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Chapter 3 - Entry 3: 1970s

Chapter 3: 1970s

Few moments later someone knocked on the conference door and entered the room through a barely opened door, minimizing movement as much as she can as to no disturb what I was working on. A small simple mousy red head with unruly hair barely kept in a bun entered the room, carrying a plate full of food.

“Um, excuse me I didn’t mean to disturb, but Sarah Beth asked me to give this to you” she raised the plate without looking up from the floor, with her shoulders hunched and her head looking down, she probably looks smaller than she already is, no doubt probably doing this on purpose. To make her presence smaller than in already is.

“Thank you-uh” I felt stupid, I can’t even remember her name.

“Mary Anne” she provided, I took the plate from her, and she just stood there.

“Do you still need anything?” I asked as she stood there twiddling her thumbs, unmoving.

“Uh, no, no I am fine”

“Then why are you still standing there?” as soon as I asked the question, she looked as confused as I was feeling.

“I don’t know” Mary Anne began to scramble and fold upon herself trying to leave, muttering a string of apologies as she went, for the door.

“Mary Anne,” I called out to her, before she can leave the room.

“We’re all secretaries here, so you don’t have to wait hand and foot for anyone, not for me or for Sarah Beth”

“Thank you” she bowed at me before leaving the room as fast as she did.

Why is she bowing?

The whole day I was preoccupied with arranging the sequence of the pile of papers, trying to make sense of the jumble pieces of literature. By the time I finished I have read the paper countless times, carrying a migraine, and feeling murderous myself. I did not even know anyone in the office covering a serial murder case, but there it was a jumbled mess of malice and anguish.

Years and years, humanity has developed laws and structures, evolving from their baser instincts, and creating civilization after civilization. They create great big things, faster transportations, technology beyond better than the one before it, advancing them to great heights.

Yet…

Wars, inequality, discrimination, exerting power they do not understand to bend to their will against each other, even above others. Beneath their laws and hopes for a better future, beneath everything their peace-loving era is covering, humanity remains the same. Malignant humans who thrive in causing pain and anguish for no reason have always existed. Difference is in this era there was less and less excuse to hurt someone, laws have been established in favor of the preservation life and human rights. Malignant humans have always been there, this civilized laws simply began recognizing, distinguishing, and identifying them.

Serial Killers

That is what the pile of papers called the people responsible for killing several people for no apparent reason other than they felt like it. If you ask me, it is a bit hypocrite to only distinguish killers.

Malignant people, they do not always kill. Just like how society has evolved from their baser ways of living, so has malignant people.

Some can even drive others to doing it for themselves.

Of course, that is something I know too well, remembering opening a letter one morning.

After arranging the papers and making sure they are numbered and in order, I placed them back on my desk to type tomorrow, there was no point in overexerting myself for this type of work. It’s not like I’ll die if I lose this job.

Tomorrow is another day. I hummed my way across the office floor and across the hallway of offices towards the elevators. As I was leaving, I passed by a lit office, Jay Zander’s office, not only was it surprising to find the lights on at this time, but it is also unusual since it is an office that has not been used for over a year since he was away on an assignment.He is probably burning the midnight oil since he was away for so long and on the first day back, he was kept away by his welcome party.

What an earnest worker a nice warm thought flooded me as I walked near the door.

Everything warm faded in a cold, the breathing heavier, then it began.

Rain

Sudden heavy pouring rain. The nearer I was to the door the louder it got, could it possibly him? Of course, it’s him, I can feel it, it’s the only feeling I am capable in this long, bleak unfeeling life of mine. My heart stops, my breath hitches, every hair of on my body standing, every fiber of my being aware of his presence and every nerve longing to touch him to be with him. Nothing ignites my soul more than the proximity, the possibility to be united with his once more.

I reached for the door handle, but as my hand made contact with the cold hard met the palm of my hand, the sound of thunder shook the entire building, the lone light behind the office door and flickered with it. Several visions of death and desperation crossed my mind all at once and suddenly I was frozen.

I can’t, I can’t do this to him anymore, I can’t.

I took a step back, a singular step which took everything I had in me to make. The knob turned and like the lightning that flashed I bolted as fast as my heels can take me towards the elevators.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” I can hear a voice call out to me as I sped walk towards the elevators. I pretended not to hear him and let the elevators shut in front of the approaching figure.

The whole trip from the office to my apartment felt like a sped up blur, as the encounter left me numb. Soaked to the bone with the raging rain my clothes weight like tons on my person, making the walk to the bathroom a lot heavier than it already is. I sat under the shower wallowing in my thoughts, hugging my knees to myself. I can’t believe it, it’s him, Jay Zander is him, the man Sarah Beth has been dreaming of.

After an episode of sell pity, I faced myself in the mirror, wiping the steam with my hand. I choked on my reflection; I can barely recognize myself with dark hair, I gripped the sink, I am tired and miserable.

I can’t do this anymore…

I marched to my bedroom, and hurriedly opened my closet to pull out my luggage. I grabbed everything I can, pulling out clothes from their hangers simultaneously throwing them in the trunk. Travel light and take only what you need especially for someone like me who is always on the move. Unable to stay in one place for more than ten years. People take notice of your excellent unageing complexion in five years, but in ten years they begin asking questions, and experience has taught me well how humans react to things that does not fit in their world.

After securing my luggage, I kneeled on the ground and removed the false bottom of the closet, pulling out my hand luggage. Locked under key I opened it on my bed revealing my travel papers. As civilization developed, hiding my identity became harder and harder as traveling got more restricted. I learned how to prepare multiple travelling documents beforehand. After picking an identity, I moved to my desk to write a resignation notice. Unlike the olden ages, I can disappear at will and no one will even notice I am gone, and I can’t have anyone chasing me off where I plan to disappear to.

Confident with my preparations, I prepared myself a warm cup of chamomile tea, and sat on the window pane, watching the unrelenting rain as if poured across the city, yet the city continued with its course, like a coursing river, it continued down its path unbothered by the obstacle in its wake. As I lean against the glass of the window, I begin to think of home, picturesque scenes of grass and water, floating lights glowing, the river reflecting its different colors leading up to my home…

My home…

I can’t remember what my home looked like. I stood up from the windowpane and thought hard. What did my home look like? I paced the living room, with the cup of tea in my hand, forcing my mind to think back long and hard. I haven’t thought of home in a long while, and now try as I might all I can remember was a haze of structure and light. I can’t even remember how it felt growing up inside my house. Grabbing a vacant journal, I began to write memories of home, the composition coming out in scribbles as my hand struggled to keep up with my mind.

All night I wrote and wrote and wrote and the rain continued to rage outside.

In the morning, when the rain had weakened and the light of the sun barely penetrated its gloomy shower I was certain of one thing.

I was beginning to forget home.