Diminished

I went into the office again the next day. I wrote a piece on the jazz cafe. It was terrible, and I knew it. But I didn’t think the person who hired me was interested in the article in the first place. They were interested in me. It wasn’t going to be published anywhere. I think Tessa understood this. I received no reprimand for the slop I turned in.

Tessa walked over to my desk with an envelope in hand. “Another new assignment for you. You’re going to love this…”

I knew what was inside before I opened it up.

On the way to my assignment at the jazz cafe I decided to stop for lunch at the sandwich shop. I didn’t dare look down the street to the other corner.

“You’re back,” the man said.

“I am.”

“What kept you away?”

“Some things came up.”

He nodded.

“Same thing as always?”

“Yes please.”

I’d beat the factory workers by just a couple minutes.

“Look who came back to eat with the rabble,” the bald one said.

“Hey man, you’re alright with us. He’s just a dick from time to time,” another said in my defense.

I nodded. “It’s fine.”

I sat as far as possible from them. I could still hear their conversation as though they were at my table.

“You’re sure tomorrow’s the day?”

“Tomorrow’s the fucking day. We start work on three separate orders due by the end of next week. If we boycott, I’m certain that Mr. Jacob will understand exactly how fucked he is and give us what we want.”

“And what is it that we want again?”

“Paid time off! Improved benefits. A union.”

“A union? My friend Dan tried that once. A year or two ago.”

“And how’d it work out?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

The group was silent for a few seconds.

“Well maybe you could ask him?” someone offered.

“Sure, I can ask him. But probably not by tomorrow.”

“Maybe we should-”

“We’re not postponing!” the bald man said. “We’re not fucking postponing. We’ve made our preparations, we’ve picked the best possible time to do it, and we’re absolutely prepared.”

“What about the union?”

“We’ll figure out the union when they ask to talk about the union. And that’s all there is to it!”

There was silence again. It seemed that the group had acquiesced to their leader. I finished my ham on rye, thanked the burly man, and left.

“So are you guys just going to keep hiring me until I do the next job?” I asked the barista.

He didn’t respond. He seemed consumed by the act of polishing glasses. Then, as though he’d suddenly remembered, he stopped polishing a glass and set the phone on the countertop. I stared at it. I stood across from the barista and ordered a coffee. He nodded and got to work. I sighed.

“You know,” I said tiredly, “I think you know more than you let on. About all of this. I think you know the pianist, I think you know the voice on the phone, I think you know all about me. I know you can’t respond to that, so don’t worry. But I’m worn out, and I feel like I’ve gotta vent to someone.”

The barista finished my coffee and slid me a mug on a saucer.

“Thank you,” I said. I took a sip. It was really, really good. I’d become accustomed to black coffee. When had it happened? “I’ve gotta go. But one day I’m going to figure it all out. Without doing another one of your goddamn jobs.”

I took the mug and turned to leave. As I did so, I heard the side door open. I turned. A woman in a black and white tuxedo with white satin gloves. She had short blonde hair and looked a bit older than me. Maybe mid to late thirties.

She didn’t so much as glance at me. She walked straight to the piano and began to play.

It was that song.

The same song that had started all this. I thought of my bass and the way I’d imagined playing along with this person. And now, here she was before me.

I stood without moving until the song was finished. I couldn’t say whether two minutes had passed or an hour. It was just me and that song. But something had unsettled me. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.

The pianist got up to leave just as suddenly as she’d arrived. Then, I understood.

“You didn’t play the chord.”

She stopped. She didn’t look back.

“B flat diminished. You didn’t play it. It was the same song, wasn’t it? Why not? Why didn’t you-”

“There isn’t a song,” she said coldly. Her voice was low and enticing and completely neutral. “There’s life. I sit at that piano and I play. Then I leave and the music is gone. If you heard a difference…”

“Then what? I heard it. A difference. A damn big one.”

“In that case there’s only one possibility. The world has changed. And so has life.”

She opened the side door and left. There was more I wanted to ask her, so much more. But chasing her never crossed my mind. And now, I’d seen her. I felt I’d see her again.

The phone rang on the countertop. I walked over and answered it.

“I keep my word,” the voice said. “You did the job, you got the pianist. If you do the next one, you get your fiance.”

“I can’t… I can’t kill again. It’s unreasonable, I-”

“You didn’t kill.”

“How can you say that? I-”

“That woman was already trapped in an inescapable web. There was nothing to be done. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else.”

“But it was me. I read the script. I said the words that made her take that gun and-”

“It’s time to calm down. There are bigger issues at play, are there not? You want her back. You told me as much on that day. It still holds true, I’m certain of it. So do this, and you’ll get her back forever.”

I shook my head.

“Why me? Why do I have to be the one you pick for this?” I uttered. I was nearly crying.

“I didn’t choose you. You were there, and so it had to be you. I had no say in the matter. There is only one distinction that matters in my world. Those who observe fate, and those who don’t.”

Fate.

Suddenly I smelled the apple cider from that day and I began to itch. My mind was trying to steal my consciousness into that kitchen.

I shook my head. Hard. I wasn’t going back.

“So, will you do it? The next job? It will be quick. You won’t kill anyone. In fact, it’s as easy as delivering a letter.”

As he said this, the barista held up a large white envelope with a red wax seal. He slid it across the countertop toward me. He kept his hand atop it.

“I…”

“Isn’t love a wonderful thing? And lucky you, you were one of the people to find it. So you know exactly how wonderful it is. Are you really telling me you wouldn’t deliver a file to protect it?”

I was trembling. A file…

“Fine. But I do it tonight, then we’re done.”

There was a click. The voice was gone. The barista took his hand off the envelope, then produced another from under the counter and set it atop the other. This new one was clearly labeled ‘INSTRUCTIONS.’

I wiped away burgeoning tears from my eyes and opened the envelope.

It was cold and dark and wet. The remnants of the rain on the ground seemed to stick to my shoes. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe my feet were doing what they could to resist me.

The warehouse doors were illuminated by a flickering streetlight. I pressed a hand on one of them and it gave way. Unlocked, as promised. It was dark inside too, but a couple hanging industrial light fixtures provided a bit of insight into the place. There was a bevy of machinery. The machines’ functions were entirely lost on me. I started to walk down an aisle of what looked to be conveyor belts. Several mechanical arms and hands stood near the belts. Part of this process was automated.

On another belt there were several parts strewn about. It saw a large gear and a metal casing of some sort and a-

And a machine hand.

The same sort of hand I saw attached to the automated arms on the last belt. I walked back to confirm this, and found the part to be identical. I walked quickly to another belt, where a machine was further along in its creation. I was certain now. The men in this factory were manufacturing machines to automate other factories. Factories just like this one.

With each machine they created, they were surely displacing another worker just like them. Maybe even a worker who goes to the same sandwich spot every day…

But they were going to strike tomorrow morning. Which meant there was hope. I walked up a set of metal stairs to an office which overlooked the whole process. The door was unlocked, so I walked inside and set the envelope on the expensive looking wooden desk. There were various papers sorted neatly in stacks. Behind the desk were shelves filled with seemingly identical binders. I reached to pick one off the shelf and noticed the camera in the corner of the room. There was no indication it was recording. No indication it was on at all. But it was enough for me to put the binder back and get out of the building as fast as I could.

The voice hadn’t mentioned anything about a ski mask, so there was a possibility that the camera had caught me. Once I was outside I shuddered in the cold night air. I was fine. I’d done just as the voice had asked. I’d be alright. But if that camera was on…

When I returned to Zoe’s it was late and she was heaving a pot of something boiling from the stove. The cats and I watched as she dumped its contents into the colander in the sink. She wiped her brow, then noticed me.

“Perfect timing! I’ll have some shrimp pasta ready in a few if you’re hungry.”

“I… alright.”

I sat down on the couch. A black cat jumped atop my lap.

There was an immense pressure in my chest. It felt as though my stomach wanted to escape through my throat. On top of everything else, every time I blinked I saw those factory workers. I barely knew them, but I wanted them to succeed. Even the bald one. What was it I’d done? Surely the voice on the phone couldn’t have known about the strike.

“Something wrong?” Zoe asked.

“I think so.”

She cocked her head, frowning.

“Well, if you wanna talk about it, I’m here.”

“I don’t. I’m sorry.”

The cat on my lap nuzzled its head against my hand. I ran my fingers through its fur.

“When my room is ready again, I’ll take one.”

“You’ll what?”

“A cat. I’ll take one. Maybe even two, if that helps you more.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s really no trouble at all. Quite frankly, I’ve enjoyed the company.”

I nodded. I had too.

Zoe had returned to the oven. I heard her open it and remove a tray. It smelled fantastic. I watched her place some pasta onto the plate, followed by the crisp, golden shrimp.

“Alright, it’s ready for you if you’re up to it.”

I sat still for a moment, then made up my mind. I hadn’t eaten all day. I needed to eat. I walked over to the table, where Zoe set out a dish. It was spaghetti with tomato sauce and baked shrimp. The smell…

I ate the whole thing in less than five minutes. I don’t think I said even one word. It was just me and the spaghetti and the shrimp.

It was well past midnight and my cheeks were red and wet. I laid back on the couch crying silently. The truth was I was scared. Scared for what I’d done. It could be that it was a harmless letter that had nothing to do with the factory workers. But the voice was fucking with me. I knew that to be true. There was no way it would be that easy.