1: Death Watch

Back in 2005, things were a lot diff'�

Jack stopped typing when he heard the doorbell ring. He was on the third floor of his house, in the small tower room of the old Victorian. Up here, he was safe and everything was quiet. Anyone else wouldn't have heard anything, hidden in the cluttered studio. Jack Riker had amazing hearing.

He stood up and stretched in front of the wide, sunlit window, dropping his reading glasses onto the stained desktop. Then he turned and took the spiral staircase two steps at a time, his shoes pounding on the ancient wood. He hurried along the second floor hallway and down the stairs, finally reaching the foyer, where a few jackets hung by the front door and a couple pairs of shoes sat beneath them. Behind the stained glass window of the front door, Jack could make out someone's darkened, five feet, five inch outline.

He opened the door and stepped aside. A beautiful woman with auburn hair and a slim figure stepped into the foyer, a wide grin on her olive skin. She was Jack's age, forty-one. She looked a lot younger, mostly because she didn't have any worry lines on her nearly flawless countenance. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her on the cheek.

'Since when do you ring the doorbell, Lizzy?'� He laughed and closed it behind her. The two of them wobbled slightly on their feet, as though they were both yearning to fall to the floor and revert to childish tendencies. 'Come on into the kitchen, I'll get you something to eat.'�

'Did I disturb you, darling?'� She took off her coat and hung it on the rack. She dropped her snow-caked boots on the Pennsylvania Dutch welcome mat that had been placed on the wrong side of the door some time ago. Jack looked curiously at the floor.

'It was snowing?'� he asked.

'Last night.'� Lizzy giggled. 'You've been writing, haven't you?'� She tossed back her hair. The diamond earrings that Jack had given her during last year's Alliance Day celebration glinted under a patch of sunlight.

'You can tell?'� Jack turned and walked through the dining room, then into the spacious kitchen.

'Of course!'� Lizzy exclaimed. 'You're all out of it and you have rings under your eyes. You've been up all night, I'd say. What are you writing now?'� She sat down at the kitchen table while Jack poured her a glass of orange juice. It was early morning, so he figured it was fitting. Then he reached into Lizzy's purse and pulled out her compact mirror. A quick overview of his appearance didn't lie'dark bags under dark brown, bloodshot eyes, messy black hair and of course, clothes that smelled of sweat and last night's dinner.

'You're right. I have been up all night,'� he said. 'I think I may have drank more than thirteen cups of coffee.'�

'Good God,'� Lizzy muttered, horrified.

'As if your smoking is any better.'� Jack opened the fridge and pulled out a dozen eggs. 'Anyway, you wanted to know what it was about.'�

'Good change of subject. Do continue.'�

He put away the carton of orange juice and pointed at the eggs. She nodded.

'I'll take two, scrambled.'�

'Yes, ma'am.'� He cracked several eggs into a mug and turned on the heat under a large frying pan. Then he looked back at her, smiling. 'It's set in 2005.'�

'Ah, how lovely. As if there weren't enough depressing articles and books about that already. Good thing I'm rich. I'd be a mess now if I weren't.'� Lizzy took out a pack of cigarettes and slapped it against her palm several times. Then she opened it up, took out a cig and lit it.

'Actually, the story follows the life of a poor man in Philadelphia.'� Jack wasn't going to give her all the details. He knew she wouldn't like it. Lately, he had been realizing how different their political views were. His ideas about the state of America weren't the sort that were wise to broadcast. Jack and Lizzy had only been dating for a month. There was still a lot that they didn't know about each other.

'That doesn't sound promising.'� Lizzy leaned back in her chair and put her feet up. Her brown slacks didn't make a sound as she moved.

'You'd be surprised. He gets out and gets rich.'� Jack poured the eggs into the frying pan and listened to them sizzle.

'You're kidding. Nobody who's poor gets out of Philly. Thank God. I mean, if they did, think of horrible it would be for the rest of us?'� She leaned over and set her cigarette on a dirty plate that Jack hadn't bothered to wash'or rather, hadn't bothered to let the maid wash. The quiet young Iranian woman hadn't been by in days because Jack had told her not to come. He preferred to be alone when he was writing.

Lizzy took her lipstick out of her purse and flipped open her mirror'she saw her dark blue eyes, the color strengthened by contact lenses, brown turtleneck shirt, and stylish three-bead pendant on a silver chain. She applied the lipstick and smiled devilishly at her own pleasing reflection. 'Jack, that's the silliest thing I've''� She stopped talking when he glared at her.

'Silly?'� he repeated. 'Thanks.'� He turned back to the eggs and flipped them over. 'I'm sure there were a lot of people who got out of Philly before the storm.'�

'I doubt it, Jack.'� She stood up, frowning. 'I'm sorry I insinuated'�'�

'Don't worry about it. It's just, I thought it was a good idea, playing off the Freedom marches and then that storm hitting, you know?'�

Jack failed to mention that he was against the Freedom Uprising, as they called it, a time in which people everywhere revolted against state governments and the censorship laws. The government always failed to mention the rebels who preached that state governments were useful and shouldn't have been abolished. 2005 had been a dark year that had given way to an even more pathetic generation. At least, that was the way Jack saw it. Nowadays, it wasn't a good idea to voice your opposition to the federal government.

It's really twisted, he thought, the way they use freedom of speech to put a pretty face on things like the Death Watch show.

As if the universe were trying to disgust him even more, Lizzy announced that she was going into the living room to watch TV. When Jack brought their breakfast in and set it on a couple of trays, he listened to the news reports with great disdain, wishing he could go back in time.

'Well, Joseph, it looks like our next guest is from Philly. What do you think of that?'�

'A little disturbing, Stace, but it works. Our guest is a man named Phillip, who says he's tired of living in such a crime-ridden city. I've gotta say, it's really too bad that the government doesn't allow shows like ours to be broadcast in places like Philly. If only they would, I mean, think of how much better it would be.'�

'Oh, yeah, definitely. Repression of violence certainly leads to more and more incompetence, especially in cities.'�

'I completely agree, Stace. Anyway, our guest, Phillip, is going to die through a good, old-fashioned method of self-induced death: hanging. Let's skip over to Tracy, who is live in the Death Watch studio. Tracy, what have you got for us?'�

'Well, Joseph, it looks like Phillip is getting his noose ready. We're going to see if he does it right. If he does, it'll be quick and almost painless, but there are so few people these days who can hang themselves correctly, wouldn't you agree?'�

Jack sat down on the couch and pulled his TV tray a little closer. He kept his eyes glued to the television as he ate. A moment later, there was a creaking noise, then the sounds of a struggle. A sick, gurgling noise emanated from the mouth of the condemned.

'Oh, look, he did it wrong!'� Lizzy exclaimed, laughing. 'It's so stupid when they get people like this on the show. All those city prisoners are idiots!'�

'Yeah, idiots,'� Jack muttered between bites.

On the TV, the three newscasters talked amongst themselves as they watched the plump man kicking his legs in midair, his head turning a sickly purple color as he grabbed at the tight rope around his neck.

'Stace, this guy is certainly acting differently than most of our guests. It looks like he's trying to get out of there, like he's decided he doesn't really want to die.'�

'Ha, ha! Now its time for all of our loyal friends at home to call in. Let us know what you think. Should we cut him down? As you can tell from how badly he went about it, he'll probably be alive for an hour or so, maybe more.'�

The man stopped struggling.

'So go ahead, call in and make your vote. You know the drill. After commercial break, we'll go to Monty Burgess out in South America, where ten traitors have been captured and will be put to death within the hour. This is one report you don't want to miss! We'll be back after this.'�

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