Visitor

The story ends in Mexico. At least, I wish it did.

I'm hungover, sitting outside of a gas station trying to decrust my eyes while my basic Spanish fails me, unless I wanted to find a library selling apples for a woman to eat.

Someone has pity on me, an expatriate by choice, not by force, like I think I am. She's very pretty, but, more important, she seems nice and speaks English.

We walk (her) and stumble (me) to her beat up van. She helps me up into it.

That's when a high class English accent stops me by speaking up.

"Mr. Harrison," he says, "please tell me we don't have to knock you out again to get you to come with us? That would be a very unpleasant start to our relationship, not to mention messy."

The man begins by introducing himself as the van starts up and we pull away.

"Mr. Harrison, my name is Lionel, and that's all you need to know about me. What you really need to know about your situation can be gathered by looking to my left and right."

To his left and right were two guys who came right out of central casting for the pillars Samson knocks over. Both of them wore the same suit, dark, the same sunglasses, dark, and the same expression, dark.

"Now, at the moment, you are far too valuable to rough up, and how long you keep that value is entirely up to you."

"Fine, I gather you're threatening me," I cut in, as loud as my aching head would allow, "Would I be pushing my luck to ask how I got here and why I feel like I'm hammered when I know I only had soda?"

"We needed to separate you from your family without any scenes. A fast acting sedative did the job there. Don't worry, there's a cover story in place for them. Something about business needs."

"I'm a hardware store associate! What did you tell them, a hammer emergency came up?!"

I guess I flinched too much, because the pillars pulled guns on me. I slowly put my hands up and levered back down to the seat.

"No idea who your father is, do you?," Lionel said, pulling a handkerchief and mopping his forehead. I took note that his courage seemed to sit next to him.

"OK, let's see," I said, "You're probably not going to tell me it's the man that's at the same house I lived in all my life, and I'll probably be out of line to guess it's Zeus, so I'll go with....Ron Jeremy."

"You use humor to deflect stress, Mr. Harrison, don't you?"

"Much like you use your personality to deflect sexual partners. What is the point of all of this?"

"Well, if you're going to be sarcastic, I'll just be quiet and you can find out for yourself in about an hour."

I looked at the pillar to his left. "Is your boss always so sensitive?"

He just shrugged, and that was the last peep any of us made until we arrived.

They brought me into a room where a man lay in a hospital bed. Machines clearly did everything for him at this point. Other than a bit of graying at the temples, though, he could've been my twin. No need for a paternity test.

"OK, do I need to apologize, or will you just tell me what's going on?," I said to Lionel.

"That would be nice, but we don't have time for niceties. You have to be in a courtroom in two hours."

"I'm sorry, I have to be where?"

At gunpoint, I had to get myself showered, slightly dyed, and poured into a suit that, were I in any other situation, I would be very impressed by. No one said a word.

"At some point," I said, "I'm going to have to be told something about this, you know."

"All you need to do is show up," Lionel said. "Sit at the defense table, shut your mouth, and let the lawyers do their jobs."

"Can I at least know the charge?"

Lionel said, "We don't have the time to go through them."

"Wait, hold up!," I said, "You're sending me to face a trial for someone else?"

"Calm down, it's all circumstantial, Mr. Harrison."

The pillars had to pick me up to keep me from wringing his neck.

So, there I sat, in a car between the pillars, each of whom had an arm in their meaty grip. One of them, with their other hand, keep fanning me. I got a dirty look when I asked for a grape.

Lionel sat across from me now, visibly sweating now. His courage was keeping me in my place.

"Why aren't we doing the reasonable thing here, Lionel?," I said, "Show the authorities the mechanical man back at the house, he'd probably appreciate the execution order at this point, everything's over."

"That's right," Lionel said, "Everything's over. Including all of our safety. They think he's alive and well and the fear keeps them at bay."

I asked "Who's they?," but no one had a chance to answer when the car smashed into the side of our car.

We all went for a tumble as the car flipped a few times. When we stopped moving, my extraction, the pumping of bullets into the pillars and Lionel, and the torching of the car happened in very short order.

A couple of very strong men put me on my feet, and I faced another stunning woman with impeccable English. She wasn't as nice, though.

"If you're not hurt, you're coming with us," she said.

"I think I'm fine. And no, I don't think--"

A needle stabbed me in the neck and nothing was clear to me as I hit the dirt.

I came to with the woman in my face.

"He's awake, Father," she said, her voice coming to me like we were underwater.

A man swam into view, balding, middle aged.

"Can I talk to her instead?," I found myself saying.

He chuckled. "Everyone says that. Sorry I'm not more attractive. Just know we're not going to hurt you."

"There's some dead body charcoal and my drugged up mind that says otherwise."

"We had to go to extremes, Mr. Harrison," the woman said, "But we mean you no harm. We just want the syndicate to pay for their crimes. And if the jefe doesn't show, action will finally have to be taken."

"If I tell you the jiffy is dying anyway back at that house I was in," I said, "can you just let me go like sense would dictate?"

"He is?," the man said, "Well, let's just go--"

A door burst open in front of me.

Annnnnd everything was black again a few seconds later.

Back at home again, not missing explosions, car accidents, or even exotic women, but still wanting to know what the hell was going on.

All I was told was "special arrangement with the US government," and "national security" and "you should feel lucky."

"What if I decided to go to the press?," I asked the person who dropped me off at my house.

"Go ahead," they told me, "Who would believe you?"

So I started to, until I got a call at work a couple of days later.

"Mr. Harrison, this is a courtesy call," the voice that sounded like authority said, "Please don't ruin your service to our country's interests in Mexico and national security as a whole by telling your story. Things...could get bad."

They hung up. I got the point.

The next day, I was at the flooring desk, tedium gloriously setting in. Someone approached me with a carpet sample, set it in front of me with a pale, shaking hand.

I started to greet them until I saw my own face and began to run.

"No....wait," he said, with the strength of a newborn pup.

It was enough to stop me.

"You want to know all of the truth," he said, "Don't you?"