I exit my vehicle in the parking lot of my workplace. News vans surround the place with cameras aimed in all directions. I begin to sweat, but I know why they are here. I pull my glasses forward, a little nudge, and open my door. As I do this, the desk jockey from earlier also exits her vehicle. To my assumption, she must be late, so I took this opportunity to speak to her.
"Hey, how are you doing today."
my voice is static and standard. I'm trying my best to test the waters with her. I sense my voice startled her because she jumps.
"Oh hey there, lovely seeing you here today. Did you hear on the news that someone killed themselves yesterday? Isn't it a crazy world we live in?"
"I did, but I never got to the name of the victim," I say.
"Neither did I. Unfortunately, I was too busy to finish the news."
She begins walking towards the building while we make conversation.
"I hope today won't be full with media due to that. I don't like someone watching me."
She starts walking faster as we walk through the door. I take a deep breath and enter the building behind her. A wave of disgust sweeps over me as I look through the lobby. The clatter from microphones and flashes from cameras crash into me at once. Multiple news companies stand at the front desk regurgitating information to the man trying to throw them off. They all want backstage back beyond the cubicles into the world in which that man lived. They want his life actions, his daily routine, the taste of his morning coffee. They want that scoop; things like suicide happen so often you tend to forget why they do it. The lady who rejected him hiding up a couple of floors distanced from these hungry beasts. Hiding away like a shadow and living with greed or grief, depending on if she cared. The girl I walked in with looked back at me and sigs.
"It seems I have a lot of work to do today. Maybe I'll catch you around?" she says
Off she goes trying her best to assist the man holding her position. He tries his best to scold her but can't maintain the image in front of the roaring crowd. The questions thrown at him are too great, and he becomes flooded with them even with her help. I laugh and continue through the building. I stop at the coffee shop on the bottom floor and grab a donut and some coffeeโmy usual spiel of sustenance and beverages, trying my best to maintain a level of routine. I take my typical elevator, the third from the right, my usual path. If I were to change up even the slightest, it could be seen as a mark against me. This so-called band of righteous knights trying to catch me could be on my tail at any moment. I think of how stupid the name is, though.
"The Chasers."
The old man really couldn't think of anything else, could he? I return to my cubicle and open my briefcase. The clicking of the briefcase key plays in tune with my eyes as I look up to see Lisa walking by. She walks steadily into the break room and sits down. Lisa began rubbing her temple while the steam from the coffee brews. She looks frustrated pasts discomfort. I guess being the reason someone kills themselves takes a toll on you. From just the media attention, it has to be unbearable. I can only imagine the looks she received from coworkers and onlookers. Even if they didn't show her face, anyone who knew Jim knows Lisa. He probably talked about her a lot, most likely telling everyone his secrets. This is my assumption, but I tend to be right about these things. Maybe she could use someone to cheer her up, and she wouldn't be too bad of a next kill. I take the initiative and walk towards the break room. As I do this, all heads turn in her direction. I was right. I enter the break room and sit next to her. Her gaze never leaves from downward. I grab my chair and move closer to her. She shifts in her chair a bit but nothing more. I look at her trying to decipher her face. Her aura is dark. A shade lighter than black, so her thoughts must be something pure. Perhaps she feels remorse for what happened.
"Lisa?" I say
"Jim wouldn't want to see you like this. He honestly wouldn't. Jim lived his life and loved you dearly. You have to accept that Jim gave his life due to depression, and you couldn't change that. You can't force yourself to love someone, and the more you sit here sad and lonely about what could've been. You'll fall for the same depression. Understand that Jim died of his own free will. By his own hands, his cognition. Love is a drug, and it breathes all types of emotions into a person.
It's ok to be sad that he's gone but don't feel guilty about it."
She looks up from her coffee, and her eyes meet mine. A sparkle shines bright, and I know the lessons on listening in on people have paid off. I can't contain my smile as I witness what I've done. I must seal the deal by drawing her in close.
"If you ever need someone to talk to, ill be here. Just let me know, ok?"
She shakes her head as tears trickle down her face. It runs down her cheeks and falls into her coffee. With that, I stand up and walk back to my cubicle and set up. The buzzing of the compute screen comes on and welcomes me as it usually does. I crack my knuckles and begin typing phrases and terms into bubbles for my manager to feed off. Click click click as the keys spin letters into stories. I was typing frantically away, adding statements and calculating quick thoughts. I think what I've done is truly evil. Using someone's sadness to get closer to them is perfect. I can wait until she's at her most vulnerable and kill her outright. If I can make it look like a suicide, it'll make perfect sense. I can already see the headlines as I close my eyesโ๐๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ถ๐ช๐ค๐ช๐ฅ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ข๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ธ๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด ๐จ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฅ. I thought.
My eyes dart across the room for a split second, then back to my screen. For a moment, I witness her leaving the break room and looking at me. She points down, signaling she wants to meet downstairs. I nod my head in agreement as I wait for the time to click away. Focusing on the clock and working tends to become difficult. As the ticks sway left and right, I fall deeper into my thoughts. It's been minutes, hours even since I looked up from my work. The only thing to stop me is the small chatter from the break room. All people have to talk about is the story of Jim and his depression. It's hard to tell what is and isn't fact. Jim was a sad person, yes, and he did search for love in every corner. But did he end it because of Lisa, or was there more to it. Some say his family was to blame, and Lisa was a cover-up. Others say it was him being exhausted from his job. The janitor even chimes in, stating he saw Jim take out a loan before his death, and it could've been a stunt double. That had to be the most outrageous but not uncommon. I scoffed after hearing that bit of false information. Indeed Jim doesn't seem like the type to do such things. The other colleague protested and stated Jim couldn't do that. He "didn't have the balls," one said.
They continue their conversation as I take my first break. I walk into the elevator, take it downstairs and wait for Lisa. I noticed that the lobby is mainly empty. So I walk over to the desk jockey and see how she's doing. She is stacking some papers as I approach her. She looks up quickly in my direction. It seems I've startled her again.
"Looks like things finally settled down," I say.
"Yes, finally, after a while, I thought I'd had to bring out an air horn and yell into it loudly for people to stop coming. But it seemed that they took the hint and left before reaching the front."
" I hope it's not like that forever. Noise down here can really mess with my work upstairs."
This simple small talk can benefit me later, but I don't know how yet. I'm trying to test every angle, but everything I do doesn't seem to stick. As we continue to make conversation, I find myself bored of her and start changing the subject.
"Have you seen Lisa anywhere?" I ask.
" yes, she was down here earlier. She seemed sad and wasn't talking to anyone. I think she went into the back."
The back that this desk jockey refers to is behind the central employee's door down here. It's a long corridor that leads into a small room. We call it the back because it is far behind the coffee shopโjust a long, narrow corridor that leads to some minor compartment. It's odd, even for building standards, and it stands out. I tap my fingers both I, and the desk jockey look down the corridor. It feels uneasy. Like something is off. Lisa never specified where she wanted to meet. If she wanted to meet there, I guess I should be going.
"I gotta go check up on her make sure she's safe. I never got your name desk jockey. What is it?"
"it's Carmen, sir."
That's a beautiful name. That sir better be for formality. I'm not that old. I compliment her and tell her I'm off. As I walk down the hallway, I walk past customers and bump into co-workers. The air stands heavy. Like I'm carrying a ton like I'm trying to lift the planet on my shoulders. Each step feels like a thousand pounds. Each sway of my hands feels like tree trunks brushing against me. Everything in my body is was yelling at me, crying out not to walk down that hallway, not to open that door, not to be a part of this recovery process for Lisa anymore. Yet the screams of my demons are louder, so I continue. I could tell something was off you could have a sign telling me that I'd die if I opened that door. It wouldn't stop me. I wished I had listened. As my hands turn the knob as the door handle begins to churn, I smell itโthe unbearable smell of death. It lingers in the air, and I wonder if my tale is accurate. If Lisa could think to kill herself, then that means I failed as a spokesman. The door swings open, and death fills the air immediately. I feel the heads all turn in sync as females scream in anguish. What lays before me, I am not surprisedโa rotting corpse for the bugs to feed on.