The Program

Looking at the clock, I see it’s almost 10 a.m. I have called my handler every hour on the hour since six o’clock this morning. Four hours, that’s the amount of time I must give them to call me back. At the end of the fourth hour, I’m supposed to call the back-up line. I hate calling the back-up line. I’ve never been given good news when I’ve had to use it.

Sitting at the kitchen table in my current studio apartment, where everything I own can fit into a suitcase and the furniture is from some rental company in town, I stare at the landline, willing it to ring. Praying to every God I can think of I won’t have to call the back-up line… Again.

This will be the third time in the last six months I’ll have to use it. So far, each time I’ve called, the person on the other end of the line has given me the phrase I’ve come to dread. A phrase that means I need to pack up everything I can and head to a designated location I'm given to meet another handler.

Closing my eyes, I take a breath and reminisce about when I joined the program.

My Fiancé had shown up at the bar I worked at and caused a scene. His tangent had almost cost me my job, but thankfully my boss gave me another chance.

An off-duty officer had slipped me a card afterwards when I went to check if he needed anything else. He didn’t say anything about it, just laid down a fifty with the card telling me to keep the change. Once he’d left the bar, I looked at the card which turned out be his business card.

Why did he give me this? I’d thought. Not seeing much need for it at the time, I’d gone to throw it away, but something deep in my gut told me to keep it. That I may not have needed it today but someday I might.

That day came about six months later. My Fiancé had come home and told me to pack whatever I could in a suitcase. That I needed to get out of town.

He explained that about seven months ago he’d been desperate to keep his company afloat and had gotten deeply involved with some bad people and they had threatened me. Multiple times in fact. Threatening me was their way to make sure he complied with whatever they wanted him to do. However, the most recent thing they wanted, he knew he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. His conscience finally kicking through the wall he’d put up screaming at him not to do it.

After he’d explained mostly everything to me, he went into his study and came out with an envelope full of cash. When he handed it to me, he said, “Here’s ten thousand dollars in cash, I know it isn’t much, but it should be enough to get you set up in a small town where no one will think to look for you?”

“Where the hell did you get this?” I’d asked him.

“I’ve been taking cash out of the account for the last six months or so in case something like this happened.” Pausing he’d rubbed his hand down his face. “I knew these were bad people, but I needed the business at the time.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. You’ve got hurry sweetheart.” He’d said as he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me towards him, cradling my head in his hands. “I love you so much. I can’t let anything happen to you. Please, just do this for me.”

With a heavy sigh I nodded and walked into my bedroom. I packed everything I thought I may need. Clothes, toiletries, and my passport. When I came out of the bedroom I went over to the front door and grabbed my coat. As I was pulling it on, I turned to look at my Fiancé who was now siting on the sofa. “Jason, will I ever see you again?”

“I don’t know sweetheart.” He’d whispered so softly that I almost hadn’t heard him. As he had said it, he’d gotten up and walked over to me. Taking my face in his hands again, he said, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again, but I do know you. You’re the strongest person I know.”

I’d simply nodded grabbed my things and walked out the door. If I had stayed any longer, I would have broken down crying.

After getting my things in the car, I’d gotten in and sat there for a few minutes. Trying to figure out what I was going to do. I was about to pull out of the parking spot when I remembered the business card. Frantically, I started digging through my purse looking for the case I used to keep business cards in. Finding what I needed, I called the number.”

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Fuck, he most likely changed his number, or he doesn’t work on the force anymore. I’d thought right before someone finally answered.

“Detective Kilpatrick.”

Glancing at the name on the card I breathed out a sigh a of relief. It was the same guy.

“Hello.” He’d said sounding a little annoyed when I hadn’t responded right away.

“Hi. Umm. Hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know what else to do. Then I remembered the business card you gave me about six months ago.”

He chuckled. “Okay ma’am, you’re going to have to be a little bit more specific I give out my business card to a lot of people.”

“Oh right, sorry. I’m a bartender at O’Riely’s. My Fiancé had come into the bar and caused a scene the night you gave me the card and I’m assuming you were off duty when you did.”

“Right, I remember that.” He’s said, then paused before continuing, “So, did he finally hit you?”

“What!” I’d replied exasperated.

“That’s why I gave you, my card. Typically, when I see somebody’s significant other come into their place of employment and cause a scene the way he did, if they aren’t already hitting that person they will start eventually. Especially, high powered businessmen”

“This was a mistake.”

“Why’s it a mistake? Because I’m right?” he’d asked. His voice sounding slightly cocky.

At that point my temper had snapped. “My Fiancé has never hit me. He may be a businessman but that has nothing to do with his temperament or the reason he came into the bar that night. Which, for your information, the reason he had come in that night was because we had gotten into a fight earlier that day. He had asked me not to go into work that night but wouldn’t tell me the reason he didn’t want me to go in. I went anyways. So no, this wasn’t a mistake because you were right. This was a mistake because I thought I was calling someone who may be able to help me. Not a prejudice asshole.”

I heard him sigh. “Look ma’am. I can’t lie to you and say that I haven’t seen his type go off the rails before. If I did misjudge the situation and brought in some of my own personal feelings which I shouldn’t have done. I’m sorry. So, I’ll help you if I can. If you’re willing to accept it that is.”

Shaking my head to clear the memory, I glance at the clock on the wall again. It’s 10 a.m. Dropping my head into my hands, I let out a devastated sigh.

Shit.

I don’t want to do this.

I hate this.

With another sigh, I push my negative thoughts to the side. Picking up the phone, I punch in the number for the backup line. Before I initiate the call, I glance at the card one more time. Making sure I’ve entered the number correctly although I know have. It's committed to my memory after looking at it so many times.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Good morning,” a cheery female voice answers, “thank you for calling the Maverick County Health Department. How may I direct your call?”

“I’m looking for a bag of dominos.” I croak out, my throat suddenly dry, and my voice sounding raspy. Like I haven’t used it in ages.

“Of course, ma’am, I would be more than happy to assist you with that.” The cheery female voice says. If what I said rattles the woman, she’s good at masking it. It’s rare for someone in the program to call the back-up line. “I need your account ID number as well as your phone password.”

“NJ95 3688, I haven’t showered in 6 days.”

The line goes quiet, if it weren’t for the sound of the woman typing what I assume is my information into the system, I would have thought the call was disconnected. That’s how quiet it is. A few seconds later, I hear the woman inhale sharply. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for her to say the phrase I'm dreading to hear.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I have to ask you to please reset your password.”

I knew it was coming but I still couldn’t help the sob that escapes my lips. Reset your password is the code phrase for your location has been compromised. “Where?” I ask, though I know she won't have the answer.

“A team member will call you back in half an hour. Please use the time wisely.” She pauses, then adds, “I’m sorry.” her voice barely more than a whisper.

I nod, forgetting she can't see me, while I try not to cry. They’ve all said it. Every time I've had to call the back-up line, the individual on the other end of the line apologizes. Everyone I have spoken to seemed shocked this is happening. The program is so successful that many of the backup lines have never been utilized and here I am using it for the third time.

"It's okay." I reply. It's the same thing I said the last two times as well. I don't know what else to say to their whispered words.

Hanging up the phone, I sit and stare at it. Trying to process the fact this is real; I really have to move again. Springing into action, I go over to my bed where my suitcase is sitting. I had started the process of packing after my handler hadn't answered the third time I called.

Once I’m finished shoving what’s left of my things into it, I do a walk-thru of the entire apartment. Making sure I haven’t missed anything. Satisfied for now that I haven’t, I start grabbing things I can take with me from the pantry. Everything else, I toss in the trash along with whatever was in the refrigerator before taking it out to the dumpster.

When, I’d gone to take out the trash I’d slipped on a pair of flip flops I use to walk around the apartment complex by the door. Slipping them off now, I shove them in my suitcase. Sitting at the edge of the bed I tug on some socks and my sneakers.

Since I'm prone to forget or overlook things, I walk through the apartment once again. Making sure I didn't forget anything else like the flip flops that had been by the door; I open every cabinet and every drawer. I also look under the bed and sofa as well.

Satisfied this time that I didn't miss anything, I go back into the kitchen. Glancing at the clock on my way before sliding into one of the chairs at the table. I still have another five minutes before I'm supposed to receive the call.

I jolt when the phone rings fumbling to answer. “Hello?”

“NJ95 3688.” A man on the other end says.

“Yes.”

“You are to meet a handler at the San Antonio Zoo near the Elephant enclosure at 3:30 p.m. Park on level two of the parking garage. Once you’ve reached the Elephant enclosure, turn on your burner phone. You should have a waiting text message asking if you’ve reached your location and instructions on how to reply. Do you understand NJ95 3688?”

“Yes.”

“Then this is Goodbye and good luck.” The man says before ending the call.