Gwendy’s Final Task

A chill dances along Winston’s spine at the mention of the word “privacy.” He feels an instant tightening in his groin. The man cruises two blocks east and pulls into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse. He drives around back and stops in front of an empty loading dock. Winston can see shards of broken glass, several rusty needles, and a scattering of used condoms lying on the asphalt outside of the car. But he doesn’t care. Just like he doesn’t care about the insistent buzzing deep in his brain. All that matters now is the blond angel sitting next to him.

The man switches off the engine and turns to him. “Allow me to properly introduce myself.” He extends his right hand. “You can call me Bobby.”

Winston reaches over and takes his hand. The man’s skin feels smooth and pleasant, like warm butter. The tightening in the crotch of Winston’s slacks deepens to a dull throbbing.

“What I have to say to you, what I have to offer you won’t take long,” the stranger says. “But I need you to listen very carefully.”

Winston, adrift in a haze, slowly nods his head.

“My associates and I are well aware of your great wealth, Mr. Winston. But, as you know, there are other standards by which to measure one’s legacy.” He leans across the seat; close enough for Winston to feel the man’s breath wash over him. Winston’s already wide eyes widen some more. “Power. Control. Territory.

“There are other worlds than these. Many. You can rule one of them. Not just a company, not just a continent, but an entire world. And you can do it for an eternity.”

The buzzing sound has diminished inside of Winston’s head. Now he hears something else: the sound of distant waves crashing on a rocky shore. He likes the idea of ruling a world; who wouldn’t? It’s bullshit, of course, but it would be very nice. Excellent, in fact. He could see himself in a castle by the sea … listening to those crashing waves … a thousand people bowing down as he stands above them … hell, ten thousand! As the Beach Boys’ song says, wouldn’t it be nice.

“All we need from you is a particular item. It is in possession of a woman named Gwendolyn Peterson—”

“The Senator?”

“The very same. We can try to take it ourselves—in fact, we have tried—but the Tower is strong.”

“What tower?” Winston asks in a voice that sounds nothing like his own.