SOCK DUTY - PART VI

Please don’t be an ugly bas-

“Oh! H-hello, Officer! H-how can I h-help you today?” The school janitor blinks up at me from his desk in the middle of a classroom.

Not what I was expecting!

The room, somehow, feels neater and cleaner than anywhere else on campus. Chairs evenly spaced, pupils in perfect uniform, and one of the few attractive teachers – who gave me a perfect scowl over her half moon glasses while I doing searches earlier – is even more modestly dressed, serving full lewd librarian, almost minus the lewd. The most picturesque lesson you’ll see outside a brochure.

Meganie lets go of my sleeve and trots over to an empty seat, drops a sickly sweet, “Sorry I’m late, Miss!” then gets out a creaseless jotter from the stationary shelf of her table. Eyes locked forward, waiting for the lesson to begin.

It takes me a moment to process and respond to the dumpy guy in his overalls and an ill-fitting school blazer, “Hey there, buddy! What’s going on in here?”

He maintains his pleasant smile, “W-we’re doing o-one of my favourite subjects,” then, shuffling in his spot to face the front as well, class continues.

“Today, we were learning about Bob’s favourite TV Shows,” the Teacher sounds sincere, like this is all for real, not the result of mind control, “Who can remind the class of their names?”

The janitor looks about the room eagerly, but his hand is already raised before anyone else can answer, even if they could. “Quantum Jump, Slippers, and Stardoor XD-1!”

Everybody claps.

The teacher puts a gold star on a sticker chart and – presumably – Bob looks elated.

I watch a couple more rounds of simple trivia questions about old shows, old even in this timeline let alone the year I’m from, and each time it is much the same.

A squat little fellow with flat pudding bowl hair, squeezed into a boy’s jacket his shoulders and belly are too broad for, merrily bouncing in his seat like an infant at always getting the answer right.

The situation isn’t too hard to grasp, and is thankfully nowhere near as horrific as I was anticipating.

“So, I think I was meant to fill out some forms for my niece to attend the school,” I tap Bob on his surprisingly firm arm, and he jolts a little at being disturbed from his reverie, “Do I need to go to an admissions office for that, or can we do it here?”

At first, he looks confused, but as I motion towards my ward, and he catches on, “Oh, c-certainly! You can s-sign things here!” His face lights up at the prospect of getting a new student in his class. “Meg is very nice, isn’t s-she?” the janitor smiles as he hands me what looks like a register, crudely written out in a nondescript A5 notepad.

I scan the page.

It adds up to everyone in the room.

Each with a little comment after their name, like: smart, funny, cool, sporty, or nice.

Meganie is second to last, then Ken with the description, ‘best friend’.

“Oh, I see the problem,” I motion to borrow one of Bob’s pens, and he offers me several to choose from, the eagerness in his expression so earnest it aches, “that’s my short name!”

I elongate Ken to Kenneth, even though it’s still not right, and start acting the part of an enthusiastic classmate.

We slap a couple of desks together in the middle of the room, the only deviation from the orderly rows, prop some text books in front of us so we can make jokes without being seen, though obviously still heard in the silence otherwise, and turn the pop culture sci-fi quiz into a bit of light-hearted competition.

Each of us vying for as many stars as possible, and even with growing up on shows like this because of my parents, the janitor still beats me by a fair few points.

It honestly feels like when I used to work in a day centre. You’d get different sessions with the elderly or people with disabilities, and Bob reminds me of a few of the guys I’d help support. He’s just a big kid, doing a job his social worker probably had to fight for, and then all this happened. I shake my head to defog the nostalgia.

Throughout the lesson, I make excuses to check the notebook.

There are rules in the front, as comprehensive as you can imagine. The key takeaways being that whatever happens to a person while under its control is erased from their memory once they are released from the power of the Mind Control Memo. That and there are limitations to its use, like not being able to force people into actions they would rather die than commit.

Doesn’t mean you can’t do things to them though, does it…

While Bob chatters away about how fun it would be to travel between worlds and go on adventures – and I have to restrain myself from telling him the harrowing truth of places like flesh and slime worlds – I instead pipe up and press an issue I don’t really want to ask about.

I am fairly certain of the answer, but still need to clarify before wrapping things up.

“So, which one d’you wanna, y’know…” I get a little reflux and have to clear my throat, “We could take turns? It’s probably quiet enough here-”

“Miss!” the janitor’s hand is straight up, his face red, flushed with more anger than embarrassment at the topic I’m hinting at, “Kenneth is b-being rude!”

The silence of the room intensifies.

“Eww…”

“That’s gross!”

“What a creep!”

“Loser!”

“Perv!”

A chorus of insults and disgusted reactions circle around us.

Guess that answers my question.

I consider trying to act innocent, but if Bob hasn’t lied to me, I should at least give him the same courtesy.

“Sorry, Miss…” the students all pipe down, but my new best friend still seems a little miffed with me, so I decide to make it a bit of a joke to soften the mood, “…I was just trying to find out if you were single, so we could go on a date after school.”

Again, the room erupts.

This time into girlish shrieks, giggles, and bashful comments like little kids watching their parents be affectionate to each other. The janitor covers his forehead and mouth with his hands and stares at me between his fingers in disbelief.

“I’ll consider it,” yet another round of gasps and gossiping, “now back to the lesson.”

Everyone hushes at the teacher’s command.

Even I’m put in my place by her remark.

Meganie glares at me over her shoulder.

Did that get through the mind control?

“Y-you and Miss?” Bob is still shocked, but I can tell he’s also happy at the idea of two people he likes getting to be grown-ups together.

I put an arm over his strong shoulders and smirk conspiratorially, “We’ll see how it goes.”

After another quarter-hour, things come to a close.

All the students filter out.

Unfortunately, “I’m just not that interested.” the stern, sexy, secretarial looking teacher of every teenaged boy’s dreams shoots me down and leaves unceremoniously. I wilt in my seat.

At least she gave me one last disgusted look.

My mind controlled colleague loiters in the hallway, waiting for her guardian to take her home, while I wrap things up with Bob.

Something I’d come to dread over the 90 minutes or so we’ve had for our bit of fun, but was inevitable from the start. “Hey, bud…” a sadness seeping into my voice beyond my control, “…time to hand it over.” The janitor sees my police uniform as if for the first time and puts two and two together. He’s not dumb, but he is naive.

“O-OK, O-officer… here you go.” He even holds out his hands, wrists together, expecting me to arrest him.

I bop him on the palms with the Mind Control Memo. He looks at me confused, “What you did was bad, but no one got hurt. You’re a good boy really, just a bit misguided, so…” Not to excuse his actions, but it’s complicated.

Do I force all the students to remember the lessons that they otherwise would have forgotten due to the notebook’s powers?

If they remember and seek justice, how would that even go?

I can feel myself gritting my teeth.

Bob probably wouldn’t be found to have capacity, so would a court still convict him?

His victims probably don’t have histories of abuse or mental illness to unilaterally be considered at risk of manipulation, so would anyone take them seriously?

No signs of coercion, use of force, or being drugged into compliance, so what evidence would they have other than their word?

A crown of consternation compresses my skull.

It might even be kicked out as conspiracy against a vulnerable adult… and any mention of a magical memo-pad is just going to make them all look crazy. What kind of life would that leave them?

Not that his actions should go unpunished, but who am I to be judge, jury, and executioner-

“Thanks for b-being my b-best friend for a day…”

The janitor, school blazer neatly folded over the back of his chair, already has everything from the lesson packed away, including any evidence of our having sat together.

“…I n-never got to go to school, so this was n-nice.”

His words snap me out of my whirlpool of thoughts.

He was just pining for a past he was denied.

Trying to create a place to belong in the present.

You and me both, buddy…

“Gimme your phone a sec…” Bob blinks in uncertainty, but complies, “…let’s look up some options for you.”

We spend another half an hour going over what there is in the area: community centres, interest groups, volunteering opportunities, and even paid work in more social settings he might be qualified for. There’s a fair few things for the soon-to-be ex-school-janitor to go over with whoever helps coordinate his care.

“You’ve had your fun, but it’s time to move on.” He nods and smiles at the list in his hands, so much potential for him to explore, “We need to put this all in the past where it belongs.”

I help Bob lock up.

Meganie is still a little out of sorts, probably tired from such a long day and the after effects of the mind control, so we head back to the Returns Agency in silence.

…you and me both.