Part Of The Job

Fisher struggled a bit as they waited for the elevator to return. I think he knew it was hopeless; he wasn't putting up much of a fight, and his curses had fallen silent. The two men dragged him into the elevator and I finally left my hiding spot. The doors slid closed before I made it half the distance. I stood staring at them for a moment before rushing for the stairway. They weren't going to kill him. That was absurd. That was murder. When you got fired, security took you to the front door, maybe throwing you a bit roughly into the street.

I raced down the steps, knowing I would never catch up with them, but I would be close behind.

With my lungs bursting, I made it to the lobby. It was practically deserted, even the security guard had left his desk. But, across the way, Fisher was being shoved through another door. The door was marked Basement, and I had assumed that it was used by maintenance to get into power rooms or to the boiler. The two men did not look behind as the door began closing behind them. I moved forward, jumping the last few feet to catch the door before it latched shut. I waited before opening it, sure that one of the men would be waiting there to bash me on the head.

They were a good distance down a set of stairs, though, their attention focused on herding Fisher forward. His whimpering had ceased; he hung between the two men like a scarecrow. The light dimmed farther down the stairs and I could not see how far down the steps went. I stepped forward, pulling the door shut quietly behind me. My heart race loudly in my chest and my lips felt crisp. I watched the three men proceed a moment longer before following.

The stairway seemed to go down forever. I figured I was below two floors when I finally saw the steps come to an end. The men ahead walked slowly into a hall that seemed more like a tunnel: the ceiling curved down at the walls and bare bulbs dangled from a cord every twenty feet or so. Shadows leapt forward before dragging back and I lingered back a little farther, afraid that my own shadow would give me away. The guards seemed more relaxed now, comfortable in this underground burrow. They didn't force Fisher along. That need was gone and they simply followed a few steps behind him.

I couldn't imagine what was going on. I couldn't believe that people were just killed and no one thought anything of it. And it seemed the victims accepted their fate, that they went along with the murder. It was all unbelievable. But this seemed too weird for a corporate meeting and I doubted the company conducted marriage counseling in the basement. I wanted to turn and run, to put in my resignation upstairs and head down to the bar. I wanted to call the police but I knew they would never believe this, not if I was still trying to. I would probably be locked up, put under observation and given a nice room with padded walls.

It was too late. I was already in the tunnel. I trailed my fingertips against the wall, feeling dirt and rock flake off. Whatever was down here had been down here a very long time. Up ahead the tunnel turned sharply to the right. I could feel cold air drift toward me as I came closer. Fisher and the other two men had already turned the corner and I hurried a little, afraid that they would disappear somewhere ahead and I would wander around for hours. I crept to the corner, sliding along the wall like James Bond. I peered around, again expecting to be hit in the skull. There was another set of steps, these set against the wall and emptying into a room the size of a cathedral.

I dropped to my knees, hiding behind a ledge that separated the steps from the rest of the room. My heart stopped as I tried to accept what I saw.

Torches flickered against the wall and I thought of the movie Frankenstein. Everything was dirty rock: the walls, the ceiling twenty feet above my head, the floor. Everything except the wooden table where Fisher was placing his clothes as he removed them, and the beams standing toward one end of the room. Black chains hung from the top slab of wood, chains ending in thick shackles. Pale gouges were dug into the wood, dozens of them, and I did not want to think of those. Between me and the chains, in the center of the room, was nothing. A hole into the earth. It was maybe fifteen feet across and the rim was black with soot, as if the bricks there had been blasted with a torch.

My fingers dug into the ledge, splinters of rock bit at my skin. I watched Fisher, his clothes completely discarded, walk to the chains. The two men followed him, snapping the shackles around his wrists. Their faces were blank and cold but I knew they were not forcing Fisher to do anything. He moved slightly in the frame of the wooden beams, testing the strength of the chains, I realized. The fear and lost look had left his face and he stared into the hole with an expression of empty acceptance.

He whispered something and the two men walked back to the table.

The air around me thickened, as before a hard thunderstorm. Desperately, I tried to think of something, some way to get Fisher out of there. The torches began to waver, their flame shaking back and forth. A few of them blew out and I could see Fisher's eyes grow as he stared into that hole. Sweat ran down into my eyes, blurring everything for a moment before I wiped them with the back of my hand. Below, Fisher clenched his jaw and stood straighter. My eyes darted to the hole, narrowing, trying to see whatever was there.

Yellow light flickered against the wall, throwing mad shadows up into the room. Wind came up as well, a hot, stifling wind that swirled together dirt and dust around the room. I wanted to shrink away from the ledge, to hide, but I couldn't move.

The flames that emerged from the darkness were white. White and red and so alive. They licked at the rim, eager to climb over. There was a shape in the fire, an impossible shape and I stared without realizing that I had stood. My eyes went in and out of focus and sweat slid down the small of my back. A burning hand half the size of a man reached out and took hold of Fisher's ankle and he kept staring, his lips pulled into a maniac's grin. Flesh scorched into crisp black and he just kept staring. The smell reached up to me and my stomach churned, threatening to revolt.

I must have moved, done something, because Fisher swung his face toward me. For a moment, he didn't see me. The look on his face was blank. Then it was like waking up and confusion set in on him. His mouth went wide with confusion and surprise. Then his screams started. Oh God, the screaming. My ears hurt from the few seconds it filled the room. Then there was only the sound of burning.

A face turned toward me. In the fire, which had risen maybe eight feet out of the hole, leaving more than half of itself down below. In the flames, a face. Its eyes touched mine and glared with anger. Hate. Power. Heat wafted toward me in its gaze, singeing my cheeks. A mouth, its lips burning lines, opened into a sneer.

It swung its arm around to me, shoving something at me. I stumbled back, my arms reaching up to cover my face. The thing did not advance, just held its burning fist there between us. And I realized what it held.

The scream that echoed was now my own.

I turned and ran, my legs shaking but still I ran. I waited for the burning to start, waited for the smell of my own burning skin to surround me. I was halfway up the stairs before I realized there was nothing behind me. Even the two gorillas were not after me. I didn't stop running, though; I wouldn't stop running until something made sense again. I kept trying to picture what I had seen, but I couldn't remember, not exactly. It was its burning grin that I could not forget, and the smell of charred flesh. It had seen me, and it had smiled upon me. What devil it was, it had seen me.

I wasn't too surprised at the wall I ran into in the lobby. I guess the security men knew a lot of shortcuts through the building. I struggled, trying to wrest my arm from the one's grip. But there was nothing left in me. And I knew I didn't have a choice.

"Mr. Cliver would like a word with you," a man said, stepping out from somewhere behind me. My floor manager, the little geek. He smirked at me, pushing up his glasses at the same time.

"I, uh," I stammered, making a few more pulls from the hold they had me in. "I think I quit now. I'll just be.... I'll just be leaving."

He grinned at me, obviously not amused. He gave a sharp nod and the two guards pulled me toward the elevator. My feet slid uselessly against the marbled floor. I shouted and cursed, hoping maybe someone would be coming in from lunch. It wouldn't matter, of course. They all knew. Whatever it was, they all knew.

The elevator doors whooshed shut in front of me, the sight of the outside world closed off and I wondered if I'd ever be out there again. I thought of the bartender at the Napalm and her soft lips and how I never got to kiss them. The guard at my side looked a bit like something from the Planet of the Apes, if he had a bit of facial hair. I decided to keep quiet about that.

The elevator stopped and I was prodded into a lush waiting room. There was no receptionist desk; I suppose the floors below were all of Cliver's reception. There was one door ahead of me; double doors, actually, and I knew that I did not want to enter. But the monkey man pushed me forward and I reached out for the knob, pushing it open.

"Come in, Mr. Tourney," a voice told me, though I stood a step inside the door. The tall back of his chair faced me. The office was immaculate; no one could walk into this office and realize what business this man conducted. God knows I couldn't answer that question anymore.

"It seems you've been quite busy lately," Mr. Cliver spoke as he turned his chair to face me. No one I'd spoken to, here in the company or among those contacts I had outside in the business, had ever seen the man. I don't think any of them would want to. He was an old man, though he had worked hard to avoid aging. As his chair finished turning, his hands came together and the fingers laced around each other. They looked like strong hands, hands that could squeeze. "Quite, quite busy."

I stood quiet. Behind me, on the other side, stood the two men in black suits. I imagined that they were as quiet as I. Quieter, perhaps; I could hear my heart thumping in my chest. In my lower stomach, coils of pain grumbled like yesterday's take-out. I knew I would leave this room alive. It was what would happen after that terrified me.

Cliver looked amused. There was no doubt over how busy I'd been. Or what I had been doing. Maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe I should have just stayed at my desk, or gone to lunch with the rest of the herd. Cliver did not seem angry. He looked like he was about to tell me what a great job I'd done. Maybe clap me on the back.

I thought about how the elevators only went down to the lobby, and how the one stairway went down two flights lower. I thought about the scratches in the wooden beams; fingernails holding on for life and losing. I thought about how screams echo in the dark, and about what happens when the screaming stops. "I'm not here to say anything, sir."

The old bastard chuckled. His lips worked the words silently, like the punchline of a joke. His eyes twinkled brightly and I saw he was enjoying this. Chances were, he didn't take many of these meeting. Terminations were handled by someone downstairs. Maybe I should feel special. "Most people 'round here, they never bother putting in overtime. You, though, you've been bleeding the clock. Even taking the work home with you."

"Beats getting a second job," I quipped, the words out before I could stop them. Too long being a smartass, letting words pop out before thought and common sense had a chance to censor them. It didn't matter, it was a little too late to worry about professional conduct.

Cliver shook his head. "Hey now," he said, sounding almost grandfatherly, "no need to get defensive." He looked down at his watch, a thick band of silver that glittered in the afternoon light. "Now, I do have to be going. A dinner for charity. So, let's make this quick."

My bowels tightened. I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes but I was not going to cry. Whatever he thought, I did not break so easily. I knew what was to happen and maybe I would cry and piss myself then, but not for this old man. He would not get that out of me.

"The world is coming to a new beginning. A new power. And I intend to have myself a piece of that power." He stood and looked out the window behind him, his hands clasping each other at the base of his spine. The office overlooked most of the city. Cliver probably liked that, looking down on all the little people. "I'm offering you a job, Mr. Tourney."

The words didn't fade right away, they seemed to echo in my ears. I wanted to laugh, felt it in the back of my throat. More smartass words were forming in my mind: No, that's all right. I've got a job. But I knew I didn't, not anymore. Whatever he was talking about, I didn't have a choice.

Cliver turned and faced me. "You are perhaps a brilliant programmer, but, really, who cares? You've got some nerve, maybe enough to get you from behind a desk." He walked from behind the desk, coming to stand a foot in front of me. I could smell the cigar-tainted old man breath wafting in my face. "You've been smiled upon. You could have a future here, doing something far more than punching in numbers."

My skin prickled at his closeness. His eyes were blue, a blue like the sky, and cold. I could see the specks of dandruff on his scalp. "Do I need to ask 'or what?'"

He smiled, revealing the blinding white dentures behind his lips. "Well, Mr. Tourney, you've been to the basement. You've seen our guest. Do you really want to lose your job after coming so far?"

I thought of what I had seen. Of what losing a job means. What termination really meant around here. I thought of Fisher, how his screams ended so quickly after lasting forever, and how the smell of burnt skin could not be forgotten.

"Do I have to wear a suit?"