I needed to finish the story that I started so that I could focus on my novel. So here it is, a very rough draft, with just enough words to complete the story. For the start of the story and links to other installments, see this post.
No, work was exactly where he needed to be. Supposing even for a second that the list had really predicted a death, he needed to get another look at it. There was a name that he needed to find.
It took him all morning to work out a basic plan and he was sweating heavily in spite of the freezing temperatures in his department. He kept remembering scraps of conversation with Dave, who was now dead under strange circumstances. Things had started to make sense in an eerie sort of way. These people (if they even were people!) might be dangerous. But the plan was a simple one. He just needed to get into Mr. Gabriel’s office again and arrange a diversion to take Mr. Gabriel away.
For the first time since starting the job, Phil picked up the phone, wincing as the cold plastic touched his ear, and dialed the number 1. The secretary answered and he explained his wish to see Mr. Gabriel the following day. His hand was shaking as he hung up the phone. Now all he had to do was arrange for the diversion and he sent a mental apology in the secretary’s general direction. She an important role in his plan, but one he knew she would not like one bit.
The moment arrived sooner than he could have imagined and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling small and pathetic under Mr. Gabriel’s intent gaze. He struggled with the words, barely daring to ask the question he needed to ask. Finally, he spoke. “Mr. Gabriel, I would like to understand a little more about what goes on here. Where do all the socks and keys really come from?”
“Hmm. This is most unusual, Mr. Travers. You are the first to ask outright in many years. All I am empowered to say is that there are ways to travel in this world that you cannot see, and into these unusual paths fall the detritus of human life—the socks, the keys, the frozen food, among other things. We arrange for those items to be removed so that the paths remain clear and then we dispose of the items. Who or what uses those paths is not for you to know. It is enough to know that they are there and that they are revealed to you every time one of your socks just disappears in the laundry, never to be seen again.”
Phil was numbly trying to absorb that information when the long-awaited distraction came. He jumped at the shout of distress.
As expected, Mr. Gabriel arose and said, “I had better check on that. I will return shortly.” As soon as Mr. Gabriel’s footsteps faded in the distance, Phil sprang from his chair and rounded the desk. Mr. Gabriel’s explanation had scared him more than he dared admit to himself, but it didn’t change his mind about what he was planning to do. He still needed to see that spreadsheet.
The folder wasn’t on the desk this time, so he yanked open the top drawer and cursed in frustration when he found nothing but pens and paper clips. He anxiously listened for the sound of footsteps, and hearing nothing, he opened the next drawer, which contained folders. The one he wanted was right on top. He scanned the list and his heart skipped a beat when he found the name that he prayed he wouldn’t—his mother’s. He mind was spinning. He plopped down in Mr. Gabriel’s chair, needing to think and temporarily forgetting where he was.
What if he could remove her name somehow? He thought about liquid paper and instantly discarded the idea. That would be too obvious. Tears of frustration gathered in his eyes, blurring her name. He blinked them back and put the folder away. There was nothing he could do to the paper that wouldn’t be noticed. He stepped away from the desk, about to sit back in his own seat when it occurred to him that there might be a computer file with the same information. If he removed it from there, it’s possible that no one would notice. He turned Mr. Gabriel’s computer screen on and scanned through the icons on the desktop. It was almost too easy, he thought as he clicked his way through to the spreadsheet file and deleted the row. He had just finished saving the file when he heard Mr. Gabriel approaching. He switched off the monitor and barely regained his seat in time. He hoped that Mr. Gabriel would not notice that his chair had been moved.
Mr. Gabriel came back in with a grim expression on his face. He sat down in his chair and Phil silently thanked his lucky stars that Mr. Gabriel hadn’t noticed anything. Mr. Gabriel sat still for a moment, then quietly said, “I am very sorry about this, Mr. Travers.”
“That’s OK,” said Phil. “I didn’t mind waiting.”
“No, Phil, I am sorry about this,” he said, pointing to the door, which opened to reveal the two extraordinarily large men standing in the hallway.
Phil turned to Mr. Gabriel with the question on the tip of his tongue. Before he could ask it, Mr. Gabriel said, “You were warned, Phil. Company loyalty is the most important thing to us here. You were tested and found wanting. Now you will pay the penalty.”
“What do you mean?” Phil asked, his heart thumping wildly.
“You broke into my computer, Phil. It is a waste of your breath to deny it,” said Mr. Gabriel, as Phil started to protest. “And you do not have so many breaths left that you want to waste a single one, I am sorry to say.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Had you shown yourself to be loyal and trustworthy, we would have continued to employ you at a more than reasonable salary until the day of your death, and we would have allowed you to pick the way you were to die.”
“Is that what happened to Dave?” Phil asked, suddenly even more afraid. “Did you kill him?”
“Of course not. It was Dave’s time. Nothing can change that. We are all just following our orders. Dave understood that and accepted his death, wanting only to go out in a spectacular fashion. Piano deaths are very popular, though I have never understood why,” he said thoughtfully. “But you, Mr. Travers, did not pass the test. Your name will be moved to the top of the list. You have forfeited your choice of deaths, and one will be chosen for you. I guarantee you that it will be long, painful, and undignified.”
“You’ll have to come with us, Sir,” said one of the bruisers, reaching for Phil’s wrist.
Phil flinched away, but the men were quick, strong, and experienced. He never had a chance. Mr. Gabriel escorted them to the elevator. Phil tried to slow them down by digging in his heels. He left long black marks on the beautifully polished floor, but they continued dragging him along as if he weighed nothing. “Please,” he begged Mr. Gabriel. “Please. Give me another chance.” Mr. Gabriel said nothing.
Phil craned his head to look at the secretary, hoping that she might intervene on his behalf. She was sitting at her desk, serenely petting one of the large rats that he had planted in a package for her. Some diversion that turned out to be. She smiled at him, wagging her finger as if he were a naughty boy caught stealing candy, and in the bright light her image softened and blurred and for a moment he thought he saw wings on her back, just like angel’s wings.
The men hauled Phil into the elevator. One corner of Mr. Gabriel’s mouth inched upward in what for him must pass as a smile and he said, “On the bright side, Phil, you may win a Darwin Award!”
Phil struggled to run and when he couldn’t run, he screamed.