by Kayt Miller
“No,” he snaps. “How would I know who he is?”
“Well, have you seen him around?”
“I have,” says a woman from somewhere off the screen. The next thing I see is a woman about my age approaching the reporter.
“Miss, you know who he is?”
“Well, I don’t know him, but I’ve seen him. He’s got a little dog.”
“Oh.” The reporter is chuckling again. “His sidekick?”
“I wouldn’t joke about this, girly,” the old guy grouses. “He saved lives tonight. My Mrs. was right in the line of the bus. I can’t imagine my life without her. I owe that guy.”
Clearing her throat, the reporter says, “Right.” She looks back into the crowd behind her. “Is this hero still around? Can you describe him to us?”
The female witness shakes her head, “He’s older than me, so I’d say in his late twenties or early thirties. And… he’s h-o-t, hot. Plus, he had on these retro glasses that sort of made him look like Superman.”
“Superman?”
The woman rolls her eyes. “Well, not Superman, obviously.”
The reporter chuckles.
“Clark Kent. The glasses made him look like Clark Kent. You know, Superman’s alias.”
“Right.” The reporter smiles into the camera. “I’d sure like to see that.” Then she titters. “Do you see him somewhere?”
The young woman turns back to look into the crowd of people who’ve gathered around the bus. “I saw him talking to the police, but I haven’t seen him since. I know someone was holding his dog for him while he saved us all.”
“Right. Thank you for your eyewitness accounts.” The reporter moves until she’s the only one on the screen. “Police say the driver of the bus had some kind of health emergency and that he was in stable condition before being transported to Weill Cornell Medical Center. No passengers were injured during the ordeal.” She turns a little bit and sighs. “Well, that’s all for now. This is Sandra Smithson live on 30th Street in LIC. Back to Bill and Malory in the studio.”
Bill in the studio takes over my screen. “Be sure to get us any updates, will you, Sandra?” He turns to the other anchor. “I’d sure like to know more about that superhero.”
Malory replies, “Me too, Bill. Me too. That’s fascinating.”
I turn down the television when they start talking about sports. Standing up, I walk back over to my window and lean out again. There are still some faint lights flashing onto the building, which means there’s probably only one or two police cars left.
Malory was right. That was fascinating.
Chapter Ten
Ben
What a rush.
The adrenaline is still pumping through me even though the whole thing happened an hour ago.
“Wasn’t that eventful, Sky?” I’m holding my girl close to my chest because her little body is shaking. All those sirens and lights really frightened my poor dog. That and I handed her off to a complete stranger in the rush, someone who was behind me in line at Mike’s. No wonder she’s slightly traumatized. “Shh, I’ve got you, girl.”
It was eventful and scary as hell. I felt like a sitting duck as I watched that bus careen from one side of the street to the other like a ball in a pinball machine. It took out a couple of cars that were parked on the street and one bicycle that just happened to be locked to a parking meter.
When I scanned the scene, one of the first things I noticed was the bus was driverless. From that, I’d guessed something happened to the driver. Without thinking, I handed Sky off to the lady behind me, saying something like, “Hold on to her. I’ve got to stop that bus.” I know the woman spoke, but I was already running for the bus. Luckily it was heading west, so the door was on my side. That and the bus wasn’t moving at a high speed. Fast enough to cause damage and injury for sure, but slow enough that I was able to jump up and grasp the door handle. Grabbing that, I yanked the door open and used my upper body strength to pull myself up and into the seat.
I was right. The driver was lying prone, his foot still on the gas while the rest of his body was on the floor. The people on the bus were screaming and crying—generally freaking out. I don’t blame them. As fast as I could, I pressed my foot on the brake and pulled it as far over as I could without hitting anything. Once I was at a complete stop, I shifted it into Park and grabbed my phone to call 9-1-1.
“I already called 9-1-1,” said a voice from behind me.
I turned to see a woman who was probably in her ’70s. “Okay, good.” I looked down at the man, then back at the same woman. Reaching down, I pressed my palm on his throat, searching for a pulse. Luckily, I felt one. “Are you all okay?”
There was silence for a few seconds. I looked back, hoping there wasn’t someone else on the floor.
“We’re okay,” said a male voice.
“Do you know what happened to him?” I nod toward the bus driver.
“We don’t know,” said another woman. She looked a little older than the first one. “One minute he was driving, the next minute he was sliding off the seat.”
Sirens started to sound around us. “Can you all take your seats now? The police are coming. They’ll want to talk to you. But if anyone is hurt, please let them know.”
“Okay.”
Someone released a sob-like sound. “Thank you, young man.”
“You’re welcome,” I said as two paramedics raced to my door. “Now sit tight. Let the EMTs help your driver.”
Jumping down, I moved out of the way but was pulled aside by an officer in uniform. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“I know.” Because of course they had questions.
After I was finished with the first cop, another policewoman pulled me aside to ask more questions. “Can you hang on a second?” I asked. “I need to get my dog.”
“Fine,” she said with a huff. “Don’t run off.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
As I made my way through the large crowd that had gathered, I felt a number of people slap my back, and even more told me things like “You’re so brave” and “You saved lives.” I smiled at the words. I was proud, sure, but it made me feel good that I’d made a difference today.
When I found Sky, she was a complete shivering mess. “Oh, come on now….” I reached out to take her from the stranger. “Thanks for holding her for me.”
The woman had tears in her eyes. “Anytime. For our hero, anytime.”
God, the rush I felt was beyond euphoric. “No problem, ma’am.” I almost added, “Just doin’ my job,” but that would have been wrong. It’s not my job; it’s my calling, my special purpose.
I spent another twenty minutes with cop number two, and then I was home. And hungry. I never did get my pizza, damn it.
With Sky still cuddled in my arms, I make my way to my kitchen in search of something to eat and drink. I grab a glass of water for me and give my little girl a bowl of fresh water, then search the cupboard for her doggy treats. When I find them, I set her on the ground and drop four bite-sized morsels on the floor in front of her. Sky’s tail begins to wag in earnest, and that’s when I know she’ll be okay. Thank goodness.
Chapter Eleven
Alison
“Here’s hoping today is better,” I say, holding up The Vat of coffee like I’m toasting something. And yes, I’m talking to myself.
I’ve made myself comfortable in the conference room. I even brought my portable printer with me today. It isn’t great, but it’ll work for my purposes. After setting it up, I check my email. I’m hoping Graham finally responded with more information on how I’m supposed to get these people to talk to me, but like last night, there’s nothing new from him.
Sipping my coffee, I open the green folder again and leaf through some of the notes inside. Whoever bothered to do this was quite specific. He or she even typed up dialogue between fellow employees, with tags like “he said angrily.” I’m not sure I can take those tags seriously because thi
s person, the one who compiled this folder, is obviously bitter about something.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
I look up to see a scowling Graham Morgan.
I’m about to respond when he adds, “Clive said you told him to take the big desk.”
I stare at Graham for a moment and weigh my options. I could keep my mouth shut, or… “That’s false. He was already comfortably situated at that desk, so I—”
“I had another desk brought down for him.” Graham makes a scoffing noise. “He’s supposed to be assisting you.”
“Again, he was already set up in there.” I’m not going to address the issue of his help. I feel it would be inappropriate for the author of the green file to assist me.
“So you moved in here?” Graham is still standing at the door. He hasn’t moved in any farther. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.
“I’d prefer to have a private space. I can’t get honest answers from someone if a fellow employee is in the room.” Especially since that person is probably the reason I’m here in the first place.
“Take Ben’s office.”
“Uh, what?”
“He can share with someone else. I’ll tell him to move in with Clive.”
“Graham.” I shake my head. “That’s not appropriate. Ben was Clive’s superior.” No matter how I feel about Ben and his grabby hands, I know that’s not a good idea.
“He was his superior.”
“I’m fine here.” I push myself to stand. “Unless you’d prefer I don’t use the conference room.”
He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, but it’s more of a growl. “No. This works. It’s fine.” Stepping up to the table, he places both hands on the tabletop, making him lean in. “Now tell me who the fuck blew you off yesterday.”
Shit. The last thing I want is Graham coming down hard on anyone specific. “Can you just make a general announcement that they need to meet with me? That it’s required of them? Something like that.”
“Jesus,” the man growls again. “I can’t believe I’ve got to say this shit again.” He says a couple other things that I can’t quite make out, then “Fine.”
Jerking up to full height, he marches to the door, yanks it open, and shouts, “Meeting. This conference room.” He points to the ground. “Now!”
Wow. He’s pissed.
Through the glass, I see people scrambling to their feet and practically running to this room. A giggle starts in my chest and rises up, but I place my hand over my mouth so nobody sees. One thing is certain: Graham Morgan is in charge and very angry. Laughing wouldn’t go over very well.
In less than five minutes, the room is filled with the same people from the first meeting I attended. Same as then, the room is silent until Graham starts to speak. “I’m only going to say this one more time.” He walks left like a prowling cat. “When Ms. Kirby asks to meet with you, you drop whatever the fuck you’re doing and meet with her.” He stomps right and pauses at the end of the table. “You got me?”
There are nods all over the place.
“If I get another fucking email telling me you blew her off, you get to meet with me instead. You get me?”
More nods, frantic ones.
“Good. Now, for those of you who were supposed to meet with Alison yesterday, please stay. Everyone else leave.”
Oh shit.
I can almost see the five dumb-dumbs who didn’t show up for their meetings shivering in their seats. I hope nobody wets themselves.
When the room is clear of everyone but four women and one man, Graham leans over the table again. “I had to cancel a meeting this morning to deal with this bullshit.”
Wow. He doesn’t mince words.
He takes his time looking at each person in the room. “That irritates me.”
“Graham—” I start, but he holds up his hand. I shut up.
“Someone tell me why you didn’t talk to Alison yesterday.”
Silence. Except for the crickets.
“Tommy. Why?” he calls out one assistant.
“B-Because I was told not to.”
“Told?” Graham pauses. “Told not to? By whom?”
Interesting. I’ve got to say, I’m curious too.
Tommy’s face changes from pink to pure white. “Mr. Morgan… please.”
“Please what?” he snaps. “Who told you not to attend your talk with the consultant that I hired?”
“Graham…,” I try again. Still nothing.
Graham tries a different tack. “Sharon? Who told you not to attend? Assuming the same thing happened to you.”
“It was an IM.”
“An instant message?” Graham asks, sounding exasperated. “From whom?”
“It wasn’t signed,” Sharon answers quickly.
“It wasn’t signed.” Not a question. Graham’s face looks like it’s made of stone. I’m a little worried about him.
“It wasn’t,” Tommy states. “I swear.”
“Is that true?” He scans the remaining souls sitting at the table. One by one, they nod slowly. “Let me get this straight.” Graham begins to pace slowly. “You all got an anonymous IM that told you not to meet with Alison. Is that what you’re saying?”
Not one word is uttered, but I notice one person in the back nod.
Graham’s voice has gotten softer, but for some reason, it sounds more menacing. “May I see this IM?”
“Of course.” Sharon acts quickly, pulling her phone from somewhere and typing. We watch as she searches her phone. “What the…?” She looks up at Graham. “I swear there was an instant message.”
“Let me look.” Tommy does the same thing and pulls his phone out. The three other people in the room follow suit as they mumble to each other.
“What the fuck is wrong over there?” Graham has clearly lost all patience.
“It’s gone,” Tommy speaks up.
I can’t decide if I should laugh or cry. Okay, neither. I’m just going to watch and learn more about Graham Morgan’s management style. Surly. That’s one word for it. And reactionary. There’s another.
“So.” Graham pulls a chair out from beneath the table and sits. With his hands pressed together like he’s praying, he says, “You decided to take the advice from an IM that you may or may not have received over my request that you help me find out what’s wrong with your department.”
“It was signed,” a young woman in the back chimes in.
“What?” Graham’s head has turned and tilted a little bit. His left brow is arched so high it’s made a home in his hair. It’s not a reassuring expression. I’d be wary if I were that woman. “What did you say?” he asks again.
“It wasn’t signed with a name. It says ‘From your superior.’” She holds her phone out. “I took a screenshot of it yesterday.”
I can’t even. I’d like to ask her why she did that, but I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing: shutting up.
“What’s your name?” Graham asks, taking the phone from her. He looks down at it, then hands it to me.
“Meghan Lincoln.”
“Meghan. Why’d you screenshot this?” I guess I can’t keep my mouth shut.
She shrugs. “Habit.”
I suppose that’s an answer.
Graham leans back in his chair. “Meghan, will you please email me that screenshot?
“Sure thing, boss.”
Graham leans over. “Get a hard copy of it. Let’s add those to this file.” He taps the green folder. Looking back at Meghan, who’s doing something on her phone, he asks, “Can you do that today, Meghan?”
She stops whatever she’s doing and looks up. “Already done.”
“Meghan Lincoln?” Graham asks again.
“Yes.”
“What do you do here? In Marketing?”
“I’m a coordinator.”
In other words, she fetches coffee and makes appointments. Basically the lowest level on the totem pole.
“Cal
l my secretary and have her set up an appointment with me. I’d like to talk to you about your professional goals.”
“Sweet,” Meghan says with a bright smile. “Thanks, Mr. Morgan.”
Graham doesn’t respond to that; instead, he turns to me. “We need to talk. You do the same. Set up an appointment with me. Today.”
I nod and give him a small smile. It’s fake because none of this makes me feel like smiling. Why do I feel like I’ve already screwed the pooch on this job?
Graham stands and addresses the remaining people in the room. “You will all meet with Alison today. Spread the word: if anyone else decides to skip, they’re out.”
Wow. It’s rather harsh, but I suppose it had to be said.
As Graham turns to leave, he stops. “Meghan, you stay. You can go first.”
“Sounds good, boss,” she says, giving Graham a salute.
I’m so tempted to laugh at her salute and response, but I know better. Instead, I keep quiet until everyone except Meghan leaves the room.
I ended up talking to Meghan for over an hour. She had a great deal of insight into the department even though she’s only worked at the company for a little over two months. Before that, she worked several retail jobs at a mall in Connecticut.
“I’m young, but I’ve already figured out that every place is the same,” she told me. “There are good people and backstabbing assholes no matter where you work. The key is to figure out the personalities to know how to work with them.”
I nodded and just said, “I see.”
And I did. She was right. Every organization is made up of a cross-section of personalities, just like she said. It’s also smart to gauge each of those personalities, especially if you’re just starting out.
With that said, people can change due to circumstances. Take the author of the green folder, for example. Something happened that made that person so disgruntled, they spent a great deal of their time compiling reports on everyone else.