It was the rain that woke me up the next morning, lashing and streaming against my window. A phrase flashed through my mind, reminiscent of my English degree days: pathetic fallacy. Isn't that what it was called when the weather matched the mood of the novels I've read over the years?
Somehow I was reminded of the story I'd read to the children. Wendy in the clouds, Wendy who could fly, Wendy who could paint the sky with her imagination. Laying in my bed, my sheets twisted, I couldn't be further away from those cotton candy clouds.
Nothing to lose. I thought of what Ms. Linaberry had mentioned yesterday. If I had nothing to lose, what would I do next?
I'd want to know if I was right. If I was onto something.
The worst had already happened. I'd been fired - and I'd survived. I'd been fearing it for so long, after the fire, after the performance plan discussions. Now the worst had come and gone and I'd survived.
I wanted to know if any of this had been worth it.
I scrambled towards my phone and sent a text before I could think better of it. I'm going to talk to Katherine Jaworski, I sent to Scott. Then I turned off my phone before I could realize how unreasonable I was being.
She wasn't doing anything wrong. The CEO herself couldn't be mired in whatever conspiracy theory I was mulling over. Maybe she would at least have answers as to what private information had been found on my computer.
Normally I would never think of jumping straight to the CEO herself for an answer, but the words rang like a bell in my head. Nothing to lose.
The lights flickered ominously as I stripped out of my pajamas and threw on the first clean shirt I could find. Well, the first sort-of clean shirt I could find; I grimaced when I saw how much laundry I still needed to do. If the power went out today, I really didn't want to scrub my clothes by hand.
I ate a few spoonfuls of cereal - it wouldn't be great if I was hangry during this conversation - and grabbed an umbrella before rushing out the door. I needed answers.
---
I splurged on an Uber. My driver was chatty, and I did my best to talk about the weather (terrible, eh?) and my thoughts on traffic (always rough, it's faster to walk, har har har). By the time we rolled up to the gleaming façade of the Main branch I felt halfway to normal.
Was this a huge mistake?
Maybe. Probably. Absolutely, yes.
My driver pulled away, and I had no choice but to dash into the atrium to avoid melting in the rain. The library had only opened a few minutes ago, judging from the staff who were still booting up the public computers. A few patrons already browsed the shelves.
"Good morning," someone said from behind me.
I jumped and did my best to look Not At All Guilty, which probably made me look Very Guilty Indeed.
It turned out to be a curly-haired librarian. "Can I help you at all?"
"Just browsing," I said, trying to make a vague gesture with my arm. "I've never been here before."
I regretted the lie as soon as I saw the gleam in the woman's eyes. "That's great!" she said. "How about I give you a quick tour?" From the tone in her voice I knew I could never say no. I recognized her enthusiasm - only a few weeks ago (even a few days ago) I had been just as excited about my job.
She shepherded me around the first floor, showing me the 3D printers and media rooms and computers preloaded with accessibility software. In my head I tallied up what I saw compared with the budget numbers I'd seen - and there was some sort of mismatch. But there were five floors in the building, and it was possible I wasn't seeing the fancy technology promised in the budget.
Just as the woman was explaining their outreach sessions, I saw a flash of movement in the corner of my eye.
Katherine Jaworski, walking up the staircase.
I could hardly say to my guide, "Sorry, gotta run, need to follow through on my terrible plan." Instead I nodded politely as she wrapped up her tour.
"Anyways, sorry about that," she said, bringing me back to the main reference desk. "I'm new and still kind of in love with this place."
"That's great," I said, and I meant it. I wanted to be like her again.
I just didn't know if that would be possible.
---
I ended up crashing on a beanbag chair with a magazine as I mulled over my next steps. The magazine was just a ruse - I scanned the library entrance above the pages, watching to see if anyone noticed when people took the elevator.
No one did.
The last time I was here, I'd shown my staff badge to the librarian before taking the elevator to the fifth floor. But that hadn't necessarily been needed - I could have taken the elevator to any floor, just the normal patrons.
Thunder boomed from outside; the storm was getting worse.
It also didn't help that my beanbag chair was wildly uncomfortable. Sure, they look cool, but the back support? Not so great for anyone over the age of seven.
Time for me to go.
I put the magazine back on the rack and sauntered over to the elevator, pretending as if I was a normal person doing normal things on a normal day.
The elevator arrived, and I was aware of the overly-loud ding as the doors opened. I pressed the button for the fifth floor, and no blaring red alarms went off that yelled Emma Richards is up to no good.
Moments later, the doors opened, and I was greeted by the same sleek shiny hallway I had seen so recently. Rain lashed into the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran along one side of the building.
No one else was in the hallway, although a few muffled voices came from behind closed doors. I walked until I came to the large desk in front of Katherine Jaworski's office. Once again, Anna Gao, her secretary, wasn't there. Perfect.
Before I could think better of it, I walked towards Katherine's office and rapped on the open door.
"Hello?" she said.
I blinked, trying to take everything in. Katherine was sitting at her desk, a sleek wraparound chrome desk with three Mac monitors. Papers were scattered over the surface, the pages incongruous with the high-tech computers. To my left was a large bookcase where all the books were organized by color. To my right were uncomfortable-looking white couches that looked as if no one had ever enjoyed sitting in them. The windows behind the small conference table revealed the tortured sky, the clouds roiling like waves.
"Can I help you?" she asked, standing up.
That's when the power went out.
"Sorry," I said reflexively, even though A) I was here to confront her, and B) it was absolutely not my fault the power went out. I was just too Canadian.
Only a sickly, gray light managed to filter in through the windows. I could barely see Katherine as she fumbled her way across her office. I held onto the doorframe, suddenly adrift without the light. Should I leave?
"Anna was right to work from home today," she muttered. "And I don't even think I have a flashlight, but I do have something else."
Moments later, I was startled when a small flame appeared, my eyes instantly drawn to the bright light.
"I'm a sucker for scented candles," she admitted. I hadn't noticed the drawers built into the bottom of the bookshelf, where she continued to pull out more candles. "This whole place is going to smell like pumpkin spice very quickly, I'm afraid." Then she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I've been distracted. You're Emma Richards, aren't you."
It wasn't a question.
I didn't like the way the candlelight flickered on her face. "Why are you here?"
"I wanted to talk to you," I said. I stayed in the doorway, holding onto the door frame as if it was a life raft. "About why I was fired."
"IT found future budget numbers on your computer," Katherine said. She'd walked back over to her desk and leaned back in her chair. She adjusted her skirt around her knees. "I'm not sure how you got those numbers."
"And why did you have IT check my computer in the first place?" I asked.
"Because you mentioned Scott. Because the same sensitive file was on his computer." She shifted in her chair. "And if you don't have any further questions, I'd like you to leave."
"Isn't this a public place?" I asked, very aware that she had every right to kick me out. "Don't I, as a member of the public, have a right to know how my tax dollars are being spent?"
Katherine stood up so suddenly that I took a step back. "Get out," she said, her voice low.
Nothing to lose, I said to myself.
I went out on a limb.
"Are those the budget numbers?" I asked, gesturing to the paper on her desk. "The ones that show you're stealing money?"
"GET OUT," she roared, the desk wobbling as she slammed her fist into its surface.
We both noticed at the same time. With a frantic movement, she reached out-
But the candle had already tipped over, the flame licking against the paper on the desk.