Opening the manilla file, I looked through the paperwork. Derrick Rodgers, it read. He was 57, an Account Executive, with a family and two kids: not that any of that told me how he might like to live in the next life. According to his file, it seemed Derrick also had a crippling case of childhood katsaridaphobia - a fear of cockroaches. I could imagine if this case had ended up in anybody else's hands, they probably would've just chucked the poor guy into a cockroach body and called it a day. That wasn't a pleasant thought.
Flipping through the pages, there wasn't much else to go off - besides something about having a red bike he liked when he was a kid. There was no way in hell I was reincarnating him as a bicycle though. For some reason, the people who actually wrote these damn reports seemed to really misunderstand what constituted "important information", or even relevant information - for that matter.
I guess this time, I wouldn't be getting any leads from the paperwork.
As I sat up from my desk, I took a biro from the table, shoving it into my top pocket as I left. I now wish I'd asked Vincent a few more questions about the guy before he'd left, but it didn't matter too much - I was going to do the best job I could do anyway, and that meant I was probably find out all that stuff from the Inspeculator anyway. There was no sense in worrying too much about unanswered questions. Departing from my desk, I tiredly sauntered down the corridor. I was still a little fatigued - however, I felt a lot less exhausted than I did yesterday, which at least meant that I probably wouldn't spew all over the place while using the machines again. Probably.
I headed over to the staff room, placing the manilla folder against the bench as I grabbed a paper cup from the supply cabinet. With all of the teaspoons having disappeared to who knows where, I grabbed a soup-spoon from the drawer, half filling it with coffee powder and dumping it into the flimsy cup. I split open a sugar satchel and poured it on top, as I filled the kettle, placing it back on its little electric stand and flicking it on as I waited. While the kettle boiled, I could hear the faint sound of high-heeled footsteps growing ever closer, heading toward the break room.
"Malarie," a snooty feminine voice said from behind me. I knew that nasally voice anywhere. Esmeralda was a tanned Amazonian woman, with a long upturned nose and a snobbish demeanour - always seeming to look down on you. She had a distinctive yet beautiful appearance. Wearing a short black work-dress with a set of high heels, each footstep echoed with the same hollowness as her empty soul. I knew for a fact that Esmeralda was by no means a pleasant person. Esmeralda, in terms of the office rankings, was probably slightly behind Dalton in terms of total suffering inflicted. However, she was definitely gunning for that top spot. As she entered, she stood next to me, presumably waiting for the kettle.
"Esmeralda," I reluctantly greeted her. "You don't drink coffee, do you?"
"I enjoy tea," she replied. "It's better for you."
"Save me the health stuff, we're all dead," I quipped.
Esmerelda sighed, as she pulled a paper cup from the top of the stack.
"It is always good to stay healthy, you know, Malarie," Esmeralda responded. "Maybe if you tried it, you might be able to keep your stomach acid inside your stomach for a change?"
"I'll pass," I said. "Anyway, don't ruin my morning, Es. Go make someone else's life miserable. That's your job, after all."
I filled my cup of coffee with water, pouring some milk over it, before awkwardly stirring the liquid with the oversized soupsoon in the tiny cup. Barely able to manoeuvre the massive spoon around the tiny cup, the whole process felt like trying to shove a claymore into a knapsack. After a moment, I removed the spoon - briefly rinsing it over the sink before lethargically chucking it into the draining rack. I just wanted to get my folder and leave, frankly.
"You know, Malarie, I wanted to thank you actually," Esmeralda replied. "With you ruining the Stronghold case, it seems I'm beginning to gain on Dalton. I might just beat him rather soon. I truly am grateful for the help."
"I don't want your thanks, and you know it," I replied. "I didn't help either of you, I helped the kid. I'm not getting involved with you two and your office-backstabbing war. If that's what you're thinking, put that out of your mind, and leave me alone."
I grabbed my coffee, taking a sip from it as I picked up my manilla folder from the table. I wandered out of the break room, and as I did so, I could hear Esmeralda continue from behind me.
"You know, you may not have a choice, Malarie," Esmeralda replied. "Dalton already seems convinced that you and I are in cahoots, so why not bury your pride and get on the winning team?"
"Because... unlike you, I refuse to bury my pride," I retorted.
As I departed the break room, I left Esmeralda in the silence as I headed up to the Inspeculators. With the elevator door slowly closing and about to leave me behind, I stuck my foot out, jamming it between the doors as the disgruntled office workers inside were about to leave. I stepped in, pushing the button for the 44th floor. I sipped on my coffee as I waited patiently as the doors closed. I wasn't getting involved in office politics. There was only one thing I cared about in this place, and that was helping people. As far as I was concerned, Dalton and Esmeralda were the same - both of them were the antithesis of that. The elevator began to rise, and I clutched Derrick Rodger's file as we moved up through the elevator shaft. I wouldn't lose sight of what was important.
