“Me too.”
“Good,” he said, tapping his hand on the top of my cube wall. “I’ll let you get back to work. I don’t know about you, but I’m slammed today.”
“Yeah, I have a lot to do to, but I’m probably not as busy as you are. Let me know if you need help with anything and I’ll make some time, OK?”
“I will, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” With that, Clark walked away. I looked back at my monitor for a second, thinking about what had transpired. It did take an enormous set of balls for Clark to walk up to me and say something like that, but even so, I was relatively unmoved. I found myself not sending excited texts to Alex, not obsessing, and not spinning myself into an emotional frenzy about the possibilities of a relationship. I sighed, went back to the piles of zip drives on my desk and didn’t think about it anymore. And it felt really, really good.
Chapter 16: Walking Papers
After I got home for the day I grabbed another coffee and headed to the gym to meet my trainer Jay (aka Satan), for my workout. It had been awhile and he put me through the paces, so by the time I left my muscles were so burned out that my ass felt like a huge ball of rubber bands. I wasn’t ready to go home, so motivated from my workout, I went over to the Target by the Northgate Mall and shopped around in the athletic apparel department for a bit, finally settling on a couple of new sports bras and a tight pair of black yoga shorts.
By the time I’d eaten dinner and taken a shower, the sun was already going down. I was just changing out of my bathrobe and into a pair of cotton pajama pants when I heard the text alert from my phone. I bent over and rummaged through my purse until I found it, then opened it and read the message from Martin Cell:
Louisa, Please Please Please help me. I need you to come down to the office as quick as you can. It’s a total work EMERGENCY. I screwed something up for the merger and if I don’t fix it tonight, I will get fired. I really, really, really need your help. Please don’t tell anyone. TEXT ME BACK ASAP.
Great. Going down to the office and helping Martin with his ‘emergency’ was exactly what I did not want to do. A huge part of me wanted to ignore the text, and I was already coming up with excuses for when I ran into Martin the next day, but the guilt of abandoning my friend when he needed me was winning out over the desire to just turn of the light, go to bed and forget about it. I sighed and swore under my breath as I typed the text back:
OK, heading down now. See you in 30 min.
As I walked down the stairs to leave, I was feeling really irritated. I barely looked up as I passed by Kathy in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal out of a plastic lunch-meat tub—she insisted upon recycling everything.
“Hey Lulu, whatcha up to?” she said cheerily, through a mouth-full of Cheerios.
“I have to go down to the office for a bit,” I sighed, not in the mood to chat.
“Bummer.”
“Yeah, apparently Martin is having some crisis that he needs my help with.” I tried to send the message that I was busy by continuing quickly down the stairs.
“Oh, tell Martin that I want to talk to him about the magazine’s gay outreach program!” Kathy yelled after me. She’d met Martin last winter briefly when he’d stopped by the house one evening before happy hour.
“OK!” I bellowed in return, rolling my eyes and shutting the front door a bit harder then I’d intended to.
When I walked out of the elevator on the 29th floor the lights to the left in the reception area were off, but the right side of the room was still lit-up with the overhead neon lighting. The office was much scarier at night, and suddenly I was genuinely afraid. What if Martin was in trouble? What if the killer had him and he was torturing him? I shuddered, knowing that if there was really something wrong there was no way that I could save Martin by myself.
For a second I thought about dialing the Seattle Police Department and reporting the text from Martin, but I nixed that idea almost immediately when I remembered screaming at Rocky over a pile of orange vomit a few nights before. I stood for a second, wondering what to do, before I finally convinced myself that nothing was the matter—I told myself that because I suffered from irrational anxiety, I could not be trusted to sort a dangerous situation from a safe one. It’s fine, it’s just Martin, Louisa. Jeez. I set my jaw and went about entering the office.
Because I knew the reception lights would flicker on as soon as someone walked through, I figured that Martin was probably around the back of the office in the lighted area, but even through my resolve I still felt so creeped out that my overwhelming instinct was to be as quiet as possible. I heard the elevator doors close and the whoosh as the elevator was called back down to the ground floor, and found myself pushing up against the carpeted walls of the hallway, side-stepping slowly towards the glass doors, listening for footsteps. When I reached the glass, I squatted down to the bottom so I could peek through the foot-and-a-half tall panel of un-frosted glass, trying to see if anything was moving. Through the glare of the kitchen lights I could see that the IT department was dark, but I wouldn’t be able to see around the corner into legal until I entered.
I took a deep breath and stood up. Everything was going to be fine, it was just Martin, I repeated again in my head, but the plastic covering of the access pass was clammy in my hands as I slid it slowly up to the sensor. I knew that the loud chime of the door and clicking off of the locks would give me away to anyone in the area, but I couldn’t see any other way to enter. I slowly moved the key card up and up and up until it was almost touching the sensor. At the last moment I involuntarily closed my eyes and scrunched my face up until I heard the piercing “beep” and click that felt even louder in the dark of the hallway. I reached out and grabbed the door handle, quickly pulling it open an inch before the lock clicked back on and I would have to repeat the entire exercise all over again.
I froze, expecting to hear the footsteps of the killer running towards me, but I heard nothing. Steadying myself, I slowly pulled the door open another six inches then scooted my body around the corner of the door. I wedged my face into the crack, straining to hear or see anything in the dark. After a couple of seconds of silence, I pulled the door open just a few more inches and slowly stepped across the threshold, then eased the door as slowly as I could back to its closed state. I snuck by the microwave and copy machine and the leaky coffee pot, putting off its musty, old-coffee smell as I walked past. My heart was beating so hard that I felt each thump reverberate down to my fingers and toes. Finally, I reached the back of the kitchen and took stock of Ari, Jenny and Michael’s offices. Everything seemed quiet as I rounded the corner to the mess of cubicles and interior offices of the legal department. When I reached the edge of Jenny’s office I took one more step into the main area and an overhead light started to flicker on above, startling me. I drew a breath sharply, fighting the adrenaline coursing through my body, telling me to “run the hell away.” Even though I couldn’t see into the darkness, anybody who was on this floor could now see me.
“Martin?” I called out in a whisper.
I squinted into the darkness, awaiting some kind of response. Nothing.
I walked into the middle of the office, pausing and staring into the first block of cubes. Everything was how I’d left it. My desk was in its usual state of clutter. Martin’s cube was empty, all of his Lady Gaga posters staring out onto the beige walls and carpets. All of the laptops were powered off and the phones were dark. Relief washed over me. I didn’t hear anything besides the clicking and humming of the machinery, and I didn’t see any sign of a struggle.
At the second block of cubes I saw more of the same. I walked over to Maya’s cube, passing the piles of file folders, and stared out of the big windows at the Seattle skyline. The rest of the buildings were as dark as the Rainier Tower, only the odd window lit up by someone working late or cleaning the offices floor by floor.
Was Martin playing some kind of joke on me? I would be sure to let him know exactly h
ow not funny I found it when I saw him the next morning. Or maybe something horrible had happened to him. Maybe he had been kidnapped? Forced out of the building at gunpoint? Anything was possible. I decided that regardless of what he told me, the situation was bizarre enough that I’d have to get over my embarrassment, buck-up, call the police and report it. I couldn’t be out on my own on this one.
I took my phone out of my back pocket and headed back towards the kitchen. As I approached my desk and the last line of cubes, my eyes tracked upwards just in time to see an unfamiliar but tiny blue light glinting out of the darkness of Jenny’s office. That’s weird, I thought.
I was still staring when I heard a loud cracking noise and felt a sharp stinging sensation coming from the left side of my stomach. The sting turned into a burning, intense blast of searing heat that quickly spread down my legs and arms. I felt my body start to jerk violently, and for a second I watched with disbelief as my limbs moved and swayed uncontrollably. I felt my eyes roll back in my head and my mouth drop open as I fell backwards, collapsing in a pile on the cheap industrial carpet.
I didn’t know exactly how much time had passed when I slowly came to. I fuzzily realized that I was on the other side of the building in Elaine’s office with my hands tied behind my back, secured firmly to the leg of her desk. Turning my head to the right and looking out the window, I could see the glow of the moon shining on Puget Sound. I tried to pull at my hands, but whatever had been tied around them was not moving, and the more I struggled the more I felt a cutting and tearing sensation on the already hot skin of my wrists.
“Oh, Hons, don’t do that—that’s duct tape,” said Martin’s voice.
He was behind me. My mind struggled with the fact that I had been shocked somehow, passed out and was now bound—and that Martin knew about it. It didn’t seem right. I tried to respond but only got out a mumble; my mouth was also covered with tape. I took a few shallow breaths out of my nose and tried to stop myself from hyperventilating. I heard him sigh as he hefted his large body out of Elaine’s chair and walked around the desk to face me. He patted my hair as he sat down in one of the chairs facing me.
“Lulu, why did you not listen to me when I told you to get another job? I told you and I told you. I even found you a job to apply for and tried to get you time off with that counselor dude. You have made this really hard for me, you know.”
With this statement my focus went from confusion to terror. I started to tremble uncontrollably. Although I was shocked to be victimized by Martin, my supposed friend, it didn’t surprise me that although I was the one tied up and gagged, he was still making this whole situation about himself. Playing the victim was one of Martin’s specialties. I cursed myself for brushing aside the many occasions when I realized that Martin was, in fact, at best a narcissist and at worst a complete and utter sociopath. I had chosen instead to look beyond his daily whiny self-victimization and martyrdom tendencies and see him as a fun, perky friend who made me laugh and sent me links to the best gossip sites and shirtless pictures of hot male celebs. I made a mental note to re-watch that Oprah episode about “listening to your inner voice” if I survived this.
I looked up at him with wide eyes. His face was puffy and red and his eyes were glassy, his words slow and slightly slurred. He smelled strongly of white wine as he leaned in to speak to me.
“Sorry I tased you. I know that totes hurts like hell,” he said in a sympathetic voice, like he was talking to a small child or a puppy. I nodded furiously. My wrists burned and my neck was aching so badly that tears formed in my eyes. “I just wish you hadn’t started dating that damn cop. I was going to ask you to come with me and work over at Guy Farner’s. They offered me a great job. It’s sooooo much better there than at this shithole joke of an office. Fuck this place! You know, fuck it!” He waved his arms wildly at our surroundings and looked towards the sky, like he was talking to God. “I can’t go over there until next year, because it would be too obvious, this whole stealing information thing, but when I do move they’re going to pay me like sixty-five thousand a year with benefits,” he slurred a bit and swayed in the desk chair. After he righted himself, he continued, “Mr. Curtis just doesn’t appreciate me.” He looked at me, waiting for some kind of response. I didn’t know what he wanted me to do. “That’s what they said! They totally told me that.” He grabbed my shoulder and leaned down to emphasize his point. “He was going to fire my ass anyways. I read it in a goddamn email in Mr. Curtis’ inbox! They were going to bring on some old hag from NorCom to take my job after the merger went through. Canyoubelibethatshit?” Tears were forming in Martin’s bloodshot eyes. “After all the years I have put into this goddamn shithole of a company!”
The level of drama had increased dramatically with this last statement, and now Martin was wailing in a high pitched, mucus-y whine as he leaned far back into the chair. This performance was a bit confusing for me, because I knew that Martin had only been at Merit for two and a half years. However, as my mouth was duct-taped shut, I couldn’t exactly point this out to him.
The sudden rise in volume of Martin’s voice had startled him, and he stood up and peeked out of Elaine’s door to see if he’d been heard. He scanned the office for a second and seemed satisfied that nothing had changed. The room was still dark, the only light coming from the kitchen at the far end of the hall. The office was as silent as a graveyard.
“OK,” he said, seemingly satisfied that we were alone. “I need you to put in Elaine’s passwords to print those last files on the merger. I know that she gives them to you and shit.”
He reached down and tried to pick me up by yanking upward on each of my arms. In his drunken stupor he’d apparently forgotten about the thorough job he’d done securing my hands to the desk. His effort caused a new, more intense burning sensation in my wrists as they were rubbed up roughly against the duct tape that refused to give way.
“Arrrghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! OWWWWWWWWWWWW!” was the noise that came out of me through my taped mouth.
Martin paused momentarily from his efforts to lift me up and looked at me, confused. “Right. Sorry, Bitch,” he said, then started laughing hysterically to himself. “Owie owie boo boo! Lulu’s got a boo boo!” He laughed at his cleverness and pranced around the desk to pick up Elaine’s scissors. A second later he sat down with a thud, then flopped his big body down on the floor between me and the door and farted audibly. “Ooopsiedoodles!” he giggled. As he leaned around behind me to begin hacking away at my bindings with the scissors, the overwhelming stench from his gas hit me and made me gag against the tape.
As he chopped away at the duct tape sloppily, he hit skin more than a few times. I was trying to hold still, but couldn’t help but cringe as I felt the drops of blood move down my wrists and slowly drip onto the floor. The process took him several minutes as he fluctuated between cussing to himself and cheering himself on.
“Fuck!” Chop, chop.
“Oh yes, girl!” Chop, chop, chop.
“Woo hoo…freaking bitch!” (It was hard to tell if that statement was out of frustration or victory).
The entire process probably took less than a couple of minutes, but the pain made it seem like an eternity. When Martin had finally ripped off the last shred of tape he rolled onto his back. Even though the office was cool, he was sweating profusely from his forehead, and I could see large pools of armpit sweat soaking through his white T-shirt and staining the cheap, blue button-up shirt he was wearing over it. Avoiding eye contact, I gingerly put my hands in my lap. My shoulders ached from the strain of sitting in such an awkward position, and the fingers tingled. I didn’t have much time to worry myself, though, because in a few seconds Martin had caught his breath enough to stand and pull me to my feet. He turned me around so I was facing the back of the office and proceeded to unceremoniously shove me as hard as he could. I had no choice but to practically leap to the back side of the desk to avoid falling flat on my face.
“OK dokie, now we have to
get those reports,” he said, pushing me into Elaine’s chair. He reached across my right shoulder and clicked a finger almost elegantly on Elaine’s mouse, bringing her monitor out of sleep mode. The screen flashed blue and the log-in box appeared, pre-populated with Elaine’s username. He began patting my head from behind gently, but excitedly, mussing my hair. “OK, Girl!” he cheered. “Put in Elaine’s system password and we’ll print those babies out so I can get my cash!”
I paused for a second and wracked my brain. I knew Elaine’s stupid password, which was always the word “Northwest,” with a capitol ‘N.’ The only thing that changed was the number after it, which ranged from one to ten and was updated every three months. After she cycled through, she started over, so despite harsh warnings about security from our IT department, it had been the same few passwords for the last however many years she had been with Merit.
By this point I had no doubt that Martin was involved in Sarah and Maya’s murders. I wondered if it had been an accident, or if after he had gotten me to put in Elaine’s password his plan was simply to kill me too. Seeing how he was hovering closely above me, and knowing what he was capable of, I didn’t think that I really had a choice.
I started typing Elaine’s password, which I was pretty sure was “Northwest5” and began pondering options to make my escape. The printer Elaine used was directly outside of her office door, a clear shot to the chair I was in, so even if Martin went and grabbed the reports while they were coming out, I’d still have walk right past him somehow to get out the back door into the reception area. I looked around the room for my purse, which was nowhere to be found, and ruled out sending a quiet text on my cell phone while Martin was distracted. The only viable option that I could see at the moment was somehow using Elaine’s desk phone to call 911. That wouldn’t work, though; Martin might have been drunk, but he was not stupid. I knew that he would immediately see that the phone was off the cradle. Plus, he outweighed me by at least 100 pounds. I had no chance in a physical struggle.
Dead End Job Page 17