Wake up, Young Man – Chapter X

Granite lined the walls of the opulent office building. Stainless steel covered every surface that hands were to touch. And though the power was off and had been off for sometime, the inside was still flooded with light, much to the credit of the natural, open-air design of the space.

I trod softly through the lobby, not thinking it likely that someone else might be about, but because a thin film of water slicked the floors. There was a faint smell of sewage in the air, and I surmised that it was entirely possible what I had stepped into was a system backup. Water damage covered the grey ceiling tiles some few stories above my head.

Finding the stairwell, I took out a small flashlight which I had long forgotten only to discover a couple days prior, hidden away in one of my desk drawers. It was pitch black inside the damp, cramped space and even more wet than out in the lobby, but it would have been unacceptable at that point to turn around.

Fortunately, the rubber pads on the stairs were fairly dry and even tacky, making that unpleasant squelching sound every time I peeled my boots off their surface. Furthermore, I had all the security and peace of mind that a precious beam of light could afford.

Eleven flights of stairs later and I was at our floor. The doors were all unlocked except the final one, the one I used my keycard for. With the power off, the key reader was useless and though there was a manual deadbolt, I didn’t have a physical key.

Sticking the flashlight in my mouth, I started rifling through Rhonda’s desk. Post-it notes and loose change, paper clips, stacks of paper, I tossed it all out. I never would have guessed “prim”, “proper” Rhonda to be such a slob. And while I found no keys, a can of keyboard duster fell out of the last drawer I pulled out and rolled across the floor.

Suddenly I knew what I had to do. Working fast so I could get back to Cole, who I didn’t entirely trust not to abandon me, I ran into the hall to grab the fire extinguisher I first spotted by the door to the stairwell. Then, while holding the can of duster upside down, I pressed its nozzle right up to the deadbolt and emptied the entire thing.

A few solid bashes with the butt end of the fire extinguisher was all it took then to free the door from its locking mechanism and send it flying open. Once in the office I noticed immediately that the air was so much heavier than just outside, wetter and muggier and… dustier.

What an unearthly, almost serene, sight it was to behold – all the papers haphazardly strewn across the floor, the dust sparkling in the sunlight as it flitted along like a gentle snow, the light warmly bending and reflecting off of so many glass windows and walls – that I scarcely noticed my heavy, labored breathing. It had been nearly a week since I left the apartment after all, much less exerted myself.

The Human Resources office was just down the hall, past the rows of cubicles and near the conference room they corralled us into on Monday morning. The door was ajar, eerily beckoning me to enter. So, I carefully pushed it open, ever so slowly to peer in through the crack. The whole place felt haunted, and in a sense it was, haunted by my own memories.

No one who hadn’t worked there could see what I saw; every empty chair, every dusty computer screen, it was someone I had known, someone whose life I cared about even if I hadn’t been the most social during my time there. Some of these people were dying and needed help – some might have already died.

But wherever they were, they deserved to be here, slogging through another workweek, looking forward to the Broncos on Sunday, worrying about where the next paycheck was going to go. Their faces flashed before me as I flipped past their names in the filing cabinet – Adamson, Archuleta, Banning, Bird, Cantrell, Carlyle, and on and on.

Novacek, there I am. Osprey and Ruben and at last Staley, Carla Staley. I quickly grabbed the file and zipped it up into my jacket before giving my stopwatch a quick check. At eleven minutes and forty-seven seconds, I was making good time. Shutting the door behind me, I proceeded to walk back to reception, passing the manager’s offices along the way.

Something I hadn’t noticed on the way in, however, stopped me mid-stride, freezing my feet to the floor as I stared straight ahead. I refused to turn my head. I didn’t want to look because I had already seen it… I had seen it through my periphery, only for a second. But a second was all it took for me to recognize the shadowy outline of a person behind the frosted, glass wall of one of the offices.

When I swallowed, I could hear every joint and muscle in my face move. I knew then that I had to look, I had to confirm that I was either completely sane or going crazy and, at the time, the latter seemed more comforting.

But alas, it wasn’t to be. Turning my head confirmed my frightful suspicion. Someone was in Dixon’s office. Their shadow sat at the desk, motionless, unflinching. Just get out of here, Ben. Just walk out the door. You got what you came for, now leave. My mind implored me to go, with every firing synapse it urged me to leave but I just couldn’t.

My feet were slowly compelled to approach the office. Someone was in there, quite possibly someone I worked with, someone who might need help. And at the very least, if the worst were behind that door, I could take solace in knowing they didn’t wind up like those poor bastards in the body bags down below.

I turned the handle oh so slowly, so slowly so as to ensure its movement be imperceptible. A foul stench escaped the room as the door cracked open, rushed out even, like air from a balloon. Inside, a messy mop of black hair sat on the head of a man slumped forward in his chair, nearly to the point of falling over. His yellowed hand still clutched an almost-empty bottle of whiskey.

I recognized it almost immediately to be Dixon, naturally, it being his office. Why Dixon of all people was there I didn’t know, but I felt bad for him; I didn’t have to like him to know he didn’t deserve this. Several pills and pill bottles scattered his table so I picked one up. Flurazepam is what it was called, a Benzo by the sound of it – sleeping pills.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but, I’m sorry this happened to you, Dixon.”

“Hahhhhh!” Dixon gasped, mouth agape, as he rose upright in his seat.

“Shit!” I cried out, staggering backwards and tripping over my own feet as I tumbled into the wall.

Dixon looked at me with a wild vacancy in the eyes, with a reckless abandonment. He stumbled himself even to get onto his own feet, swaying wildly like he was drunker than all hell. He looked almost completely different then from the paragon of jock health he so embodied only a week ago.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” I yelled as I managed to jump to my feet and back out of the room.

“Be-Ben? Benjamin?” He slurred, still shaking.

“Dixon?” I asked. “Is this… Dixon I’m talking to?” What the hell’s happened to him?

“Can’t sleep… can’t sleep… Why can’t I sleep? Strangest thing, you being here.” He nodded, seemingly to reassure himself. “That you’d come to me. Just as all the others.”

“That’s right. I came for you. I want to help you, Dixon, just tell me how to help you. Anything you want, Dixon.” I kept backing away slowly.

“Sleep. I just want to sleep.” Dixon picked up his office chair and threw it against the window with what waning strength he had left, only for it to bounce off with a sharp crack.

“Dixon?” I tried once more to get through to him, but he simply wasn’t there. He was gone, his mind was gone, and I knew I had to go before I’d wind up just like him.

So, I slinked out as quietly as I could whilst he continued picking up his chair and launching it at the window. Seconds later, just as I had one foot out the door, I heard the pane smash, followed by a gleeful scream that grew quieter and quieter until there was nothing.

Thank you for reading Part X of “Wake up, Young Man”. Please do like and share this article if you enjoyed it, it really does make a difference.

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Please click here to read Part XI.