JACK
Jack stumbled out of his car, his mind still spinning with the rush of emotions from the morning. He shook his head, trying to focus. "Focus!" he muttered under his breath, scolding himself as he walked toward the building. The weight of the day's surprises hung heavily over him, but he pushed them aside, slipping into the sleek, modern structure that housed his new workplace.
As he entered, the hum of activity surrounded him. The clatter of keyboards, the buzz of office chatter—everyone was in motion, each person absorbed in their own tasks. Jack stepped into the elevator, joining a few other employees, each absorbed in their own world. The elevator's smooth ascent seemed to stretch on forever as the floors ticked by, each one shedding its passengers until, by the time the elevator reached the 50th floor, Jack was alone, left with his thoughts as the soft chime echoed through the empty space.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing the floor he had come for. The 50th floor, the home of the President's office. It was a space that screamed authority and influence. A large, imposing desk sat at the center, a woman, presumably the President's secretary, hunched over her work, furiously scribbling on a notepad. Jack hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat softly to draw her attention.
"I'm here for Mr. Pitch Black," he announced, his voice carrying a formal tone as he stepped into the space.
The secretary glanced up briefly, her gaze uninterested as she continued typing without pause. "Name, please?" she asked, her voice dull and mechanical.
"Jack Frost," he replied, meeting her gaze with quiet confidence.
She didn't react, merely nodded before turning her attention back to her computer. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, a blur of rapid movements. Jack's eyes wandered over the room, noting the strategically placed cameras in every corner of the room. The security here was as tight as a drum, no blind spots, no room for error. A sly smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Clever, he thought to himself.
Just then, the phone on her desk rang, breaking the silence. The secretary answered it quickly, her voice dropping to a lower register as she spoke. Jack strained his ears, catching snippets of the conversation. The tone of the call, the quick manner in which she responded—it wasn't lost on him that it was likely Pitch Black himself on the other line. His suspicion was confirmed when, after a few moments, the secretary hung up and turned her attention back to him.
"Mr. Black is out for a meeting," she said, her voice as dry as ever. "He said you can head to the design office on the 39th floor." She gave a brief, almost dismissive nod, her fingers already returning to the keys. Jack didn't waste another second. He nodded, turned on his heel, and made his way back to the elevator.
The 39th floor was a far cry from the rigid formality of the 50th. The quiet, focused energy of the design department wrapped around him as he stepped off the elevator. He glanced around, taking in the hum of creativity—the artists, the designers, the architects of dreams, all working diligently on their projects. Everywhere he looked, there was some new, fantastical creation in progress—clunky robots, intricately detailed dolls, high-tech gadgets designed to captivate and entertain. This was the beating heart of Dreamland, where the magic began.
Jack continued down the hallway toward the head office of the design department. Just as he reached the door, it swung open, and a middle-aged man stepped out, his expression focused, brisk. He exchanged a few quick words with his secretary about heading to the finance department for a brief meeting, then turned his attention to Jack, noticing him standing by the door.
"And who are you?" the man asked, his tone businesslike, but curious.
"Jack Frost," Jack replied, offering a respectful nod.
The man's frown deepened for a moment, before a slow smile spread across his face as he recalled something. "Ah, yes. I remember now. You're the new member of the design team, aren't you?" He paused, crossing his arms over his chest, then added, "But if I'm not mistaken, the President transferred you to the position of General Manager at the Dreamland branch in Rise Town, didn't he?"
Jack blinked in confusion. "Transferred?" he repeated, a knot of uncertainty tightening in his chest. No one had told him about any transfer. No one had mentioned a new position or a change of plans.
The man shrugged casually. "The President said that you were better suited for a managerial role based on your work history. He thought you'd be more valuable overseeing the Dreamland branch in Rise Town than working here with the design team." He gave a slight chuckle. "You're starting there tomorrow, I believe."
Jack's thoughts went still for a moment as he processed this new development. "Tomorrow," he muttered under his breath. So I came here for nothing.
Without another word, the man turned and walked away, leaving Jack to gather his thoughts. Jack let out a frustrated sigh, his eyes scanning the room one last time before he turned to leave. He made his way back to the elevator, the sound of its soft hum doing little to soothe his growing annoyance.
When he reached the parking floor, Jack found himself at a crossroads. What now? He asked himself, the confusion still clouding his mind. It was far too early to go home, but with nothing else on his schedule, he wasn't sure what to do with himself.
He stepped into his car and started the engine, the familiar sound of the car's purr filling the empty silence around him. For a few minutes, he drove aimlessly, his mind wandering. Then, as if by instinct, he turned the wheel toward Rise Town. The decision was sudden, but he realized he'd need some winter clothing for the upcoming season anyway. A few shopping stops wouldn't hurt, and it would give him a reason to get out of his head.
He spent the next couple of hours hopping between stores, carefully selecting coats, scarves, and boots for himself. He even picked up a few items for Elsa, the thought of her somehow sneaking into his mind despite the chaos of his day. A new coat, a pair of mittens—little things to keep her warm as the winter chill set in.
With his arms full of bags, Jack sighed, his mind a swirl of thoughts. What am I doing? he wondered. But the reality was, there was nothing else to do but keep moving forward, even if that meant taking life one step at a time, one purchase at a time.
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ELSA
For hours, Elsa immersed herself in the dim glow of the monitors, her fingers dancing across the keyboard with calculated precision. The room was filled with the low hum of the computers, their screens reflecting the harsh lines of her determined face. She was buried in layers of files—case after case, each one a potential lead, a piece of the puzzle she was desperately trying to solve. She meticulously set up the surveillance system around the house, making sure every camera, every sensor, was perfectly aligned.
Her mind raced with thoughts of Pitch Black, the man who loomed over this entire mission. But even more pressing was the need to connect Duke Weaseltown to him. She had to find that one, undeniable piece of evidence that would tie them together. The deeper Elsa dug, the more tangled the web seemed to become. She scrolled through case after case, picking apart every detail, every hint of a link. She even dedicated time to researching Mrs. Black, her eyes narrowing as she delved into the woman's life, looking for any clue, no matter how small, that could prove valuable.
But despite the intensity of her focus, the constant flicker of data and images, fatigue began to claw at the edges of her concentration. She finally stood up from her desk, stretching her stiff limbs. The room, though filled with the faint scent of coffee, felt too suffocating after hours of isolation in front of the screens.
Elsa left her room with a sigh, her mind still churning over the stacks of evidence. As she made her way to the kitchen, she found herself distracted by a simple, mundane thought—what should she cook for dinner tonight? Her stomach growled in protest, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast. But when she opened the fridge, her heart sank. Empty. Bare. Nothing but an assortment of condiments and a few leftover scraps from the morning.
She groaned in frustration. It was another oversight, one she hadn't accounted for in the whirlwind of her investigation. She had been so consumed with gathering information, she had completely forgotten to restock the supplies. She closed the fridge with a huff, scanning the kitchen for any inspiration. But there was nothing left. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly evening.
Time to restock, she thought, sighing.
Without wasting any more time, Elsa grabbed her cardigan and pulled it tightly around her body, the fabric comforting against the chill of the evening air. The autumn season was quickly coming to an end, the lingering warmth of the day fading as winter's icy breath began to settle in. Her skin prickled with the familiar bite of the cold, the air growing sharp and crisp as the days shortened.
With a resigned sigh, she stepped out of the house, heading for the bus station. Jack had taken the car for his work, leaving her with no other option but to rely on public transport. She pulled her cardigan tighter, the fabric of it hugging her body, offering little protection against the chill. Her breath misted in the air as she walked, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the crisp autumn leaves scattered along the path.
When the bus arrived, Elsa smiled politely at the driver before stepping on. She found a seat, sinking into it with a quiet sense of relief. The journey would give her a brief break from the relentless pace of her work. As the bus began to move, she pulled out her phone, her fingers scrolling automatically.
She dialed Jack's number, knowing that by now he should be done with his work for the day. It felt strange, these little moments of normalcy, after the intensity of her focus on the case. She rested back in her seat, waiting for the call to connect.
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Jack stood rooted to the spot, his entire body tense with the chaos raging within him. The memory of that kiss earlier that morning refused to fade, like a brand seared into his consciousness. The softness of Elsa's lips, the warmth that had ignited deep in his chest—it all felt so real, so maddeningly present.
For the love of... he muttered, his voice low and strained, his breath hitching as frustration coiled in his gut.
Why couldn't he banish the thought? Why was her touch lingering, teasing him, setting every nerve on edge? He lifted a hand to his lips as if to wipe away the memory, but it only made the ache worse, the phantom sensation of their kiss burning hotter in his mind.
A sudden jarring ringtone shattered the stormy quiet of his thoughts. Jack nearly jumped, the spell broken, his pulse pounding in his ears as he reached for his phone. Elsa's name glowed on the screen, drawing a ragged sigh from his lips. It felt like cruel fate had decided to throw him back into the fire.
He swallowed hard, forcing a level of composure he didn't feel before answering. "Hello." His voice came out sharper than he intended, tinged with impatience, a clear sign of his unsettled state.
"Are you done with your job?" Elsa asked, her voice brisk and direct, brushing aside any niceties. There was a familiarity to her tone that both steadied and rattled him.
"No work today," Jack replied, a flash of irritation crossing his features. He glanced at his wristwatch, the hands mocking him with how quickly time had slipped away while he'd wandered aimlessly through his thoughts. Hours lost to the torment of memories.
From the other end of the line, he could sense Elsa's frown, her suspicion sharpening like a blade. He doesn't have any work today? The unspoken question hung between them, heavy and demanding.
Jack took a steadying breath, feeling the need to offer something more than vague half-answers. "I've been transferred," he clarified, his voice steady but lacking its usual warmth. "General Manager, Dreamland Rise Town branch. I'm at the Rise Town mall now." Better to get it all out, even if he hated the mechanical way he was speaking.
"Perfect timing," Elsa said, relief softening her words, though a trace of tension remained. "I'm heading there. We need to restock on groceries."
"Alright," Jack replied, his eyes scanning the crowded entrance of the mall. People streamed by, blissfully unaware of the war raging within him. "I'll wait."
"See you soon," Elsa said before hanging up.
The next thirty minutes passed like a blur. Jack wandered near the entrance, scanning the faces of passersby but seeing none of them. His thoughts kept circling back, ensnared by emotions he couldn't name. When Elsa finally appeared, she was moving quickly, her gaze searching for him. He noticed her shoulders relaxing as she spotted him, guilt flickering in her expression as she approached.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Elsa said, her voice tinged with genuine remorse.
"It's fine," Jack replied, offering a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. He gestured towards the interior of the mall. "Where do you want to go?"
"Supermarket," she answered, her tone light but carrying an undertone of weariness. She reached for his hand, her fingers intertwining with his in a simple, natural motion. The touch sent a shockwave through him, making it impossible to ignore how easily they slipped into this act—the charade of being a couple.
Walking side by side, their fingers brushing, Jack felt a tightness in his chest. It was a dangerous game, this pretense, and every step made it harder to remember what was real and what was not. They entered the supermarket, and Jack, grasping for anything that would ground him, took hold of the cart, his grip firm.
"Do you have anything you want for dinner?" Elsa asked, her eyes flicking to him as she selected items. Her question was simple, mundane, and yet it cut deeper than any blade. Jack nodded absently, his throat tight.
As they reached the meat section, Jack's gaze caught on a familiar face—a figure he'd hoped to avoid. Pitch Black, accompanied by his wife, was walking towards them. In a flash, Jack's instincts kicked in. He wrapped his arm around Elsa's shoulders, pulling her close, pressing her into him as if they were inseparable.
"They're here," he whispered urgently, his lips brushing against her ear. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down Elsa's spine, her heart pounding against her ribs. She nodded, understanding without a word, but the closeness of his body, the heat radiating from him—it was almost too much to bear. Her senses were on overdrive; every nerve was alight, aware of every breath he took, every steady beat of his heart.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world faded. All that remained was the depth of his gaze, the intensity that left her breathless, and the weight of their unspoken truths.
Why am I... Elsa's mind raced, her chest tightening painfully. But there was no time for introspection, no space for vulnerability.
The moment shattered as a cheerful voice broke through. "Hi!" It was Mrs. Black, her bright smile cutting through the tension like a knife. Elsa and Jack broke apart, their movements stiff, too deliberate.
"It's good to see you," Mrs. Black said warmly. Beside her, Pitch Black was a silent sentinel, his eyes cold, appraising, missing nothing.
Elsa mustered a polite smile, her heart still racing. "Likewise, Mrs. Black." She hoped her voice didn't betray her.
Jack forced himself to smile, to stand tall, to pretend everything was as it should be. But every second stretched unbearably, every glance and forced pleasantry a reminder of the dangerous dance they were part of. And beneath it all, the memory of Elsa's touch lingered, an ache he couldn't escape.
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PUBLISHED: 2015
EDITED: 12/08/2020