Chapter Two — Carson

I hate Mondays.

The day was my worst in the entire week. I mean who likes Mondays?

Somehow people always seem to still live in the weekend on Mondays.

So for a full ten hours I was on my heels correcting other people's ridiculous mistakes.

There was the case of a lost shipment of silicon in Germany, a mishap with one of the robots in New York and apparently an employee got knocked off his feet in Tampa trying to dodge a crane's load that had accidentally swung in the wrong direction. Luckily he only sustained a few minor injuries. Which was good since the last thing I needed was a litigation. 

By 8 I was completely exhausted and sat rubbing the bridge of my nose. Every muscle in my body ached at the simple action of moving my hand back and forth.

I heard my door open, the click of heels on the marble floor and the dull thud of something flat hitting my desk.

I opened my eyes through my fingers and found Alex standing before me with that her usual impassive look. She'd been working for me for four years now and I still couldn't tell what she was thinking at any point in time.

Of course it didn't matter what she thought as long as she did her job well but I did wonder at a few things about her. Like why she always wore the same unflattering shade of grey no matter what clothing item it was, how she always knew the right random thing to say at the right random time and what on earth she was always listening to with those black earbuds in her ears.

"I've arranged a meeting with Jeffrey Daniels, the man your mother wanted you to speak with? Also I just got off the phone with a Patricia, she sounded really upset, I think you should call her back."

I groaned. Could this day get any worse? 

Patricia was my newest what's-her-name.

What's-her-names were women I used to fill the yawning, black void in my soul. I called them that because I never seemed to remember their names after a week. If they lasted that long.

Truth be told, I didn't enjoy using women — unlike the media so untruthfully relays — I just craved human contact but since the only friends I actually enjoyed being around lived almost a million miles away and these women practically threw themselves at me, who was I to say no and disappoint them?

I really didn't know what these women saw in me that after a week of breaking up with them they still called to find out if I was actually serious, which shows they knew nothing about me, because if they did they'd know that once I made up my mind, nothing could change it.

"If she calls again tell her I'm dead."

"Do I get to make up how you died?" Alex's face morphed into the only other expression I was sure she could muster: fake enthusiasm.

I wanted to laugh but lately it just seemed that the void managed to swallow the sound and any form of happiness before it escaped and appeared on my face.

"Whatever, just make sure she doesn't get two kilometers near me."

She nodded. "It's getting really late, would you like me to order you some dinner?"

I glanced at the little wooden antique clock I got from my mom for my twenty-fifth birthday, it said 9.40.

"No, it's fine. You should go home, I'll finish up here."

Something I said must have shocked her as she drew back, her mouth forming a small 'o'.

"Are you actually serious?" She asked wide-eyed.

I narrowed my eyes in warning. Taking this cue, she straightened out and cleared her throat. "Gee, I don't know what to say. Thanks, I guess? I had plans anyways. See you tomorrow then?"

I waved her off and started scanning through the documents she placed on my desk.

I didn't know how long had passed before my door opened again. I'd propped my stockinged feet up on my table, leant back into my chair and was reading by the light on my desk.

"I thought I told you to go home?" I questioned without looking up.

"Unfortunately, your royal bossiness, your stupid orders don't apply to me."

I snapped my head towards the masculine voice. With the light coming from the empty hallway behind him he looked nothing more than a tall, slightly muscular silhouette.

Until he turned on the overhead light and I finally recognized the boyish smile and warm hazel eyes of Casper.

We went to the same high school and only recently reconnected. Unfortunately Casper was a party animal and we reconnected right when the black void got bigger and heavier to carry than usual leading me to become as sociable as a lump of coal.

"Casper, what are you doing here by ..." I consulted the clock. "Almost ten-thirty?"

"What does it look like? Saving your granny ass from becoming dust."

My face contorted into a frown. "I like my granny ass, thank you."

He shook his head and ambled over to the coat hanger by the door. Grabbing my leather jacket he walk over and violently pushed my feet off the table. Handing me the jacket, he angled his head towards the door. 

I groaned. "I'm sorry Cas, but not today."

"Why not?" His brown hair fell over his eyes and gave him a fearful look.

"Because I'm in the middle of a shit storm here," I gesticulated towards my desk that was littered with brown files. "And I can't take a break."

"Of course you can! It's just one drink. Besides, you've been so stick-up-my-ass serious lately and I'm worried about you," his face softened. "Just one drink and I won't bother you anymore."

"What if I say no?"

"I can't force you, obviously, but guess who recently found out that a certain competitor is one wrong move on the stock market from complete bankruptcy?" The smug grin on his face told me everything. I immediately perked up at this news.

Casper was the editor-in-chief of Bus Daily, a magazine that was like our bible in the business world. It shared everything a business person needed. From share values to stock market predictions, they wrote it all. If I was being honest with myself, that was partly the reason I became friends with Casper and I suspected he knew.

"Which competitor?" I asked, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.

"Uh-huh." He shook his head. "I'm not telling you until you have that drink with me."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Final chance, Carson. Get up and come have a drink with an old buddy and I'll give you the scoop before we publish tomorrow." He made to leave.

"Fine! I'll come."

I pulled out my comfortable sneakers from their place under my desk and struggled into them all the while cursing Casper, the void in me and life generally. I put on the jacket and joined him at the door.

"This better be worth it," I gave him my glare that I've been told says 'I'll rip you open and sell your organs in the black market if you test me'.

"Trust me buddy, it's worth it." He clapped me on the back.

We took the elevator down while Casper filled me in on the details.

The big scoop he used to blackmail me into going out with him turned out to be mediocre, nothing I could actually use and as I sat at the stuffy bar nursing a glass of scotch, I found that I couldn't really blame Casper for three reasons.

One, right from high school he was known to do anything and everything to get what he wanted. Two, the void was working overtime right now and three, while I wanted to get mad at him a small part of me knew he was right. I've been cooped up either in my house or in my office, too lazy and tired to do anything but work which in turn made me even more tired and lazy. Talk about vicious cycle.

I looked around the nightclub for something to do. Casper was nowhere to be seen-long since ditching me and losing himself in the throngs of people dancing on the dance floor.

I turned back to my drink and tried to tune out the heart-pounding bass, flashing lights and the choking smell of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke.

As I stared into the yellowish-brown liquid in my glass wondering when I'd regressed to the point in my life where I'd feel lonely at a club, the tempo of the music slowed and allowed a giggle reach me from my right.

It was the high pitched laugh of a woman but what attracted me was the genuineness. Since I couldn't make the sound myself it was only logical that other people's laughs fascinated me.

She had her hair down, a glorious mass of curls dyed in every color that covered her face. She was speaking with the bartender, her face pressed into his ear so he could hear her over the almost-deafening music.

After a minute the bartender nodded and turned his back to her. Seeing my chance I leaned into her ear to talk to her.

"What's your poison?" I asked through her hair. It smelt just as glorious as it looked.

She leaned away and just as I thought I was going to receive a slap for invading her private space, she threw her hands up and turned to me. "Why are people so f-ing morbid these days? Going around asking what poison I take. Fine, if I was gonna kill myself I'd use cyanide, happy now?"

I was too focused on her face to reply her. Or what I could see of it anyway, because right above her nose, framing her beautiful eyes was a pink, intricately designed mask. She seemed so odd in a place like this.

Suddenly my brain clicked and I processed what she'd said.

"Oh my god, no! That's not what I meant. It was a figure of speech!" I shook my head but I couldn't help the curving on my mouth.

I froze.

That was the first time in a while that I'd ever smiled and somehow this unusual woman with her rainbow hair and strange mask managed to bring out something I'd thought I'd lost the ability to do.

I looked at her in awe. Who are you? 

"Really?" She frowned.

"Yes, it means what liquor do you prefer not what poison would you use to kill yourself."

"Well, if that's what it means then I'm right to take it literally because alcohol is poison."

She said it with so much conviction that I was unsure of how to reply.

Eventually, I was able to think clearly. "Why do you think that?" I asked. 

By then we were sitting with our heads bent together so we could hear each other over the music. I had to repeatedly remind myself to concentrate on her face, not the feel of her soft skin against my leg or her warm breath on my cheek.

"I don't have to tell you why, all I know is that a slow, painful death awaits you at the bottom of the bottle."

I was about to respond when one of the many flashing pink lights crossed my face. I blinked to moisten my eyes and I saw her take a sharp, panicked breath.

"What's wrong?" I frowned at her wide eyes.

"I have to go!"

And just like that she left her seat and hurried out, disappearing among the dancers. 

I turned to ask the bartender who she was but he was nowhere to be found.

After she left I could feel myself going back to my default mode, the void rebooting itself and all traces of the way I felt talking with her going down the void like it was being flushed down a dark toilet.

There was only one thing on my mind: I have to find her.