The drop, p.46
The Drop, page 46
Man: Let your soul decide for you. Tragedy knows tragedy. We are linked by our suffering. Let your soul decide for you.
Katherine looks away.
Katherine: You'll kill yourself?
Man: Cross my heart. Hope to die.
Katherine: And if I don't agree?
Man: Maybe you find it back to civilization. I mean. We're out in the middle of nowhere. I won't leave you food, water, or transportation. But I won't kill you either. I've never killed anyone.
The man smiles down at Katherine.
Katherine: Find out if my friends Freddie and Merv are still alive, and you have yourself a deal.
Man: You keep adding things to the pot. You have a strange way of negotiating.
Katherine: It's the only deal you're going to get from me.
Man: You drive a hard bargain, my friend. So we have a deal?
The man holds his hand out to seal the bargain.
Katherine: After you find out about my friends, then we have a deal.
The man nods, a thoughtful look on his face.
Man: Very well. It's a deal. Your friends are dead.
Katherine's throat bobs as she tries to swallow something in her throat. Her head falls to the side as the man continues to talk.
Man: I didn't want to have to tell you. You've been through so much. But yeah, they both died on that island. Put up a hell of a fight. They killed ten of my men. I mean, it's no big deal to me. Just ten people I don't have to pay.
Katherine's body begins to tremble, and her eyes well with tears.
Man: Tough break for them, but hey, it's not like Rick Reaves' fortune is going to last forever. But you know what? I'm glad I got to tell you. I mean, I didn't like having that little secret, so good on you for dragging it out of me.
Tears roll down Katherine's cheeks. She squeezes her eyes shut. The man sits on the edge of the table his hands in his lap. His eyes glimmer with awe.
Man: You should see your soul now... so beautiful.
Katherine shakes harder.
Man: I wish you could see what I'm seeing. It's like the greatest fireworks display that man could ever make, all through that obsidian soul. Flashes of black so bright and yet so dark.
Katherine: Stop it!
The man stops, but his eyes say that he is still witness to something that only he can see.
Katherine: What is wrong with you?
Man: What is wrong with everyone else? I'm perfectly fine.
They sit in silence, Katherine with her eyes closed and the man watching her. Katherine's hands open and close, grasping at the air. Her head sags forward as she cries. The film continues like this for twenty minutes. During this time, the man might as well be a statue. When the sobs slacken and Katherine wipes the tears from her eyes, the man stands.
Man: You're ready.
Katherine nods meekly.
Man: Good. I'll prepare everything.
The video abruptly ends.
****
Transcript of the Second of 3 Videos Delivered to The Daily Solicitor Three Months After the Disappearance of Katherine Maddox
Katherine and the man sit in an office filled with lush furniture. There is a fireplace in the room. On the top of the mantle sit several Grammy awards. The fireplace burns, its crackling somewhat muted on the video's audio. The man smiles as he moves around the room. He attempts to attach the microphone to Katherine's shirt. She recoils. The man looks down at her, smiling.
Man: Relax. I've had my fill of women. This is strictly professional.
The words appear to calm Katherine. She allows the man to affix the microphone to her shirt. He checks his own microphone and then sits down across from her.
Man: Would you like something to drink?
Katherine doesn't acknowledge him.
Man: Come on. It'll be easier. A little alcohol is just the ticket for loosening lips.
Katherine nods.
A man in a Venetian mask wheels in a silver cart. On top of the cart, a champagne bottle leans cockeyed in a silver bucket of ice. The man reaches for it.
Katherine: I'd rather have a beer.
Man: How very blue-collar of you. Friedrich, do you think you can find the lady a beer? I'll have one as well.
The masked man nods and hustles out of the room. They wait silently, the man smiling his eerie smile while Katherine sits impassionate and still.
When the servant returns some minutes later, he is carrying a six-pack of Heineken in bottles. The masked man sets two glass beer mugs on the table, pops the tops on the beers then retreats from the scene.
The man across from Katherine tips his beer into the glass. Katherine grabs a bottle of beer and tilts it back.
Katherine: It's skunky.
The man clenches his jaw.
Man: Considering the state of the world, skunky beer is better than no beer.
Katherine: I suppose.
Katherine tilts the bottle backwards again, draining a third of the beer. The man smiles at her before sipping his own.
Man: Shall we begin?
Katherine: We shall.
Katherine's tone is mocking, but the man continues on, unperturbed.
Man: Very well. The first question I have for you is this: How has The Drop changed you?
Katherine's eyes wander around the room in a disinterested fashion. When she speaks, she does so without looking at her interviewer.
Katherine: I suppose it's changed us all in some ways. For me, I think I'm more driven.
Man: And where does that drive come from? What drives the great Katherine Maddox to press on and get her story, even at the cost of her friends?
Katherine: What else do I have? You took everything from me, from the world.
Man: So, all you have is the story? All you have is Whoa-Town. All you have is me? That's very depressing Katherine. Surely, you must have something else that drives you.
Katherine: I have hope, I guess. I mean, without it, I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing. I have the hope that my friends will be alright. I have the hope that in future generations, no one will have to go through the shit that you put us all through. Hope and a story. What else does a girl need?
Man: What about love?
Katherine laughs at this, and a bemused look crosses the man's face.
Man: What is so funny?
Katherine: You are. Just hearing the word love come out of your mouth. It's like hearing a cobra sit up straight and discuss the virtues of religion.
Man: You think I haven't loved?
Katherine: No one that did what you did could have ever loved.
Man: And who have you loved in your short but productive life?
Katherine: I've loved my parents. I've loved my friends.
Man: But you've never been in love?
Katherine: No. I don't know that I am capable of it, not until this story is over.
Man: Well, we better get this story over then.
The man tosses a knowing wink towards the camera.
Man: Next question.
Katherine drains her beer. She reaches for another and twists the lid off.
Katherine: You're falling behind.
Man: What? Oh, yeah.
The man tilts his glass back, drinking a good portion of the beer. He smacks his lips in satisfaction.
Man: Yeah, I see what you mean. That is a little skunky.
Katherine: The next question?
Man: Oh, yes. Next question. Do you think you'd be who you are without The Drop?
Katherine tilts her head to the side, the question obviously taking her by surprise.
Katherine: I'm not sure what you're asking.
Man: I've read your journals. I've seen the pre-Drop Katherine, and that seems to me, correct me if I'm wrong, but that seems to me to be a whole different person entirely. Pre-drop Katherine... well, she seemed like a dead end. I'm not even sure pre-Drop Katherine makes it through journalism school.
Katherine: I'm the same.
Man: So The Drop had nothing to do with turning you into who you are today. Without The Drop, you would still be a dogged and intrepid reporter, gallivanting across the globe to chase the story.
Katherine: You want me to give you credit? You actually want me to say that you had something to do with shaping who I am?
Man: I want you to be honest. I'm sensing a bit of duplicity here.
Katherine leans forward, her hand gripping the Heineken bottle tight.
Katherine: Let me tell you something about journalism. The job of a journalist is to get the story. It is not to form the story before the interview has even been done. It's clear that you have something that you want me to say. You want me to say something along the lines of "Oh, Mr. [unintelligible], thank you for turning around my fucking life and making me this great journalist. Without you, I would have been nothing." That's what you want?
Man: Only if it's the truth.
Katherine: The truth...
Katherine barks a laugh.
Katherine: ...the truth is you killed me. You killed the old me. I'm not better. I'm worse. Look at me. Who do I have? I have no one. I have a boss that is willing to send me into danger just to get the story. I had a bodyguard that I couldn't connect with, that I wasn't willing to connect with because I was afraid I would lose him too. I'm a ghost. We're all ghosts now. You know, sometimes I wonder if I wasn't the one who died and everyone else is still alive. Did I become a better journalist because of you? Yeah, probably. But am I a better person? Nice fucking try.
The man sits with his fingers steepled, his mind working.
Man: Let's talk about that.
Katherine: About what?
Man: You said that I killed you. What did you mean when you said that?
Katherine: I mean that I... we... the entire world had to do things we didn't want to do because of you, because you cared so little about the world that you went and destroyed it.
The man leans forward, interested.
Man: What did you have to do?
Katherine: You know damn well what I had to do.
Man: Which is?
Katherine looks to the ceiling and groans, squeezing her eyes shut, in pain or frustration is unclear.
Man: What did you have to do, Katherine? Tell me.
Katherine says nothing.
Man: Just say it. Say what you did.
Katherine opens her eyes. Her face is a mask of rage, but her eyes are brimming with tears. She screams, her voice crackling with anger.
Katherine: You made me kill my father!
Katherine sobs and puts her hands to her face.
Man: There it is. The secret. The untappable, unlimited fuel of a journalist. The pain of something horrible. You'd be amazed what heights that fuel can lead us to.
Katherine continues to sob. The man rises from his seat. He walks over to her and puts his arm around her shoulder, genuine concern on his face.
Man: Tell me, Katherine. Tell me. Tell the world what you did.
Katherine: (sobbing) I killed him.
Man: Let it out.
The man makes little calming circles on Katherine's back with his hand, leaning in close to her.
Man: What happened in that house, Katherine? What happened in your father's house? What is that thing you left out of your journals? You the journalist, you the storymaker, the truthfinder... what truths were so terrible that you left them out of your own journals? How is it that you could describe killing the professor that tried to kidnap you in such great detail, but you say nothing about the demise of your own dear father? Give me that story, and I will give you mine down to what I had for breakfast this morning.
Katherine: Why do you need to know?
Man: I don't need to know it. You do.
Katherine's hand creeps towards her empty beer bottle on the table. The man, too close to Katherine, is unaware. She grasps the bottle and brings it crashing down on the man's head. The bottle breaks apart, and the man falls backwards. Katherine stands up, looming over the injured man.
Katherine: You want to know what I did? You want to fucking know?
Katherine stomps on the man's face. His head thumps against the ground, his arms flail in the air like a drunk.
Katherine: You want to fucking know? I'll fucking tell you!
Katherine stomps on his face again.
Katherine: I hand-fed him a pile of old lady Van Slyke's sleeping meds and watched him die in his sleep.
Two men in Venetian masks rush into the room. They wrap their arms around Katherine and pull her, kicking and screaming and clawing, from the room. The man lies on the floor, blood streaming from his nose and the back of his head. His hands paw at his face with the dozy lumberings of the recently concussed.
The video abruptly ends.
****
Transcript of the third of 3 Videos Delivered to The Daily Solicitor Three Months After the Disappearance of Katherine Maddox
Katherine sits shackled to a wheelchair. Her shackles allow her arms to move, but her legs and waist are confined. The man sits across from her at a table, a bag of ice on his face. His nose is swollen, and his eyes are black.
Katherine: You want people to know, don't you?
Man: I do and I don't.
Katherine: Why don't you want people to know?
Man: I am not unfeeling you know. I know everyone out there has painted the members of Whoa-Town out to be some sort of maniacs or unfeeling monsters, but... we weren't. Hell, the other members were barely even cognizant of their role in The Drop. Part of me feels remorse over my actions. How could you not?
Katherine: Why do you want people to know that you did it then?
Man: It's not that I want them to know that I'm the one that did it. It's the why. I want them to know why I did what I did. Whether they remember it was me or not is meaningless to me. People, they judge. People are selfish. They're blinded by their own pain, so much so that they don't operate in this world the way they are supposed to. You know, my life wasn't perfect either, but I was still able to see when people had it worse.
Katherine: Right, because you had to fuck your mother.
The man glares at Katherine, and then he swallows his pride.
Man: We've all got pain. You have pain. I have pain. Before The Drop, there was so much pain. I wouldn't have been able to do what I did if it wasn't for the fact that we are all so shitty to each other. We're all so narcissistic, so wrapped up in our own personal lives, our own personal pains that we can't take a moment to commiserate, to see what others are feeling.
Katherine: So you want people to know that you killed off their mothers, sons, fathers, and daughters because people need to be nicer to each other? That's ridiculous. Why didn't you just make a song about it? How about, instead of making a song that made everybody commit suicide, you made a song that made people not be such assholes to each other?
Man: I wish that I could. But that's not the way the process works. What is nice? Nice is holding the door open? Nice is giving all your money to someone? Nice is giving every guy you meet a free handjob and a smile? With the technique I was working with, I could only do concrete things, and not a lot of concrete things either. One command. That's all I could get through.
Katherine: Yes. Tell us about this technique.
Man: Oh, it's quite complicated, but I'll do my best. Before I was in Whoa-Town, I spent a lot of time doing research, setting up my mother's donation website for the orphanage. It was a disaster right out of the gate. No matter how nice you made the website, no matter how legit you stated your needs, people were just not into donating to some rinky-dink orphanage. I had been doing a bit of computer programming, teaching myself, studying everything I could get my hands on. Eventually, I got into hacking. I'd hack everything. I started small. Hacked my school, changed my grades. Then I went bigger. I started talking to people online. Eventually I got pretty good at it.
Katherine: What did you do with all this hacking power?
Man: Oh, initially nothing. I mean, it was a rush, a challenge, solving the systems, finding backdoors. I didn't do it for gain. The information I found was of little to no consequence to me. I wasn't out to make money or hurt people. It was like that first guy that saw Mt. Everest and thought... I gotta get to the top of that motherfucker.
Katherine: The old "because I wanted to see if I could" routine.
Man: Precisely. One day, I'm sitting in the basement of the orphanage, and I come across a hidden server socked away in a government network. I do some research, try and find out where this thing is at, who owns it, what could possibly be inside... and nothing. It's as if this server doesn't actually exist. No one's claiming it, so I figure I ought to break my way into it and see what's in there. By this point, I've basically become one of the top hackers in the world. No one knew this of course; if you want to be a good hacker, you don't advertise that you're doing it. The hackers you see out there, Anonymous, other collectives, I saw what they were doing: DDoS, botnets, jailbreaks, malware... real simple shit. It was all stuff I could do in my sleep. So I knew I was good at stuff, but I didn't know why I was doing it. Then I found this server, and it was like... it was like that moment in one's life when you know that everything is about to change for you. I became obsessed with it. I must not have skipped school for a week. I didn't sleep. I kept probing this thing, and eventually I found my way through.
Katherine: And what did you find?
Man: A government black ops server. Experimental stuff. Real crazy shit. Most of it was data from failed experiments, training children to be psychics, testing experimental drugs, super-soldier serums, that type of stuff. Crap and fantasy. But there was one thing that I did find that drew my attention. This server contained a wealth of information about subliminal messages and treating the human brain as a computer, and then it all clicked. And I knew that there was something even better to hack.
Katherine: The human brain.
The man speaks with a tone of energy, as if he has been waiting to tell his story for some time, and now that he is, a feeling of euphoria has overtaken him. His eyes light up and sweat pours down his face. His cheeks are flushed with color.
Man: Yes... the Mount Everest of hacks. I read through their information, and they had determined that subliminal messaging, while somewhat useful on an individual basis was not nearly a viable enough alternative for large-scale subjugation of countries or insurgents or whatever the hell they were trying to work on.
