7:04 AM
Ever notice that there is never enough time when you really need it?
Take today for instance, it's only 7AM, and I already feel like it's too late to get anything meaningful done.
Fortunately, feelings only count on television and in therapy, so I'm going to give it the old college try anyway.
I roll out of bed a handful of seconds before my alarm completely ruins my morning. I give the screen a swipe, scrolling through a half dozen menus until the room fills with the promise of silence.
There were days, not so long ago, that I used to lay in this bed for hours just trying to figure out where the noise my alarm makes comes from. On the phone, it's called "Rise and Shine," but it sounds more like what you would get if you ran your grandmother's best china set through an industrial wood chipper.
Why the company thought that this was any way to wake someone up, is anyone's guess.
7:15 AM
My girlfriend Susan is downstairs. She would be my wife Susan, had I not gotten fired from my job a year back.
I guess it doesn't much matter now.
What does matter is the color of her eyes, they're hazel with flecks of emerald – eyes the shade of tree bark and forest floors.
They're the eyes I fell in love with.
I kiss her on the cheek and she tussles my hair, pointing to a plate of slightly burnt eggs.
My favorite.
"Morning Suz."
"Morning. You're up early today."
"Not early enough."
"And that doesn't sound like you at all. David, are you dying?"
"No, nothing like that, I've just decided to be an adult for once, aren't you proud of me?"
"I'm always proud of you darling, even when you're acting like a big weirdo. But seriously, what are you doing awake before Noon?"
"I've got an interview lined up. Speaking of which, do you mind if I borrow the car?"
"You don't have to ask me, I'm working from home this week, you know that."
"I know, just making conversation."
"Well, we'll have plenty of time for 'conversation' later tonight. Right now, you need to eat your breakfast, and I need to get to work."
"Right, plenty of time..."
She kisses me on the forehead, and walks away to her office.
I pick up one of the kitchen knives we bought off of the Internet last year, and place it in the waistband of my slacks. It has a full tang with partial bolster, which I guess is knife-talk for sharp.
11:35 AM
I lied to Susan.
Technically, I've lied to her every morning for the last several weeks.
Truthfully though, it's not like she'll ever know the difference.
I don't enjoy deceiving her, but explaining where I'm really going would be...complicated, and I don't have nearly enough time for that.
I don't have nearly enough time.
Luckily, the roads are surprisingly empty.
The reason this is surprising, is the same reason I spent days on a stretch listening to my phone ring – some people are smart, some people are brave, most people are neither – I fall into this latter category. This is probably also why I haven't figured a way out of this mess by now.
I feel like a smarter or braver version of myself would have done something definitive, weeks ago. Instead, I get to run around with an Internet knife in my back pocket, lying to the only person I've ever really cared about.
At least I'm almost there.
12:01PM
The building is just outside of the city – low, squat and made entirely of concrete – Warren Industrial Dynamics.
It could be a warehouse.
It's not a warehouse.
I know that sounds mysterious, but I need you to understand that there is nothing at all mysterious about this place. Type "Warren Industrial Dynamics" into your browser, and you'll find directions that will lead you right to their front door, though you would never have reason to do that.
If you went to their website, which you also wouldn't do, you would discover that they design wind turbines for large, industrial customers around the world.
The complex I'm pulling into, is one of their regional office parks, about a half mile off of the Interstate – there is a Denny's right down the street, and a supermarket on the corner.
I think the sheer banality of it all, is what makes this place so perfect.
You don't know to be afraid of something hiding in plain site.
I walk inside.
"Excuse sir, how can I help you?"
A man with close-cropped hair and a crooked smile greets me. His eyes are dark brown, the color of hard woods.
"Is Mr. Warren in?"
"Is he expecting you?"
"He is expecting everyone."
"Sir...I think you should leave."
"Believe me, I would love to."
I'm getting faster, the knife slips from the belt into my hand like it belongs there. The worker's body coils, as some animal part of his brain registers the danger.
In the commercials, an over zealous Chef uses a knife like the I'm holding, to cut through an entire roast chicken, bones and all, in a single stroke.
People are a little tougher than chickens, but they cut all the same.
I take the man's security badge.
12:22 PM
I'm surprised I'm still alive.
Warren Industrial Dynamics might not look like much, but they don't skimp on the security.
If you were here, and you made it past the front desk, which you probably wouldn't, you would soon be greeted by a half dozen men who, in another life, fought our wars for us.
Any one of them could end my existence before I even realized there was someone else in the room with me.
Fortunately, even hired mercenaries have to eat every now and again, and as long as I can get out of here in the next five minutes – everything should be OK.
Ezekiel Warren's door is open when I arrive.
Why wouldn't it be?
He's expecting me.
12:24 PM
Ezekiel's office looks like what might happen if a museum threw up inside of a log cabin.
There is priceless art pushed up against the skulls of dead things, and his desk looks more like a tree's corpse than furniture.
Ezekiel himself has one of those faces that are neither old nor young, a plastic face, as bland as it is forgettable. His eyes, however, those you never forget – crystal blue, the color of topaz, the color of the Moon on clear nights.
"David, you look...tired."
"And you look exactly the same as you always do."
"I'm glad that you haven't given up yet."
"I'm stubborn, what can I say."
"Why aren't you dead?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Not really, what's the fun in that?"
"You're just wasting time, aren't you?"
"You got me there..."
I throw myself across the room, knuckles white around the knife's handle.
Ezekiel doesn't move, doesn't even breath, until I am within an inch of his throat – then he simply isn't there.
"... ... ..."
His words roll like oil off of the surfaces of my mind.
"You know that stopped being scary the third time."
"I'm not trying to scare you, I just find it difficult to truly express my ... in your language."
He's behind me, I turn, blade pointed forward. Then there is pain, a hand like an iron band twists my wrist counter-clockwise, the knife clatters to the ground.
"I was so... "
I freeze as those Moon blue eyes lock onto mine, there are entire worlds swirling within them.
"Close? Is that what you were going to say, that you were so close? Closer, maybe, but please don't get ahead of yourself. Do you think I'm the only one? Do you think you have time to kill us all in one day?"
"Maybe not, but one of these days, I will kill you Ezekiel, I will kill you."
"And one of these days, I'm going to figure out who keeps bringing you back. The important point is, neither one of us gets what we want today."
I hear my neck snap, but don't feel it.