An Appointment with Whiskey (A Short Story)

A young man is seated at the reception area in one of the offices of the most important and famous Citizenry Control building located at the business center of Monarch City. He is wearing a dark blue suit and a checkered tie which seems to look like he just carelessly placed around his neck, which of course is acceptable because he almost forgot the appointment the night before when he wasted himself with friends at an underground, infamous dance club which these offices does not ever tolerate. He appears business-like except for his worn-out sneakers that looks like it has not been washed for a long time. He scratches his head a few times and glances at his watch every now and then. He has been sitting there for 30 minutes, thinking of how he dashed out of his apartment even forgetting to lock it when he had left and all he will be doing is wait for extra long minutes in this hell of an office or the reception area.

The reception area is rectangular with the width of half the freeway and fifty feet long. Its walls are painted bluish white with patches of darker shades in every meter square or so. The ceiling serves as the light for the entire area, and can change in various shades of luminescence in just a single swipe on the secretary's computer. There are four identical plants in the room, one in each corner. The seat where he is sitting is one of the four couches that lines up from the doorway up to the secretary's desk. Adjacent to the couches are different racks of magazines, books, tabloids and newspapers. There are also two different machines, one which serves different cold non-alcoholic beverages including water and the other one serves as a coffee machine. The young man is the only the person on the hall with the exception of the secretary. The secretary is busy typing and swiping on her holographic desktop and constantly talking in an earpiece. She is a largely built woman in her forties, her stance is that of a military woman rather than a sexy secretary in which one would envision to be especially in an office like this. Her face is full of focus on what she is doing. She must have been here for a long time or probably paid high to do what she does, he thinks.



Then the secretary stands up.


"Mr. Jarred Hough, Mr. Beasley is ready for you", she says in her low soprano voice.


"Thank you."


Jarred Hough stands up and walks towards the large wood double doors behind the secretary's desk. Hough stands five feet and nine inches tall. He has an athletic build and must have been one of those famous-in-high-school-turned-unsuccessful-in-real-life people. He takes just enough strides towards the double door breathing in and out through his mouth while keeping his chin up. One of Hough's prominent features is his chin, it was always the reason why ladies line up for his attention. Hough has a dark brown hair and an elegant face with a well-formed bone structure which should have been screaming model by the looks of it.


The doors open into a wide room which walls are covered with some sort of metallic color that can be identified from grayish to silvery. At the far end, is a large working table made of wood which seems to be out-of-place in a metallic room. There are no other things in it except  the working table with its king size chair, a smaller chair in front of the desk and smaller table in between them. On the tiny table, are two glasses, and a bottle of, Hough guesses from the color and look of the substance in the half-empty bottle, yes, whiskey, an alcoholic beverage he only reads about and which have been banned from the country along with other drinks that contains even a micro amount of alcohol for as long as he could remember. Aside from that, there is no one else in the large room but Hough.


He walks forward talking slow, precise, careful steps and sits down at the smaller chair. He crosses his legs and stares at the bottle in front of him. As he is about to reach for it, a hissing sound is heard from the empty walls and a sliding door opens.


A man steps out from the compartment and the sliding door shuts close. He takes a look at the young man sitting in front of his table. The man is in his fifties and is wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. He has a pale colored but healthy skin type. His face is more worn-out and old for his age and from what Hough had seen him in, in the advertisements of some of the building's propaganda. Morgan Beasley walks directly towards his chair without even bothering to introduce himself. He makes a few typing on his desk and a holographic monitor pops out just like the one on the reception area. He swipes on files, opening them then reading a few of the documents on it, completely ignoring his guest.


Hough just sits there looking at Beasley disbelieving and does not know what to do in the meantime. He reaches for his chin and touches it. His hands goes up and rub his temples. He bites his lip and turns his head around to distract himself from the very awkward situation. But there is nothing in the room that could distract him except for the bottle of whiskey in front of him, which of course, when consumed, the person drinking could be arrested and maybe sentence to death if found out he has been drinking it long enough. Yes, the whiskey has served its purpose as a diversion.


As Hough is busy distracting himself, Beasley interrupts by giving out a big sigh and says, "found it here, at last."


Hough turns his attention to the old man.


"You know, this has been my life. All of these," Beasley says his eyes completely on Hough. "This building, this work is only the smaller part of sustaining and securing the health of our society. Not just medically, but everything about it. 


"During the early years of the Prohibition Shift, everyone hated my great grandfather. The people thought he was a madman. A corrupt politician who can't make laws. But that time, they did not understand. What he tried to do was to save humanity in the brink of insanity. The war, the famine, all of which are the consequences of humanity's selfishness. All of the preparations for the shift was of course, for the good of the remaining nations after the Great War. And he succeeded. He cured the thing that humans turned to when face with a dilemma, alcohol. He said that after that, humanity would never be the same again. 


"I did not met the great Alexander Beasley. But my father and grandfather did. And they told me everything I need to know about Alexander. You've read about him, did you?" He shoots Hough a wondering glance. 


"Yes," Hough nodded.


"History books. Those books don't lie. But some secrets are kept from it."


There is a moment of silence. Then Beasley continued.


"My daughter was taken from me. By the people that had been around since the Shift. The resistance that had always been waiting for a way to bring back what the society was before the shift and before the Great War. Since her disappearance, I have been doing my own research, studying the past, studying us. I am trying to figure out what had Alexander done? What have I done?


''You are here because I need someone I can trust. I did my research on you and I am very hoping that I can trust you. I believe that you have read the papers I have sent you?"


"Yes." Hough replies, this time his voice is firm and sure.

"Then you know what to do."

Beasley stands up and reaches for the bottle of whiskey and pours himself half a glass. He smells the aroma of the beverage and drinks from it.


Hough is not surprised at all to see it the old man break his own rules.


"I have been living in this hell hole for as long as I can remember. I feed it with my selfish interest thinking that it was for the good of many. Continuing my grandfather's legacy on how humanity should be treated. But it was a mistake. Everything is a mistake. Alexia would still have been with us if it isn't for this society's blindness to see the real problem. It has always been us, the new government that will lead us to our own ruins."


"But all of that is gonna change. And you," Beasley points his finger on Hough. "You will lead the change! And you will save us all."


Hough just sits there thinking that the great man that he is, Beasley is crazy.


Confirming Hough's thoughts, Beasley opens a drawer, pulls out a gun, gives out a grin, and shoots himself.