I
This afternoon was to be the start of a new path for Ron Simmons, a young man from the outskirts of town. At first glance, Simmons appears like someone who has received the benefit of many years of sun and tanning at the beach, but it is truly the product of his parents – at least he assumes. His grasp of his early life is slim, and the Francisco Brethren Church never really educated him beyond that. He assumes his father, possibly even mother, were involved in gangs as many of his childhood friends' parents were, but the Sisters, Sister Isabella especially, was quite effective of keeping that life away from him. He holds nothing against them for that, since he never really saw much benefit in joining a gang other than to go to jail or die, but he had at times wished they readied him for something other than a life with the church. Still, his more structured schooling was ideal when he went off to college, and now he owes the church in a large way for getting the opportunity he has today in the city. In a joking way, Simmons realized that working in a high office building does put him closer to heaven than he would have on the streets.
The phone interview had been as simple as being polite and confirming or defining what he had placed on his resume, and afterwards he had been told to report to a blue glass office building near the edge of town. It was close to the water but not the type of area where tourists go. Likewise, the tasks itself did not seem too complicated, and nonetheless used several of the skills he gained with his business degree. The only downside was that Simmons had to take a bus to work, which meant taking a late bus to go home. It wasn’t that it was a bad neighborhood, but Simmons never felt perfectly safe being out in the city at night – especially when tired and alone. It was just a lingering sense of paranoia which came from living in an urban area where crime and gangs are not uncommon.
II
Simmons awoke with a strange feeling, most likely jitters, on what would be his first day. Though, this feeling was beyond simple butterflies in his stomach, as the saying goes. It was more like something had passed through him, sending not a chill but a sense of uneasiness about his surroundings. This was not completely shaken once he had finished breakfast, and persisted in small amounts once he had actually reached his new place of work. Perhaps it was that uneasiness that led him to see something odd amongst the blue glass, for a strange green glow seemed to expound from a higher up floor, though once again it was most likely a trick of the light. As Simmons entered the building, he was greeted by an older looking fellow, who seemed to have suffered from some sort of injury as the left side of his face was lightly bandaged. Beyond that though, he appeared as a common information assistant – perhaps to help direct guests to particular areas or to watch security cameras to alert police in case of trouble. The lobby itself was rather empty aside from a few structural pillars and doors, so perhaps one of those was this old man’s office and he had just stepped out upon seeing someone approach.
“Welcome Mr. Simon,” the old man said in a quiet but audible tone. “It is Simon, right?”
“Simmons, actually,” Simmons corrected. “Are you this building’s doorman?”
“Sorry about the mix up, Mr. Sermon. I get confused by all you lot coming through. Must have been a new higher every day of the week for a long while. They told me you will be working on the fifth floor, room 4. The number should be on the outside of the door”.
Simmons was about to correct this man on his name, but stopped upon assuming the bandages must make it rather hard to hear. Moreover, he was intrigued with how the man revealed that he works for the company which hired him. He wondered to himself if the entire building was under the company’s ownership. “So, how long have you worked for the company? Are they good to work for?”
“Oh, I don’t get much company down here, aside from greeting new guests. Never was much on God and church myself. My wife always tried to get me to go, but she hasn’t be around since 1890, rest her soul. Odd of you to ask.”
Simmons, realizing that he most likely wasn’t going to get straight answers from this man, decided to take his directions and head to the stairway – hopefully he had relayed the directions correctly. Simmons had reached the elevator when he realized he had not even asked the man his name. However, upon turning around to dismiss him he saw that he had vanished. “He must be spry for his old age,” Simmons thought, or he had greatly overestimated his age. Simmons considered the date the old man had said, but dismissed it as a lack of hearing on his part since it made no sense otherwise.
The elevator was not too modern, and seemed to jerk a bit upon starting up the approach. From it though, Simmons noted that there were nine floors to the building, with two underground, making his office effectively on the third floor from the ground. It was a slight disappointment since he had hoped to have a high view of the city – assuming he was lucky enough to have a window – but it was also a blessing if he ever had to take the stairs. As he felt the hum of the elevator as it approached his floor he noticed a faint green glow again – though this time from the upper emergency hatch. This time Simmons could not as quickly dismiss this vision, but before he could take this to further thought, the doors opened and he was greeted to a short, but dimly lit hallway.
“Hello, is someone there? I’m Ron Simmons, I was told my office would be here.”
Hearing no response, Simmons continued past several doors, until he came to the one the man in the lobby had directed him to. He knocked, but hearing only a resonating echo in response he concluded the room was empty. He jiggled the handle, and it opened. The office itself was surprisingly spacious, with a nice window view, bathed in a soft light glow from the ceiling. There was a polished sizeable oak desk adjacent to a metal file cabinet and a black wheeled office chair which looked comfortable. The surface of the desk held a series of baskets for papers of different sorts, a modern looking monitor with a keyboard and computer, and a large desk calendar and pencil cup. Faint light drew into the room through venetian blinds, but Simmons could not seem to find a way to open them further. He could tell, however, from the light that it was later in the afternoon – though once again he figured the light must be playing tricks on him as he had arrived no later than 10 am. A small piece of paper was placed in front of the monitor with the following instructions: “The files and instructions for what to do with the files are all on the computer desktop. Take care to work diligently. You may leave at dusk.”
Simmons turned on the computer, and sure enough there were file folders immediately present. Of course, something about this immediately troubled him.
“What company,” he thought, “would not even have someone there to monitor and introduce a new employee to their job? Also, what type of instructions are work until dusk?”
He was about to leave, but then a pang of uneasiness came about in his stomach, as if to remind him that he had worked hard to find this job, and that if he wanted to stay local this was a good option for him. Against his uneasiness, he sat down and read through his assigned task. It might not have fully utilized his skills – albeit disappointing – but the tasks at hand seemed simple. Taking a breath, he leaned forward and began work.
III
For what seemed like hours, Simmons did nothing but add and alter numbers within what seemed like endless spreadsheets. He wasn’t even fully sure why he was making some alterations at times, and some numbers seemed unrealistically large to make any sense for a company. Still, he grinded through them. The computer had not been allowed unrestricted internet access, but an exclusive music radio station was available, offering him some company during his time. He guessed he must have ran through hundreds but he knew time might have seemed to merely run slow. There wasn’t a clock on the computer monitor, nor was there a clock in the room. In fact, Simmons realized the only way to tell the time was the light through the windows. Simmons closed his eyes as he pushed his chair away from the desk, and reclined far enough to crack his back in several places. He let some restful thoughts pass through his mind, then opened and turned his eyes towards the windows. To his surprise, the light did not appear to change from the setting sun color that appeared before. Furthermore, the light through the windows did not appear to change where it illuminated the wall. Simmons let out a large groan, realizing that he must not have worked for as long as he thought, but something still bugged him in the back of his head. He went back to the computer and worked some more.
For what seemed like ages he typed, and altered, and added, and changed, and fixed, and wrote, and typed, and changed, and added, and altered, and rewrote, and retyped and so on. It was as if the work would never end. He assumed that the endless stream that seemed to wear on before him would at least show signs of getting shorter, but he just kept finding more work. His eyes felt strained to a point that he figured if he kept on staring at the screen they would burst. Yet despite all this that should have made him feel exhausted he did not feel tired. He did not feel hungry. He did not feel thirsty. He felt no sign that should have told him instinctively that it was becoming late… and then he stared at the window again. The light had yet to change. Simmons swore with a passion, but this time he felt sick. He could not believe what was happening. It was as if he felt trapped. But he wasn’t trapped, was he? The door was right there. What was keeping him, his sense of pride? A note he found on this desk? He hasn’t even seen anyone, but there must be someone else. With this in mind, he triumphantly got up from the desk, and set out to open the door and find someone who could at least tell him what time it was and when he could leave. He tried the doorknob, and it would not move.
He felt a twinge of panic at the resistance, and tried harder. Still no movement. He tried shoving the door, lightly at first, then more firmly. He eventually tried to break down the door, and it still wouldn’t move. He almost collapsed from the last attempt, though by now he was wide awake with worry. Suddenly he realized he had not tried to look at his phone. He ran his hand through his pocket, but found it empty. It also occurred to him that he never glanced down at his watch, but realized that his wrist was bare. Even his wallet was gone. In fact, the receipt from the coffee he bought this morning was gone. Nothing he carried with him to the job was present. He went to the window, and still not seeing a way to naturally open the blinds, he tore them down and gasped. There was nothing but the dim light he saw. It was as if he was staring into something beyond emptiness, as if the entirety of reality was collapsing in on itself, and the pale orange light was the very life force of what was being taken away. Wherever Simmons was, it was close to hell.
IV
Simmons was sure that days went on within this tiny cell which was his office, but he could never really tell. He never grew hungry or tried, but he was sure that time had passed. Maybe even a year had gone by without him knowing it. Occasionally he would still go to the computer and change the numbers. He made a game of it once, altering the letters in numbers into famous pictures, or paintings. Maybe he had gone crazy once, but it wasn’t likely. His mind never was able to wander very far, so whatever kept his body in a sustainable state must also sustain his mind.
V
One day, or afternoon, or night, a trickle of water appeared on the monitor. It was incredible! Water! It might have been Simmons' own tears for joy when he saw it. He went to touch it and it was wet. He went to taste it, it was salty – like that of the ocean. He was almost repulsed by this reminder, when for so long this lack of reality was reality. He wanted to bath in it, but then a gust of wind hit him that seemed to knock him down. A further gust hit him and he flew against a wall. A final gust hit him which seemed so strong it knocked him over, and for the first time in ages he slipped into unconsciousness.
He awoke to a loud scream as if something was tearing through the outside. He was in a room much like that of his long experience in his personal hell, but it lacked the desk, cabinet, or anything that made the office an office for that matter. In fact the room itself seemed to emit a faint green glow, though a color which some hour seemed to grow then wane in strength as he picked himself off the floor. A dark impression was left in the floor as if he had been laying there for a rather long time, and upon looking down on himself he noticed his nails had grown almost to an inch in length, and he held a beard. He had also soiled himself, thought that wasn’t immediately apparent to him. He had trouble standing at first, but as he grew more and more aware of his surroundings, and as he could stand taller the glow that emitted from the walls nearly disappeared. The smell of seawater was still strong, as a thin trickle seemed to drip from the ceiling. He knew the key to this was outside, but he was almost afraid to gaze out the window. After building the courage, his eyes were met to a danger of another kind. It seemed as if a hurricane was tearing through, though nothing on the news to his memory indicated a storm would come through. The city appeared dead, as all inhabitants must have fled from the destruction. The intensity of the storm must have cracked the building’s outer walls, allowing some of the water and sand to pour in and reach him as he laid on the floor. It almost did not occur to him that he might not want to run out into the storm, since he immediately bolted out the door with the intention to run outside.
The hallway didn’t look too different from what he remembered, but the elevator was out of order so he had to take the stairs. He almost forgot that he was only two floors above the ground level, but that bit of memory remained. In fact, it seemed the greater distance he put between the room and himself his memory came back stronger. As he reached the lobby, he only then noticed that water was building up outside. Then he heard a familiar voice.
“Back away from the glass! It might rupture! It will be better if you stay in one of these rooms in the lobby!”
The old man who greeted him in the lobby was there. Simmons could not believe his eyes, but sure enough he was there to direct him to safety. He was almost hesitant, but there wasn’t the pang of uneasiness like he felt on the upper floors. He went to the man, who set him firmly down against a wall of a back room.
“Who are you?” Simmons tried to say above the roar of the storm. “How long have you been here? How long have I been here?”
“I can’t hear you that well over the storm! I figure you will be safe here though! Safer than what it is out there! They are moving their business more inland to avoid this sort of thing! I am afraid you might be out of work for a while, less you are ready to move!”
Simmons was going to release a powerful negative response to that, but suddenly felt light headed and for the second time he fell into unconsciousness.
VI
He awoke to sunny skies, and entered out into the remains of a coastal city that was torn apart by a storm. Everything was torn, but by luck he happened upon a piece of news paper. It was dated a month from when he was supposed to start his new career, but his time had felt so much longer. He was going to question how he could have possibly survived for a month in a lone room, but a more terrifying thought lingered. He had seen several lights from the building he had approached. How many more have been there, and what would have happened had a storm not torn through? What was the purpose? Maybe he was only fortunate enough to delay what he was to experience in that room, or perhaps he had a glimpse of the purgatory that those of his religious raising had taught him for years. He could not shake these feelings, and was left to wander to seek someone else amongst the storm torn ruins of this city not far from the sandy coast.
Edited by Arlill Rodriguez
