The first few months had been, without a doubt, the hardest months of my life. Come in, data entry, lunch, data entry, leave. Over and over. For four hours and then four more. Government work. I thought I had the most boring job in the world, and I wasn’t willing to hear any different. But then I met Jess.
She came over to my cubicle one day. I paused from my spreadsheet and looked up at her, thinking she must be a supervisor if she was visiting me. I earnestly awaited my reprimand. None came.
“Hi, I’m Jess. From accounting. Thought you’d want to know that we have some birthday cake in the break room. It’s Curtis’ birthday.”
I had absolutely no idea we had a break room. Or who Curtis was.
“Oh, thanks for letting me know.”
She stood there, smiling, probably waiting for me to introduce myself or make some other kind of small talk.
“I’ll be sure to get some,” I half-lied. Again, I had no idea where this break room was.
WE NOW SWITCH PERSPECTIVE
He had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. I chuckled quietly to myself as I nodded and walked away, knowing he’d earnestly search for the break room but never find it. We hadn’t had one in six years, ever since the Manhattan and magnet incidents. It just didn’t exist, and he had no idea. The only problem would be if he headed west to look for it, but hey, the odds of that were one in four, right?
Yes, I admit it, I was pressured into doing the prank by the other girls - the accounting girls - the cattiest of the catty. It was a club I had never signed up for but was indoctrinated into regardless. It was my duty, I suppose, and I had to put on a brave face.
WE NOW SWITCH PERSPECTIVE
The offer, at the very least, gave me an opportunity to explore around the office. I had never ventured beyond the direct path between the entrance, my cubicle, and the bathroom before, so I eagerly appreciated a chance to expand my horizons.
I set off west, like the pioneers before me. Passing by rows and rows of desks, huddled masses of people like me, cowering over their screens, worrying about their words per minute and efficiency ratios. I shuddered reflexively, worrying I might get caught skipping out on work like this. But the promise of cake, and the curiosity of it as well, kept me walking. West.
WE NOW SWITCH PERSPECTIVE
The guilt had caught up to me by now. I rushed back to his cubicle, eager to repent and tell the truth, worried that he may have gone west. When I got there he was gone. I started to panic. He, maybe, like so many others before him, had definitely, certainly, tragically gone west.
WE NOW SWITCH PERSPECTIVE
The air was getting colder, damper, and the offices were now more spread apart. I had noticed also that the lighting had gotten worse; flickers of static and sparks set off a show around me, their light casting unexpected and menacing shadows. The echoes of someone crying off in the distance occasionally reached my ears. I had lost track of time. How far had I traveled down this winding series of hallways? How long had I been gone? The paint was chipping. My feet were sore.
WE NOW SWITCH PERSPECTIVE
By this time, he had to be in the outer rim of the complex. I started to fast walk, and then jog, desperate to stop him, to shout out, to save this one. The fear and guilt again washed over me. I had to do more. Throwing off my heels, I darted into a full on sprint. He must stop. He must.
WE NOW SWITCH PERSPECTIVE
I glanced down at my watch. It said three hours had past, but, no, I was just remembering wrong, surely. How could I have spent that long walking? I looked around my position for what seemed like the first time in years. The offices were empty. The carpet had somehow switched to cold, unforgiving tile. All sounds were gone, blank, muted, silenced. A acidic, caustic, yet captivating odor floated around my head and breached my lungs. Where was I? Where was I? Where was I? And then, without warning, I was in the dark.
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