I
NOW
As the rotund security guard rounded the corner, he threw the beam of his flashlight around with one hand, while frantically yelling into his walkie talkie that he held in the other.
“We have unauthorized personnel in the building. I repeat, unauthorized personnel!” The guard stopped to catch his breath and huffed as he continued to yell into the walkie talkie. “Secure the facility and contain them for questioning. Do not let them escape!” Doors lined the hallway on either side of the security guard, and he looked from side to side, trying to determine if there was any sign of the pair that had eluded his capture.
Behind one of these doors, cramped in a janitorial closet, stood Archie Sweet and Imogene Pierce, backs pressed tightly against the wall. Archie looked around at the cleaning supplies littered about the closet, the broom in the corner, looking for anything to get them out of this situation.
“OK,” he began, adjusting the large glasses on his face, “we may be in over our heads a little bit.” Imogene leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. She let out a quiet sigh as to not give away their position.
“I just wanted a paycheck,” she said. With her eyes closed, she could see it all so clearly, the path that had led her here.
II
THEN
Imogene Pierce, age 19, stood in line at the local supermarket. The cashier behind the counter, his hair slicked back, looked at the young girl wearily.
“That’ll be $3.95,” he said, having finished scanning the few items that Imogene could afford to buy in between paychecks.
“Oh, uh, sure, sure,” Imogene said. She rolled up the sleeves of her flannel and dug her hands into her pockets, fishing around for some money. She came out with a fist full of coins. She rattled them around and then laid her hand out palm flat. She counted aloud. “93…94…95!” She placed the loose change down on the counter before her. The cashier looked down at the change and then scooped it up into his hand and placed it into the register.
“Uh, thanks, have a nice day,” said Imogene as she picked up her single bag of groceries and began to head off toward her car. She looked down at the ground, embarrassed by this new low that she had it. She sighed.
“No job, no money. I can’t believe it, I’m a broke college student. I’m literally a walking stereotype.” As she was contemplating her current fate, she passed a bulletin board. It was full of paper, hung here and there, tear aways, flyers, business cards. However, this barrage of paper had not gained her attention at first. Only once she had passed it, did it register with her that there may be something there for her. She backed up, head cocked to the side.
“Oh, merciful cork board, do you hold gainful employment for poor Imogene?” Balancing the grocery bag in one arm, her eyes darted from paper to paper.
“No, no, no…” Then her eyes stopped. “What’s this?” Hanging there, with all of its tear away slips fully intact, was an ad that read:
“The Midnight Sun. The Midnight Sun is seeking journalists and photographers. Good pay and travel opportunities.”
On each detachable slip was a phone number. Curious, Imogene tore off the first strip and held it between her finger and thumb.
“Midnight Sun…Midnight Sun. Aren’t they those weirdos with the tabloid? About like, monsters and aliens? I don’t know…I’ll have to think about this one.” She folded up the little strip of paper and placed it in her flannel breast pocket.
Imogene walked outside and loaded the groceries securely in the passenger side seat and feeling a tug from the piece of paper in her pocket, pulled it out. She examined the number closely.
“Crazy weirdos,” she contemplated, “but money. Weirdos…” She looked past the paper to the gas gauge on her car, which was cracked and read just about as empty as it could, without being broken down. “But money,” she concluded.
III
An hour later, she stood in front of the small office that housed the Midnight Sun. The name of the newspaper had been written in big black letters, and it looked like fresh paint too. Imogene guessed that they had been vandalized somewhat recently, but the fresh paint looked nice, inviting. Not the least bit crazy. She stared at the brick building before her.
“You know what? I bet this place is like a satire paper. Yeah, that’s it. These people are actually hilarious. No one can believe the stuff they publish.” At this deduction, she felt relieved. She certainly didn’t want to work for anybody who believed the sort of things that the Midnight Sun put in their paper. Feeling somewhat better about the situation, she entered the building.
Standing there, in front of a wall of newspaper clippings, was a man in a brown checkered jacket and khaki pants. His arms were folded, as though he were deep in thought. He was so involved, he did not hear Imogene enter. She cleared her throat.
“Um, hello? I’m here to apply for the job…?” She said with uncertainty. Quickly the man in front of her turned his head, she couldn’t believe the speed with which he had moved, his tie flapping behind his movement.
“Really?” He asked, a tinge of disbelief in his voice. “I mean, that’s great! You’re the only applicant we’ve had so far. I’m Archie Sweet, editor and reporter.” He stuck his dark hand out toward her.
“Imogene Pierce.” She said, taking his hand. Then, Archie crossed his arms once more and turned back to the wall of clippings he had been studying.
“Pardon me,” he said, “I was just going over some previous issues.” It was now that Imogene could make out the articles before her. She had to swallow some laughter as she read several of the headlines.
“UFO Abducts Entire Skyline Chili,” read one of them.
“Thunder Bird Steals Thunderbird,” said another.
“Lovleland Frog Seeks Love.”
“Crop Circle Profanity?” The clippings went on, there were so many, and they all read something ridiculous. It was all Imogene could do to keep her composure upon reading them. As if sensing her reaction to what she was reading, Archie turned back to her, gesturing with his thumb to the wall.
“This paper, though laughable to some, seeks to find the truth that others deem impossible.” He tapped his graying beard and then adjusted his glasses. “We follow the stories no one else will. With that, I just have a couple of questions.” With sudden intensity, Archie tore off his glasses and leaned in, eyes wide.
“Do you believe aliens exist? That there are things that go bump in the night? That major press outlets lie to us on a daily basis? That the impossible is possible and most importantly…” he took a deep breath, put his glasses back on and threw his arms open wide. “Do you have a nice camera?” Imogene stood in silence for a moment, trying to absorb all that had been thrown her way in a matter of seconds. While she did so, Archie lowered his voice. “Nailed it, Arch,” he said to himself, “just like we practiced.”
After a few moments of processing what had been said to her, Imogene furrowed her brow and ran a hand through her medium length black hair.
“Oh,” she finally said, “I have a super nice camera. In the car. I’ll go get it and totally come back.” She began to back away slowly. Alright, she thought to herself, I was wrong. This place is crazy. I’m out of here before I end up on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries.
Archie, unable to determine just what the young woman before him was thinking, put his hands on his hips and sighed with relief. He smiled.
“I’m glad to hear that. You know, a good photographer will be paid handsomely at this paper.” Hearing these words, Imogene stopped mid retreat and turned her head back in Archie’s direction.
“How handsomely?” She asked. Archie crossed his arms and smiled as though he had been waiting to use this line.
“Yul Brynner handsome.” Imogene looked from side to side, then finally scratched her head.
“Um, who?” Archie put his hand up to his chin, mortified. The plan had not gone accordingly.
“Uh, I mean…” Archie looked at the girl before him, the torn jeans, the flannel shirt. Ok, he thought to himself, just think about the magazine you saw today. About the grunge…Finally, Archie cleared his throat.
“Eddie Vedder Handsome?” At this, Imogene began to think. She tapped her own chin and looked off in the distance.
“Well, in that case…” she thrust her hands in her pocket and shrugged. “When can I start?” Inside her head, however, she had a different thought.
Here’s the plan, she began to herself, take a couple photos, get the money, and split! He seems nice. Crazy, but nice. He won’t murder me. She swallowed hard as Archie put his arm around her and squeezed. He welcomed her to the team as she thought to herself: well, probably not.
After their exchange, Archie began to give Imogene the grand tour of the small office. The first, and most important place, he knew to show her, was the darkroom. This would be her domain. They came to a stop at the door.
“This is the dark room,” said Archie, “you’ll have full access to it anytime—” before he could finish, he was interrupted by another voice.
“Well, well, who’s this?” A thin blonde man came up to the pair, waving and giving a friendly smile. Archie looked at him.
“Imogene, this is Morris. Morris, this is Imogene, our new photographer.” Without warning, Morris seized Imogene’s hand and planted a kiss on it.
“Enchanté,” said Morris. Archie, who stood watching, threw his hands to his head in panic.
“Morris, no!” He cried. Imogene stood in shock and terror. Finally, she found her voice.
“Oh no, no, no, no thanks,” she said. She stood there in confusion as Morris walked away as though nothing had happened. Archie played with his tie fretfully.
“I’m sorry about that he’s just…trying to be funny? I think? Let’s meet the rest of the staff.”
“Do I want to?” Asked Imogene, scrubbing the back of her kissed hand with her flannel. Archie chuckled uncomfortably, and Imogene could see little beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
“Well, follow me,” Archie said. He came to a small office with several computers, phones, desks, the kind of thing that actually looked like a newsroom. She was impressed. Sitting at one of the computers was a woman with slicked back hair and a nice shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Beside her was a man with thick black hair and a matching mustache. Archie gestured to them.
“This is Harvey and Roz. Folks, this is Imogene,” he said. Roz spun sideways in her chair.
“Nice to meet you,” said Roz, taking Imogene’s hand. Imogene smiled and shook back.
“Another woman, thank you, Lord,” she said. Eyeing her, Harvey approached.
“You’re a college student huh? I used to be like you, then something terrible happened…”
“What happened to you?” Asked Imogene. Harvey looked away, shadow covering his face.
“I got an English degree.” There was silence for a moment, then Archie spoke up.
“That Harvey, he really grows on you.”
“Yeah?” Asked Imogene.
“Let’s continue the tour, huh?” Before the pair could get any further, Roz began to wave a small slip of paper in the air.
“Oh, Archie, before you go, I have a message for you.” She handed the paper to Archie, who took it with a smile. He quickly read the note, then, as if he had exploded, said,
“My God! This is my contact, the one from inside.” He turned quickly and ran out of the room, his tie fluttering behind him. “I’ll be right back, I have to make a phone call.” With Archie out of the room, Imogene leaned against the desk and looked down at Roz.
“Pretty intense guy,” she said.
“He gets that way with his ‘leads.’ Probably just another prank call.” Then she sighed. She leaned in and looked at Imogene with earnest.
“Listen,” she began, “Archie is a very sweet guy, very excitable sometimes. He started this paper himself; he funds it. The Sun is his life ever since…well, it’s his life. So, don’t make up your mind about him too quickly, ok? Imogene nodded, then stood silent for a moment.
“But he’s not like insane, right? He knows aliens and monsters and all that stuff is bogus, right?” There was silence between the two women, then Roz leaned against her hand and looked up with a grin.
“Sure about that?” She asked. Before Imogene could reply, Archie burst out of the office, his coat in his hands, tie flying in the air.
“This is not a drill! My contact will get us into the Carter building, which serves as a front for a covert government facility!” He rushed to put on his checkered coat. “But the meeting is now,” he said, huffing. Then, with a big smile, he pointed at Imogene. “Want to go on your first assignment, kid?” he asked.
IV
Out in the car, Imogene felt uneasy, there was something in her stomach. Nerves about the job? Or driving with a potential lunatic? She couldn’t tell. She cleared her throat.
“So, uh, where are we going?” She asked. Archie’s eyes dashed to the side.
“Dino’s. Amazing brisket. But we’re going to meet a contact. He’s going to lead us to something big…Hitler’s brain!” Archie said these last words with palpable excitement. Imogene, once again shocked into silence, could only stare at the man.
“Ok,” she began, “time out. What?” Archie nodded in response, as if ready for this reaction. Then he leaned into the steering wheel as he spoke.
“For decades, there have been rumors that our government has kept Hitler’s brain alive inside a jar. Studying the thing.”
“But, like…why?” Imogene interrupted.
“Perhaps as a twisted trophy, or maybe simply because they can,” replied Archie.
The rest of the trip was made in silence, and when they pulled up to Dino’s Diner, the place was busy. It was about dinner time, after all. Archie led Imogene in and they took a booth by the window. They sat waiting, looking at the menu with no intent to order.
“Our contact should be here soon,” said Archie. “he goes by the name—” Before he could finish a man in a suit and sunglasses slid in the booth opposite them. He looked around shiftily.
“Deep Moat?” Asked Archie.
“Affirmative,” said the man, “I recognized you by the gaudy clothes. Just as I instructed, very good.”
“Er, yes, gaudy,” said Archie, rubbing the back of his head. Imogene blinked at the man for a moment.
“Deep Moat?” She asked. “Is that supposed to be like Deep Throat?” Deep Moat scoffed.
“First of all,” he began, “I find that name suggestive. Secondly, it’s the name of my D&D character. Flidir Deepmoat. He’s a wizard.” The man said proudly. He looked around one more time, than pulled out a big yellow envelope from his suit jacket. Placing it flat on the table, he pulled out a map.
“Here’s the layout of the place. There are several guards, so follow these notes exactly.” Imogene looked at the plans for the Carter building.
“This seems a little easy…” she said. “And anyway, if you work for the Government, then why—” Deep Moat cut her off.
“They’re a bunch of power-hungry fascists.” He adjusted his tie, “Plus…I’m a huge fan of the Sun.” With this he stood up and exited his side of the booth, leaving Archie and Imogene staring up at him.
“Now I must be going. The Simpsons is on soon.” He turned to leave, Imogene staring at his back, Archie staring at the map he’d been given.
V
Once they were at the Carter Building, the began to walk around back.
“Listen, Archie,” said Imogene, “I appreciate your, uh, gusto here, but don’t you think this seems both illegal and a little ludicrous?” Archie simply smiled as he approached the digital keypad by the door. He began to punch in the code Deep Moat had given them.
“I understand your trepidation, but all leads must be followed in journalism,” he said. The door clicked open. “The code he gave us worked. So far so good.” Archie exclaimed. They entered the building and began to walk through the sterile greenish white halls. Archie was pouring over the map he’d been given.
“OK, according to this map, if we take a right, we’ll be clear. The guard should be—” once again, he was unable to finish his sentence.
“Hey!” Called a gruff, angry voice. They both looked up and saw a heavyset security guard walking toward them.
“Who are you?” He asked. “How’d you get in here? This area is off limits!”
“Archie, you said there was no guard.” Imogene said, throwing Archie a sideways glance. The pair began to run.
“The map was upside down. Run for it, he looks pretty slow,” yelled Archie.
“So do you,” said Imogene. In the confusion, Archie had dropped the map.
“What’s the nearest way out?”
“I don’t know,” cried Archie. They stood face to face with a closet door.
“OK, well, get in there.” Imogene said.
VI
Now
Archie stood with his arms crossed, his voice a whisper.
“A closet? Why’d we get in a closet?” He asked.
“It works all the time in Scooby Doo.” Imogene replied. Outside the door, the pair could hear heavy footsteps approaching, the guard was in the corridor now.
“We have two unauthorized personnel in the building,” he said into the walkie talkie, “find them fast!” Imogene and Archie waited in silence, the footsteps were growing closer and closer. Right outside their door, they stopped. They imagined the guard’s hand hovering over the handle, then suddenly, a loud noise echoed in the hall.
“Yow!” Archie could tell it was Deep Moat out there. He lay on the ground, curled up in the fetal position, still in his suit and tie, sunglasses firmly on his face.
“Heathens,” Deep Moat cried, “murderers, communists! Oh, my spleen!” The guard rushed over to the flailing man.
“The civilians?” he asked. Deep Moat writhed in agony.
“They roughed me up for my ID card. The pain. Who knows what evil they aim to do.” Deep Moat cried. The security guard spun around and dashed away.
“Our safety!” He cried. “Our secrets!”
Once the echo of footsteps was far away enough, Deep Moat got up and dusted himself off. He looked around to make sure no one else had come and opened the closet door. Archie and Imogene timidly came out from their hiding spot.
“That was a close one,” said Archie.
“What happened to the map?” Deep Moat hissed. Archie looked away in embarrassment. Sensing this, Imogene stepped in between the two men and put her hand on Deep Moat’s shoulder.
“Mistakes were made,” she said. “Now show us that brain.” Deep Moat adjusted his tie for a moment, as if lost in thought.
“Ver well, follow me. But pay attention and be careful,” he said finally. The trio walked down a series of twisting, dimly lit corridors, with Archie and Imogene following every move that Deep Moat made. Every now and then he would stop and gesture for them to follow suit. He was listening, but it seemed that the party had given the guards the slip for the time being. Finally, they made it to a small room filled with computers and electrical equipment. In the center, there stood a jar full of green liquid. And in that liquid, a brain was hooked to some cables. They stood around the brain in awe.
“Here it is,” said Deep Moat. “Kept alive and moved around the country to ‘study.’ The most evil mind in history.” He pointed to the brain. “But more so a nefarious, twisted trophy. Just because they can!” At these words, Archie nudged Imogene.
“See, told you so.” He walked away from the girl and up to the container that held the brain. He put his hands to his hips, raising one eyebrow.
“Can you prove this is Hitler’s brain?” He asked. Deep Moat’s faced reddened.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, placing his hands on the container, “Let me just turn it a little.” He grunted as he turned the glass container toward Imogene and Archie. “Behold.” Archie and Imogene jumped back at the site of what stood before them. The brain, floating there, attached to chords as if a dead thing being studied, had grown a little Hitler mustache right in the center of the front of the brain.
No one said anything for a moment, for they were too horrified. Finally, Archie put his hands on the glass.
“My…God!” He cried. There was a robotic voice that kicked in, stammering.
“H…” it said.
“It’s trying to talk,” yelled Imogene. The brain struggled for a few more seconds.
“Heil…Me…” it finally said. To this Deep Moat shrugged.
“He’s kind of a broken record,” he said.
Imogene whipped the camera out of her bag and took a knee, taking pictures of the brain, the jar, and the mustache. Meanwhile, Archie was elated, speaking to Deep Moat.
“Just imagine, the public will know their tax dollars are keeping Hitler alive.” Then the door flung open. There, with a gun in his hand, was the security guard who had chased them earlier.
“Don’t anyone move,” he demanded, waving the gun around. Everyone else in the room threw their hands up.
“Don’t you think a gun is a little over the top?” Asked Imogene. Sweating, the security guard answered.
“I’m defending America, young lady. Now don’t—” but he could not finish his sentence, for the waving of the gun was so haphazard that it went off with a loud bang. Everyone in the room checked themselves for bullet holes. Archie could find none in himself.
“That was lucky,” he said. Imogene, too, seemed unscathed.
“Dude, I can’t believe that guy shot at us,” she exclaimed. Deep Moat, unwounded, kept his hand over his eyes.
Then everyone heard the dripping noise. Looking at the tank, they say that the bullet had hit the glass, and liquid was starting to drain from the container.
“C’mon,” yelled Deep Moat, “we gotta get out of here.”
The security guard ran to the glass container and tried his best to block the hole with his hands, getting wet in the process.
“I panicked!” He yelled. “But my wife and kids will be so proud when they hear I saved, uh…” he paused, “Hitler…”
As the guard tried to stop the leakage, Archie and Imogene followed Deep Moat down a nearby ladder.
“This facility is built above an emergency escape tunnel,” called Deep Moat. “Thanks, Cold War.” At the bottom of the ladder, he straightened his tie. “I guess the threat of nuclear annihilation does have its benefits.”
The trio huddled at the bottom of the ladder.
“What will you do now?” Imogene asked Deep Moat.
“I’ve been compromised,” he said, “I’ll have to disappear.” With a crooked smile, he put his hands on Archie and Imogene’s shoulders.
“But now the truth can finally get out. That part is up to you.” He turned and ran off in the opposite direction of the pair. They stood there until he disappeared out of sight.
“And get the truth out we will, but first,” began Archie, looking at Imogene, “Food?” She nodded.
“Food,” she agreed.
VII
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a booth in a waffle hut, tired and hungry.
“Imogene, I want to thank you for your help today. I hope you see there’s more out there than we might think,” Archie said, then sipped his coffee. Imogene nodded.
“My mind is definitely opened,” she said.
“I hope you’ll consider staying with the Sun. You showed a lot of promise out there tonight.” Imogene twirled her black hair around her finger.
“Why not? As long as we don’t get shot at again,” she exclaimed.
“I’ll buy us bullet proof vests.” Archie said. “I think you’ll come to find the importance of our work.”
“Don’t get sentimental, Archie.” Imogene said with a smile.
“Hey,” Archie chided, “I worked this speech out in my head.”
“Sorry, go on.”
“Our purpose is to spread knowledge, to uncover the truth. To find the reason in the unreasonable.”
“But will people believe it, Archie?”
“There will be those that mock us, sure. But there will be others…” Archie pushed up his glasses and smiled. “Others who believe the impossible is possible. Others who know there’s more out there, who seek the truth.” The pair stood at the car. With a gleam in his eye, Archie finished.
“And for those people, there will always be the Midnight Sun.”
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