The Lies He Spoke

FORTY

ELIJAH

Elijah found the note taped to the inside of his work shirt that morning.

It terrified him to no end that someone had crept into his room while he was sleeping, picked up the clothes he would wear the next day, and taped something on there, all while he laid in the bed, vulnerable and exposed next to them.

At first, he could hardly read the note from how hard his hand was shaking. He braced both hands against his bed and had to try twice before he could see easier.

6pm. Kitchen. Get in the crates. Bring Peters.

Elijah crumpled the paper in his fist and felt something well up in his chest so hard he couldn't breathe.

Fear? Anger? Worry? Anticipation? Relief?

He felt like he was going to puke a little.

At breakfast, he gave the paper to Peters, who ripped it to pieces after reading it and continued talking to the men around him like nothing had ever happened. Elijah turned away and tried not to worry about whether Peters would go through with it or not.

He would finish this with or without that man.

*****

At 5:45pm, Elijah was at the kitchen.

But so was dinner duty.

"What're you doing here?" one of the men snarled at him when Elijah almost bumped into him as he carried a large heavy pot full of soapy dishwater.

Elijah struggled to breathe. This couldn't be happening. He had to go home. They'd said 6pm. Why, then, were there dozens of people milling about?

"S-sorry," he mumbled, flattening himself against a sink counter so the other guy could get through. "I - I lost something."

"Lost something, my ass. Get out of here if you're not working."

"Sorry, sorry," Elijah apologized profusely, but didn't go out the door. No way was he going to turn back now.

The kitchen was packed with people soaping pans, scrubbing stoves, wiping counters, mopping floors. Elijah made a half dozen more people angry as he picked his way through until he got to the back where two men were stacking up potato crates against the back door.

Get in the crates.

Elijah stared at the two men. He'd seen them before. They were inmates just like him.

He highly doubted they would be getting him out of here, but he needed to go around them.

Elijah turned around and pressed a hand to his forehead. Everything's fine. Stick to the plan. This was the plan, but how was he supposed to carry it out if everyone was still in here? No one would be done cleaning the kitchen before 6:30pm. He was supposed to be long gone before then.

He dragged his hands through his hair. Get in the crates. 6pm.

6pm.

He glanced at the clock. It was 5:52.

He looked back at the men at the crates. They were now emptying out a crate that still had some potatoes in there. Elijah disjointedly wondered whether he would even fit in one of those tiny crates.

Keep it together.

Elijah squeezed his fingers into his palms and walked up to them in what he hoped was a confident, authoritative stride.

"Bill wants you at the front of the kitchen. He told me to finish up here."

One of the guys scratched his ear but didn't look up from his work. The other man sighed and turned to look at him. "What're you going on about, fish?"