Free Jack in the Box by Michael Shaw Page A

this to the authorities."
    I nodded. "I'm truly sorry I can't help you, sir. What happened to Silas was," my lip twitched, "terrible, but I have no idea who did it. I hope the authorities will be able to shed some light on the situation."
    The man sighed and leaned back. He rubbed his temples.
    My hands were folded and in my lap.
    He looked at the few men that surrounded him. They shrugged.
    I blinked.
    He stroked his chin. "Well, Jack, Mr. Silas has insisted many times that it was you. But since there is no real evidence that you did it," he rested his hand on the table, "you're free to go."
    "Thank you." I stood up and left. As I walked out of the room, I passed the sign on the wall next to it. "Office of Disciplines." A few feet past that was a trash can. I took some things out of my pocket and tossed them into the can. Two latex gloves and a small video tape.
     
    →
     
    I was in my dorm room again. I sat at a small desk. A laptop in front of me. Some text on the screen. "Project B." I reached next to the monitor and grabbed a soda.
    My left leg vibrated. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a phone. "Hey, Dad."
    "Why'd you do it?"
    I swallowed. Put the soda down. "I. . ."
    "Come on Jack, I know you're taking self-defense classes."
    I looked up. "Wait, what."
    "My credit card bill came in, and it has multiple charges for some self-defense class! How are you even finding the time?"
    I exhaled a sigh of relief. My dad didn't know what I'd done to Silas. "I get my work done. I have a lot of free-time."
    My eyes shifted over to the  bottle of liquid. It sat next to my laptop. I almost felt as though it were staring at me.
    He sighed into the phone. "I thought you had a job. That credit card's for emergencies only." It was odd. In this moment when my father was disappointed, his voice was still a voice of care. He loved me, and wanted to make sure I was making the right decisions. I felt this even then, albeit I was just feeling a memory, a dream of the past.
    "You're right, Dad. I shouldn't have used it. And I'll pay it back, I promise."
    "That's not what I'm worried about."
    I didn't respond. My foot started tapping.
    A long silence followed.
    "Are you doing okay, Jack?" My dad said softly.
    I hesitated. ". . . Yeah-"
    "You haven't been in a fight?"
    I turned my head to the right and looked in the mirror. I opened my mouth. Hesitated once again. ". . . No. No fights."
    "You know you can tell me anything."
    I said nothing.
    Another long silence. "Jack."
    More silence. "Yeah Dad?"
    "If someone messes with you. . ."
    My foot stopped tapping.
    "If someone gives you a hard time, tell someone. Don't let personal feelings distract you from your goal, Jack. Don't let your emotions get you caught up in all this and make you forget what you're there for."
    I nodded, even though he couldn't see it.
    "I still remember all the things you showed me when we went out. Just don't forget about that."
    I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I won't. Trust me, if something ever happens, I'll be sure not to let my feelings get in the way."
    “Okay. . ." he said.
    I shifted in my seat.
    "I'll be coming to check up on you next week," my dad said.
    "Great," I said. "I can't wait."
    "Before I hang up, I wanted to tell you about something else."
    I held my breath.
    "You know that before I retired, I worked for OTB, right?”
    I had no idea what OTB stood for, but that made my dream self relieved and excited, all at the same time. “Yeah, I do.” I gripped the phone and leaned forward.
    “Listen, I’m still really tight with some guys there. And I’m sure they’d be more than happy to hear about your project.”
    I looked up at the computer screen. “Really?”
    “Oh yeah. Ambitious projects like that are their thing.”
    I put my hand on my head. “Wow, are you serious?"
    "They'll be wanting you to pitch it to them pretty soon. Think you're up for it?"
    I looked to the side. At my desk drawer. It was half open, a burnt paper