Continued from part 11 of the Devastation Series.

I had terrible dreams that night many of them I could not remember. I awoke in cold sweats several times throughout the night. The kind of sweats when you have some sickness that has taken over your body. It startled me upright and forced me to catch my breath. I tried to take off my soaked shirt but ended up changing into another after the suede-like cushion fabric clung to my skin. I tossed and turned in the two feet available to me, without landing on the floor. I was sure that the changes in life were setting my sub-conscience into a frenzy. A Freudian dream-reader would have had a racket with the circus in my head, whoever that self was.

The dreams were mostly of me helpless. Full of confusion and evil figures with familiar faces blocking me from one thing or another. In one segment, I recalled, that my dad was needing help and was just out of reach. We could not clearly communicate with one another despite our efforts and would then just fade away. It is funny how pent up emotions brew and your ego orchestrates different perspectives like a conductor for a choir. The night was long – and despite being safe on the couch, I felt far from it. It felt like I was onto something bigger… I was setting up the pieces of the mosaic… I just Needed to be able to step back and see the larger picture. I figured I would continue to examine myself for some time and hoped that it gave way to deeper learnings.

Morning finally came and it was time to get back to work. I found the coffee that I brought from the house and set up the pot to brew. “Hey Alexa, play Hard Rock,” I called out. After a few moments, the Echo started working through a popularized playlist. I walked from pile to pile picking an outfit for the day then got dressed. The coffee was brewing, music was playing and I was starting a new day today, in a new life. It felt dramatic but the truth was that the changes were impactful. I had also tucked away my fascinations with Samuel, with everything else going on. I had a moment of excitement when I thought about digging back in tonight. That ended when I realized – I was technically homeless. It didn’t matter right this second, though. I grabbed a coffee and donned my PPE.

Rob checked in a couple of times that day, checking on the progress of the report for 116. I was able to delay any action for a bit since I was out yesterday. No one asked if I did anything fun – or if I was OK. We did not have that type of relationship in the office. It wasn’t that people didn’t care, it was that there was no time for it. Emotion took up space and muddied waters that people didn’t want to be in, in the first place. His inquires reminded though, of my current situation. I was staying in the Apartment. I needed a plan. My first thoughts considered a hotel and then getting another apartment. While the most logical, I was not done with 116. Something was happening to me. I could not help but think that things happened for a reason and that I was supposed to learn something. For someone… 116 felt as if it was a rehabilitation, but I was unsure from what.

I did not have time to doddle for long, so I had to come up with a plan. I continued with my work for the day and fielded off email after email. I answered calls and worked on projects. I went to meetings about meetings and planned meetings to plan for meetings. The redundancy was humorous to me and passed the hours by. I performed my own research and weighed my options for housing. While I could afford a few options, I could not shake the feeling that I was having. I was going to find a way to stay in the apartment. I convinced myself that I would use that time to figure things out and make a plan from there. I saved a link to the internal housing applications to my favorites and contemplated just applying for the apartment outright. I would have to make some move soon.

I finished the day at work and pre-ordered from a restaurant before I left. I was not hungry but also knew that I did not have much at the apartment yet outside of my coop box. I decided to do order groceries later that night. It was Thursday, and I wanted things for the weekend. So I started making a mental list. I rested my mask over my head like ballcap, not slid on yet, as I picked up my computer and a copy of the file from 116 that was sitting on the corner of my desk. The office was nearly empty by now since everyone cut out after the last meeting. With no one there, I didn’t feel obligated to wear my mask as I strolled through the office. I walked along the isles and looked in doors and windows of each space as I walked by.

Each space looked like the other spaces. Some form of photo frame seemed to be present at each station. Most were 3D, some were holographic, a few 2D, and a couple of antique photo frames. Each had the standard company digital calendar board but only a few had personalized them. Some had birthdays – some tracked their hours – some just tallied them off like some form of a prison sentence. Many had their favorite books in digital format, which sent my mind to thinking about my dad’s bookcase and the tangible paper copies. It must have satisfied a texture sensory response. The SDI’s, or single digital issues lined several desks. Each small tablet-like device contained a standalone book and OS to navigate it. It seemed ironic to take the equivalent of a progressive step backward. Avid readers had their Kindle or GLAD, Google’s Library Android Devices on their desks. Each desk had sanitizer, UV lights, an extra mask, filters, and varying brands but similar personal care items.

As I started to leave the lights went black as I passed each cube, shutting down for the evening. It was apparent that I was the last person in the office at that time. As I walked by Rob’s workstation, I noticed that the system had glitched and froze before logging him out. In an instant, I found myself sitting at his desk. An adrenaline rush pulsed through my body as I wondered what the hell I was doing. Of course, I knew – but where did it come from? I could make 116 seem like the report was done already. I could skip all of that and just rent the place, somehow… The pressure was on to complete the reporting, moving 116 along, but I was not threatened yet. Not that I liked to gauge my professionalism by that, I was just processing options at that point. My conscience was screaming as I pulled the chair out and sat down. Like a snowball down a mountain, I just hoped no avalanches were in the near future.

I opened the company’s cloud dashboard and saw Rob’s username and information. He was still signed into that as well. I clicked through the portal entry and landed at the property manager and administration app. The properties were listed in categories and sorted by vacancies. To the right of the screen was an “incomplete properties” section. I expanded the view and saw the apartment complex 116 was at. Each unit had status indications next to them. The incomplete files were at the top followed by the oldest Renovation date. Each unit inside of the property was marked as Renovation Needed, No Renovation Needed, Waiting on Survey, and Processed. The rooms that I had looked at and completed a report for, were staged for Renovation Needed. 116, being stayed by me, had several red flags and incompletes next to them. By this point I had silenced the angel on my shoulder so only the little demon and the cowardly, but a more intelligent voice, was present.

Naive to the process, I weighed the options. I weighed the likelihood of getting caught and if I was assuming that I would – what would the outcome of that be.” What was the administration process anyway,” I wondered? It was then that I noticed a small gray table at the bottom of the dashboard “Standard Work/Processing Instructions” in bold italicized letters. I opened the document and perused the table of contents. I picked a couple of sections and started to read. The document was very well written and detailed specifications for training, so it covered all aspects and perspectives of navigating the dashboard and property management from acquiring to selling. I found the details related to what the processes were and how to complete a renovation project followed by what that triggered – did it notify anyone, etc.? I finished reading and needed to decide.

I spontaneously felt pressured and rebellious which painted me into a corner. I felt like I had to bypass the system although I knew there were other ways. I didn’t have to make the apartment skip all the proper steps to renovate and rent. Surely, I could find another way… The questions continued: “What would I do if I got caught? Would I lose my job? Would I be fined?” I do not know how – but lots of nonsense rammed the front of my brain at that moment. I began selecting complete and N/A and decided that there was no turning back. I “selected all” for 116 and completed the unit out in the system. It would have been too obvious to only skip the renovation. If I only completed some things – it would require attention again. I checked the “Other” reason box next to the reason for or against renovation. In the other text box, I typed “special circumstances applied, per mgmt.” 116 was the only thing stopping the progress of that complex. As soon as I hit submit, the teams would be notified for the next steps and the work would begin; I doubted anyone would look back. I froze hovering over the button as if it was a nuclear code launch… In a split second, I cheated, breaking rules that a person should just inherently know not to break. I did not realize how much paranoia would come over me.

I finished the logout process and put Rob’s desk back the way it was when I snuck into his space. I hurried down the halls with lights rapidly snapping off with my escape. I adjusted my mask holster resting on my head and pressed the engage button locking everything into place. I opened the car door, threw my bag in, and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands firmly. My arms were locked and I stared out of the window with a 1000 yard stare. If someone was in front of me, I would have been looking through them. I had significant amounts of nervous energy and needed to get out of that space as soon as possible. I would suffer from my guilty conscious the remainder of the day. “What next?” I asked out loud.

As I got into the car, I removed my mask. “Alexa – take me to the restaurant that I ordered from,” I looked at the navigation panel and selected from the last artists played. Heavy guitars and vocals surrounded me as I began heading for the takeout ordered earlier. Traffic had died down for the evening as I pulled into Bravo’s Burger Bliss. I pulled up to the takeout kiosk and rolled down the window to scan my phone screen. After scanning had completed, the kiosk started warming up. The orders were mostly made to order so it always took a couple of minutes extra. However, everything still had a fresh taste and appearance if you ate it right away. The screen switched from preparing meals to delivering. The conveyance system brought the food capsule from inside of the restaurant to the kiosk that I was at. I opened the sliding door, removed the capsule, took out the food, and checked the order accuracy. I selected accepted on the screening questionnaire and rolled up my window to head to what I was calling home. I continued the music and Alexa began route.

It was 6 PM and Alexa had taken the highway due to an automobile accident on our normal route. The phone rang over the navigation system and “DAD” appeared on the navigation pane. I did not want to answer right then, I just wanted to check out, eat my sandwich, and maybe read some if I had the energy to expend. I still had not walked through all of the thoughts and wanted to move on. “Hey dad,” I answered. He does not normally call so I assumed that he would want to talk or needed something. “Jake, I wanted (excessive coughing) to tell you that I had to go to (coughing) the hospital, I am in the hospital.” He faded out. Caught off guard, I had to register what was being said. “Alexa pull over.” The car continued and when clear from traffic crossed the line on the shoulder. My next replies, scattered, “Wha-hey Dad? You’re in the hospital?” I was not thinking clearly. My mind roaming between worry and the need to take action.
“Yes, Jake (cough), I am St. Christopher’s Memorial.” He acknowledged.
“What’s up dad – what’s going on?” I questioned.
“Don’t know yet Jake, struggled to breathe. Became delirious and couldn’t think.” He shared.
“I’ll be right there…Alexa St. Christopher’s Memorial…” I said all in one sentence. Dad tried to detour me but that was not going to happen. There was no reason that I should, would, or could not go. The car pulled off at the next overpass and turned around on the highway. We would be at the hospital in 20 mins. I turned the music up and mentally buckled for a bumpy ride.

I parked close to the building at the emergency room entrance. I struggled to get my mask connected quickly enough to get out of the car. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my cheek as I entered the large revolving doors. I had not been in a hospital for many years, so I was slightly stunned by all of the changes. I should have expected it to coincide with the rate of change outside of the walls but had an older image hardwired into my mind. Small drones buzz overhead acting as surveillance and condiment robotics stroll occasionally down the halls with the basics – sort of an active vending machine. As with most things, the check-in process was automated. I walked to the kiosk and scanned my thumbprint. A standard inquiry appeared on the screen and I selected “visit a relative.” I entered his first name and date of birth then pressed enter. I selected my dad’s name and a room number appeared. I signed the standard PPE and visitation guidelines and followed the signs to the elevator.

I knocked before entering the room. He beckoned me to come in. The lights were low and the bed reclined. He lay staring up at the simple television. Many of the issued TV’s for places like this were 2D and only had 4K technology. He was watching a movie when I entered. “Did they beat you up yet?” I asked approaching the side of his bed. He was slightly distant and lethargic but conscious and aware of normal details. “I have had my meds and they gave me some muscle relaxers or something. My cough had become painful.” He looked in my direction. “I am glad to see you son…” He trailed off. His eyes were full of emotion and were comforted by my presence. I scanned the room and I deduced that the was brought by ambulance or someone else. 
“What have they got ‘chu in for?” I asked.
“The AIA said that it is likely pneumonia, acute pneumonia…” he replied. 
“Ambulance? What time?” I tried to confirm my assessment.
“Oh a few hours ago – I got to coughing and couldn’t breathe… yeah – ambulance.” He confirmed. The AIA, or artificial intelligent assessment, was a preliminary diagnosis based on measurable attributes. A more thorough analysis was likely run as well, but the blood and antibody markers took a little longer. The accuracy was in the 90th percentile, so without any glaring flags – treatment would begin with the AIA’s regimented care. The accuracy level only differs on subjective items. Millions of scenarios are processed at the time a patient arrives.

It was good to see my father and that he seemed fairly stable at the time. The immediate fear had subsided; he had a way of making a person feel comfortable. I sat around and chit-chatted for a little while keeping him company. We would not likely have results until tomorrow since it was late. About an hour into our visit, a nurse came in to do dosing. I asked several questions and it did sound like they were certain of the diagnosis. He had started to hurt from his coughing so they issued his pain meds again. I knew that our conversation would likely dwindle but was glad that they care was able to focus on the symptoms. He was fairly weak and let the nurse move his somewhat limp body around. He resembled a man that had given up. I pulled up the soft bed-chair, that was in the corner, beside his bed. With the volume low, the nurse did what she needed to and left. Dad turned slightly in my direction.

“Jake…” followed by a long pause, “what is on your beautiful mind? I can see you. You are somewhere else. You are going through some sort of fight.”
“Dad – I am fine…” I stammered slightly, caught off guard, “let’s focus on your current…” He cut me off.
“Before I get lost, here is Val’s info. Can you call here tomorrow and ask her to keep an eye on the place for a couple of days? We do that for each other when one person is out.
“Sure Dad. I would be glad to.” I replied.
“Now back to whats important now. Jake… it’s ok. This isn’t my first rodeo. This is what I want to talk about right now…” Dad pointed at me tapping his finger on my chest.
“Dad…” I started to say something deflecting, but the words started falling out of my mouth. I had been holding it in. Like a pressurized soda bottle, the fizz just spewed out. The lost feeling that I had been feeling, the hurt and regrets of Maggie, Samuel, and my adventure, and dad’s choices after mom. The tears that welled in my eyes burst and rushed down the contours of my face. I was lost somewhere between saddened, and vulnerable. There was also relief – the kind when you remove pressure from a wound. His voice was so comforting and soothing. He listened and slightly nodded as I continued. He pulled a tissue from the box beside him and touched it to my face. And when he spoke, it was like a key to a lock. It was a conversation that you could not have planned for. When you schedule a meeting, sometimes they turned out well, sometimes it was mostly a check-the-box activity. Sort of to say “you did it.” This was one of the rare, the few, that everything aligned – even at the unlikeliest of times.

I learned that he gave up on technology for more than just mom dying. That was the catalyst for a desire that he had for a long time. He had lost faith in things. People. People and technology and how we chose to use the advances given to us. Manipulation of things beyond the original intent so that no invention ended being solely a good thing. Sure mom’s death was tragic – and solidified his view on certain things, but it was never the reason for the lifestyle that he chose. He was exposed to countless people that forgot how to do things. The art or the skill of simple and complicated alike. People learned to satisfy the machine requirements to get the outcome they desired. Like coins in a vending machine, the thing would just drop out with the right sequence fed in.

I learned that he never did like Maggie, but supported whatever I wished to do. He went along, always hoping for the best, and trying to convince himself the worst was just a phase. He told me that he saw a caged lion in my eyes. One that knew the wild – and yearned for it, but when confined, the fire was gone. The spark disappeared and the ashes were all that remained. In typical dad form, he did not harbor any ill feelings towards her, only regrets that I had not drawn boundaries for myself. And he assured me that if I wanted to go back to her – she would never know what we had talked about. He has learned hope for people again, and change. I found out, during that conversation, he had stopped by on several occasions, and as luck would have it, I was never home. I never knew he stopped by, The message never made it to me. He assumed that I was busy and chose something more important with my allotted time.

And just like that, his eyes grew heavier. His words started having longer beats between them and his blinks appeared to be exaggeratedly slow. He faded off as the medicine took over and I tucked him in. A memory of my bedtime as a child flashed before my eyes – and I pulled the blankets up his chest. I tucked in his sides and moved the serving table out of the way. My eyes bloodshot and red streaks eroded any tough guy appeal that I pretended to have. In a couple hours timeframe I released several months of anguish. I got to finally talk a lot of it through. I also had someone in my corner which was encouraging and would allow me to continue on. I wrote a small note on a hospital paper pad and set it on the table so he would see it when he woke up. It read:

“Dad, I love you. The pressures that you just released… but just listening. I am so sorry that we have lost so much time. Now rest up – I need you. I will be by tomorrow to check on you. If you need me before then, call. Number for work and cell on the digital writing board. “

I went to the digital whiteboard and sketched all of my contact information. I put on my PPE and exited the room then the hospital. I drove home with soft guitars and nostalgic vibes. I took the long way back to the apartment. I looked over to my cold burger and sighed – at least I have a microwave, I thought.

Read more of the Devastation Series.