ponders for a long moment, furrowing his eyebrows.

“That night…,” I add, “in your opening speech…, you said that you approved of each award winner. That you could vouch for the qualities of every one of them. Are you telling me that you can’t remember the name of the winner you vouched for that died in one of your warehouses?”

His head is held for some time before he looks up at me. “You were there?”

“Not only was I there,” I reply, “but we met.”

He’s dumbfounded, “Do you know how many people I meet in a day, let alone at an event like that?”

My silence and the crossing of my arms reminds him that his excuses are wasted on me.

“My last hint…please,” he mutters.

I sigh. “She was the love of my life.”

He grimaces. “That’s not a good hint, I don’t even know you.”

“You should.”

He shoots his head back, stunned, offended.

“I need a better hint, please, something else!”

I only stare at him, watching him rock back and forth as much as he can with the rope keeping him restrained. His breathing grows heavy, and his groans become louder.

“This isn’t fair!”

“No!” I yell. “What isn’t fair is that she died and you deserved it more!”

I expect him to cower at my yell, but instead he remains still, squinting at me skeptically.

We did meet,” he says, as though the fierceness in my voice was somehow familiar. “You were the one who…” His eyes unfocus, like he regrets starting the sentence.

I uncross my arms and step towards him. “I was the one… who told you about the lead in your products,” I say. “I was the one who found research showing that lead was present in the materials you were using. At the ceremony, I brought with me a folder full of documents proving as much. You shook my hand, you heard my plea, and then you said you’d handle it. And I believed you, because you sounded like you cared. I should have known you were lying when you threw the folder at your assistant and continued downing your champagne like you hadn't just received life-altering news. You said you wanted to handle it quietly, and I let you, because I didn't want the company to go down and to leave—leave her out of a job. She was terrified, but she had no other option but to work for you. You could have done something, but you didn’t, and now she’s gone.”

His averted gaze makes him look guiltier than ever. Maybe even apologetic. Although, upon watching him further, his upset expression appears more bothered than anything. Like he’s waiting for the discomfort of the moment to leave so he can move on.

“There was a settlement,” he mutters suddenly. “Her family sued and we agreed to a settlement.”

Surely, the reminder of this legal document is certain to persuade someone who’s already acting outside of the law.

I answer him anyway. “I never got the chance to join her family…legally, so I agreed to no such settlement.” The reminder of what could have been almost chokes me up. I grab hold of the velvet box in my pocket for comfort. Inside it, a gift—a promise that I didn't have the chance to make to her.

Perhaps my despair is easily readable, because he doesn’t try to fill the silence with more excuses. Instead, he shrinks in the metal chair, squirming some more in the tightness of the ropes. He holds his gaze on the ground by his feet. I can’t tell if he’s praying or thinking. Is this remorse? Pity? With his head down and hands trembling, I think I see a sliver of humanity in this man. And then he mutters something under his breath.

“Pierce,” he mumbles.

I look at him, stunned.

His head shoots up. “Pierce,” he says again. “D– Di– Pierce. De– Devon! Devon Pierce! It’s Devon Pierce, right?”

I can’t bring myself to nod, but my blank stare says enough.

“Devon Pierce. Please, it's Devon Pierce! Please let me go.”

I didn’t expect him to remember. I hadn’t planned for this.

I planned to wait weeks, even months for him to remember. I planned to be at the warehouse for a some hours each day to wait for an answer, but not so often as to raise suspicion. I planned for the smell for when he would inevitably shit himself, and prepared myself to ignore his cries when he’d get hungry. I learned how to use a gun and prepared myself in case I was threatened to use it. All this preparation just for him to remember her name in a few short hours.

“You said you’d let me go!” he shouts hysterically. I ignore his tantrum, and in my mind, I recall the speech that played on every news outlet following her funeral. I’d memorized it inadvertently after playing it back again and again for months.

“In this digital age, our company prides itself on being run entirely by humans,” I recall, watching his eyes widen slightly at the sound of his own words being spewed from my mouth. “And as humans, we make mistakes. The moment we discovered our raw materials contained lead, we took immediate action to cut all ties with our supplier TEX materials. We are deeply saddened by the passing of Devon Pierce, and her contributions to the company will not be in vain. Our company is committed to the safety and protection of our employees and consumers.”

I pause for a reaction, but he doesn’t give one.

“Did you mean any of what you’d said in that statement?”

He nods. But of course he doesn’t mean it. ‘The moment we discovered our raw materials contained lead, we took immediate action…’ If he lied about one part of it, surely any other word from his mouth can't be trusted.

As I look upon him, I search in his eyes for a sliver of sincerity. Instead, I notice the skin under his eyes—grey and sagging. His suit is dishevelled, drenched in sweat. His hands are red and blemished from past attempts to break free from the rope. In this metal chair, he has no power, no influence, no name that matters. He’s just a man.

“You promised you’d let me go.” His voice is tired and empty. But he’s right, I did promise.

With a sigh, I grab his belongings from the ground. Keys, a wallet, and a phone which lights up as I grab it. And as the bright screen catches my eye, I glance down at it where a notification of a recently missed meeting is displayed. A meeting with TEX materials.

I toss the belongings on his lap before untying the rope. Then, I keep my distance as he gathers his things in his pockets and takes cautiously to his feet, straightening the wrinkles in his suit.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” he mutters, soothing the rope burn on his hands. “As CEO, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure this never happens again, and that Devon’s name is never again forgotten.”

I say nothing. I watch him awkwardly look around for the exit; a stranger to his own warehouses. Once he finds it, his head is suddenly a bit higher, and his shoulders further back. His slow walk towards the door is terribly calm and unjustly self-assured. But all of a sudden, something new enters my field of vision: my own arm has slowly risen, with my gun pointed right at his back. The bang is louder than expected. The force causes me to lose my footing. And in just a few seconds, his body falls to the ground; the thud being music to my ears—music I hope Devon can hear from wherever she is. Music that lets her know she can finally rest.

In my mind, I’d planned to play by the rules I’d laid out. I was ready to let him go if he’d given me her name, truly. But as it turns out, getting a name wasn’t enough. Maybe deep down, I knew he was dead the moment I tied him to that chair. But after what he’d done—what he’s continuing to do, can you really blame me? I’m only human, after all.