The Things We Bury - Part 1: In Anticipation of the End of the World [Completed]

Chapter 5: The Monster That You Are (part 3 of 7)

In the mirrored, gold metal of the elevator, Darren noticed the spot on his shirt.  The presence of the other two riders stopped him from reacting with the panic it deserved.  Something about being observed gave him a calm that an empty elevator wouldn't have.  Although he was being watched either way, somehow the opinion of the anonymous security guards behind the cameras didn't worry him, like the judgment of his fellow occupants.

The young woman got off on twelve.  The duffer who would have looked like an exec, if not for the lack of a tailored suit, got off on twenty-six.  Darren wasted no time to get out his handkerchief.  He licked one of its corners moist, before furiously going to work on the splotch of coffee.

Of all days, he cursed. 

Here he was about to finally meet the big boss, and he looked like a slob.  He scrubbed the spot, then licked the white hanky again, cleaning himself like a cat.

The elevator slowed just before the forty-fifth floor.  A light on the camera came on.  Darren straightened up and jammed the cloth into his pocket as the voice came over the intercom.

"This is a secure floor.  Please state the nature of your visit."

"I'm here to see Mr. Jorgenson.  I have an appointment," he said holding up his ID card.

He glided up what felt like another few feet.  Just before the doors opened, he smoothed out his hair and adjusted his jacket to cover the damp spot on his shirt, making sure his reflection was presentable.

The reception area was ridiculous.  It was the size of a gymnasium.  Off in the distance, the executive assistant was talking on the phone behind a chunky glass desk, the top was a good six inches thick.  The wall of windows to Darren's left revealed the Hudson River.  It was a view that half the executives in the company would not hesitate to kill for – they would have happily thrown their flabby, white bodies into a death cage and beat some poor son-of-a-bitch to a bloody pulp to get a desk by that window.  And here it was wasted on the few privileged souls who walked by it on their way to meet the king.

When the company first hired Jorgenson, Darren told his wife that no good CEO would make redecorating his office his first priority.  Over the years his opinion of Jorgenson hadn't improved much.  But being a privileged soul suddenly made him view the whole use of corporate real-estate differently.

Walking across the carpeted expanse, the leather soles of his shoes seemed to glide on the plush surface.  His thoughts turned to his little girls playing in the backyard of their new house.  There was absolutely nothing similar about the two actions.  But the house, the yard, and the joy of his two angels were the reward for his hard work, just as surely as this meeting was.

A few years ago, the large Westchester County home would have only been a dream.  A townhome in a New Jersey suburb, with a postage stamp yard and a killer commute, was all he could afford.  Then he got recruited by Connor for his team. 

Charles Connor.  Better known as Cap'n Connor, behind his back.  The nickname had been given because the man had the look of an old, gnarled sea captain.  He had deeply tanned, weather-beaten skin and a trimmed but scruffy gray beard.  His eyes looked out from a raisin of creases.  The appearance was more suited to running a fishing boat off of the Florida coast instead of wandering the halls of power.  But there was nothing humorous about Charles Connor.  People might snicker when he wasn't around, but his presence demanded a somber attitude and respect.  He had the demeanor reserved for undertakers and executioners.

He was a man that cared deeply about results.  And the only people he had time for were those who got them.

Darren had proved himself as someone who did just that.  He followed orders, did what needed to be done, never flinched.  Even when it meant terminating the very project that had been his golden ticket.  He cut that rope as soon as Connor told him to.  Despite the knot of worry that twisted and built itself up to Gordian levels in his stomach.