![](https://steemitimages.com/DQmRZwqrJY2o9WyBi9zhQQKxDmoMjdWQzLXPTQVqt5VeHJs/DrivingWithPhone_Edited.png) “Push him in front of the bus.” David blinked and read the message again. The meaning was clear. His boss was standing inches from the curb, and a double-decker motor coach was barreling towards them down the busy city street. He froze like a deer in the headlights, staring through the glare at the letters on his screen as if they might magically change. The bus rumbled past and his boss remained on the sidewalk, unscathed.

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When the lights changed his boss stepped into the crosswalk and the current of pedestrians drew David along with it like a leaf in the river. In a daze, he was barely able to respond to his boss’s conversation, and he had lost any trace of an appetite. It was the first time he’d ever disobeyed The Scripts, and he was shaken to the core. Eight years had passed since he’d received the first message, and he could still remember it like it was yesterday. He’d been filling his gas tank and was itching to get a scratch off lottery ticket when his phone buzzed. The number was random, and the text message simply said, “Buy it.” At first he thought it was a prank, but his ambivalence on buying the ticket was entirely inside his head. There was no way anyone could possibly know what he was thinking. Out of sheer curiosity he had to purchase the ticket, and sure enough he won ten dollars. A week later when he’d lost his car keys and was running late, he received another text. “Check the tool bench.” There were the keys. Now, David was seriously concerned. It had to be a practical joke. He lived alone, but even if someone did plant cameras, there was no way they could have known that his keys were what he was searching for. There were no results when David Googled the numbers, and his phone company had no record of the messages. He felt violated by this mysterious texter — like the person, or force, or whatever it was, was not just intruding into his privacy but into his mind. The only silver lining was that the force seemed to want to help him. The texts kept coming. Sometimes three in a day, sometimes a week without any. But two things were consistent — they were always right, and they were always in David’s best interest. Over time his unease faded along with his curiosity on the sender. He came to regard the texts as an omnipotent benevolence, to be followed not questioned. Like prescription meds, he didn’t care how they worked, he just followed the doctor’s orders. He found the analogy comforting, and in his head he stared calling the texts The Scripts. Although they had started with trivial matters, they slowly progressed to controlling more important things in his life. The Scripts propelled his career, guided his investments, improved his love life. Every part of his life had improved since that first fateful buzz of his phone, and never once had The Scripts asked him to do something criminal, let alone something as evil as murdering an innocent man. It had to be a mistake. As his boss ate his lunch, alive and well, David brooded quietly, wondering weather there’d be consequences.

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Days turned to weeks and not a word from The Scripts. David was sure it was a punishment — every hour more terrified that the abandonment might not be temporary. Every text from a friend or incoming email evoked a mad scramble for his phone and inevitable disappointment. Never had David felt so alone, so lost. With The Scripts there to guide him, his own judgement had become clouded and slow. Now he felt stonewalled by even basic decisions and his confidence was shot. His work suffered. His sleep suffered. His sanity was going to shit. A month in, he was on the verge of losing his job. A major oversight had cost his company thousands of dollars and he was lucky to escape with only probation. He was working fourteen-hour days to try to make up for it and was about to drop. When David’s phone buzzed one Wednesday afternoon, he wanted to chuck it across the room, sick of the false hope. Resigned to defeat he looked at the screen. “Leave work now.” The burst of emotions was overwhelming — anger and resentment, relief and joy. Why had The Scripts waited so long, why was there no apology? David didn’t care, The Scripts were back and that’s was all that mattered. He swore he would never disobey again. Grabbing his briefcase, he strode out the door.

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As David was pulling out from the parking lot, three pitch black SUVs and a SWAT truck turned into the lot. Curiosity was eating him alive, but The Scripts had told him to leave and so he would. He tried calling a few co-workers, but no one was answering, and when he got home the local news was featuring some community outreach piece on a local bakery. Two hours later his phone finally buzzed. “Turn to Channel 3.” A reporter was on screen and a red banner at the bottom of the page read “Breaking News: Midnight Strangler apprehended.” When a video feed of the scene popped up David immediately recognized it as his office. “Authorities have just announced that they have taken a suspect into custody.” The reporter said, as police milled around in the video. “They believe the man to be the infamous Midnight Strangler, who has terrorized local communities for over a year. Eight bodies were found at the man's residence, which brings his known victim count to fourteen, and it is believed that all eight were killed within the last month.” A photo of the suspect popped up on screen, but David didn’t need to see it, he already knew. It was his boss. He now understood why the text had said to push his boss in front of the bus. Yes it would have been murder, but it would have saved eight innocent lives. As pictures of the victims flashed across the screen David wanted to retch. He could have prevented their deaths had he only listened. Praying that the texts hadn’t returned solely as a told-you-so, he swore he would never disobey again. ![Divider_Simple.png](https://steemitimages.com/DQmSJukDqtAzKAPCH3rHPJ7Wrq7ebKDKiSAf1pvQaukWA9E/Divider_Simple.png)

Tune in next time

If you liked the start of the story, please come back tomorrow for the conclusion in Part II

Thanks for exploring my writing! If you’d like to read some of my other short stories, check out: * The BitFriar Files: Theft of the Stolen Prototype - [Part I](https://steemit.com/fiction/@generaldisarray/the-bitfriar-files-theft-of-the-stolen-prototype-part-i), [Part II](https://steemit.com/fiction/@generaldisarray/the-bitfriar-files-theft-of-the-stolen-prototype-part-ii). * A Sinking Feeling - [Full Story]( https://steemit.com/fiction/@generaldisarray/a-sinking-feeling) If you enjoyed the story, please consider up-voting, and don't forget to follow me @generaldisarray to enjoy upcoming short stories. _{Images courtesy of [Wikimedia Commons](https://commons.wikimedia.org), [pxhere](https://pxhere.com/) and [Pixabay](https://pixabay.com)}