The Signal - Chapter 2

Chapter 2



         The boring routine of work was already on his nerves, and he'd just walked through the door.  He walked to his desk, and even though he was already 2 minutes late, he refused to sit and do anything before he had his second cup of coffee for the morning.  He tosses his attache onto the cubicle desk, grabs his mug, and makes a beeline for the break room.

         He pushes the door open and finds his boss standing at the pot pouring herself a cup as well.  His mind begins to flutter, knowing he's supposed to be at his desk already.  She places the pot back, glances up at him quickly, and reaches for the sugar.  “Brandon,” she says with a tone that suggest it's some form of greeting.  No doubt an open invitation to a discussion he doesn't want to have either.  “Cheryl,” He replies with the same tone.  He takes a deep breath hoping that this lovely conversation is over.  He watches as she finishes pouring creamer into her cup.  She places it back onto the counter, grabs a plastic stir stick, and heads back for the door.  She glances back up at him on her way by, and he can see something in her eyes.  Whatever is going on in her head, he knows it's not good.  Still, she doesn't say another word to him, and walks right out the door.

         He finally lets go of the breath he'd been holding in that whole time.  He walks over to the pot and begins to pour himself some coffee.  He hears the door open up again behind him, and his muscles tense up at the thought of his boss circling back around like some sort of sadistic buzzard.

         “Brandon,” he hears from behind him.  The voice doesn't belong to Cheryl though.  “Hey Bill,” he says as he glances over his shoulder.  He flashes a quick smile and then goes back to preparing his coffee.

         “What happened to you this morning?” Bill asks.

         “Damn, I was only two minutes late, what's the big deal?”

         “Dude, Cheryl's been harping on this for weeks.  What, did you want to be the poster child on how to piss the boss off?”

         Brandon shakes his head and smiles, “She was just here and didn't say anything to me about it, relax.  Besides, there was an accident on 75.  I was surprised I was only 2 minutes late.”  He knew if anybody checked his story, they would see that there was in fact an accident on 75, so what if it didn't delay his drive in.  He knew they'd never know.

         Bill nods his head to acknowledge the excuse, but smirks as if to suggest it's a little flimsy.  “Yeah, well, that highway bottlenecks anyway.  Maybe you should give yourself a few extra minutes in the morning.  It'd suck to be the only guy left in this place.”

         “Alright, but only because I don't want to give you another reason to whine about this place.”  He pats Bill on the shoulder as he walks past him, and heads for the door.  “Okay, like you don't whine about this place yourself”, Bill quips as he follows Brandon out the door.  “I'll see you at lunch man,” Bill says as the part ways.

         Back at his desk Brandon switches on his computer, and then begins to shuffle through some papers as he waits for the relic to boot up.  Immediately his phone rings.  He lets out a sigh, and his shoulders seem to deflate.  It's Cheryl.  He doesn't even have to look at the display on the phone to know.  He sits up straight so he can see over the waist high wall of his cubicle.  There she sits, in her glass cage located at the corner of the office, with her phone to her ear, and looking right at him.  He sinks back into his cubicle and answers the phone, “Mangrove Financial, this is Brandon, how may I help you?”  “This is Cheryl, I need to see you in my office for a minute.”  He closes his eyes as his stomach begins to knot.  “On my way”, he replies, and then hangs the phone up.  He buries his face into his hands for a second, and thinks to himself, a Prozac would be nice right about now.  He leans back into his chair, and stairs at the ceiling.  He pushes the problem from his head, even if for only a few seconds, and a calm comes over him that he cannot remember experiencing before.  His face takes on a contemplative glaze as he mulls over this new feeling.  He sits back up in his chair feeling invigorated, and gets up to meet his fate.

         As he walks down the aisle he sees each person look up from their work at him.  Each of them with a look in their eyes that suggest they know his fate.  As if he was being marched to the electric chair.  It was different now though.  For some reason the sense of doom that he normally would have felt is gone.  He smiles as he walks to let everybody know that it's alright, he'll be back.  He hoped.  A small amount of urgency begins to creep back into the situation.

         He gently raps on the door with the knuckle of his index finger, “You wanted to see me,” he asks as he pops his head through the door.  “Come in,” is all she says, as she glances up from some paperwork.  She wasn't fooling him though, he knew she wasn't doing a damn thing except sitting their waiting for him to arrive.

         “I noticed you were late this morning.” she stated.  Still feeling a little carefree he glances over his shoulder and replies, “Yeah, I guess it's hard not to notice everything that goes on outside your little glass house here.”  Her eyes open in surprise to this, but he notices a faint curl in her lip that tells him she took some amusement from his remark.  She was only thrown by this for a second though, and quickly regains her composure, “Yes, well, that's the point.  Last week we had a meeting in which I was very adamant about putting an end to the tardiness.  I have to say, I'm not surprised that it was you who decided to test me on this.”

         The knot that had been forming in his stomach suddenly began to warm, at this comment.  This was a new sensation for him as well, but he knew now wasn't the time to sit and explore his emotional well being.  “Look, there was an accident on 75, you can look it up if you don't believe me.  I can't be held accountable for other people not being able to drive.”

         Cheryl's lips pucker at this, “Well, I don't really need to look anything up.  The fact is you were late, and I've made it very clear that it's unacceptable.  As your morning commute seems to have an excessive number of problems, I'd suggest you leave the house a few minutes earlier from now on.”  She looks directly at him with a satisfactory smirk.

         He can feel the warmth in the pit of his gut begin to spread, his blood carrying it to his brain.  Everything begins to seem more vivid as the warmth spreads through his head.  It was all foreign to him.  He pauses and stares blankly at her as his face contorts into an evil grimace.  His grabs onto what rationale he can, nods at her pious answer, and replies, “Of course, I won't let it happen again.”  She snorts at this, and her smug natures causes the heat to flare up even more.  His head begins to swim and a sensation of being larger than life overcomes him.

         She tosses a paper across her desk at him.  “I'll need you to sign this, to show that we had this talk.”  He glances down at it as his brow furrows, “What is it?”  The question itself was a ridiculous one.  He could read in bold type across the top, DISCIPLINARY ACTION.  The lights in the room begin to pulse a faint red as the heat overcomes his vision.  He can feel himself losing control.  Her response is muted in his head.  He is no longer paying attention.  It doesn't really matter what she says, he knows he has to leave the room quickly.  He's never felt this way before, but he's confident that it's not good.  He stands and snatches the pen from her hand, and with a heavy hand etches his name across the line at the bottom of the page.  He looks at the wet signature and doesn't recognize it.  It was larger than usual, and where he usually drew loops he now had very sharp defined points.  He shakes this out of his head, throws the pen down onto the desk in front of her, and storms out of the room.