I stumbled from the watery depths of the exit portal, in a state of delirium as I clutched Andy's jacket. Getting my bearings again, as I gripped the handrail and tried to regain my sense, I could hear one of the portal's attendants call out to me.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but you need to get a move on!" He called. "You're going to block up the path!"
"Sorry," I responded.
Letting go of the handrail, I shuffled down the path with a heavy exhale. Now that I'd dealt with the Andy Waters case, the next bit would be the hard part - the inevitable meeting with my boss. I'd see if I could avoid the blackboard, but after tanking both Dalton's case and not making a terrible afterlife of my own, I'd probably have trouble avoiding it this time. Staggering down the metal walkway, I braced myself as I moved down the path, my left hand clutching the handrail. With each step forward, I could feel the cold and slick iron railing sliding along the palm of my hand. As I reached the end of the catwalk, three or four people following along behind me, I took a step off the walkway and onto the marble.
Wandering across the marbled floor with the jacket, I realised I'd left Andy's manilla folder behind in the other world. Well, I couldn't exactly go back into an expired pocket universe to get it: I suppose it was as good as gone now, just as Andy Waters was.
Taking that dreary elevator trip back up to my office floor once more, the doors opened to the usual hustle-and-bustle of the soulless workers as they shuffled about. I could still hear whispered words about the vomit incident across the office. I groaned as I returned to my desk, with my jacket in hand, as I went to get my stuff and head off for the day. However, as I approached my desk, I could see the portly figure of my balding boss leaning against it - a look of seething rage etched deep into his face.
"Malarie," he barked, his voice bitter with barely veiled vitriol. "My office, now!"
I sighed. "Alright."
As he led the way, I threw the jean jacket against my desk, following him as he stormed toward the resplendent door at the far-side of the office. He yanked it open as he entered, his frame barely fitting through the door to his own office. I followed him inside.
Stepping into the office, a massive window stretched across the right side of the office - a penthouse view overlooking the swirling world beyond the confines of the corporate world. It was a large room, with a stained glass desk in the centre and a set of office chairs on either side. Along the left wall was a cabinet of achievements, most of them depraved in nature, and in the corner of the room was a small mini-fridge with an old diner-style coffee machine sitting on top of it. He waddled forward, sinking into his office chair.
"Close the door behind you, Malarie," he said, the thinly veiled rage now percolating and bubbling across his face.
Wandering into the room, I pushed the door shut, closing off this world - leaving me alone in the office, in my own personal hell. The grimace rose to the surface of his face as the door shut behind me, no longer restrained by civility.
"What do you think you're doing, Malarie," he snarled. "Not only did you ruin your own case, but you tried to tank one of our star's greatest sources of suffering. Do you have any idea what job you're supposed to be doing here? I've thrown you every bone I can, so why do you keep using them to smack me over the head!?"
"Those are lives, just like mine," I replied.
"Their lives aren't yours though, Malarie!" He exclaimed. "You've got a good job, and a good life here, and you want to throw all of that away? Just because you can't let some rando feel a little pain? You're going to be experiencing that exact pain yourself if you keep it up!"
"I'm well aware of that," I responded, with a gloomy look on my face.
The boss leaned back in his chair.
"You know, I don't want to do this, but you're leaving me with no choice," the boss said. "You've got such wasted potential in that little head of yours. If you hadn't tanked Dalton's case as well, perhaps we wouldn't be having this conversation, but one more case - one more screw-up, and I'll probably have to put you on the blackboard. We can't get funding for the sappy stuff that you churn out. You're a liability, Malarie - and I know you can be more than that."
As he stared up at his achievement wall, a place filled with atrocities that one should never celebrate, he looked wistfully up at what he'd done. I didn't know much about the boss. Perhaps he'd been human in another life, like Dalton, but whatever had happened - he had fallen far from his humanity. This place would make us all fall from humanity if it could.
"I heard you got given a jacket by your client as a parting gift," the boss continued. "I hope you realise that they're supposed to be giving you stories of grief, not gifts. You know what your job is, don't you?"
"Yeah," I answered.
"Then start doing it!" He screamed into my face, as his voice billowed through the office. I couldn't do it though. I knew what I was capable of, but I didn't want to be that person. I refused to be that person. I wasn't a Dalton: I wouldn't ruin lives for my own sake, or for the sake of anyone else. I was better than that. I'd worked hard to rise above that in my life, and I wasn't ready to fall back down in death, not yet. I thought of Andy Waters. I, too, had things to overcome; I wouldn't let myself falter after fighting so hard against myself.
A warm parvris1Meaning "small smile". From parvum (Latin for small) and risis (Latin for smile)... and yes, I didn't have a word that I liked here, so I just made one up. dented the corners of my lips, that faint trace of happiness barely visible - yet tangible. I wanted to help, to do better for their sake. I wasn't the adventurer I'd once lived as.
I hoped, at least, that I could do better - that I could be better.
