Zero

The day was 11/18/2008. A clean-cut man wearing a suit and tie sat down a computer screen. “Here’s her biography.” They gave him the tape she recorded to remember that tragic day. It was a must. Of course, the tape wasn’t her actual biography, but it was all that mattered to them. She was essentially a test subject. She had no personal background. She wasn’t even human to them.

Hello. Well, uh, let’s see. My name is Becka. Becka Parrish. I wish that was all you needed to know, But oddly, this isn’t the end. Becka is more than just Becka. Let’s travel through time, shall we? It all started in Kindergarten. This was the real deal. Anyone brave enough to finish the rumored ‘torture’ was cool enough to hang out with the first graders. Heck, maybe even the second graders. But that is not even the point. I was in trouble for misbehaving in class. I remember the scenario clearly. You may ask why. I don’t blame you. I don’t even remember what I had for dinner last night., But this was a bit more traumatic than dinner. My brother may disagree, but he’s 22 and should be in college right now. His opinion doesn’t matter.

“I’m not lying Ms. Mary, I see numbers on everyone.” I begged for her to release me to recess.

She tried to smack some sense into me. “What do you mean? Like Marco’s jersey?” 

I wasn’t the one that would be smacked later on. 

“No. Like..” I hesitating, trying to figure out what 2/7/95 meant. I tried to match it up with something written on the blackboard. I ran over and pointed at it. “That!”

“Sit down, Becka. You’re still in time out, sweetie.” She went over to grab my shoulder and looked at what I was pointing at. Of course I couldn’t reach that high then, but since there was nothing else on the blackboard, it was a dead ringer.

She looked at it. “That’s a date, sweetheart. Why are you seeing dates on everyone?”

“That’s not normal?” I shrugged.

“No, Becka, but-” She had a whole speech planned out going on about how I was perfect no matter what, but she quickly became absorbed in her own issues. “What does it say for me?”

“2/7/95 and 2:50 P.M.” I proudly announced.

Her face went dead white. “What does that mean? Is it good?”

I was expecting a ‘good job’ for knowing how to tell time. “I know how to read time, Ms. Mary. None of the other kids do yet!” I put my hands on my hips and grinned.

“Great job, honey. Now what does that mean? Do you know?” She was desperate to know.

I stuttered. “N-no.” And nodded my head shakily. 

Our conversation took away my recess time due to her selfishness and I couldn’t sit still for the rest of the day. Likewise, neither could she. She kept looking at her white Rolex watch and checked her phone over and over again until the bell rang.

You see, Ms. Mary walked the kids who only lived a couple blocks away home. I didn’t walk home, I lived too far away for that. Today was different though. I wanted to know what these numbers meant. So I followed Ms. Mary and camouflaged myself into the mix of children walking home. Ms. Mary looked different than a teacher right now, more like a police officer. She had a vest and a stop sign and a rope for us kids to hold on to. To speak in inhumane terms, it was a leash. Humans are more civilized than that, so it was not a leash. It was merely help. After all, we’re not perfect. We needed the leash to keep us from getting lost. Ms. Mary needed an ambulance to keep her alive.

Today was February 7, 1995. School got out at 2:45. It only took us a couple minutes to go outside and it was bound to be 2:50 by now. I knew it was getting closer because Ms. Mary kept looking everywhere and wouldn’t stop. Her theory was that she would get mugged or murdered. Mary Weinhart was about to uncover the truth to my illness and so was I. She walked across the two lines marked for pedestrians and she stopped in the middle. She beckoned us kids to move foreward and that’s when it hit her. One kid was a foot away from her. I was a mile away. I was sick to my stomach.

I ran to my mother, who saw me crying. She didn’t stop to ask where I was, because it was probably 3:00, exactly 10 minutes after the fatal incident, and 15 after school. She was trying to calm me down to hear me out, and I simply told her that Ms. Mary Weinhart was dead. She freaked out and told me to tell her where. We drove to the destination and being that we were all kindergarteners, none of us had a cell phone except for my mother. She called 911. It was too late by then anyway.

I predicted the death of my Kindergarten Teacher Aide.

The video ended and an animation squeezed Becka’s face into a void of black. The man turned around in his swivel chair. “Find her. She interests me.” 

“We will get right on it.” They saluted him.

He popped his knuckles and looked at them. “But not you two.”

The two employees looked at each other, and back at the man’s insane words. They were the best hunters the government had. “But sir, we’re the best.”

“Just get the second best then, please. Don’t ask questions.”

They sighed and walked out.

The man watched them leave.

He watched their numbers leave.

11/19/2008 7:14 A.M

11/19/2008 8:00 A.M