$100K an Hour

This is a short story about a person being paid $100K an hour to complete a job but they don't know what the job is.

“Here. Have some water.”

The doctor poured a glass of water for me and patiently waited for me to finish, watching my every move as if they were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.  I handed her the glass and started to ask,

“So why am I�"”

“Stand here,” she interrupted.

I climbed onto the weigh scale and proceeded to be poked and prodded. Every time I started to say something or ask a question the doctor or one of her nurses interrupted me.

“Could you tell me why�"”

“Hold this.”

“What are you�""

“Put these on.”

Getting increasingly frustrated, I shouted, “Would you tell me why I’m here?”

They all looked at me with confused expressions as if I’d asked something truly bizarre. The seconds went on and no one made a sound. The doctor laughed.

“Stand here.”

And with that she and her nurses gathered their gear and left the room for the enclosure behind the mirror. I was left alone with only my thoughts. I continued to wonder why I was brought to this place, but I couldn’t think of anything. It looked like a room kept prepared for the insane. There were white walls on all sides; even the floor was made of white tiles. There was nothing in the room either, not even a chair. I turned around where I stood to get a better look at my surroundings but there was not much else to look at�"a crack in the ceiling, a dead bug in the light, a small vent on the wall.

“Hey! Can anybody hear me?” I shouted at the mirror. I was sure after seeing so many cop shows that they were standing on the other side, watching me. But why? What am I supposed to be doing?

“Could you at least tell me what I’m supposed to be doing?”

I got no response. I remembered a few days ago Mrs. Harrington asked me if I wanted to take on a job with a big payout, but she never told me what it was. I wondered if she signed me up anyway. The Harringtons are always doing that, especially Mrs. Harrington. She’ll promise that the harder the job the more money it’ll pay and regardless of whether or not I gave my consent she’ll agree to my doing it. I’d always wondered where she found jobs like these. If this was the job with the big payout she mentioned, how much money would I be paid?

“Hey! How much money am I being paid for this?”

There was a static sound and a sharp screech before a man responded, “You’ll be paid $100 thousand dollars for every hour you spend with us.”

My heart lost its rhythm. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. $100 thousand? Per hour? But that bit of information only led to more questions. Where did Mrs. Harrington find a job offer like this? And what on Earth was I supposed to be doing. Whatever it was, I was ready and most of all excited to do this job. I paced back and forth in the room for a while and stretched a bit while I waited. At any second, I expected them to come back over the intercom and give me some instructions. I counted the minutes in my head for a while; there was no clock. Eventually, I lost track; so, I concluded that an eternity had passed.

“Any minute now. You can tell me what I’m to do at any minute now,”

Still nothing. I sat on the floor and started to count the ceiling tiles. When I was done with that, I got up and started counting the floor tiles. Still nothing. It was starting to seem ridiculous that I would get paid so much for my time and they wouldn’t even start their experiment on time. I began flailing my arms around in front of the mirror. I knew I looked insane, but I was hoping that it would get their attention. Were they pretending that they weren’t there? That would be stupid. They clearly answered my question over the speaker earlier, so I know that they can hear me at least.

I gave up on the mirror for a while and started pacing around the room again, counting the laps I made every time I went around. I started to contemplate all the reasons I could be there. Maybe they are running late and this was supposed to be some type of exercise experiment. I was probably supposed to do some jumping jacks or something. I proceeded to do five jumping jacks. Maybe they’re lulling me into a false sense of security and at any moment they’re going to jump out and try to scare me. I’d really riled myself up with that thought. I started inching along the walls trying to find crevices or inconsistencies in the wall, places where someone could jump out of. I scanned the walls and the floors for a while but found nothing. I wasn’t satisfied with my answer, so I continued thinking, never forgetting to watch for sneak attacks. I’d started to think that maybe there was someone I was supposed to fight. That’s how all my last jobs were. In the previous three jobs Mrs. Harrington booked for me, I was someone’s bodyguard or hitman. There was no way it could be the same case here; there was no one to protect and how could I take care of someone in a room with no weapons or hiding spaces…that I knew of. But then…what if I was the one being taken out. I was shaken by the last thought and continued frantically looking for a back door out of the room. I started to bite my nails, enraged that Mrs. Harrington would betray me. She’d have me killed after all I’d done for her. I stomped my foot on the floor; when I looked up, I saw the vent. Spirits lifted, I ran to the other side of the room and examined it as a potential exit. It was too high for me to just climb out but if I got a running start, I was sure I would be able to reach it. So, I stepped back a few feet and rushed towards the vent. Too short. I stepped back further and repeated. Too short. This time I went all the way to the other side of the room and charged at full speed. And I got it. I was able to stick my fingers through the groves of the vent and hang on to it. But I didn’t think that plan all the way through. The vent was nailed to the wall and no matter how much I pulled on it, it wasn’t budging. I threw myself down from the wall and continued pacing. I paced long enough for me to realize that no way Mrs. Harrington would get rid of me. I’m too useful. I argued back and forth with myself about her loyalty until I couldn’t think about it anymore. I went back to counting the minutes and how many laps around the room I’d taken. When I grew tired, I sat; when I grew bored, I paced some more.

I was calm for a while, but doubts started eating at me again. What if this was all a plot to kill me? There are only two exits: the door the doctor left out of and the vent. I ran to the door and yanked on it. Locked. I pulled on it again and again. And neither time did it move; it was as if I’d imagined to door and all I was really tugging on was the wall. I ran to the vent again and pulled on it. It was just as stationary as before. I surmised that since they were trying to assassinate me, there was probably someone in the vent with a rifle. I snatched off my shirt, made my way to the vent and started stuffing my shirt through the holes. That way they wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot and if they moved the shirt, I’d notice. But what about the mirror. The mirror! I had forgotten about the mirror. They could see my every move. If they wanted to kill me, they had a whole wall of mirror to see me through. Frantically, I threw myself to the ground. Crawling on my belly, I made my way to the brick just below the mirror. They couldn’t see me there. I was sure of it. There were no cameras in the room. I was sure of it. I was sure…But the light. What about the light? There’s no way they’d plan to kill me without having a back up plan. Of course, the thing in the light was a camera, not a bug. How could I have been so foolish to think that it was a bug? I didn’t know what to do. Should I have moved to take out the camera or stayed in my current position? I crouched down as low as I could and held onto my legs. My eyes never left that dot on the light. It could’ve just been a bug but then again, maybe it wasn’t.

For some reason, I started to feel guilty. What did I do to upset Mrs. Harrington? Why would she want to kill me? I thought I had been doing a good job up until now, but I guess I was mistaken. I sat latching onto my legs for a while, continuously wondering when my death would come and if she’d be happy to see me go. No. I couldn’t think like that. I had to figure out a way out of there even if it was just to ask her why. I bolted for the door and started yanking on it and yanking on it and yanking on it and yanking on it and yanking onit and yankingonit and yankingonitand yankingonitand yankingonitandyaning…until my hands started to bleed. Even with all that, the door hardly budged or even made a sound. I realized that it must’ve been futile. Slowly and in stunned silence, I walked to the center of the room, sat down and said,

“Oh. It must’ve been the water.”

Author's Note

I don't write very often. Please feel free to tell me where I could improve. Thanks.