It had been hours since Dr. Ryshard and the others had left. Their final remarks still burned in his mind. Just hang in there. Sam punched the wall, adding yet another dent. His knuckles were bleeding and his wrist hurt but he liked the pain, it helped distract from the other pains he felt, the pains that weren't his. He punched again, and again, burying both fists into the wall as the sheet rock gave way. He didn't stop hitting. With each blow he felt his mind clear a little bit more, numbed the foreign thoughts and feelings. At last, he heard a crack that wasn't the wall and a stab of pain shot from his hand and up his arm like electricity.
His mind was clear.
Sam panted, lying down on the floor and cradling his broken hand. He still had his own negative emotions, but the others were gone, blocked somehow. Sam knew what a dangerous precedent this was to set, but finding relief from the anguish was worth it, for now. With his mind clear, the oddness about Dr. Ryshard and the others struck him. they'd expressed worry, concern, perhaps even fear. Things no one but the Crier was supposed to be able to feel.
The pain in Sam's hand began to lessen and the other pain returned, driving out his ability to focus. The only thing he knew was that Dr. Ryshard, and the few others with him, weren't part of the system. Their emotions were their own. Still, he wouldn't get anywhere without being able to focus. Perhaps he'd be able to find more out at his new job.
Getting ready for the day was a chore in and of itself. Not only did he get overcome with emotion every few minutes, but with the broken hand even simple tasks like buttoning up his shirt became almost impossible. He was late, but Dr. Ryshard should understand.
It was well past midday by the time Sam found himself staring up at Ryshard Dynamics. The building was the largest in the city, the highest levels passed above the cloud layer that hung over the city on most days. At the very top, Sam knew, were the emitters of the signal that created the Emotional Resonance. His identity card granted him access into the building and he quickly made his way to the restroom. His nervousness and anxiety fed off of the other fears swarming his mind and his stomach clenched. He spent several minutes face down in the toilet bowl. By the time he calmed himself down enough to leave, his stomach muscles ached and his teeth felt gritty and rough. Not to say anything about the taste.
His office was small but not so small that he felt trapped. The windows offered what he would have once thought of as a pristine view of the city. His work station lent itself to just about anything he could want to work on with places for experiments, diagrams, computers, prototypes, and notes. He just didn't know what he wanted to do with it now, if anything at all.
“I didn't expect you today.”
Sam turned. Dr. Ryshard stood in the open doorway, leaning against the door frame with a concerned look on his face.
“I have a job to do,” Sam stated. The knot in his stomach tightened and he was thankful he'd already purged.
“Yes,” Dr. Ryshard said, stepping properly into the room, “And if spending some time here helps then by all means. Anything you want.”
“I meant my job here,” Sam motioned to the work station. “Or was this all part of your plan?”
“I told you before,” Dr. Ryshard ran a hand along the work station's surface, “The Crier's aren't chosen by us. We just keep an eye out for them so we can educate them, just like we did for you this morning.”
“So,” Sam said, his anger rising, “you don't even want me here?”
“I do want you here, Sam,” Dr. Ryshard said, meeting his gaze, “But given the recent changes you've experienced I think it would be quite unfair of me to either fire you or force you to show up on time for work.”
Dr. Ryshard sighed, looking much older than he was as the concern wrinkled his face in the afternoon light. “All I can ask is that you do your best. You'll still the same pay and benefits that you would have done had this not happened.” He moved back toward the door to leave.
“How do you do it?” Sam finally asked, not knowing if or when he'd have another opportunity to speak so openly with Dr. Ryshard. Somehow, he doubted that the president of such a large corporation didn't make personal visits to employees that often.
“Do what?” Dr. Ryshard asked, turning back to look at Sam.
“You feel your emotions, all of them,” Sam knew it sounded awkward but it couldn't be helped. “How do you do it?”
Dr. Ryshard shook his head. “You know how many people notice that about me?
“It isn't just you,” Sam interjected.
“There are others, yes, but still, most people can't feel concerned by it and so they never think about it,” Dr. Ryshard moved back into the room and shut the door behind him, presumably so that no one else would hear their conversation. “But what's always surprised me is that not even the Crier's seem to ever notice. Or if they have, they never asked about it.”
“So what?” Sam asked.
“Just noting your observation.”
“And?”
“And regretting the fact that I cannot give you a satisfactory answer,” Dr. Ryshard sat down in one of the rooms two chairs.
“Why not?” Sam asked, taking the other seat at Dr. Ryshard's gesture.
“This is dangerous ground, Sam, for both of us.”
Sam waited. He wanted to speak but the emotions were welling up again and were threatening to overpower him. Hot tears streamed down his face but other than that he kept his composure.
“If you need a few moments to—
“Just tell me,” Sam said through his tightening throat.
“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Dr. Ryshard said, lowering his voice, “You cannot speak about my emotions, or anyone else who feels like I do...And no, you cannot do what we do, there's no way of knowing what it would do to the system.”
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