Arriving at work, I came into my office to find a picture frame. It was Ruben, along with what I can only assume to be his wife and daughter with the faces crossed out. Naturally, everything that gets delivered to me has to he placed inside the room, but this is a new low, even for us. A note beside the picture read 'This photograph is to be placed on the wall of your subject's room, and you are to document his reactions. Thank you.'
Never have I gotten a letter on how to do my job, so this must be essential to whatever info they want out of this guy before I inevitably get the termination papers for poor Ruben.
I gotta admit, I don't wanna do this. A bad feeling lingers in my throat as I slip the frame into the room, this is low. Never in my career, has a man's family been used as mental torture, no matter the circumstances, and generally its seen as out of bounds. Again I wonder, what the hell did this guy do to deserve this? Something odd is definitely going on here.
Waking up, he doesn't notice the frame straight away, instead he remains in his sleeping position, refusing to move a muscle. Taking a sip of coffee, I watch and wait for him to move. Seconds, minutes, and eventually an hour goes by without a single movement. Enter the bane of every job, Ruben appears to have given up hope.
It happens at some point to every client I get, and once it happens, they begin to be less and less useful to us and refuse to emit a reaction anymore. They realise that we feed from their reactions and so they stop giving us them. If only he'd just take a look at the frame and we could kick him back off again, but he won't even so much as lift his head. Normally, around this point some guys would come into my office and take 'appropriate action in either brainwashing and relocating the patient or terminating them. I don't get told which they go through with, but one look at the case papers will usually give you a clue. If it's a termination job, they'll get killed, if not, relocated. But I'm not willing to give up hope on Ruben just yet, there's still much more to get from him.
Maybe they're right, maybe I have developed an attachment to him, but I think it'd be a wasted job if we let him 'go' before getting something they can use; whatever that is. I still can't believe Ive worked here all these years and I still don't have a clue what any of my clients have done or what we even wanted with them. I'm just a cog in the wheel here, I'm not essential. Usually, I'm too busy to really take time to think about my life, but if you really think its as bad as Ruben's is right now. Im a prisoner in my office, working 16 hours a day with no breaks. I don't socialise, I don't go out, I eat in my office, and sleep in a one bedroom apartment next door. I'm a prisoner here and I don't even know it.
Dwelling in my thoughts, I fail to recognise Ruben moving his eyes around the room, finally giving in to his curiosity. As I finally notice him, he locks his eyes on the frame, freezes for what felt like hours but in reality was only a second or two, and looked away as if he was in agony.
A tear rolled down his eye as he tried his damnedest to prevent any more, he sniffled, and slowly wiped the tear from under his eye. After a minute of this repeated, the tears stop and he goes quiet. Gathering his bearings, he drags himself to his feet and throws a fist at the wall. That's when he finally opened his mouth, 'Whoever you are, wherever you are, I don't care. I don't know what you want with me and quite frankly Ive been here so long I don't care anymore. I know that you're not gonna let me out of here alive, but I think I deserve one thing at least. One favour, after all the shit you've put me through and all the shit you're still to put me through, I think you owe me at least one god damn favour. Don't you ignore me because Ill keep going all night long until I get a response from you. Where are my family? Are they okay? Do you have them aswell? If so, can I please see them? Listen man, I don't care what you call me, you can call me Ruben, Roger, even fucking Jeff if you want, I don't care, I just wanna know if my family is okay. Please.'
A few seconds go by, and I'm astonished at the words I've just heard. I never thought that someone so humble would ever find themselves here. I rest my finger on the microphone button, hesitant to press it, until I realise: what's the point? I could speak to the guy, but what is the point? I don't have any answers for him, so why would I talk to him and waste his time. I don't have a clue where his family are, and he won't rest until he finds out. So as much as it pains me, honestly, the best thing is for me to hang up my hat and lock up for the night.
As I switch off the lights in my office, I hear more shouting from the room. Closing the door, I hesitate, then slam it shut.
