The Optogram Page 2

  “More than you know,” snapped Dothan.

  Bitch.

  He powered on his phone, but there was no signal. Frustrated, he held it above his head and wandered between the rows of heavy steel shelves, unable to get access.

  Dothan shoved the phone into his back pocket and turned toward a corridor of storage cartons, stretching the length and height of the basement. Astounded by the sheer number of boxes, he pulled out a container and peered inside at its dozens of red folders marked with white handwritten tabs. Intrigued, he took out a file. As he prepared to thumb through the information, though, a chill bolted through him. Nilesh had mentioned each contained images of dead eyes and autopsy photographs. His heart raced as he closed and replaced the box.

  Agnes slammed something onto the flimsy table. He flinched as the sound ricocheted around the steel shelving.

  If Nilesh doesn’t get here soon, I’ll give that old bat a reason to make some noise.

  If only he could distract himself with his cellphone in this hellhole. It was bad enough being stuck with that creepy witch, but without access to the outside, this place was intolerable.

  Footsteps signaled Agnes’s arrival. She appeared at the divide between the metal walls, and asked, “What do you think you’re doing back here?”

  “I’m…nothing. I’m doing nothing.”

  Agnes marched down the narrow row until she stood almost face to chest with Dothan. With her head lifted, the dark eyes narrowed. “Nobody,” she said, “not even the chairman of the board, gets to touch any of these without my permission. If you want something from a crate, you can fill out the proper form and I might get it for you. Otherwise, stay away from my files.”

  Queasy and shaking, his chest grew tight.

  Why is she standing so close to me?

  His armpits were damp with perspiration. It was becoming hard to breathe.

  Get away from me. You haven’t got the right to be so close.

  The corridor was too narrow to shuffle around Agnes, and a wall blocked his escape at the other end. The metal towers were closing in around him.

  She’s just staring at me. Why is she just staring at me?

  “Fine,” He shoved his shaking hands into his jean pockets. “If you’d just move, I could get out of here.”

  Agnes turned, forcing Dothan to follow her in a slow parade. As they reached the elevator bay, he wanted to run to the stairwell.

  Don’t puke, he thought as he rubbed his face. Just breathe and get a grip.

  The elevator beeped its arrival, revealing a grinning Nilesh, who kept the door from closing with one hand while extending a laptop and power supply in the other. “Sorry it took so long,” he said, “but I got hijacked along the way. So let’s see. Oh, I’ll let you know if we do any team get-togethers, and, if you have questions, I’m on Eyeball, that’s our private chat, or you can email, or just book time on the calendar. I’ll try to schedule a one-on-one every Wednesday. Right, I believe that’s all. You got anything else you need from me? No? Okay then, catch you later!” He stepped back, waved, and disappeared.

  Dumbfounded, Dothan’s hands clenched the laptop as he stared at the dull metal door of the elevator.

  Why didn’t I run when I had the chance?

  Agnes’ shoes squeaked as she scurried past him, carrying another box into the jungle of files, and he took a few more deep breaths.

  After everything that’s happened, this is my last chance to make something out of my life, and no crazy old woman or psycho basement will stop me.

  Dothan entered the alcove and placed the well-used laptop on the empty table designated as his desk. With a half-laugh, he covered his mouth with his hand.

  For fuck’s sake. They’ve taped the password to the cover.

  He dropped into the old office chair, and the sound of its squealing wheels echoed off the block walls. The only thing missing now was the requisite serial killer hiding behind one of the file cabinets.

  Dothan logged into the Dunlevy systems and began wading through a stream of Human Resources forms, documents, and video information. He fought to stay focused on the pages of legalese, but it was no use. He was desperate to begin the CTO’s pet project. Outside of anything paycheck related, the unending paperwork would just have to wait until he received an official ass-chewing from HR.

  While his cellphone continued to show no bars, it occurred to him he might try to connect it through the company’s wi-fi. He would never survive in this dungeon without a lifeline to the outside world.

  After pulling the network credentials, Dothan thumped his fist on the desk.

  Authentication by certificate? How can the damn wi-fi be the only thing they have secure?

  He threw his phone into his backpack as the grasp of anxiety clamped his chest even tighter. The pills rattled inside the pouch of his bag, and the aching desire whispered, “Just take one.”

  I can’t. Not now.

  Panic raged within him, demanding relief, but he could not dig into the remaining tablets until he could afford to replenish his stash. He would have to fight the cravings, no matter how much they intensified.

  He closed his eyes, assuring himself the desperation would ease once he began diving deep into his code for the project. Dothan rolled his neck. After a long breath, he reopened his eyes and scrolled through the job ticketing system until he found his name and read through the work orders assigned to him.

  Kid stuff.

  They wanted a database, categorization, digitization and scanning, all tied up in a webpage with a user interface so simple an ignorant research assistant could understand it. He scowled at the tedious monotony with its detailed rules and restrictions.

  I’ll never get through this steaming pile without my head exploding all over Agnes and her precious files.

  With crossed arms, he leaned back in the squeaky office chair. As he rocked, an idea flashed into his mind and he smiled.

  He had been told he could work without supervision and code the thing as he chose. With no one watching, it mattered little if he did the tasks as written. As long as tickets were closed within the posted timelines, he could leave them all in ignorance, until he unveiled software that was going to blow their tiny minds.

  Time to show those idiots upstairs what real code looks like, he thought.

  He found Nilesh had not exaggerated about the number of mislaid scans and images. Dothan found their numeric preface in public servers, employee directories, and email repositories. There had even been a few in an obscure network device called “DogSnot.” The hours of digging through disorganized file structures, though, paid off in the retrieval of a quarter of a million unique files which he transferred to a secure server available to him alone. While the vast majority of scans were easy to hook up to their image counterparts, hundreds were missing, which meant he might have to be civil to Agnes to get the hardcopy files.

  No way is that happening any time soon.

  Thousands of file-names stretched across his screen in tight rows. Each of the file names represented something even more frightening than Agnes and her forms. Dothan hesitated. There was no escaping staring into images of those decayed eyes.

  He hated dead things. As a child, mashed bugs and roadkill could throw him into a state of hysteria. He remembered his mother dragging him, screaming, toward the open coffin of one of her many boyfriends. “Everybody dies,” she whispered with a sneer, “and it’s time you realized it.”

  Since then, he had mitigated the problem by never confronting it, but it was clear without viewing the images, there was no choice. Either he fought his fear, or the project would be at a standstill and he could kiss his internship goodbye.

  Dothan nibbled at a cuticle as he highlighted the first image link.

  I can do this.

  His fingers twitched as they hovered over the mouse. Terrif
ied, he jerked back in his chair and crossed his arms tight around his chest. While his heart drummed in his ears, every muscle in his body pulsed in sync with the buzz of the flickering florescent light.

  Air. I can’t breathe. I need air.

  Dothan shut his laptop, jumped to his feet and ran to the elevator, panting as he pressed the LOBBY button.

  “Come on, come on!” he shouted, slapping the dark wood panels.

  The door opened, and the brilliance of the daylight blinded him. He stumbled past the reception desk.

  “Hey, you! How’s it going?” Bekkii’s layered jewelry jangled as she turned. “Dothan? You okay?”

  Eyes to the ground, he replied with a silent nod and bolted into the stifling air of the hot, cloudless afternoon. He ran from the building, choking as he inhaled. Gasping, he leaned against the corner of a small shop and tried to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and listened to the chattering bustle of people passing him on the street, willing his racing heart to slow. He inhaled and waited for a sense of calm to restore his reason, and as he exhaled, opened his eyes.

  As he walked back to the building, Dothan remembered the psychiatrist had rambled on about exposure therapy. While he had no use for most of that woman’s stupid parlor tricks, after completing his shift that night at the warehouse, he could try something similar. If he spent a few hours viewing a few living eyes online, it might be an easier transition to the dead ones at work.

  Back inside the Dunlevy lobby, he reassured a worried Bekkii he was fine, and returned to the basement. After setting up a private server within the company’s systems, he closed his computer and prepared to leave. He reached under his workstation, but found his backpack had been moved closer to the back wall.

  What an idiot he was. Why had he not taken it with him when he ran out that afternoon? With his head throbbing, Dothan ripped open the zipper of the side pouch. His pills were there, and everything else appeared to be just as he left it.

  He turned his chair to stare at the back of the one other person who inhabited the basement. As Dothan stood to confront Agnes, the alarm sounded on his watch. He had to leave or he would miss the only bus to Sunshine Warehouse.

  He grabbed his backpack and made his way to the elevator.

  The old witch lucked out this time.

  Chapter Two

  Dothan switched on the overhead light. He yanked off the bright yellow Sunshine Warehouse vest, and with a howl of joy, kicked it across the room. No more nights at that stinking barn for three months. If everything went as planned, he could be through with it forever.

  There was a sense of smug satisfaction as he pulled on his sweats and grabbed his personal laptop. He fell onto the squeaking springs of the old sofa and surveyed the shabby apartment.

  Just one more year and I’ll be out of this shit-hole. My past will be a memory, and that piece of paper will give me credentials to back up my talent. Those corporate assholes will crawl to me with offers.

  The bright future he desired, though, depended on the success of this project. Dothan rolled his shoulders and took a few deep breaths. What was the big deal? It was just a few gross pictures.

  He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from a kitchen cupboard and poured it into a glass. After taking a long drink of the amber liquid, he unzipped the side pouch of his backpack and removed a vial of small white pills.

  Just a half, he thought. It won’t put a big dent in my supply. I deserve it after everything I’ve been through today.

  As he held the tablet between his thumb and forefinger, his brain screamed to leave it whole. Without breaking the pill, he placed it on his tongue, and took another gulp of the liquor.

  Dothan settled back on the sofa and opened the laptop. He drained the last of the whiskey from the glass, and with a deep breath he pulled open a search engine and queried.

  He smiled. There was no reaction at all as he clicked through the images of gooey orbs laid out in a grid.

  Maybe the fucking shrink got it right. I just needed to face stuff.

  His hands trembled as he returned to the search engine and queried “post-mortem eye images.”

  A horrifying display of decomposed flesh and tissue pulled wide by sharp steel pincers greeted him. Dothan turned away from the gruesome exhibition.

  One more pill. That’ll fix it. It was stupid to think one was enough, anyway.

  He swallowed the second tablet, washing it down with a swig from the whiskey bottle.

  Within minutes, a warming calm washed over him. As the drug took effect, he leaned his head against his arm, closed his eyes and drifted between dozing and wakefulness.

  Dothan shook his head and gave his cheeks a few pats with the palm of his hands.

  Stay awake, you dork.

  Somewhat revived, he returned to the results with calm determination, choosing an image of a glazed blue eye.

  There was no response, nausea, or terror.

  I could stare at these things all day long. This is fucking awesome.

  “Hello, beautiful!” Certain he had conquered his fear, he blew sloppy kisses to the picture. “Eye see you. Do you get it?” He laughed and repeated, “Eye see you!”

  All that was left was the post-mortem retinal scans.

  “Screw them. They can’t be any worse than this. I’ll deal with those fuckers tomorrow. I know…I know what I need to do. I should call that psychiatrist and tell her she was a genius. What was her name? Doctor…something.” Dothan grinned. “Terry. Dr. Terry. That was it.”

  He had not thought of the beautiful psychotherapist in a very long time. They needed to bury the hatchet between them. After all, he was no longer angry over her unreasonable filing of that protective order.

  It was all her god-damned fault, anyway. That bitch was supposed to help me.

  Dothan scowled as he poured another drink. “I’ll call her. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll call and tell that whore how I got my life together after she left me stranded in that institution.”

  He drained the glass and grabbed his phone. As he laid his head against the back of the sofa, he faded into a contented cloud of inebriated darkness.

  “Dr. Terry,” he mumbled. “That fucking tease.”

  ***

  Jolted from a doze as the bus careened over a pothole, Dothan rubbed his neck. Two hours of sleep on the hard, lumpy couch left him aching, which no amount of ibuprofen could relieve. When the squealing brakes ended the journey, he shuffled to the sidewalk and yawned as he began the short hike to Dunlevy.

  He entered the lobby and offered a furtive wave toward Bekkii.

  “Morning.” She giggled. “From the look of you, I’d say someone had a good night.”

  A quick glance in a mirrored wall confirmed he had given less than his usual meticulous care to his appearance. His trembling hand smoothed back the errant strands of hair falling into his eyes.

  As he fought off the ever-growing nausea from the excess of the prior evening, he dragged himself into the elevator. He descended toward the damp basement and leaned against the dark-paneled wall, bracing himself for the disconcerting thud signaling his arrival.

  Dothan slumped into the squealing chair at his makeshift workstation, rubbing his face and untidy beard. As he flipped open the cover of his laptop, Agnes turned from her desk and sniffed.

  “Good lord, you smell like a distillery.”

  Fuck off, thought Dothan as he pulled up the image viewer.

  While he was high, viewing online decay and decomposition was a breeze. He hoped the dead irises and putrefied blood vessels produced the same result in the sober reality of his hangover.

  “Showtime,” he whispered.

  He selected the post-mortem images and set the slide show to automatic. As the first of the autopsied eyes drifted onto the screen, he choked, and every impulse in his agitated brai
n urged him to run. His hands clenched the arms of the broken chair and his fingernails indented the faux leather, but Dothan did not turn away.

  As he focused on the terrible parade, the maddening drumbeat of his pounding heart throbbed within his temple. His vision disfigured, as if peering through a fisheye lens, and to his horror, the images faded and transformed into a single pair of empty eyes veiled grayish-white in death. They stared past him into the darkness of the basement as a mottled, stiffened finger emerged from the monitor, pointing at Dothan.

  He screwed up his face with a scowl. “You don’t get to take this away from me,” he whispered. “Not this time.”

  Dothan closed his eyes, forcing the vision to dissolve. As his breathing slowed, the painful tightness of his chest eased, and he released his grip on the chair as he laid back against the wobbly headrest.

  I’m the one who’s alive, not you.

  He wiped the perspiration away from his upper lip and stopped the display.

  Now for those retinal scans. I got this.

  Tense with anxiety, he highlighted the first file-name and clicked on the slide-show. As an orange sphere with neon red veins slid across the monitor, he leaned back his head and chuckled. He had been sweating over nothing more than some bright, colorful plasma balls.

  While relieved he was finished viewing images, the experience had uncovered a larger problem. Every image was of ultra-low junk resolution, and he had to improve their quality before dropping them into any repository. Otherwise, the sleek project he had in mind would become just another cheesy database filled with blurry pixels.

  Dothan pulled up the task list. As he dug through its tedious details, he sighed and combed back his hair with his fingers.

  Why didn’t I read this stupid thing? I went through that shit for no reason at all.