The Participants Read Online Free PDF Page B

black blouse whose contours
subtly suggested things to every man in the room and tan skirt that
emphasized the movements of her hips. Her calm, curious inspection
of her environment suggested intelligence, self-confidence,
purpose, and situational awareness. Her appearance was a remarkable
coordination of an outfit, a body, and an attitude.
    He had no idea how to categorize this woman.
If she were better dressed, he would say she was wealthy. If her
movements were less seductive, he would guess she worked in law
enforcement. He dismissed roles in rapid succession. Criminal? No;
too relaxed. Celebrity? No; too natural.
    She looked directly at him
when her path through the store came closest to his counter. Her
rapid assessment of him was obvious from the manner in which her
eyes leaped from one feature to the next, pausing for brief
inspections. Zack leaned forward. Who is
she?
    The woman smiled and swayed
up to his counter. A tilt to her head told him she was about to
slip into a less-than-honest role. He lifted his chin a hair and
narrowed his eyes for an instant. The woman's demure shrug said she
knew he could see through her and apologized for the act. Zack let
out a slow breath. We just had a whole
conversation without a single word. Who the hell is this
woman?
    “I saw you on the news the other day,” she
said.
    Zack cleared his throat. “That was a
hoax.”
    The woman's eyes darted towards the camera
mounted to the wall beside him – the same camera that had caught
the damning video. “You were sloppy.”
    She knows. “Who are you?”
    “Call me Bridgette. I believe you go by
Zack?”
    “That's my name,” he said.
    She waved her hand in dismissal. “Names
don't matter.”
    “Who are you?”
    “Who do you think I am, Zack?” She leaned
forward in anticipation.
    Zack's eyes traced the outline of her face.
“A model? Maybe a reporter?”
    She shook her head. “My job is a lot more
important than that.”
    Job. That suggested she was an employee and
not an employer. “Professional manager, secret agent, scientist,
preacher . . . . No? None of those? I give up.”
    Bridgette blinked and stepped back. “You're
serious. You really don't know what I am.”
    “Why would you expect a complete stranger to
be able to guess your job?”
    Bridgette looked into his eyes as she spoke.
“Hess, it's me.”
    Zack glanced down at the counter before
responding. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”
    “No, Zack, I don't. I know exactly who you
are. Who you have been for a hundred and forty-four
iterations.”
    He cleared his throat. “Why don't you tell
me who you think I am and I'll let you know if you're right or
wrong?”
    “You're an immortal Observer for the
Creator.”
    Zack took a deep
breath. How does she know that? It's an
impossible guess. There's no way anyone could know about me. Not
unless . . . . “I'm not the only one.” He
blinked, then spoke in a rush. “You're an Observer. Are there any
others?”
    Bridgette stared at him. “You're not this
convincing of an actor.”
    “What do you mean?”
    She shook her head. “Never mind. Can we talk
outside?”
    “Sure. There's a pavilion off to the
side.”
    “I spotted it on my way in.”
    Zack laughed. “Of course you noticed it. I
would have.” He abandoned his post at the deli counter, trying to
suppress the giddy excitement within him. Other Observers existed.
It lessened the guilt he felt over his deficits to know that he
didn't bear the entire burden of witnessing creation. It meant
there were others who understood his problems. Others who might
know how to deal with things. It meant there was hope for him.
    He asked his first question before they
reached the pavilion. “Do you have any idea how many of us there
are?”
    “Eleven,” she said.
    “That's awful specific. How do you
know?”
    Bridgette sat on the picnic table. “Because
in a hundred and forty-four iterations, I have only met ten others.
In case you hadn't noticed,