Overtime

The ringing broke my concentration. Claire apparently forgot to turn off the phones.

I ignored the shrill, until it became obvious the caller wasn't giving up.

Frustrated, I walked to the other desk, and politely answered, "Hello, Accounts Receivable. I'm sorry, but our office is closed..."

"Oh, yes, I know." The too soft, too smooth, voice sent a chill down my spine.

I stammered, "Iffff... you call back in the morning, Jeff will assist you."

The man snickered, "Oh, I definitely don't want Jeff... I want you."

The hair stood up on the back of my neck.

"You drive the blue compact. WSU Alumni plates." I froze.

"The girl with the curly blonde hair. You'll do nicely," he breathed, as if to himself. "I'll just be outside waiting. No rush." The dial tone blared.

I stood, hoping someone would jump out and scream, "Gotcha," but I knew this wasn't a joke. I grabbed a large stapler, and scanned the room.

Panicked, I ran to my desk and dialed.

"911. What is the nature of your emergency?"

I related the entire disturbing conversation. The operator asked some questions then stated, "An officer is 9 minutes away. Please stay inside, don't hang up."

Shaking with fear, I clutched my keys and purse, as she tried reassuring me with comforting words.

Impatiently, I asked, "Can I go to the front door?"

When I explained I'd put her on hold and get the call at the switchboard she relented.

I cautiously navigated the cubicles until I reached the open lobby, then I sprinted towards reception.

I jumped at the knock, but seeing the officer eased my nerves.

Ignoring the phone, I unlocked the door.

"I'm so glad to see you!"

He smile, and held the door open. "No worries. Remember, I said, 'No rush.'"