You are dreaming. You have dreamed this dream before.
Look around.
You see an path before you, and a path behind. There is nothing to either side. The path is solid white, and slowly curves up in front of you. Slow, heavy footsteps approach from behind you.
Run.
You start to jog away from the meancing thuds. The white path in front of you is as far as your eyes can see, always heading uphill, always the same level of steepness. Stars flash into existence as you run ahead, twinkling in your peripheral vision.
Look back.
You see nothing. There is no sound of thudding behind you now. You slow your pace to a walk, and the starts shine a little brighter.
Voices begin to talk, all around you, in many langauges. You cannot identify most of them- there is none that sounds like your own. Continuing to see the white path, ever looping up, you reach a sudden epiphany.
Look up.
You see a white corona across the sky, directly paralell to your line. You see the path loop up and around, forming a mile-wide circle. You see a figure directly above you. There are no stars in his half of the circle. There are no voices. There is nothing.
He looks at you.
He opens his mouth-
-and screams-
-and the path cracks-
You awake, a feeling of dread in your heart- the feeling one gets when he realises he's about to fall over, or make a critical error. The scream still rings in your ears.
Your vision is blurry, but you can make out a vauge sight to the side- bright-yet-faded neon letters, reading '5:59'.
"Glurgle..." I croak out dryly, which roughly translated to - Ugh. I'm awake and am covered in sweat. Ick. - in the regional dialect of the I just woke up before my alarm tribe.
I put a hand to my head and draw out a deep breath to calm the thundering in my chest, but not yet trusting myself to get up.
What did I just dream...? I ask myself.
The room is silent at your open questioning, with no obvious insight. Curtains are drawn next to your bed, but a faint glimmering of light shines through them.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
The clock ticks over to 6:00, and a shiny red 'stop' button lights up just underneath the clock face.
I reach over and tap the alarm clock off and entertain a short internal debate about the merits of rolling over back to bed, but find myself soon standing and heading to where the curtains are slightly parted. I pull them open, fully expecting (and dreading) the faceful of sunny greeting.
Nothing less than the full force of daylight hits you in the face, doing nothing for you vision and everything to make you want to roll under your bed and cringe.
Once your vision clears, though, you can make out the rest of your (quite spacious) bedroom. Your desk sits next to your bed, neatly organized; your clock, a lamp, a closed laptop and a diary sit happily on it. There are a couple of bookshelves in the room; one is filled with what look to be books on accounting, money, finance; the other is filled with novels of all kinds; science-fiction, classics, horror, drama...
A large wardrobe sits opposite your bed, and mounted on the wall over it are the three blades of a samurai; a katana, and wakizashi, and a tanto.
I rubbed the last vestiges of sleep out of my eyes that the blast of sunlight hadn't already fried out. Stifling a yawn, I stretched my arms over my head, relishing the feel of muscles loosening.
My eyes roam, completing the survey of my room. An odd practice, admittedly, but one borne of a habit that I'd yet to kick or find a reason to. I frowned at the basket of laundry that would soon have to be taken downstairs and washed, the wind chime hanging by my closed window, and finally settled on the familiar tensed form of my kitten Teyto who was...
...about to jump on my bird cage!
"Wagh! Bad kitty! No!" I scolded.
Frazzled at your shout, the kitten hits the birdcage, and promptly falls off, scampering away from it and out your open door.
Of course, this woke up your parrot, who starts out with a screech, and then starts chattering- "Bad kitty! Bad kitty! Bad kitty! No!"
"It's too early for this..." I grumble, brushing back a lock of errant hair, while listening to her fine feathered recording device. I mean really, of all the things her father could've given her as a birthday gift.
Speaking of early though...
I take a quick peek at the clock to see how much time I've got before I have to be where I need to be at a certain time.
Crap. When did you have to be in today?
For that matter, where? The time and address completely flee your mind, leaving only two methods of salvation; using your mobile to call your boss, or checking your diary.
I walk over to my desk to thumb through my planner, so as to get an idea of what's on the the menu today.
It's the first of March! This planner is new- there hasn't been a single entry in it, excepting this week.
1/3/2020
-8:00am 25 Collins St. City, Floor 12. Ask for Kyle- new position orientation.
-6:00pm Removalists arriving- finally, I shall have an oven!
-7:00pm Mother Calling
2/3/2020
-8:00am God only knows. Work, definately. Doing? Until when? Ugh...
The specifics of work aren't detailed, of course. You're a financial consultant, recently hired by an Australian company named AXA. They graciously offered to fly you out of Japan, but they've hardly given you any time to get settled. You don't even think they required an interview. One look at your resume, and they let you right in.
It helped to have those references, though.
Ah, yes. The references. Just where would I be without my references?
After jotting down the address on a small sheet of paper, I closed my planner then made quick mental plans for a shower and a trip out to nab something to eat, since she had two hours to kill, afterall.
The shower is.. luxrious. It's got all the perks you'd ever want in a shower; hell, the bathroom looks like something out of a luxury house. Shiny tiles, more dials and knobs than you can identify, heaters on the roof to prevent that inevitable chill that comes with leaving the shower...
While you're showering, though, you see a tattoo on your right shoulder. When did you get that? It looks like some kind of plant, but you can't for the life of you identify it.
How... odd. I muse to myself, rubbing at - what I can only guess initially - is a stick on tatoo with a soapy rag.
It doesn't go away. Odd, that. When was the last time you got drunk enough to do something like this?
The going away part in Japan? Was there even a going away party? You can hardly remember the faces of your friends. Your family wasn't the type to throw a drunken celebration, too.
Were all my friends THAT faceless and forgettable? I began to wonder if there might be something wrong with me, which made a knot of worry tighten in the pit of my stomach.
I shook my head, vowing to explore this mystery further at some later point. Just... not right now.
With some regret, I turned the spray of hot water off and stepped out of the bath. After wrapping a towel around myself, I walked over to the fogged up mirror and wiped clean a spot to make sure there are no further surprises waiting for her.
Well, you look as you remember you do... maybe a little bit older since the last time you checked. Grown another inch? You're still young, it's not impossible.
Still pretty damn good-lookin', if you say so yourself.
I sighed in relief. A single tattoo on the shoulder, albeit one I couldn't remember ever getting, was still manageable. That it was an innocuous plant motif and not something that screamed "open 24/7, full service station, and 1 million customers served" to anyone who might see it was a definite plus.
With that worry aside, I give my reflection a nod of approval before going off to get changed and ready for breakfast and the new position orientation at 8.
When you open your wardrobe to get changed, you're faced with quite the berwildering array of styles, colours, shapes and sizes. It's like someone forgot who was staying here, so they just packed it full of every kind possible.
It's all classy and neatly pressed, though- hell, some of the shirts still have shopping tags on.
What, oh what, was a girl to wear? I mentally asked myself. It was obvious that the selection choice was as wide as the closet that contained them all.
I shrugged. Might as well err on the side of caution and go conservative, being the first day and all. I selected a simple knee length skirt, white button shirt and jacket combo. Stockings and modest pumps completed the attire, and I declared myself fit for combat.
A last minute check that things were well in order is the last hurdle before I zip out the door with purse in hand.
Teroro yowls after you as you leave, and you can hear him scampering around as you shut the door.
You find yourself in a spacious corridor; well-lit, and with windows at either end. Tall ferns reside in ports between the doors into other apartments- of which there are only a few. Polished wooden walls, luxurious carpet- this whole place screams eloquence.
A quick trip to the elevator has you down in the foyer of the apartment complex- laid out in marble and black stone, it's just as rich-looking at the top. A cafe is to one side, serving coffee, cakes and breakfast. It looks delicious, and even a little extravagant. Giant, glass revolving doors stand at either side of the foyer- your elevator came down in a shaft through the middle of the complex.
There aren't many people here- it is kind of early. Still, there's a couple sipping coffee and chatting over a newspaper- kind of striking, really. One has deep, spiky red hair, and likes that colour for his blazer and pants, too. Maybe a student. You can hear him from the second you step off the elevator, loud, chattery, and cheerful. He's drinking a steaming cup of coffee, and seems entirely too happy for this early in the morning.
Quote"...Fuh..."
His friend is almost his complete opposite. Her hair is a pale blue, and it flows down her back. She's wearing a long, silky, casual dress. Her responses to her friend are soft and melodic, and she's drinking a milkshake.
Quote"...wo Sui..."
.
The cafe vendor is a young, chirpy woman, busily arranging cakes and making coffee for a pair of
"..black hats and mirrorshades.."businessmen, wearing almost identicle pressed black suits, and carrying very similar briefcases.
While a bit of a distraction to the ears and the eyes, it wasn't something that bothered me enough to derail my quest to attain some much needed food stuff - nor the required caffine injection to the system.
"Red" - as she was tagging in her mind - was a bit hard on the eyes, though I did take note of how aptly "Blue" played the part of contrast. As long as they left me in peace to nurse my java, they could dance on the tabletop for all she cared.
I parked myself in line and waited to be served next. My eyes travel over to the businessmen and I found myself wondering why they were wearing mirrorshades and hats inside a cafe, before it moved on to more important matters.
Hmm. Vanilla capuccino, mocha, caramel....
"Hi there. What would you like?"
The chirpy waitress speaks in rapid-fire english. You're fairly used to speaking in the langauge, though you can never shake a slight accent.
You can see a menu on the counter. Woah, talk about pricey coffee. Then again, it's not like you can't afford it, and then some.
I blinked a few times, buying time for my brain to catch all of that.
"Yes, um, I'd like to get that breakfast sandwich there," I point out the item behind the glass next to the register. "And a cup of..." Mocha! No, wait, caramel! Vanilla capuccino?? "...caramel macchiato."
Gah. I hate making beverage choices...
"Coming right up," replies the waitress, and you shortly find yourself equipped with a suitable breakfast.
As you sit down to eat it, the flashy couple start to leave, and you catch a thread of conversation.
"..yes, work does call for us all. Same time tomorrow?" This from the one you dubbed 'blue'.
"Can't we meet an hour later? Getting up at six is hell, I tell you. Hell!" Red, with typical loudness.
"The discipline. It's good for you..."
They continue to chatter until they reach the exit, whereupon Red leaves, and Blue heads to the elevator. She glances around the room for a bit, and you think her eyes drag a little as they play over you.
Despite my efforts, I find myself sporting a tiny smile, which I tried to hide with a small nibble on the sandwich. For some reason Blue preaching to Red about the need to exercise discipline was amusing in its probable futility.
It was mean, I admit, but I think I hit it dead on in assessment.
On catching the look though, I blink, wondering what warranted the attention. I return in kind with a short study of my own, for curiosity's sake.
There's an element of curiosity in her expression, and her cocked eyebrow indicates a little surprise.
It could be your white hair.. of course, her hair is no less strange, really. She soon vanishes into the elevator, and you're left pretty much by yourself.
A wallclock states proudly that the time is 7:20. It'll take about half an hour to get to your workplace, assuming you don't miss the train.
I digested Blue's expression, along with the last bite of my sandwich, thoughtfully. I pinch some of my forelock and dangle the white strands in front of my eyes.
It's not THAT weird... I try to assure myself. Then again gradeschool did give me six years worth of interesting remarks about my 'granny' hair. A brush back with the hands and a puff of air see to the end of that musing.
Noticing the time, I get up and dispose of the sandwich wrapper. With drink in hand, I leave to bravely face the first day of work grind, while fighting down the jitters.
An old calming exercise comes over you, taught to you by.. somebody.. in your younger days. It's all about controlling your breathing- steady, large breaths, and pushing the air all throughout your body, or at least imagining it like that.
You shortly head outside, into the brightly-shining sun. You vaugely recall something about a hole in the ozone layer in this part of Australia. It certainly feels like the sun is attacking you, even this early in the morning.
Brisbane is like that, though. Situated near the coast, it's considered a holiday resort by those living further south, and is warm almost all year round. Looking back at your apartment building as you walk away, it looks suitably impressive- a giant white tower, filled with sqauare windows. It sort of reminds you of a cheese-grater.
You're living close to the inner city- it's just a short train trip away. It's not a long walk to the station, either. The streets aren't busy with many cars this early, and with the ridiculous price of petrol these days, most people are catching public transport, anyway.
You reach the station in short order, and as you head onto the platform, you accidentally bump into 'Red', who was just pacing up and down himself, looking at his watch and cursing.
"Man! Watch where you're going!" he shouts, on reflex, before looking at you- and alarmingly, his expression softens immedietly.
"Aha! Er, sorry about that," he says, sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with a hand before sticking it inside a blazer pocket.
"Ah! Oh, er, don't worry about it!" I tell him, just barely holding back from shouting out "Red" on seeing him once again.
I scolded myself for my inattentiveness. It was probably from thinking about the cheese grater apartment and this heat....
"It was my fault for not paying attention," I reassure, before making a move to get around him to catch the train.
Red shakes his head. "Well, don't worry about it," he says, quickly. "I'm just in a rush, you know, so I wasn't looking around."
My mind more focused on catching the train rather than catching Red's words, I can only spare him hurried replies that I hoped sounded like acknowledgment or apologies or something resembling coherency. If I had a moment for reflection, I'm sure that I could admit with a clear conscience that I was being rude, but it was the FIRST day on the job! Being late just wasn't a fashionable option.
I resolved that should I see him again I would attempt to be more sociable, civil, and polite.
If I remember.
For now though, it was a matter of putting one foot in front of the next and keeping myself from falling.
Legs, don't fail me now!
Your legs comply with your wishes and do not act in a traitorous fashion, allowing you to easily navigate the..ground.. and board the train when it arrives.
You are instantly reminded of why you like Australian trains- even if they're less frequent, they're also less crowded than you're used to. (You notice Red get on a different carraige, at that note.)
A short while later you arrive at Central station- only a short walk from work. Across from the eastern exit (which you have to take) is the State Library, which seems oddly out of place- most of the archtecture around you is very modern, and very slick- you're in business and shopping territory, and cars are whizzing everywhere, as are pedestrians. The Library, however, is older- gothic pillars and walls and statues and the like. The building has a nice lawn in front of it, the middle of which is divided by some stairs leading up to the main entrance. A few people are sitting on some benches, reading newspapers.
One of the statues, in the centre of the stairwell is of a man, wearing an old-fashioned suit of some kind- waistcoat, bowler hat, moustaches, and the like. He's painted entirely black, with a couple of people gathered around him.
The streets aren't terribly busy, so you don't have much trouble making your way to your newfound job.
As it were.
The AXA building is one of the taller ones here. The blue-and-white logo (a blue square with AXA written in white, slantly letters to one side) is everywhere; on the doors, the walls, the floors, and on billboards. The automatic doors slide open at your approach, showing you a simple yet elegant foyer, strangely similar to your apartment; a bank of central elevators, a small cafe to one side, and a receptionist desk towards the other.
It was odd how often I was crossing paths with Red. If I didn't know any better, I'd say I was being followed or something. I forced down that oddly discomforting musing with a shake of my head and exited the train without dallying once stopped.
The short walk does wonders to push aside my illogical worries and the splendid sight of the library was tempting. If I wasn't in a rush to get to work, I'd definitely take the time to browse the selections and camp out in the shade with a good book.
But alas, work beckoned. It would have to wait, for now.
On entering, I walk up to the receptionist and try to carry as cheery a demeanor as possible. "Hello, I'm here to see Kyle..." I pause, digging for my note then frowning at not having a last name. "I don't seem to have a last name, but it's for the new position orientation. Can I go right on up or should I wait?"
"Ah, you must be Ms. Matsuda," replies the receptionist- a very.. bland-looking woman, with an equally bland voice. You can't help but peer over the desk as you talk to her- everything is perfectly in order; a cup is being used to hold pens and pencils, her computer is humming away, neatly piled stacks of paper...
"Yes, Kyle is expecting you. Go right on up."
I give her a short thank you as I made my way to the elevator and the 12th floor. Pressing the button for up, I waited, which gave me time to reflect on the receptionist's neat and organized desk.
I hope they don't expect me to be like that... I mumbled worriedly. Not that I was a messy girl, but I was far from what I just witnessed. Not having an office job like this prior on my work experience was helping to ensure that my overactive imagination was going to be conjuring up all manners of phantom worries in my nervous state.
I took deep calming breaths to steady myself, staring at the descending elevator indicator to occupy my mind.
Come on Seina, get it together! I mentally ordered.
The elevator takes some time to get to you, descending as it does from floor 40.
Glass, water that isn't water, food that isn't eaten, numerals: XL
Eventually, though, it reaches you, and with a light 'Ting!' the doors slide open, revealing.. the interior of an elevator, as you'd expect. You have to punch numbers in on an electric keypad, like a calculator interface, instead of the long rows of buttons that were in your apartment building.
The elevator starts to head up...
...and shortly reaches floor 12. Heading out, you find yourself in a fairly relaxing environment- some classical music is playing softly in the background, featuring soft pianos and bells.
The elevator leads into a corridor that extends in both directions. One seems to lead to several (closed) offices, whereas the other leads to a sitting room of some kind- purple couches, red chairs, and a muted television, showing some childrens program. You can see a clock, too- you're ten minutes early.
It was odd, the snippets of conversation I seemed to pick up. Water that isn't water? XL?
Pushing the thought to the side, I compose myself, going into my best semblance of "professional mode". I head for the waiting room, hoping to catch sight of a secretary or receptionist of some sort. If nothing else I'd at least have a place to sit down, I figured with a mental shrug.
There is a secretary, or at least an approximation of one. You see her when you enter the sitting room proper.
She's.. breathtaking, even to another woman. She's absolutely perfect in every way; smooth facial features, long, blonde hair, lucious red lips, shining with a coat of lipstick, and a modest shirt, which nonetheless seems to promise more than it hides.
Could make a girl a little jealous.
I initially keep silent for fear that the butterflies in my stomach would take the chance to flutter out. The need to speak out eventually wins over though. "Ah... um..." I manage, clumsily trying to coax the words to make the treacherous journey from brain to mouth.
This is so embarassing... I mentally whine.
"So there you are on time," I tell her, then promptly smack my face with my palm at the mental gaffe.
Noooo! That's not what I meant! Well... at least I didn't stutter.... I wanted to cry, or find a way to restart the day.
I tried again. "I have an appointment with..."
Shit! What was his name? Bill? Bob? Joe? ...Kevin?
I whip out the sheet of paper then quickly locate the name. "Kyle, regarding the new position." I take a deep breath to steady my nerves before hanging my head shamefully. "I'm sorry, I'm usually not like this...."
The woman looks at you for a moment. It's not really a stare, or a "You're such a dork" look. It's not even a flat look. It's just a very neutral expression.
"Ah. Seina Matsuda," she says, calmly. "Kyle will see you shortly. He is just dealing with a client at the moment. Would you like anything to drink?"
"Some water, if it's not a bother," I ask, hoping it would steady my nerves after the embarassing showing in front of the woman. A deep breath to soothe helps towards that some.
"Certainly, Ms. Seina," replies the woman, pronouncing it Say-Nuh, a slight accent pushing through the foreign (to her) name. The woman stands, and gracefully walks to a water cool, soon returning with a white, plastic cup that somehow seems out of place.
"It has a slight lemon taste to it."
"Thank you," I tell her, accepting the cup with a smile.
A slight lemon taste? Interesting bottled water feature, I idly note, taking a cautious sip to feel out the taste before drinking the rest.
Tastes like water.
With lemon. A little bitter, but overall, quite nice.
The drink seems to settle something inside you. It's the sharpest thing you've tasted all day, and it feels good. Suddenly, you realise with absolute conviction that you can speak perfect English, if the need arises.
"...you..." (transmission static) "..suda? (bleeeeeep) break-"
"Kyle will see you now," says the woman, gesturing to a door you didn't notice before. "Please, go right in."
I nod in reply to the woman and head towards the indicated door, though I wear an odd frown.
I could've sworn I heard some say "Matsuda"....
I walk slowly, wondering if the stress of the job was already getting to me or.... I wasn't quite sure how to take "or" as a possibility. Actual voices in my head was a sign of... well, bad things probably.
"...run!" (percussive noise) "He'll-(shhhhhhhh)"
When you open the door to Kyle's room, it's like stepping into another world. The solid, bland sitting-room behind you blazes into colour; the walls are red, the ground is blue, the roof is blonde (blonde? Yellow, surely), and the office in front of you.. looks like it could have something to do with advertising. The walls have pictures of all and sundry; from sports to porn to portraits to war. The back of the room is actually a window, gazing out onto the city beyond. Not as nice a view as you get from your apartment, though.
A high-backed chair faces the window, so you can't see the figure sitting in it.
"Ah. Ms. Matsuda," says a slow, cultured voice. "How good of you to come."
Run? From what? He'll? Who? Do what?
This has to be the worst case of nerves I've ever heard of, and I'm the sufferer. Joy.
I enter then approach the man stiffly, but hopefully in a friendly enough manner. Extending a hand, "It's a pleasure, mister..." I trail off, allowing him to fill in the blank there in regards to his name.
"There's no need for the pretense," the voice says, in some surprise. "You're in safe hands, here."
His chair swivels around, revealing a middle-aged man (or at least he looks that way) with short black hair and a very aquiline face. When he's facing you, he has a smile on his face that some might call cruel, but you somehow know is his natural smile.
It quickly morphs into a look of shock.
"Who are you?!" he exclaims, starting.
"Huh?" I begin, taken aback by his outburst. "I'm Seina Matsuda. I had an appointment to see someone named 'Kyle' regarding my new position? The woman outside seemed to recognize my name...." I added that last part helpfully in the hope that some corroborating evidence would erase his confusion or somehow lessen mine.
"...no time! Run!"
"You're not Seina!" shrieks the man, reaching into a drawer. "You're one of those... incarnas! Aren't you?!"
'Kyle' pulls out a gun from the drawer. It's big, black, and shiny. He fumbles to chamber a round, giving you a few seconds to act.
I thank my lucky stars that "Kyle" didn't have the foresight to keep his firearm loaded as I beat a quick retreat. I make sure to slam the door shut on the way out so that he doesn't have a clear view of my back to shoot.
I didn't have the foggiest idea as to what an "incarna" was, but education through expiration had no appeal in the least bit. I was determined to get the hell out of the building, job interview or not.
A shot rings out, but it blasts through the doorframe and misses you by inches, followed by a muffled curse, and the sounds of footsteps.
The secretary looks up, serene; she smiles at you, and says, "My, that was a short meeting."
If I wasn't running for my life, I'm sure I would've enjoyed sharing a chuckle with the oh so charming and witty receptionist. At the moment though, throwing a stapler through her smiling face was the only thoughtful response my mind could come up with.
"I'm not interested in the position!!" I call out over my shoulder as I head for the elevator.
I press the button for down about 9 or 12 times (it's so hard to keep track when you just want to breakdown and cry) since the notion of "the more times you press the faster it comes" made so much irrational sense at the time.
I keep a wary eye open for Dirty Harry, intent on diving through a stairwell or fire escape should he make a sudden guest appearance with itchy trigger fingers.
"Not to worry," says the secretary, behind you. You hear her slow, measured pace behind you, and oddly, note that she's wearing heels. The little click they make each time they impact the ground echoes through the room.
Meanwhile, the elevator certainly takes it's sweet time reaching you. Strangely, though, you don't hear Kyle (or was it Karl?) at all.
Well, he did look rather terrified.
I whip my eyes over to the secretary, wondering what she's doing or planning. My inner spastic and squirrly nature is coming out strong today, though I guess being shot at by your boss helps in that regard.
She's... filing her nails?
"The position is still interested in you," she smiles, cricking her fingers.
Ding! The elevator doors start to slowly open behind you. You can just about fit through them. Good thing, too, because the secretary is almost upon you. If she'd been running, you'd have had no chance...
"That's... um, nice," I tell her, while edging back towards the elevator. "But the position seems to be far too demanding, so while I appreciate the kind words, I really should be going now."
With that said, I quickly duck into the elevator and press the button to get to the first floor, then hammer away at the "Close Door" button like a video game champion.
"Wanna go home... wanna go home... wanna go home..." I whimper soft, yet nervously, under my breath.
With agonizing slowness, the elevator doors begin to close, whilst the secretary approaches closer, closer, closer...
"...like a cornered tiger..."
With a sudden shriek of metal-on-metal, the secretary lunges out and grabs the sides of the elevator doors, just as they were about the close! With a twising, grinding sound, she starts to pull them open.
But not with her hands. Like talons, her nails grip rend at the doors, carving slices through them even as they are driven back!
I fight down the panic that's at my throat to pull out a stylized pen, which I had hopes of using to sign my first contract, and jam the exposed tip into the woman.
Your fountain pen is remarkably sharp, though you're not sure if it's red ink or blood that spills out of the womans hand when you jab it in there, as there's an *awful* lot of it.
Her talons recoil in pain, and in that opening, the doors shut, and the elevator starts moving down!
I stumble back away from the elevator door, fighting to get air into my lungs as my heart thunders wildly. The pen clatters from my shaking hand as my legs wobble beneath me then promptly give out, leaving me on my butt.
"W-what was that?" I asked myself, while leaning against the wall of the elevator for some measure of comfort.
My body shook as if chilled and a sniffle was begging to be let out, which was stomped back down viciously as I wiped at my eyes with the back of my sleeve.
As much as I wanted to curl up in a scared ball, my want to continue to live was greater so I focused on that goal for the time being.
"I need to get out of the building..." I mumbled to myself as I chewed on my thumbnail in a nervous habit. I glanced up to see how the elevator was progressing.
12... 11... 10... 9...
The elevator rapidly progresses down, soon bringing you back to the main foyer, which is still mostly empty. Out the front of the building, though, some cars have been parked; three black cadillacs, the doors of which all simultaneously open, revealing tough-looking men in suits.
There was a surge of emotions at the sight of the men, and it wasn't a positive one, but first things first. I got up, but before exiting, I pressed a host of floor numbers to tie the elevator up.
With that done, I stepped out of the elevator quickly and looked for something promising. I needed some way to cause a commotion to provide some cover to sneak out without being caught by the approaching men.
I didn't kid myself. The distinctive ash white hair of mine was going to make simply walking by them an impossibly difficult task.
Perhaps pulling a fire alarm lever would help?
The men don't seem in any hurry to catch up with you. Rather, they're escorts for other men in suits, who soon exit the limo and start walking towards the doors.
One of the bodyguards puts a hand to his ear, and you can discern his lips move slightly. Then he looks at you.
There was a fire alarm button inside the elevator, but you've set it off already. There are others, but they're against the walls of the foyer. You could get to any of them pretty quickly, though.
The cafe, in particular, catches your eye. It has a back-door into a kitchen of some kind. Apart from that, there are some nearby toilets, an office for the foyer receptionist, and the front door. There aren't any other obvious exits from the foyer.
I flinch at the look that the bodyguard gives me. So it's time for yet another trip to a cafe, I decide. It just wouldn't be under the same happy circumstances as this morning.
Well, you could probably order something, if you wanted to. The cafe waitress is somehow oblivious to the almost palable tension that wafts through the air.
Upon entering the cafe, I approach the waitress wearing a most worried look, which isn't hard at all given the reality of the current situation. Beckoning her slightly off to the side, "Is there a way out of here that doesn't involve going out the front entrance? Maybe a service door where you guys get your supplies or take out your trash?"
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder for effect and also to see if the men in suits are actually approaching, as I fear.
The men in suits are approaching, but they don't appear to be heading towards you. Instead, they're going for the bank of elevators.
The cafe girl yawns. "Yeah, to the alley behind all the chinese restraunts in Chinatown," she replies. "They'll be getting deliveries now."
While going out the front door would be preferable... "This might sound weird, but do you think I could go out that way?" I ask her. "There's a creepy guy I'm trying to dodge. You know, one of those nasty touchy-grabby types? I don't want him to see me leaving or he might follow me home."
I hold out hope that she can empathize with a situation like that.
"Huh. Sure. Isn't that what they're paying you for?" drawls the girl. "But, whatever. Doors out back, whitey."
Funny, when did I suddenly become a waitress? - was what I *wanted* to say, but thought better of it and settled for, "I guess our jobs aren't so different," I quipped, giving her as polite a smile as I could muster before making my way towards then out the aforementioned exit.
Couldn't they just say platinum-blonde? That comes across so much more nicer than 'whitey'....
You head through the small kitchen- not much there, beyond a coffee machine, a grill, and a deep-fry, all in perfect, gleaming condition. Even the floors were shiny enough to see your reflection off- haggard and flustered.
You soon find the back door, and just as the woman said, it leads into an alley, which currently has a couple of delivery trucks in it, filled with fresh (hah!) food for the surrounding restraunts.
You think you know where you are, and could get back to the train station from here if you had to.
I let out a tired breath raggedly, rubbing my face with my hands. Mentally going through the whole sequence of events makes me dizzy with the odd twists and turns it took, so I pushed it aside to focus on the task at hand.
Straightening, I walk out of the alley and make for the train station. It's time to get this day over with, hopefully.
Excepting, of course, that the day has barely begun, and it's only just turned 8:30.
The train station is busier, now. Students and office-jockeys are pouring out in crowds, making it hard to reach the terminal. You start to slog through nonetheless, knowing that you'll get there eventually.
Then, you see that woman again. She's standing nearby the terminal, reading a newspaper, But then she looks over the top of it, sees you, and smiles.
It is not a nice a smile. Luckily, there's a crowd between you and her.
Unluckily, there's also a crowd between you and the exit.
Crap crap crappity crap crap!
Oh, it's a right sickening lump that forms in the pit of my gut on seeing the woman and the smile she graces me.
I'd have to make the best of the situation and play as good a game as I could manage.
I follow the stream of people like a well-trained salmon and enter one of the train cars, being mindful to position myself near the door. If the woman makes haste to enter then it'd give me a chance to get off the train with her still on. Failing that, it'd provide me an opportunity to make a quick escape once we reach the next stop.
It's funny, but most people are, in fact, coming *out* of the station, rather than heading in. It makes it kinda tricky to push your way to a carraige- but you get there, shortly.
You don't see the woman around, though.
It may have been an upstream struggle, but at least now I was a step closer towards home and putting this all behind me.
But can you so simply put it behind you? my mind was asking now.
The realization of what the answer to that might be was disconcerting, but unfortunately it was all I had to work with. Just get home and from there... something. She'd have to come up with something.
But first thing first.
I kept an open eye around me as I waited for the train to depart the station.
After a few moments, the carriage doors slide shut, and the train starts slowly accelerating out. There aren't many other people in the carraige- one guy reading a newspaper, and a couple of women talking.
"This train is a service to Sandringham," announces a pleasant, female voice from the train speaker. "Stopping all stations."
The train soon pulls out of the underground station and starts speeding you along your way home, the grungy city centre of Melbourne soon speeding behind you.
Until the train slows down, and eventually stops, with a slight shudder.
I still look around warily for the woman as I wait for the doors to open. My nervers are already frayed and it's uncertain how much more I can take, if the shaking of my hand was any sign.
A deep, shuddering breath and the wait for full stop and the doors to eventually open.
It's not your stop.
"Richmond Station," announces a pleasant voice over the intercom, as the carraige doors slide open. A tired-looking kid in school uniform staggers in, looking a little hungover.
I quirk my head this way and that, looking out for the woman. I momentarily entertain the thought of getting off now, but decide to at the very least wait one more stop before giving my stalker the slip.
No sign of her. Where'd she go?
"East Richmond Station", blurbs the speakers. Nobody gets on, or off the train.. you *think* your stop is the one after this one, but you're not sure.
I sag against a flat area just to the side of the door itself. I run a hand over my face tiredly. I'm getting off at the next stop no matter what. With that firmly in mind, I wait for the next station, but I also give the compartment I'm in a once over for any familiar faces.
"Arcyle Station," comes the next voiceover. The train slides to a halt, revealing, well, your station, with significantly more people around at this time of day, now.
I hurry out of the train, quickly trying to blend myself in among the mingling crowd. There's the faint entertainment of hope that the woman wouldn't be able to track her within the throng.
You can't spot the woman anywhere. Well, maybe that means she can't spot you?
Your apartment isn't that far away. There's a small shopping district a short way away from the station, too, along with a park.
I turned, making a beeline for my apartment. The idea of trying to lose myself among the crowd there did cross my mind, but I... just wanted to get home - lock myself away in a safe place....
...hide...
...if only...
...for a short while....
With that decided, I try to pick my way through the crowd to my destination.
You manage to find your way to your apapartment without any trouble.. though you can't get over the feeling that you're being watched, no matter where you go.
The lobby to the apartment is empty- even the cafe towards the side is closed, with nobody around. Eerie..