Chapter 1: Wake-Up Call
Keith Scott fell asleep at his desk every morning without fail. He’d lie there like a rock, perhaps snoring a little, something that caused the abundance of forms and paperwork he used as a makeshift pillow to rustle slightly with every wheezy exhalation. He was nearly impossible to wake without some sort of loud noise to bring him back to consciousness, and whenever he was awoken in this fashion, he was noticeably jumpy.
On this particular evening, Keith’s unorthodox wake-up call was the slam of his office door. He snapped his head up from his desk at the sound and frantically grabbed at his gun which sat, unloaded, on his desk. He missed the gun, lost his balance on the rickety chair, and promptly fell sideways with a crash onto the floor. A pile of old forms rained down on his head from the desk, and as they settled he heard a high, girlish voice say: “You okay boss?”
He sighed from beneath his papery blanket. “Good evening Helen.” He said, his voice muffled. “Why am I on the floor?”
“The door slamming made you fall out of your chair boss!” Helen said. “I’m really sorry about that.” Her voice was melodious and even though Keith was sore from his fall and groggy from sleep, he found her dulcet tones causing his arms and legs to move of their own accord, forcing him to stand, straighten his blood-stained suit and tie and smile as pleasantly as possible at his secretary.
Helen stood in the doorway, clutching a sheaf of papers and sticky notes, her manicured nails tapping at them nervously. Her white blouse was undone slightly, just enough to give Keith a glimpse of her perfectly rounded breasts, and her mane of blonde hair fell about her shoulders. She smiled at him excitedly with perfect white teeth and appeared to jump up and down slightly on her four-inch heels, causing her short skirt – and her breasts – to bounce ever-so gently; just enough to wake Keith up on that miserable evening.
Keith shook his head, trying to focus on what Helen was saying. “What was that Helen?” he said, shoving thoughts of making passionate love to her on his desk into the deepest corners of his mind.
“I brought in yesterday’s paperwork.” Helen said, waving the sheaf of papers at him.
“Ah, right.” Keith nodded. “I’ll take those now.” The papers floated out of Helen’s hand and gently flew across the room to Keith’s desk, as if they were being carried by an invisible hand. “Thank you.” He sat down in his chair and pulled the papers toward him.
“No problem Boss!” she said, smiling her too-perfect smile once more and turning to leave the office.
“Oh, and if you could get Maria on the line for me Helen? I’d appreciate it.” Keith said to her retreating back.
“You betcha boss.” Helen said, turning back in the doorway and leaning casually on the doorframe. “What if she doesn’t pick up?”
“Tell her I’ll put garlic in her BLT if she’s late for work again.” He said nonchalantly, his eyes firmly focused on his documents. “Oh, and Helen?”
“Yes boss?” Helen smiled once again.
“Have you found a temp for next week?”
Helen’s smile became a little less toothy. “Do I really need one boss? I mean, I’m taking my medication every day…”
“Helen, if we have to re-carpet this office one more time, there will be hell to pay. Full Moon counts as paid sick leave anyway; just go visit your mother in Portland or something.”
“I promised I wouldn’t let it happen again though.” Helen pouted, causing Keith’s brain to stumble slightly.
“Nevertheless, better safe than sorry.” Keith said, forcing his eyes to remain on the papers. “Just find a temp and come back after the moon starts waning.”
Helen sighed. “Fine.” She left the office and Keith heard her dialing the antiquated phone on her desk. He exhaled slowly, glared down at the little tent that had formed in his pants, and then looked over at the door, which swung forward and shut itself with a gentle ‘click’.
All material is copyright © Lora Hibbard 2008.
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