He was woken up from a dreamless sleep by the repetitive blaring of his alarm. The horrible screeching—bzzzt, bzzzt, bzzzt—had him starting off his day with a dull throb in the back of his head. He groaned and cracked his eyes, the open curtains allowing him to see the orange glow of the sun chasing away the night. How he longed to roll over and go back to sleep, but that was a luxury he was not privy to.
He grabbed his phone off the bedside table, dismissing the alarm. While his phone was open, he checked if he had gotten any notifications during the night. Nothing important, only a text from his mother that simply read, ‘Call me.’
He grimaced.
He swiped the notification away, not wanting to call his mother in the slightest. It was futile, though. She would take his silence as an answer and call him anyway. Rubbing his hands down his face, he laid in bed for a few extra minutes. The motivation to go to work eluded him, just as it had every day for the past couple of years. If only he could pay someone to go to work for him. However, having the money to do that meant he had the money to not care about work at all.
The sky brightened the longer he laid there. Sighing, he forced himself to get ready for the day. He went through the motions of his morning routine: a five-minute shower, dying off and putting on a robe, brushing his teeth, not caring about his hair, shaving his face, and dressing. His wardrobe was bland. Most of the suits that hung neatly from hangers were drab. It wasn’t because he was against color or anything, but color meant that he’d have to read the washing instructions on the labels. His mother had taught him that vibrant clothes needed extra care to stay nice, and he didn’t want to extend that effort to his clothes. Also, with his limited options, he never agonized over what he wore each day. If he could wear the same exact suit every day, he would. However, a coworker of his assumed he hadn’t showed the last time he had attempted that.
The charcoal suit called to him today, so he donned it without a second thought. Skipping breakfast like he always did, he shouldered on an overcoat and a bag before heading out the door into the crisp morning air. The sky was clear enough for sun to shine through, yet dense enough for him to worry there might be rain. He slipped his phone out his pocket, checking the weather app. While it said there would be an overcast sky, there was a slim chance that it was going to rain. He still contemplated going back to pick up his umbrella but decided it wasn’t worth it in the end. His bus was coming soon, and he didn’t want to miss it.
The bus stop was a ten-minute walk from his house. He was lucky to get a townhouse this close to one since he was outside the city center. The one downside being that the buses came every hour instead of every thirty minutes like most of the buses in the city. Peering down the street, he saw the bus idling at the stop before his. It was still four minutes until the bus was scheduled to come, so he curtailed his rising impatience. Besides, he’d rather not be early for work. Wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression after all.
When the bus stopped in front of him, he boarded it and sat at the first open window seat he saw. At that point, he let his mind wander, tuning out the chatter in the background. He had ridden this route so much that he only needed part of his mind present to identify his stop. Pressing the yellow strip to signal he wanted to stop, he waited for the bus to slow down at 5th and Abington. Work was a five-minute walk from the stop, which totaled his commute time to thirty minutes.
He swiped his badge as he walked into the building, nodding at the receptionist when she shot him a kind smile. Instead of taking the elevator, he jogged up the stairs. He was a homebody, so he needed to find exercise where he could. He opened the door to his floor, staring at the sea of cubicles. He stifled the sigh that wanted to escape, heading to his personal cube of hell.
Most of his coworkers were hard at work, but a few acknowledged his presence with either a wave, look, or nod. The soul-crushing despair that plagued him every time he stepped into the building intensified when he saw that his boss was loitering by his desk. The man shot him slimy smile and motioned for him to come faster.
When he was within talking distance, the man said, “Erik, nice to see that you’re on time.”
“I don’t make a habit of being late.” He wouldn’t want to give his boss any ammunition to get rid of him.
“No, you don’t. However, coming to the officer earlier than requested shows quite the initiative.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“Of course, that’s not what I’m here to discuss. Your dear coworker, Lydia, has taken her company-approved maternity leave, so our hands are a little short.”
He desperately didn’t want to take on Lydia’s massive project, but he knew he wouldn’t be lucky enough to think his boss was going to ask someone else. “Lydia will be missed.”
Another not-really-there smile graced his boss’s thin, pale lips. “Yes, that’s why I’m here to ask whether you can help out a little on her project. I know Lydia gave it to Jerome, but I’m not certain the boy can finish it by himself.”
Perhaps because you shove all your work on him, he thought. However, he knew that saying such would anger his boss beyond words, thus transforming work from the fifth circle of hell to the ninth. Instead, he replied, “I’d be happy to help Jerome. Send me the necessary files, and I’ll be right on it.”
“I knew I could count on you, Erik! I’ll tell Jerome to send over the files ASAP.” His boss clapped him on the shoulder before walking back to his office.
He sat down in his chair, booting on the desktop. The day he could never come back here again was a day that wasn’t coming soon enough. Whilst he waited for his computer to boot up, he grabbed all the documents he needed from his filling cabinet. Rebecca was tapping her pen like always, and it drove him absolutely insane.
When his computer turned on, and he put in his password, he clicked onto his email. Jerome replied quickly, so he was sure that the man had sent him the files already. And there it was, at the very top of his unread emails. The man was not one to disappoint when it came to efficiency. That’s probably why his boss tortured Jerome the most.
|From: Jerome Wexley|
|Subject: Files for Lydia’s Project|
|Erik,
The files are attached to this email. I know you might not be stoked about the extra work, but you’re really helping me out. Let me know if you need any help. I owe you one.
Sincerely,
Jerome Wexley|
Damn straight, you owe me one, he thought. Jerome was going to buy him lunch twice this week if he had anything to say about it. He opened the attachment, groaning when he saw that it was over one hundred pages long. The amount of work this was going to add to his load made him want to scream. Maybe a trip to the vacant bathroom on the 14th floor was in his future, so he could rage in peace.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Monica peered over the wall that separated their cubicles. She asked, “How long?”
“132.”
She whistled before chuckling, “Boy am I glad that I’m not you right now.”
“Shut up,” he grumbled, but there was no heat behind it. Monica was one of the few he tolerated, and he knew she would find a way to life his spirits and distract from the pulsating headache that wrapped around his entire head. The woman knew her way around a margarita mix.
“Up to coming over? Jerome said he could come tonight,” she leaned more over the wall, “He said he would bring his girlfriend.”
He raised an eyebrow, “A girlfriend? He didn’t tell me about that.”
“It’s because he knew you would tease him. You should see how he talks about her. I could practically hear the love in his voice.” She mimed gagging.
“And he’s worried about me teasing him! But yeah, I can come over. No one’s waiting for me at home.”
“You and me both.”
He laughed, and she sunk back into her own cubicle. They couldn’t joke around for long before the boss came to check on what they were doing. Thinking of the man tanked the good cheer gained from talking to Monica faster than what he thought was healthy. So, he shifted his focus to the work on hand. If he wanted to leave work on time, which he always did because he didn’t get overtime pay, he had to start on the files.
Breaking when necessary, he absorbed himself into his work. Overwhelming his mind with lines and lines of words made the day move quicker than watching the clock did. He pulled him mind from the files completely when he saw that ten minutes remained of his shift. Monica had already left because she had to come in earlier than him. Rebecca, unfortunately, was still there and still clicking her pen.
After he finished packing up, he walked back down the stairs and swiped his badge again as he left. As he went toward the bus stop, he glanced at his phone to look at the time. He then sped up because the bus was about to come, and he would rather listen to his boss wax sonnets about his wife than miss it. He got there right as the bus was pulling up.
Placing a hand on his chest in an ineffective notion to calm his beating heart, he grabbed the same seat as this morning. Unlike earlier, he was the only one on the bus. A fact that pleased him to no end. When he looked up, he locked eyes with the bus driver in the rearview mirror. He managed an awkward smile that the bus driver returned.
Right as he was sinking into his routine daydreaming, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He grumbled to himself, but he took out the phone to see who was calling. He groaned out loud when he saw that it was his mother. He knew exactly what she wanted to talk about, and he didn’t want to talk about it at all. However, he also knew that his mother would call him until he picked up, so it was in his best interest to get it over with.
“Hello,” he sighed.
“Don’t greet your mother like that, Erik,” his mother snapped. Off to a great start.
“Sorry, mom. What did you want to talk about?”
“I was wondering if you found anyone yet. I met a nice girl at the farmer’s market last Sunday, and a sophisticated young man at the courthouse yesterday. They informed me that they were single, so I’ll put a word in for you if you aren’t taken.”
“Why do you ask random strangers if they’re single? Do you know how embarrassing that is?”
“Do you know how embarrassing it is to hear about how everyone else’s son is doing good, important work while mine lazes around an office? The least you can do is reassure me that you won’t die alone.”
Ignoring the slight against his job, he focused on the important bit, “I’m not going to die alone, mom. I’m 25, not 95. I have plenty of time to find someone.”
“You’re not getting any younger! I want grandchildren!”
Unlike what his mother thought, his single status didn’t elude him. He just wasn’t up to getting into a relationship. His last had ended poorly, and another heartbreak was not what he desired at the moment. If only he could get that through his mother’s thick skull. He said, “You know, you have two other children that can give you grandchildren. Do they also get interrogated?”
“Your sister is fifteen, and your brother is seven.”
“So?” he shrugged, not that she would see, “You’re not dying anytime soon. They’ve got plenty of time to grow up, settle down, and have kids like you want.”
His mother huffed, “I don’t know why you’re so reluctant to have kids. Do you not like them? Even if you happen to settle down for a man, that doesn’t mean you can’t adopt or have a surrogate.”
He wanted to bang his head against the metal side of the bus. “I’m not ready. I will have them when I want to, not a second sooner. You’re going to have to accept that.”
“Fine.”
He knew by her tone that she had not dropped the topic whatsoever. However, he would take any victory he could get. “Thank you. I’m going to hang up now, okay?”
“Okay. Bye, I love you.”
“Bye.”
He pressed the end call button and slid the phone back into his pocket. He looked up and saw that the bus driver’s gaze once again met his in the rearview mirror. There was a glint in the man’s eyes that he didn’t like, yet he wasn’t too worried about it.
The bus descended into a nice quiet, and it stayed that way until they crossed over a bridge. The river underneath it was wide and deep, curving banks that contained roaring rapids. He knew something was wrong when the bus became silent, not even the general noise of a moving vehicle could be heard. The sudden lack of noise caught his attention immediately. Glancing around, he didn’t notice that anything went afoul. He didn’t notice anything until he locked eyes with the bus driver for what seemed to be the hundredth time.
“Are you Erik Wilmer?” the bus driver rasped.
He refused to answer.
The bus swerved sharply to the right. It went over the guardrail, plummeting into the river. He flew from his seat, slammed to the ground with a resounding thud. His head cracked against the floor, and a wave of nausea swelled. Water started to trickle in as the bus sunk. His fear rose with every inch of water gained.
He heard the hissing of a seatbelt being unbuckled. Everything within him shouted at him to get away, but he was still disoriented from hitting his head against the floor. The bus driver splashed through the thin layer of water that covered the ground, the sound growing louder as the man grew closer. Curling up into a ball, he hid his face from the approaching man. However, it was for naught as the bus driver grabbed him by the leg.
He was flipped onto his back and lifted by the front of his shirt. The bus driver growled, “Are you Erik Wilmer?”
“What does it matter?” The man had already doomed them.
“Are you Erik Wilmer?”
“Is that all you can say?” he shouted.
He tried to struggle out of the bus driver’s grip, but it was too strong. Slumping in defeat, he raised his head to stare at the bus driver. Color drained from his face as he saw the inhuman glow that had overtaken the bus driver’s irises. Solid gold bored into his brown, and he took in a shuddering breath. The water was to their knees. He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do.
The bus driver asked, “Are you Erik Wilmer?”
“Yes, I’m Erik Wilmer,” he replied defeated.
A horrible, wicked smile crawled onto the bus driver’s face. The man’s—monster’s—grip shifted from the front of his shirt to his neck. There was no time for him to prepare before he was submerged beneath the water. In his shock, he inhaled a mouthful of water.
Twisting and squirming, he tried to escape the monster’s grip again, but it was still to no avail. His body rebelled against the water entering his lungs, the water wanting to be expelled. However, the continued inhalation of more and more water prevented that despite how he tried to hold his breath. He could hear the sound of his struggle, his legs and arms slapping against the surface of the water.
His lungs burned from the combination of the lack of oxygen and the surplus of water. The dizziness he felt from hitting his head earlier paled in comparison to how light-headed he was becoming. Holding his eyes open became harder as his body weakened, and spots blackened his vision. Distantly, he heard how his violent writhing grew still.
He was dying.
As he accepted his fate, the burning pain that seared his lungs and deadened his thoughts faded into the background. His consciousness floated gently. There was no noise. There was no fear. The last thing that he could remember thinking was that he wished he could’ve seen everyone one last time. But this was not a time for regrets. His mother cautioned against carrying those into the afterlife. With a single blink, he was dead.
Yet, he opened his eyes not a minute later to a clear sky and a blazing sun. A trembling hand lifted to touch his face, feeling his familiar features. He was alive? He sat up with an arm at his forehead to block the intense sunlight. A shocked gasp left him when he was met with a never-ending plane of sand. Cacti the one thing to break up the sameness of the landscape.
Looking down, he saw that an object laid in his lap. He raised it to his face and saw that it was a compass. Round, silver, and attached to a long chain. However, the odd thing was that the needle didn’t point north. It was pointing east. His fingers also felt the edges of grooves at the back of it. Turning it over, he observed that words were written. Etched into its back was, ‘DESTINATION: CENTER OF THE WORLD.’