The Cecilia Paradox: Short Story by John Mantooth Page A

on a pocket of bad air. His eyes popped out of his head and landed in his cereal. Sharon must have had a heart attack or something because she screamed once, swooned to the floor and died.
    Then there was Freddie. Freddie’s like the antichrist around here. We all worship him, but Henry tells us he’s a false god and following him will lead to destruction and pain and our eyes popping out from all the bad air up there.
    On the third day, Freddie rose from his tomb, amen. He asked me if I wanted to go with him. I told him I’d think about it. He promised to come back for us.
    190 days later and no Freddie.
    Marjorie asks me if I’m going to the Crucifixion later this evening.
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    “No, Adam. Henry’s serious about this. I think this may be the season climax.”
    “There’s no one watching, Marjorie.”
    She twists her long black hair and looks at me with those stupid, pouty eyes. Getting caught down here is probably the greatest thing that ever happened to her.
    “Then leave,” she says.
    “That doesn’t make sense,” I say. “If I think there is no TV show, it means I think there really was an airborne disease that killed everybody else in the world except us. It means I believe Henry is some kind of God or at least history’s greatest scientist.”
    “Believe what you want. I don’t care. Like I said, you should just leave if you’re going to be so miserable. Go be like that idiot Freddie. I’ll bet everybody’s laughing at him right now.”
    “Bitch.”
    “Stupid fuck.”
    I snarl, about to say something else nasty when the fire alarm goes off.
    Fire alarm?
    Henry’s voice booms over the loudspeaker: “This is not a drill. Report to the north exit immediately.”
    I look at Marjorie. She shrugs. “Maybe it’s a ratings sweep.
    We gather at the north exit, near the same brown door Freddie left by, months ago. Dominic hands out gas masks. I have to go to the bathroom.
    “Hold it,” Dominic says.
    I smell smoke. We line up. Frank’s behind me, saying he heard Ralph went nuts when Henry told him he was really going to crucify him and started a fire in the rec area.
    “Henry told him he was really going to crucify him?”
    Frank laughs. “Yeah. Henry is fucked up in the head. He really thinks he’s God.”
    “And you really think this is a TV show?”
    “No fucking question.”
    Dominic reaches for the door, resting his hand on the silver handle. “Get your masks on you two,” he says, gesturing at me and Frank. He pulls his own mask over his nose and mouth, adjusting the valve.
    “I want to see Henry,” I say.
    “Not possible,” Dominic says.
    “He’s staying inside, then? With the fire?”
    “He’s the big man,” Dominic says. “He calls the shots. Not you.”
    And that’s that. I slide on my gas mask, Dominic opens the door. We shuffle out into the outside world. First time in 193 days.
    They blindfolded us when they brought us to the survey. Top secret government bullshit. Just give me my cheque. I didn’t care. Blindfold? Sure. You still paying me one thousand dollars at the end?
    I’ve got a new perspective now. Like a man might have after being in prison for a long time. What’s money? Shit. Money’s just paper or plastic. I want the air, the solid ground beneath my feet. I want the sun. These are the things that are real.
    We’re behind a pockmarked brick building with no windows in a little alley. It’s dark out. I look up and see not a star in the sky, which would make sense considering all the bad air. Or it could just be cloud cover. The agony of not knowing is the worst.
    Dominic looks like one of those guys you see in movies about World War I, holed up in his trench, waiting for the gas, waiting for the end.
    “Face the building,” he says.
    “Eyes in front of you,” he says.
    “Keep those masks on. Stay together,” he says.
    “This is all a big fucking joke,” he says. “But not, I repeat, not a reality show.”
    Okay, he