One of the downsides of having routines is that you tend to forget doing things - you go on autopilot, go through the motions, end up somewhere else, and wonder if you did all the things you needed to do along the way. Did I switch off everything in the house before I left? Did I lock the door? Did I bring what I needed? Doubt and uneasiness are unwelcome companions to the comfort of routine. At times it almost feels like you teleported from one place to another without all the in-between parts - that’s how easy it is for the mind to block out the things you always do while your thoughts are elsewhere. 

So it’s strange that this is happening now in an instance where I’m doing something for the first time. I’ve never driven this far north from my house before and I’m pretty sure I’ve only ever driven past or briefly stopped over in this city. And yet here I am, standing in front of an imposing office block in an unfamiliar town and I’m unsure how I navigated the roads and streets to get here - wouldn’t I have been hyper-aware of the new route, new sights of this journey, this being the first time I’ve ever been here? I think. 

It’s also easier than ever to zone out and still do things. The car’s GPS took me here - it’s not like I need to concentrate all that much anyway. Still, finding where I parked the rental is going to be interesting later. 

I looked at the sign on the side of the building where it listed the companies occupying the various floors. Wilson Group was there and its logo was a cat’s eye. I was in the right place. I paused then, glancing through the glass revolving door and seeing security guards at the desk. Turning, I sauntered away slowly, planning what I would say to get past the guards. 

I didn’t have an appointment. I didn’t have a contact name. I could try bluffing but I was a horrible liar. I was leaning against a small wall and my eyes were fixed on a public bench. I could see myself sitting on it, waiting, thinking, after having unsuccessfully been stopped from going in to see someone from Wilson Group - but not because I didn’t have an appointment, but because the company was no longer in occupation. Was it a memory or a vision, or was my brain imagining the events playing out that way? 

“Can you help me?” said a child’s voice next to me. 

I glanced to the side, and there was a little boy holding up a handheld console. I looked up and saw a likely father nearby on his phone, pacing while talking, a serious expression on his face.

The game on the screen was an iconic one: Tetris. The boy had gotten jammed up and there were several holes in his lines and the pieces were speeding up. 

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Hurry!” squealed the boy. 

I picked it up. I hadn’t played Tetris since I was around his age (10?) but it was like riding a bike. I quickly figured out how to turn the pieces and spent an intense couple of minutes clearing the gaps and getting the lines down to a manageable level before handing it back to the child. 

The boy said a delighted “Thanks!” when I gave him back the game. I had forgotten how engrossing video games could be. The entire world disappears when it becomes just you and the game, and it took me a minute to recall what I was doing. 

The adrenaline from playing Tetris worked its magic on me and I decided to chance it: walk in and see if I could get through without being challenged. 

I don’t think I’d seen anyone walk in or out of the revolving doors, which seemed strange for such a large building with probably thousands of employees working inside. I passed through into a large, cold foyer - the guards I had seen earlier were now gone and there was just the one receptionist whose head was down. There were those closed gates that open when you bleep your pass but the gates were all wide open, and the gate for wheelchairs was also wide open. 

I walked forwards, aware of the clacking of my shoes on the hard floor, but the receptionist didn’t look up, nor did any guards appear. I decided upon confidence and strode forward, past the open gates, as if this was totally expected, and stopped at the elevator bank, pressed the button for a lift and the doors of one pinged open. 

I was slightly alarmed to find the lift occupied by a cleaner - would they stop me for ID or, worse, somehow recognise my face and raise a fuss? But the cleaner glanced at me, nodded slightly, and I took that as leave to enter the lift. 

I remembered the floor Wilson Group was on but saw that the button for that floor had already been pressed by the cleaner. Should I press another one? I hesitated and the cleaner saw it as the doors closed. 

“You going up to the same floor?” he asked. 

I nodded. 

“You know it’s empty?”

“The sign on the front of the building says the company is here,” I said. 

The cleaner shook his head. “That sign needs updating. A lot of companies have left the building recently. The economy, I guess. Wilson Group, right? That’s one of the companies that went. I’m just making sure the toilets get flushed and there aren’t any dead rats lying around or what have you.” 

The elevator doors opened and we both got out. 

I opened the door into the suite for him and, sure enough, the place was a shell: large empty spaces, the occasional piece of furniture like a broken wheelie chair and some empty boxes were dotted around, wires hung from a ceiling. 

“Somebody ask you to meet them here?” asked the cleaner, as we walked the office space slowly. 

“My brother used to work for this company,” I said. “I wanted to talk to someone here about that. He died recently,” 

I thought the cleaner would say something generic, like that weird apology people make when they hear about death, but he paused and looked at me again. “Are you famous?” he asked.