The Graveyard Shift

by Brandon Meyers

  When he pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later, William was surprised to see his name still on the placard above his parking space. He was also surprised to see the lights within Cityscape’s building alive on every floor, and a bustle of people walking in and out of the front doors.

  But what had he been expecting? A condemned building, abandoned and covered in boarded up windows? A crime scene, flooded with lines of yellow tape and police officers with notepads scritch-scratching down information? Cityscape still up and running meant nothing, not until William stepped inside, gave a sheepish hello to Marissa the front desk receptionist, and walked to his desk, which he found to not be holding a packed-up cardboard box of his belongings.

  As the assembly workers were punching in at the time clock against the far wall, it all seemed to be business as usual.

  William settled into his chair and brought his laptop out of hibernation. No one else that worked in the cubicles was here yet, but that wasn’t unusual, as he was often one of the first into the office. And the assembly workers who worked in the production area (who passed him quickly and threw him odd glances today) did not often talk to him, partly because of his job title and partly because of language barriers.

  William frantically went to open his e-mail and double clicked the wrong icon. After Xing out of a spreadsheet, he opened his e-mail and scanned the bolded titles that popped up hastily.

  2013 Fiscal Report.

  FWD: Expense Sheet.

  Changes Coming.

  William clicked on that last e-mail, sent from the head of HR, and was struggling to absorb the huge wall of text that greeted him. It had been dictated by Chris Rodriguez himself, it said, and that, more than anything, brought that familiar, sour boulder plummeting back into William’s gut.

  As he began to read a ledger that started with “you may have heard some rumors by now” and was filled with such corporate bullshit as “our employees are our most valuable asset” and “taking things in a bold new direction,” he saw a dark figure approaching him from behind in the reflection of the monitor. He saw only a blank face, indistinguishable and blurred out by the black letters pasted across the screen, and gasped.

  He spun around in his chair and saw Steve Lopez, office manager and trusted friend, wide eyed and laughing.

  “Shit, Bill, you look like you just seen a ghost,” Steve said, lips spread out in a smile between a thick black mustache and goatee. “You okay, Gingerbread Man?”

  Started, founded, and run by the Rodriguez family some twenty years ago, Cityscape was a mostly Latino company, and as such, the family had always been amused by how well they got along with the pleasant but somewhat quiet, red-haired, red-stubbled, pasty-faced accountant. And so they affectionately deemed him ‘Gingerbread Man’, because he was a ginger and because he was in charge of getting everyone their ‘bread.’ It was a name that William typically greeted with a smile, but today he was in no mood for joking.

  “I… I’m fine. You just startled me. Did you read this?” William asked, thumbing over his shoulder at the two page memo on his laptop.

  “Yeah, man, that’s why I’m here.”

  William shifted in his seat, and only now did Steve notice the bead of sweat slipping from William’s wrinkled brow. “Well, what does it say, Steve? I’m on the edge of my seat. I can’t concentrate. I can’t read all of this. What the hell does it say?”

  Steve laughed, placing his hands on the sides of his cream colored button up shirt. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Chill out. You know what that thing says? It says you’re the boss man now, homie. It says the white man’s finally in charge.” He grinned. “And honestly, I’m glad to hear it. I think you’re gonna run things more like Miguel did. You know, more like a company and less like a personal ATM.”

  “I…” William blinked his eyes in confusion. “I… am? But this memo, this was dictated by Chris.”

  Steve chuckled. “Yeah, it was.”

  “And Chris hated me.” William leaned in close to Steve and whispered, “I think he was always jealous of me. You know, like I was the son Miguel always wanted.”

  “You don’t have to whisper,” Steve whispered back. “Everyone here knows that, man. And I don’t know if he had some last minute change of heart about his dad’s company, but he said you’re the best man for the job. His own words. And he’s right. The family held an emergency meeting and they all agreed. Cityscape’s still in their name, but you’re gonna be acting CEO.” He clapped William on the shoulder. “Congratulations, my friend. They’re holding a meeting in about ten minutes and they expect you to say something. ‘Thank you’ would be a good start. And me? I expect a big fucking raise now that you’re the big cheese.”

  William said something joking in reply, but no sooner had he said it than it was flushed from his memory. The next thirty minutes was a blur, in which he finally read the e-mail (though he barely absorbed a word of it), and then was escorted by Steve to see the family. His walk to the boardroom felt a lot like a walk to the electric chair, with offices, or maybe cells, lining him on each side as he was gawked at by rows of men and women pressing their faces to the glass in unabashed curiosity.

  What greeted him in the boardroom was a table full of Rodriguez family members in suits and ties, blazers, and pantsuits, gathered around a stack of papers like a grieving family hovering over a casket. William’s hand was shook by all, and he fumbled through a quiet, uncomfortable speech (in which he took Steve’s advice and offered his deepest gratitude). From there he signed a slew of papers that bestowed him the title of CEO, and allowed him to jump from a modest salary of $58,000 a year to a whopping $200,000, with bonuses that looked like a salary all on its own. He filled out page after page of initials and signatures, and just when he thought it might never end, he flipped over the last page and cast the red pen aside.

  “Look at this contract,” Steve said later, after the Rodriguez family had filed out of the board room. “So final. So official. Like it was signed in blood.”

  William chuckled, and said, “Yeah, right. Excuse me for a moment, will you?”

  He then scrambled to the bathroom, flipped up the first toilet lid he could reach, and vomited until nothing but a raspy cough remained.

  William T. Bellows, CEO. The man that stood wide eyed and white as a sheet before the bathroom mirror was now the head of Cityscape, and yet he felt no different. He felt no great weight lifted off of his shoulders. If anything, his burden felt heavier. More real than ever.

  Shaky hands flicked the faucet on, and he splashed cold water onto his searing face. When he stood upright, he saw that he was no longer alone. A man was standing behind him, in the furthest corner of the restroom, face draped in shadows. William didn’t have to see it to know the face was blank.

  “Was this what you needed to see?” the demon asked, voice growing only more impatient. “Do you need your first paycheck, signed and stamped? Do you need to see the placard bearing your name nailed to the wall? Do you need to sit behind your desk, and gaze out the window, and light your first imported cigar before you start taking this task seriously?”

  “I… I don’t understand,” William choked out, voice hoarse from vomiting.

  “I not only destroyed Christopher Rodriguez’s life, but I handed the company over to you. As promised. And yet you’ve done nothing to indicate you are going to return your part of the favor. Is this some kind of mockery? Because believe me when I say that even though you are not what I’m looking for, I will happily drag you down to Hell before you can even step one foot into that cushy new offi—”

  “Wait, wait,” William pleaded. “Just answer me one thing.”

  The demon shifted in his place, crossing one hazy arm over another. “I grow impatient of this.”

  “I’ll do it. I promise I will. I just want to know something. Chris dictated that letter himself. He personally made me CEO. How? Why? I… I don’t understand.”

  “Because I was there with hi
m,” the demon said, “when he made that call to his assistant. I showed him what would happen to him if he disobeyed me. And those are the same things that await you if you disobey me. Would you like me to show you, William? Would you like to see just the slightest sample of what an eternity of suffering looks like?”

  William, hands planted on the sink to keep him up, shook his head. “Please, no. That’s not necessary.” When he opened his eyes and glanced down, he saw the demon’s sigil still seared into the flesh of his palm.

  “Then I suggest you start making some progress.” The demon snarled. “So William T. Bellows, will you do this, now that I’ve given you everything you’ve ever wanted?”

  “Yes,” said William, as he pulled the stone knife from his waistline and clenched it in his fist. “I’ve come too far. I’ll see this out. I’ll do this for my family.”

  “I don’t care how you justify it to yourself,” the demon said, as he pulled back into the shadows, “so long as it’s done.”

  *

  William spent the rest of the day in his new office—a living room sized area that felt much too big, much too empty—hunched over his laptop. He posted an online job listing for his old accounting position to be filled, when he wasn’t sitting with his face buried in his hands, asking himself what the hell he was going to do about his end of the deal. When he asked himself if he had the balls to betray an innocent person. Or if he could accept an eternity in the underworld, or Hell, or whatever pit of agony and despair the demon would drag him into.

  Later, as a few digital resumes came into his e-mail inbox, he began to read them, but it was not the past jobs or the diplomas or the novel-sized “I am enthusiastic about this opportunity” bullshit smattered on a cover letter that he was looking at. He was reading their hobbies. Their interests. He found himself judging them, wondering if he could gauge any of them as pure.

  Was Steven Silas a pure man because one of his interests was working in a soup kitchen once a month? What about Rebecca Anders? She volunteered at a hospital. Did that make her a pure soul, or did it just make her a girl in college trying to pick up some extracurricular activities to paste on her resume? By the end of the day, William was no closer to finding a pure soul than he was a replacement accountant.

  He packed up his stuff quietly, shut off the lights, and left to go pick up his wife.

  *

  Later, at home, Grace sent William out to the liquor store to buy a nice wine to go with dinner. And when he returned, their dining room furniture had balloons tied to it, the light fixture held a few red plastic streamers, and there was delivery from William’s favorite Vietnamese restaurant set out on the table.

  “Surprise!” Grace said, as she folded her arms around him. “I know it’s nothing big, but we just want to show you how proud of you we are.”

  William was surprised to find that even Lynette and Dana were piling into this hug.

  “I told you you’d get it, Dad,” Dana said—a teenager’s version of congratulations. “You’re gonna be so rich and powerful. It’s gonna be awesome.”

  “Can we have noodles every night?” Lynette asked. “Now that you’re rich?”

  As William sat and basked in the warmth of his family, truly happy and truly devoid of stress for the first time in months, he couldn’t help but forget about his debt. And when he finally remembered it—only after reaching for seconds, when the stone-hilted knife rustled against his waistline—he found himself believing that he might actually do it. If only so he could continue to see his family like this.

  It was going to be worth it, after all.

  Right?

  *

  An idea finally struck, long after dessert was had, when Dana reminded her father that he needed to take her to her weekly youth group. And so he did, but rather than drop her off at the front of the New Life Worship Center and pull away as he usually did, he parked his car and escorted his daughter inside.

  “You’re not here to, like, talk to my friends or something, are you?” Dana asked, brow wrinkled as she filed in far ahead of William so as not to be seen walking beside him.

  “Geez, Dana, give me a little credit. I’m not here to embarrass you. I just wanted to speak to the pastor.” He waved her on. “Go find your friends. I’ll pick you up later.”

  As Dana headed off toward the hallway to the classroom area, William wandered the foyer. The pastor’s office was lit, and his door was open, but the pastor was nowhere to be found. William paced the carpeted floor apprehensively, until he meandered toward the double doors leading into the actual church. One of the doors was wedged open, and behind it, the rows of plush red pews were bathed in darkness. A cross glistened faintly in the distance, barely visible from the foyer, and the marble altar sat stationary, unused. On Sundays it often made William feel comfort. Today it brought him chills, and the thought that this darkness was slowly spreading to more than just the pews lingered in the corner of his mind.

  He peered over his shoulder. The pastor’s office was still empty, and save for one last teen boy scrambling late to youth group, so was the foyer.

  William stepped into the darkened chapel, kneeled at the closest pew, and folded one hand over another. Not typically one for praying, he scrunched his eyes shut and began a mental word vomit.

  I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, he thought, and cringed. I’m sorry. I mean, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I think I just made a deal with the devil. I didn’t mean to. Truly. But I don’t know what to do now that I’m already in the middle of everything. I don’t know the solution. I just need to find an answer so I don’t have to spend an eternity away from my family… an eternity in misery. He sighed. But… I did this to myself, didn’t I? So there’s probably no cosmic answer ready to fall into my lap. I just need to suck it up, but I don’t know how, and I just want everything to be oka—

  He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he heard, as he jumped in place and threw his head over his shoulder. It was a girl, no more than Dana’s age, looking very apologetic as she stepped away. “I thought I heard someone in here. I just had to make sure. My father asked me to close up.”

  “Right,” William said, pushing himself to his feet. “Sorry. Just saying a quick prayer. It’s been a tough week.” As he stepped into the foyer and his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights shining brightly above him, he took in the girl that pulled the doors closed behind him and locked them. She had honey brown hair, mousy eyes that were a little too close together, and a pointy nose that was the spitting image of her father’s.

  “You’re the pastor’s daughter, right?” William asked.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “I’m Leah. You’re looking for him?”

  “I am. I need to speak to him. You said you he just asked you to close up, right?”

  Leah giggled, and flashed William her plastic-jewel-encrusted iPhone, where tiny digital letters from ‘Dad’ proclaimed, ‘plz close up chapel b4 u leave ok?’

  “He left early today to start planning his new ministry,” she said, pocketing her phone. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “Eh, I—” William was going to blow her off, but then he remembered his prayer, how she had somehow seemed to answer it. “Well, maybe you can. I just… I wanted to see if I could get more involved around here. Maybe… I don’t know, do some mentoring.”

  Leah nodded, shifting her thin, trendy glasses with one hand as she grabbed her Bible off of the table beside her with the other. “I think Dad would really like that. We don’t have a lot of help around here. It can get to be a bit much.”

  “Understandable.” While she closed up her father’s office, William glanced her over again, and realized that the girl before him was the daughter of a pastor. Fifteen, sixteen at most. A valued, contributing member of the church. Soft spoken. Virginal. Even more so than the pastor, she was the embodiment of purity.

  “Do you need mentoring?” William asked, before he could stop him
self. He knew if he thought about it, he couldn’t go through with it. “Or maybe even just some help around here? I get the feeling your dad puts a lot on your plate.”

  Leah smiled, revealing a mouth full of braces. “Yeah, he does. And I have a new kindergarten class I have to plan an entire lesson for soon. I could really use some help. If you can.”

  William nodded, and felt the tiniest bead of sweat at his brow. “I can. Do you have some time now? Maybe we can… I don’t know, go sit down somewhere and talk about it?”

  “Wow, okay. That’s great. Yeah, I’ll show you the classroom.”

  William’s legs were heavy as he followed her down the narrow hallway, passing dark, empty classrooms. The weight of the stone-hilted knife was heavier than ever, and it was rubbing painfully against his hip bone with each step. Leah, meanwhile, pranced ahead of him like a bunny without a care in the world, and here he was, Lennie the brute, ready to end its life.

  He passed his daughter’s classroom, where she and a large group of teenagers were engaged in conversation with the youth pastor. Her back was to him, and his only thought as he marched past her was that he was doing this for her. His justification that Leah’s life had only begun and so she wasn’t missing as much as an older person who’d already entered the real world was half-assed and not well thought out, but he needed to act. The demon was very clear on this—if not her, it would be him.

  Leah pulled open the door to the classroom at the end, flicked on the light, and stepped into a room littered in bright neon plastic toys and plush animals. She closed the door behind them, and approached the desk.

  The room was silent, and so was Leah, but William’s heart was pounding so hard he could hear it echoing inside of his own head. He started to reach down toward the knife in his belt. His eyes found focus on her lower back and imagined planting the blade into her abdomen, but suddenly Leah spun around. Her hand went to block him, or at least that’s what he thought it was doing, as it lashed out toward his pants.