You Can Sleep When You’re Dead

The boxes, they were endless. He looked out into the vastness of the warehouse and it seemed like that’s all there was.
Endless boxes. Most of these boxes held nothing at all and even more of them would never even be used. Bobby had sent an email
once asking if they really needed all of these boxes. Of course there was no response. He guessed that half of the warehouse was
just that. Boxes. They were all different sizes and stacked from the concrete floor, to the rafters 50 feet overhead. This made his
already difficult job even more so and he needed something from those boxes.

He hadn’t slept and his hands were shaking.

You can sleep when you’re dead. Wasn’t that what they said? The thought comforted him in a strange way.

His mind drifted for a moment as he remembered the time Beth Taylor had offered him a coffee. She held out a Dunkin
Donuts cup but he’d stood there staring at her like he’d seen a ghost.

“I don’t drink coffee” he’d said almost apologetically. Her short blonde hair hung to her face and she brushed it aside. He
could see an almost sense of dread in her almond eyes.

“Don’t drink coffee?” to her it was like asking someone why they don’t breathe air.

“Gives me the jitters.” There was a look she’d given him. It was the look one would give a puppy that you couldn’t bring
home from the pound. You could’ve just taken the coffee. You didn’t have to drink it. This little incident had happened almost 8
years ago but it was still fresh in his mind like it had happened yesterday.

There was unease in his voice as he asked Philip one of the night installers to stay. Phillip looked at him, laughed, then
realizing that he was serious, made up an excuse about going home to his family. He doesn’t have a family. The warehouse was
almost empty now and he knew that there wasn’t anyone else he could ask to stay. Every one of these people made more than
enough money in a year to have no money worries. Offering someone overtime was just a waste of time.

The men in the white lab coats, who always came in pairs dropped off a crate beside him. He stayed sitting on the
concrete and signed the tablet. Surrounding him were dozens of opened boxes strewn about, most of them empty, a few filled with
papers and others filled with various wires, circuits and switches. He looked at the wooden crate the men had left and wondered
again, like he’d had a hundred other times, how they expected him or anyone else to open it. The crates came completely sealed.
There were no edges, no openings, no covers or sealants. They reminded him of large pieces of 2x2 pieces of lumber only a lot
bigger.

He thought back to the time he’d asked ‘the suits’ if they really needed to bring the units down in hermetically sealed
coffins. When they ignored him like they usually did he told them he just wasn’t going to sign for his unit. Of course he’d been
kidding but that split second of defiance was his last. One of the men seemed to groan and placed the tablet on a table they’d been
standing next to. He then grabbed Bobby’s arm forcefully and did the signature motions for him while squeezing the ever living hell
out of his hand. The signatures were always a mess anyways and anyone could sign anyone else’s name and no one would be the
wiser. The act of aggression though had shocked him. At least I came prepared!

The sound of the hammer hitting the crowbar was deafening. Chucks of wood flew everywhere after each hit. Clink, clink,
clink. Sweat pooled down his forehead stinging his eyes. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his white work shirt and looked around.
Several other people were opening their crates as well. Janet Dixon had a power saw and seemed to make quick work of opening
hers. Bobby dare not ask her to use it though. I don’t want to get involved with the employees.

Johnny Christenson already had his open as well, though he had no idea how. What a waste of time! He was getting
frustrated but didn’t want the others to see. Deep breaths seemed to only bring on more sweat and his heart was beating hard
against his chest. Maybe the floor will give me more leverage? So he sat. It didn’t help. But he chiseled away. Clink, clink, clink.

He saw Tyler Jordan walk into the warehouse just after 10am. To say he was surprised was the understatement of the
year. Tyler was either still drunk or hungover, Bobby couldn’t tell which but it didn’t matter because he was here. It was a struggle to
get up but he managed it.. His oversized pants had gotten caught beneath his shoes and he almost tumbled to the ground. Even
when he did get to his feet he stood there motionless for a moment trying to gain his balance. His legs felt wobbly and weak. Bile
filled his throat for a moment but before he got sick he swallowed- hard. Bobby wondered if he was coming down with something.
Yeah you’re getting ‘sick’ just like everyone else! He got as far as he could seem to manage and leaned heavily against the concrete
wall. Tyler stood there looking at him, waiting. Or was he looking through him?

“Tony’s out.” He barked more than he had meant to. It sounded demanding and he regretted speaking so soon. He waited
now, breathing deliberately, trying to compose himself.

“We’re sending out 20 units today …”

 He knew Tyler wouldn’t hit him but there was a brief moment of questioning. Clearly Tyler wasn’t happy. I know I’m not
happy either. What can I do? What can any of us do? But that’s not even the best part Tyler….

“Need you on install” Bobby whispered. He’d hoped that Tyler heard him because he didn’t want to say it again.

“I’m sorry Tyler” he wheezed. “Let’s do what we can and see what happens” He said nothing more and trotted away. He
knew Tyler was staring at him. He didn’t have to see it. He could feel it.

Bobby Brigsby decided that he ought to take a break from endlessly hammering the crate and try to look again for the
install kits.

That meant he would need to go to the other side of the facility, beyond Loading Dock 7. Not again! He thought his heart
skipped a beat.

Loading dock 7 wasn’t where all the shipments came into the building but Bobby figured the most important deliveries at
least started there. Those shipments were taken by the men in white either further into the facility or stacked hopelessly somewhere
else. He had never been inside the walled off unloading area and didn’t know if he wanted to. Better to not know too much.

The other side of the warehouse (where he now needed to go) was separated by Dock 7. A narrow hallway which ran
maybe 80 feet allowed access to the other side and he could faintly see two white suits doing something further on. Along the top
and bottom walls of the corridor were recessed lighting which now glowed a dark red. This served as a sort of warning that you
should probably think twice about going to the other side. Bobby would need to wait. For how long he didn’t know.

“How’s it going Bob” he suddenly felt dizzy like he’d stepped off one of those spinning rides at the carnival. When his head
cleared Brett Salyer a maintenance man was standing next to him. He didn’t do much in regards to maintaining things, the suits did
most of that work. He was great at getting in the way though, always mopping, sweeping and emptying trash bins that didn’t need to
be emptied.

“Hi Brett” he said nicely. Don’t be rude. He wanted to tell him he was busy and he didn’t have time to talk to him. He didn’t
though and that was a mistake.

“Got some vacation coming up. The office said I need to take the days.” He paused for a moment. Bobby thought that
Brett may have wanted him to break into the conversation at that comment but he stayed silent. “Guess I’ll head up to the lake
house, do some fishing. Hey you still fish?”

“No.” He didn’t fish anymore. In fact he hadn’t fished in nearly 10 years. How would you know I used to fish?

“Ah” Brett sighed. “Relaxing. I gotta keep busy though ya know. Idol hands and all” Brett looked like the actor Sam Elliot’s
brother, right down to the cowboy hat he’d sometimes wear to the handlebar mustache. I’d much rather be talking to Sam Elliot.

“Listen.” Brett’s voice grew quiet, just above a whisper. “Somethings going on behind those doors” he pointed to several
staircases leading up to the offices, HR and whatever else lay beyond them. His eyes scanned the room as he continued. “You
notice anything different about anyone around here? And I’m not talking people calling out sick all the time either. I mean really
different, like you don’t even know them anymore.”

Bobby genuinely thought about it for a moment then quickly came to the conclusion that he didn’t know. I don’t want to
get involved with the employees.

“No. I haven’t noticed anything.” He still had this whole fishing thing on his mind and wanted to ask Brett how he knew he
fished but just over Brett’s shoulder he saw the dark foreboding lights by Dock 7 turn from a crimson red to a soft, inviting green.

“Good talking to you Brett. I have work to do.”