“Where is it?” Adam asked though his tensed jaw. He glanced around while he scribbled his name, but caught no sight of the delivery. As he passed the clipboard back, something caught his eye. The signature he had scribbled thousands of times was somehow different; certainly not his own. Before he could examine it further, Varro snatched it from him. Suddenly, the scene changed.
In the gloom behind Varro was a large object, draped in cloth. Adam started when he saw it, sure that the space had been empty nearly moments before. Varro turned on his heel and strode past it and into the darkness beyond. Alone, Adam circled the object. The cloth covered it completely. With a grunt, Adam whipped the long piece of fabric off the top of what resembled a large birdcage.
Adam stumbled on weak knees, afraid that so many startling changes might actually cause his heart to give out. He braced himself by placing one hand against the cage. He looked up, hunched over and waiting to find out if this would be what killed him, or if he was already dead.
Susan’s face was streaked with tears, showing clearly though patches of dirt and grime caked onto her once-pampered skin. Behind a veil of stiff, scraggly hair, Susan’s gaze bore a weary, triumphant smile. Jagged red veins cut through the whites of her eyes; they seemed to intensify the blue of her irises. As for her mouth, he could see little of it behind the series of rags acting as some sort of gag. Susan hung limply, held aloft by the iron birdcage.
Adam glanced around, desperately trying to find the key. The lock on the front of the cage was empty. He groped around the dark ground, fingers spreading against the cold stone in search of anything metallic. After a moment’s failure, he fell down on all fours, hands fluttering around him wildly with panic. Adam groped on blindly in an ever-widening circle through the darkness around the cage. As his fingers moved rapidly over the cold stone, they finally brushed against something. It was hard, slick, and held the spirit of something wickedly sharp.
Adam looked up to witness a disgusted Lily, towering above him. He loosened his grip on the heel of her shoe, scrambling to his knees awkwardly.
“They delivered her.” He said with a mad sound to his cadence. “She’s here, but I don’t have the key!” He gestured frantically into the darkness behind him.
“They found your girlfriend?” Lily barked a laugh down at Adam. He was still on his knees. As he began to rise, Lily smirked. “And you came to thank your god?” She asked, with a sarcastic flip of her hair. Adam gestured to the cage again, trying to convey his panic.
“She is in there, and I don't have a key,” he whined. Lily regarded him with a pitying glance.
“And no one prepared you for this, did they?” Her tone was scathingly condescending. “You don’t need a key.” Adam shook at her words.
“I need to get her out.”
“Call someone. Get them to pick the lock, cut her out, whatever it is they do. Hire someone, bud. It's what makes the world go round.”
Adam was dumbfounded by the idea. Finally at eye level with the high-heeled Lily, he froze mid-expression, his arms stretched toward her.
“Right. We can wait for the locksmith.” Relief had swept into his voice. Adam was beginning to feel dizzy.
“Yeah. Just grab a drink and wait for the locksmith.” Lily took his shaking hand and turned him around to reveal the Tower’s bar. Bartholomew waited politely behind the counter to see if Adam was going to approach. Adam gazed into Lily’s eyes, enthralled. He wanted to turn back, to go to his wife, but he was drawn to the bar. Adam fell into the stool. Lily matched him movement for movement, never disconnecting their eyes.
Something hard and smooth was placed in Adam’s hand. With automatic gestures Adam grasped the cup in his hands and raised it to his mouth. He saw the approach of a brown liquid out of the corner of his eye. As the first drop touched his tongue, he heard Susan in the distance. She had apparently shed her gag, and was now howling a banshee cry of anguish. The smooth liquid passed over Adam’s tongue, and his mouth filled with blood. In the distance, Susan’s cry continued.
Adam awoke to the sound of her cries resounding in his ears. The blinds, still not shut from several days before, showed a skyline that was a deep midnight blue. Adam lay there, breathless and sweating. Ignoring the feeling of an immense pressure on his chest, he strained his ears. The pain grew more intense the harder he tried to listen. No familiar voice called out in the darkness of the room. Adam struggled to shift his position, but his entire body felt as though it was disconnected from the rest of his head. The weight of the force on top of him grew more intense as Adam struggled against his invisible bonds.
Failing to succeed even to lift a finger, Adam dragged his eyes, with great ardor, to a lower position within their sockets. The shadows in front of him writhed, and Adam struggled to scream in terror. Shapeless weight and magnetism sat by the foot of his bed. There was something so ingrained in the way Adam regarded the shape that he imagined he must have been staring into a face. As he fixated on the patch of shadow that nearly sparkled with alien intelligence, the dull weight grew impossibly large. Adam strained to breathe, fighting the curse on his chest. The whole room seemed to shrink closer to him, carrying that wretched shadow with it.
There Adam lay motionless until purple light finally penetrated the room. Something in the dawn’s cleansing renewal seemed to banish the terror that plagued him.
Adam got up and trundled to the tiny coffee maker. He tapped his fingers impatiently as the machine gurgled for several moments with no visible sign of the liquid he craved. Adam removed the pot from beneath the tray, holding his cup in its place with shaking hands. After several more moments, the cup began to fill. Before the coffee completely overwhelmed it, he attempted to swap the pot in place of the mug. He spilled a bit in the process, but soon the stream of hot liquid sputtered sharply against the glass. Adam clutched his warm mug in both hands.
Still shaken from the nightmare, Adam scrounged up a little bottle of whiskey from the mini fridge. This he deposited into the coffee mug, mixing the two together with a pair of thin black straws. After a few careful sips, Adam felt ready to begin planning out his day.
More than seeing Francis or wasting time with Caputo, Adam prioritized a second meeting with Gillman. There was an angle there that he was determined to explore, with or without Varro’s confession. Some steadiness returned to his hands as Adam drank and thought. He had already decided to investigate Gillman after Susan’s article, but Adam saw it was a good play for other reasons.
If he was able to endear himself to Francis in the process, it would make finding Susan that much easier. The more Adam thought about it, the more it made sense to him. Francis had resources at his disposal that were vast enough to leave the police in the dust. If he was able to prove himself, Francis would be more inclined to help him. All he needed now was some way to tie their motives together for a successful outcome. Adam drained the last of his now-lukewarm coffee with a grimace and crushed the cup. He would have to improvise.
Chapter Eighteen
Later that morning, the varied cries of ‘good morning’ that Adam received fell on deaf ears. Despite the terrible night he had, Adam would wager he was the most presentable he had ever looked at the Tower. He had showered, had a light breakfast in the lobby, and even ironed his shirt. But no matter how many small chores he pushed himself to do, Adam managed to arrive in the offices on the fourth floor incredibly early. There were a number of other people already milling about, which wasn’t entirely surprising given the probable levels of competition for those at the bottom. Among the ranks of those hard-working early-risers trying desperately to impress, Adam could see no one of any real authority.
Adam resolved to fix himself another cup of coffee in the break room. It was noticeably similar to that which occupied the one on the Top Floor, save the actual quality of the fare present. There was no liquor to be found, much to Adam’s disappointment. For the time being, he resigned himself to downing the slightly burnt coffee and avoiding
eye contact with every intern and entry level associate that passed him.
He very nearly succeeded in doing so, at least until he noticed that one young woman in particular was staring at him. She was better collected than most, and only looked to be a handful of years older than Adam himself. Her dress was conservative, almost exaggeratedly so, with muted tones of gray, black, and a comfortable off-white. It seemed like no matter where Adam looked from where he was perched halfway on the laminated kitchen countertop, her eyes were able to find his.
Finally, Adam relented, allowing their eyes to connect for more than a fraction of a second. When he did, the woman smiled a forced smile and approached him from across the room. There was something bold, almost aggressive, inherent to her stride that Adam struggled to reconcile with her modest choice of dress.
“Adam! Aren’t you the early bird this morning. Any big weekend plans?” Her tone expressed a certain familiarity, but Adam couldn’t recall having any previous interaction with her. He supposed she may have slipped in earlier in the week, when he was first introduced around, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Getting some personal work done,” Adam shrugged, trying to be disarming. “Uh…” He paused for a moment, chiding himself for making the amateur mistake of trying to inject her name into the conversation.
“Emily,” she said, with something of a glint in her eye.
“Emily.” Adam confirmed. “I’ve been splitting a lot of my time between this and that, so nothing exciting, I’m afraid.” Adam tried to be as final as possible. She wasn't the type to be flirting with him, he was fairly certain. But she definitely seemed like the kind of person who would happily invite him to a ‘concert’ if he didn’t have plans. The concert would, naturally, be at a church, featuring such classic hits as Jesus Loves Me and all the non-alcoholic punch he could drink. He snorted to himself before glancing awkwardly back to Emily. She met his gaze evenly, almost a deliberate challenge to his dismissiveness.
“I wanted to let you know that the interns have cleared up your office. It’s all ready for you.” Adam’s eyebrows shot up.
“My office?” He repeated. Emily grinned conspiratorially.
“Of course. Frankly, I’m sorry that it wasn’t ready earlier, but Mr. De La Poer gave us no hint that he was bringing you on.”
Adam perked up a bit. An office; now that was something to be excited about. He had had offices before coming to the Tower, of course, but surely nothing like this. Adam was used to working at of a desk that was in fact a plastic banquet table, or a kitchen table. Here and there he’d managed to get a couple businesses going well enough to purchase below rent offices. Those days he was lucky enough to use a fake plant to cover up the window inevitably facing a brick wall.
“Well thank you for that!” Adam stammered out quickly. “Thanks for getting it done so quickly,” he amended, with a self-conscious glance thrown at Emily.
“It’s going to be so nice to have you.” Emily said formally. “I’m sure someone from the C-Suite was going to be escorting you in for a more personal touch, but since you’re so early, I’d be happy to.”
There was something about her boldness that struck Adam. She didn’t seem like one of the entry level hires, or one of the ass-kissing mid-level executives that had something to prove. Her willingness to extend a hand and her confidence with the introductions made Adam think that she must have been someone with a fair amount of access; probably one of the officers’ secretaries, maybe even Alisha’s.
Adam answered in the affirmative, gesturing with a flat hand for Emily to precede him. She led him out of the smell of stale coffee and into the smell of light disinfectant where the cleaning crew had been only hours before. Adam wasn’t surprised when they came across a janitor in the hallway down by a spread out, separated group of large offices. It was the pride and joy of CEOs and other chiefs to talk to such an employee in the morning. They needed someone with whom to share wisdom, affability, and sports scores, because you couldn’t be a truly beloved and magnanimous person unless you knew at least one member of the cleaning personnel in the building. Adam approached him.
“Hey! I’m Adam, I’m new here.” Adam called out with a wave high in the air and a fake smile plastered across his face. He shook the man’s hand, suddenly conscious of the fact that this man’s entire job was cleaning.
“I’m Frank, nice to meet you Adam.” The elderly man said with an accommodating smile. Of course it was Frank. The same name as the CEO. Someone had a sense of humor.
Adam restrained himself from wiping his hand on his shirt by reminding himself that the custodian’s job likely didn’t extend into anything more strenuous than light dusting and pushing around his cart. He was a pantomime, a play actor, put there to fulfill a purpose. In reality the man probably had none of the skills and knowledge janitors elsewhere might, and was likely paid more. He was somewhat of a con artist, little different from those whose offices he cleaned.
“Of course, Frank. Thanks for being a friend.” The magic words spoken, Adam followed Emily to a brown wooden door. Adam suspected the custodian felt as much disdain for Adam as Adam had felt for him, but they both had to play the game of pretending to be human. For Adam, it meant passing a test. He imagined that allying with Frank was something of a rite of passage, and that by anticipating and reacting as he had he might win the respect of his superiors.
He followed Emily into a private office. It was not terribly big, by C-Suite standards, but definitely a respectable size. Adam suspected the tooled leather couch and the exquisite desk therein would the envy of many. He nodded his head as he inspected the space.
“Not too shabby.” He remarked under his breath.
“No, but we should get some light in here.” Emily replied, overhearing him. She strode to the far wall and opened the blinds with a thin, metallic sound.
Adam, embarrassed that she heard him, couldn’t think of anything to say that would right his blunder. He opted to head over to the desk instead. He rifled through a few papers and folders that had been spread out for him to inspect. None of it was actually work, merely another packet of forms for employment. Adam pretended to scour these as if he intended to read any of them while Emily busied herself with opening the blinds. The view caught Adam’s gaze, even from where he stood hunched over I-9 employment forms.
The window was a sizeable distance away from the next building. It was enough to actually allow sunlight in, even at this early hour. Adam was overjoyed. He had a view of the busy city street down below him, and would be able to watch people passing below, scurrying like ants. For a moment it was as if his heart had stopped. It was a dream come true.
A knock sounded on the door frame, and Adam whirled to see Esmeralda haunting the doorway.
“Good morning, Adam.” Her soft voice was filled with honey. “I bring a care package.” The words rang with something else, and Adam’s mind scrambled to uncover what it was she was attempting to convey. “I’m glad to see you’re settling right in.” She cast a knowing glance between Adam and Emily.
Adam gulped. He had been staring out the window when she approached, but she may well have thought he was staring at Emily.
“Mrs. De La Poer! What a surprise.” He was surprised; her appearance was perfectly arranged despite the early hour. Adam shuddered to think of how early she must get up. “And thank you, a care package is very welcome.”
Esmeralda handed him a small white bag containing, of all things, a fifth of whiskey. Adam had a choice to make, his first of many in the quagmire of office politics. He couldn’t go wrong with putting more chips down on the De La Poers, so he pulled the bottle out into the open. “Tir Na Nog! Wow.” He ran his hands lovingly over the bottle. “Really, you shouldn’t have.” Glancing back up, he could feel Emily judging him through her lingering eyes. Easily worth the risk of making sure he didn't insult Esmeralda.
“Oh, Adam, stop it. You’re family now.” Adam was excited to see how much that would be worth.
Adam placed the bottle in the deep, bottom drawer of his desk. As he slid it closed he noticed that it was just wide enough to accommodate the bottle’s length. Esmeralda strode to the window and peered out at the city below. Adam got the feeling she was inspecting his view more than anything else. He realized that from her floor at the top of the Tower, she loomed over much of Slendervale.
“How are you holding up, Adam?” Esmeralda asked, concern creeping into her voice.
“Oh, I’m livin’ the dream.” Adam chirped, hoping he was using the right amount of sarcasm so as to be disarming. Esmeralda smiled a coy smile.
“Of course. Well, if you ever need anything,” Adam suddenly felt as if the way her eyes were roaming around the room was displeased. “You don’t hesitate to let Emily or me know.” Adam lost all thought of her body language, as a useful clue was dropped.
“Oh. Is Emily my secretary then? Er– Assistant?” Adam hurriedly remedied the title.
“Emily? No, love, she’s the office manager.” With that Esmeralda tilted her head at Adam, and strode out the door. Emily followed promptly after.
“Office manager.” Adam spoke into the empty room. He tried to work out what an office manager might do. In the end, he couldn’t. There would probably be managers for each team of employees in each department, that he understood. But other than Francis or Alisha, Adam couldn’t work out why someone else might actually be managing the office.
Adam swept away his questions, determined to get to work. He scooped up all the employment files and dumped them off to one side of the desk. Instead, he opted for the telephone, placing the hard plastic exterior against his cheek.
“The Tower.” A sleep-riddled voice droned on the other end of the telephone.
“I was hoping you could connect me with a Mr. Albert Gillman, of the Heritage Group.” Adam requested. The line was silent for several moments. Just when Adam opened his mouth to ask if he had been heard, the clerk let out a sleepy yawn. Then, in a flurry, he began speaking rapidly into the phone.
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