Episode 7: Renegade

Returning to reality was like coming through the atmosphere. I awoke covered in sweat, but once again I took in my surroundings with a dim, sort of numb acceptance. My room was my room, my clothes my clothes, and I packed away the recent memories of the room with a calm acceptance. Things returned to normal. I returned to the dining cart, and sat across from Sarah with a detached interest, not talking about anything but always talking.

The days passed.

Then on one return to the dining cart something finally changed. As Sarah and I sat chatting idly about something I couldn't remember, the attendant returned to our table. This time, he had another person held firmly in his grip. The man, about my age, was wearing a leather jacket and jeans. He appeared as though he had just been running errands or something, and had been abruptly interrupted. His hair was disheveled, the collar of his tee shirt stretched, dirt on his pants. He sat down, but instead of the dull familiarity and acceptance that the rest of us had felt, his eyes darted around the room and his hands tapped nervously at the tablecloth.

“Where am I?” he asked once the attendant had walked away, looking over his shoulder cautiously. He was leaning over the table now, his eyes burning into me. A faint, familiar feeling returned then, and I frowned as I realized, too, that something wasn’t right. I didn’t know what.

“There’s no point,” Sarah said as he reached for the menu. He looked inside it, and then threw the menu in the air. For the first time, the interest of all the attendants was piqued. I could see the waiter, on his way to collect the menus, talking to the chef behind the buffet and looking our way. They turned and left together.

“Something isn’t right!” The man was irritated now, his voice raised. He stood up then, gripping the table and looking around the room. “What is wrong with you people? Don’t you see that something’s not right? It’s not hard to figure out! It’s… it’s…”

The attendant was at his side, and so were the waiter and chef. The attendant held his elbow, the waiter his arm, and the chef pushed him along as he started to protest. The eyes of the patrons followed them as he was guided out the far door, shouting incoherently.

I looked at Sarah again. She was frowning at her candle, and very slowly her gaze shifted to me. She echoed the whispers of the other patrons as she cocked her head and muttered, “Something isn’t right.”