by A A Bavar
His half eaten sandwich was still on the seat next to him. Ray lifted an eyebrow and shrugged. “What else am I going to do?” he said, picked it up, and took a big bite. “Cold, stale lunches. The bane of my existence,” he mumbled while chewing. The clock on the dashboard read 3:49 p.m. Ray finished the sandwich and took out his phone. He had thirteen stalled, ongoing scrabble games, and people had been virtually nudging him for days. He sighed and started testing new words, keeping an eye on the gallery entrance at the same time. Almost forty minutes later he was done.
“Time to earn my pay,” he said, and started typing on his phone. Visited hospital. Noticed nothing unusual. Afternoon was filled with mundane chores. Currently at the art gallery. Will continue watching for any suspicious behavior regarding Ms. Fowler and let you know. Ray pressed the send button and looked up just as Samantha walked out of the gallery. “How about that? Where to now, Mrs.?”
Samantha started walking to her car, stopped, took out her phone, and looked at the screen for a few seconds. Slowly, she put it back in her purse and resumed her walk, an angry scowl on her face. She got in her car and within seconds was driving down the street. As she passed Ray, Samantha turned her head, stared at him with a sly smile, put on her sun glasses, and sped away.
“What the hell was that about,” Ray grumbled, and turned on his car. “There’s no way in hell she made me… no one ever makes me!” He waited a few seconds, allowing a couple of cars to get between them and pulled out, making sure to keep back even more than usual.
For a few minutes, it seemed like Samantha was going home, but then she turned west and headed downtown towards the business district. Ray knew exactly where she was going. He took out his phone and started typing as best he could with one hand. “How the hell do these kids do this?” he cursed under his breath. Headef tp you. Not sure wgy. Kept low prfile w Fowler.
Within minutes, they were at Capitol Park. Samantha parked her car and headed through the park to Clearwell. It was just past 5 p.m. and the paths were full of the after-work runner types getting in their thirty minutes of exercise before going home or to the bars down the street. Either way, it suited Ray perfectly, helping him stay inconspicuous without having to keep back too far or do the tree-dodging dance.
Samantha crossed the street and quickly walked towards the main entrance to the Clearwell building. Ray hung back. From where he was standing, he had a clear view of the building, so he didn’t feel the need to get any closer. To his surprise, however, she walked past the entrance and turned right at the corner.
“Damn, woman. You’re full of surprises,” he cursed, sprinted across the street, running past Clearwell to the intersection. Cautiously, he looked around the corner and down the street just in time to see Samantha turn right and walk down the ramp to the underground private parking reserved for Clearwell executives. “Wrong choice, Mrs.,” Ray mumbled, and smiled smugly. He knew from past visits to the building that the only way to get into the garage was to have your car registered and fitted with an RFID chip or have security open the steel garage door for you. The obvious outcome would be for Samantha to double back.
Seconds passed, but there was no sign of Samantha. Ray turned the corner and cautiously walked to the ramp entrance. “What the hell? Where the fuck did she go?”
The garage doors were closed. There was no sign of Samantha.
Ray took out his phone, dialed, and looked up into the hidden security camera. “Hey, Lou, open the exec garage door. I’m outside,” he said into the phone. “No… not sure what’s going on… just need to check something out,” he explained as the garage door started to slide open. Ray moved forward. “Where does Ms. Fowler park? Oh… so she always takes the train? … hmm… okay,” he said, nodded, and squeezed in as soon as the door opening was wide enough. “… and Blast, where does he park…? Okay, great. Thanks, buddy… No, don’t worry about it. I’ll fill you in later,” he said, hung up, and looked from side to side. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the lighting, but there was no sign of Samantha. “Damn!”
Ray stepped behind a column and started typing again. She’s in the garage, possibly headed to Fowler’s office. Tell her to leave! He tapped send and headed left towards the elevators where Paul’s car was parked. As he walked, his eyes scanned the dimly lit garage, the weak fluorescent lighting a clashing contrast to the wealth above, and looked for any sign of movement. There was none. The garage was empty and eerily quiet.
Suddenly, as he approached the elevators, fifty feet to his right, behind a column barely visible in the shadows, there was a momentary white glow. A cell phone screen turning on before being covered or jammed into a purse. Ray threw himself into a crouching position and quickly hid behind a car. Through the car’s window, he had a clear view of where he had seen the light. It was dark, but he could clearly make out the darker outline of a person hiding behind the column, watching the elevator and Blast’s car.
“Gotcha, little lady.”
Patricia walked into her new office, sadly looked at what would have been her home away from home, and sighed. Everything was rich and new, each object and piece of furniture a statement, and yet the feeling was so familiar. Her framed landscapes were tastefully hung on the wall facing her carefully polished, mahogany desk and brown, leather, office chair, her favorite mug carefully positioned next to her keyboard by the monitor, with her parents’ framed photograph on the opposite side. The bookshelf beside the large window overlooking the park was organized just the way she liked it, her technical and reference books neatly occupying all the shelves except for the two at eye level. Those were strictly reserved for housing her favorite novels. Patricia allowed herself a melancholic smile as her eyes fell on the binding of her all-time favorite book The Princess Bride. However, despite Anna having done such a magnificent job, it all felt terribly alien, a dream that had rapidly morphed into a harsh and cruel reality. She couldn’t work here, not after what had happened.
Patricia shook her head, walked to her desk, put her purse down beside the keyboard, and slowly, almost reluctantly sat down. It would be her first and last time in that seat. Without thinking about it, she grabbed a pad and pen from the top, left drawer and grinned. You’re a jewel, Anna, she thought, and prepared to write, her hand shaking slightly. Keep this short and professional, Tricia. No room for emotions… not now. You have to do what’s best for you, she thought, and cringed. Paul, you promised…
Dear Mr. Blast,
I am flattered and appreciate the promotion and your offer to work in your department. However, despite my original acceptance, after careful thought and deliberation, I have decided that this would not be the right move for me at the time being. Since my move to your department was not officially scheduled until next week, I will organize to have my personal belongings moved back to my old office ASAP.
Once again, thank you for the opportunity.
Sincerely yours,
Patricia Fowler
“Patricia! What are you doing here?” said Anna, a surprised look on her face. She was standing just inside the door holding a big box with an envelope addressed to Ms. Patricia Folwer taped to it. “I was going to set this thing up and have your favorite tea ready for you when you came in tomorrow morning. A kind of welcome-to-your-new-office tea ceremony.”
Patricia looked up, and although she should have been startled, she felt numb, almost drugged. “Thank you, Anna, but—”
“No ifs, buts, or thens,” chided Anna, interrupting Patricia as she walked to the little nook in the corner of the room where the bar was elegantly set. “You won’t believe what’s in the box. You must’ve really impressed Mr. Blast,” she said excitedly, winked, and continued without waiting for a response. “It’s a Persian Samovar, and it looks like an antique! What an office warming gift, huh?” Anna gently put the box down and quickly pushed the bottles of liquor to the side to make space for the samovar as Patricia watched quietly. “This corner here is the perfect location,�
�� she said, opening the top of the box and lifting the samovar to the bar. Gently, she put it down and positioned it at a forty-five degree angle, taking a step back to admire her work. “Wow, now that’s something.” With a contented nod, she ripped the envelope from the box, turned, and walked to Patricia’s desk. “Let’s see what the boss has to say, huh?” Anna said, holding out the envelope.
Patricia looked up at Anna with a sad smile and took the envelope. “Actually, I’ve decided not to take the job. I… things kind of didn’t work out. I’m sorry,” she said, and bit her lip. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh my God, Patricia! What happened? Are you okay?” asked Anna, the concern in her voice genuine. “Does this have anything to do with what happened in your office?”
Patricia shook her head and stood. “No… well, maybe… I don’t know. But I do know that I messed up. I did exactly what everyone knows you shouldn’t do… get involved with your boss. What a sad cliché, huh?” Patricia looked at Anna, her eyes red, on the verge of tears. “I ruined my career… and let you down.”
“Oh, sweetie,” said Anna, walked around the desk, and hugged Patricia. “No you didn’t. Everything will be fine. These things happen, and a lot more frequently than you imagine.” Anna stepped back, but kept holding Patricia’s arms. “Maybe there’s still a chance to sort things out… give it time, and don’t make any hasty decisions,” she said, and glanced at the letter on Patricia’s desk.
“I wish there was. I really do, but…” Patricia paused. She’s your friend. She deserves to know why. Paul’s a dick for what he did, why keep his secret?
Patricia turned, picked up her purse, slid the envelope Anna had given her into the side pocket, and grabbed the letter she had written to Paul. “Don’t worry,” she said, her eyes suddenly hard, determined. “It may seem like a hasty decision, but it’s also the right decision. Mr. Blast can go jump in a lake for all I care. You and I are going back to our department and taking care of business. Now, can you do me a favor and call Margaret and see if he’s in? Thanks.”
Anna frowned and nodded. “Sure, of course,” she said, hesitated for a split-second as if she was going to add something, then turned and left.
Patricia exhaled deeply, took a few seconds to look around the room, and walked out. Anna was already on her way back.
“He’s not in,” said Anna. “Apparently, he had an urgent meeting this afternoon… Margaret doesn’t know with whom, and she’s not sure when he’ll be back.”
“That’s fine. I’ll leave it on his desk—”
“Or, give it to me personally,” interrupted Paul, as he approached the two.
Paul followed Patricia into her office and closed the glass door and electronic shades. Patricia turned, crossed her arms, and leaned back against her desk. She was still holding the letter.
“I went to your place looking for you. I wanted to explain things myself. Are you okay?” asked Paul.
“I’m going back to my department, Paul,” she said with finality. “And I’m asking you not to turn this into a big deal. After what you did, it’s the least you can do for me.”
“Sure, anything you want,” said Paul, holding up his hands in surrender. “But there are things you don’t know—”
“Like you being married?” blurted Patricia. “Well, I do now, and how? Because your wife, or whoever she was, told me, you lowlife son of a…” Patricia grabbed the edge of the desk in an attempt to stop her hands from shaking, crumpling the letter in the process, tears in her eyes. “You promised me you wouldn’t break my heart! How could you lie to me like that? How could you make me… I… I trusted you…”
Paul, who was looking down at his feet, looked up and took a step forward. “I’m so sorry, I never thought things would get so complicated. I was trying to fix things. To get things right before we got too serious, but I was naive. I didn’t realize things were spiraling out of control,” he said, and took another step forward. “I mean, Wendy’s behavior, the attacks, and now this. I know she told you we’re married, but what she didn’t say is why. She didn’t tell you that we had a contract, an understanding, that our marriage was a façade. It was business, nothing romantic or physical at all. We were free to live our lives as we wanted, and all I was trying to do was to find a way—”
“To screw me? Well, touché!” said Patricia angrily, and threw the half crumpled letter at Paul. “All I want is to go back to what I was doing and never see you again. Can you at least do that for me?”
“No! I mean, yes, of course. But please, listen to me. Let me explain,” said Paul, his eyes searching Patricia’s.
Patricia looked at Paul in silence for a few seconds, then slowly nodded.
“Thank you,” said Paul, and took a deep breath. “It started almost a year and a half ago. I was with Samantha then…”
Fifteen minutes later, Paul was done, his story told and in the open. Patricia stared at him open mouthed, her brain screaming. “So you’re saying that Wendy paid you off so you’d keep quiet about a possible murder and have your ex-girlfriend committed to a mental health hospital instead? And you thought it was a good idea and even married her to guarantee your pay? What were you thinking?” exclaimed Patricia. “What kind of person does that?”
“A very self-centered and morally skewed person. And I wasn’t thinking, just running,” said Paul abashed. “I got lost trying to get to the top and was afraid of what a possible murder investigation would do to my career, all the years of hard work. But that’s not the real me. You changed that. You brought me back. Please, believe me!”
Patricia looked down and said in a whisper, “Worst is, I do. God knows I shouldn’t, that I should turn and run, but…” She stopped and, after a pause, faced Paul again and said in a controlled tone, “It doesn’t matter. What does, is that you believe that it was Wendy who sent that goon after us and attacked me in my office. And I need to know why? Why would she do that if you’re only married for convenience?”
“Tricia, I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense, but I’ll find out,” said Paul, trying to keep his tone calm. “It’s like she’s turned into a completely different person. She’s obsessed with me—”
“Oh my God! My landscape photos and the pills… it must have been her,” said Patricia, her eyes open wide. “She wanted to make sure the police thought I was crazy! Then they would never take me seriously about the attacks. Or you, for that matter. If you thought I was crazy, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me and her problems would be solved. Right?”
“What are you talking about? What photos and pills?”
“The day you took me home from the hospital, right after you left, I found a couple of bottles of sleeping pills and antidepressants on my kitchen counter. Then, my landscape photos were swapped for some horrible pictures of… of the same landscapes but with everything dead or decaying. It was horrible, like something from the Twilight Zone,” said Patricia with a small shiver. “Oh my God, and I thought I was going crazy.”
“So what did you do? Why didn’t you call me? Are they still there?” asked Paul.
“I was so freaked out it didn’t even cross my mind. The only thing I could think of was to get out, so I got a cab and went to Jocelyn – my friend’s house,” said Patricia, paused for a moment, and added with an embarrassed look, “She thought it might have been you.”
“Me?” remarked Paul, his eyes open wide. “Why? Why would I do that?”
Patricia shrugged. “It was just a thought. Jocelyn was against me seeing you from the start, so maybe it was an I-told-you-so moment, or something. I don’t know, but when we went back, everything was normal and the pills were gone.”
“Come on, let’s go,” said Paul urgently, grabbed Patricia’s hand, and started for the door.
“What? Where?” asked Patricia, stumbling behind him. “Slow down, my ankle!”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” said Paul, and turned around, almost crashing into Patricia, their bodies only inches
apart. “I forgot…” Paul stopped, his eyes straying to Patricia’s lips, and swallowed.
They stood quietly, staring at each other, the silence deafening. Patricia unconsciously licked her lips with the tip of her tongue, her heart pounding in her chest. Kiss me, you fool!
“We should go,” said Paul, and turned, this time walking at a much slower pace. “I have to take you home and have your locks changed.” He opened the door and they stepped into the hall. Anna was standing a few feet away with her back to the door like a century guarding the palace entrance.
“Ms. Burk,” said Paul, causing Anna to swirl around. “Ms. Fowler will be taking the rest of the day off. Please make sure she isn’t disturbed. If there’s anything of urgency, you can call me instead,” he said, and without waiting for an answer, headed towards the elevators with Patricia in tow.
“Yes, of course,” replied Anna, and looked at Patricia, who did an it’s-okay nod as she walked by.
Once at the elevators, Paul released Patricia’s hand and they waited in silence for it to arrive. For Patricia, the ride down to the garage was a test in patience. She wanted to ask what Paul had in mind, what they were going to do, but she couldn’t because they weren’t alone. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they arrived at the garage level. Paul held his hand in front of the door as Patricia walked out, then followed her. Patricia looked around, saw no one, and turned to face Paul.
“Paul, what are you thinking?” she asked. “Tell me.”
“Look, I’m sure Wendy is somehow behind all this. So, we’re going to go to your place and I’m going to arrange for your locks to be changed and for security cameras to be installed,” said Paul, glanced at his watch, and continued. “It’s 5:17 now, so there’s plenty of time. I’ll drive you and stay until the guys finish, then head home.” He reached out and held Patricia by the shoulders. “I need to know you’re safe, at least until I figure things out. In the meantime, it’s business as usual, and I really hope you’ll stay, no strings attached. But if you do want to go back to your old job, don’t worry, I’ll have everything straightened out. What do you say?”