Work Text:
> In the blink of an eye, he’s gone.
> You can’t see him anymore.
Right, the lighter.
Doors opened and shut in a spastic manner, everyone trying to get to their cubicles in the morning traffic. You fumble the lapel of your suit, feeling almost out of place as you did the day you first got here.
You’re not even supposed to be clocked in this early. Your shift starts at 9, the time reads just barely 7; You hope the blond man you met in the elevator appreciates the extra step you took to give him back his shit. You have a feeling if you met again by coincidence, you’d be accused of stealing. He just seems like the type to say something like that.
A higher up is surprisingly a lot harder to find than you thought. They aren’t very keen on working with each other, and asking others to see if they know where he is hasn’t been the most helpful. All you’ve gotten in reply are dismissive or patronizing comments. In response, you’re going to avoid asking any more of them lest you feel the need to lay a bitch out.
You’ve got two hours to properly search, instead of the 25 minute break in the middle of the day. If he’s found early, maybe you can hold a conversation— you honestly don’t feel like there’s a way around one, anyhow. Reluctantly, you step into the elevator. No one else is in it.
You shudder.
This time around, the doors close fully, leaving you to your independence in the box. You press a floor, hands fighting against your side. The walls look the same, a gentle buzz from the warm white light sits atop the ceiling. It’s false, you know it is. This place feels larger without the presence of another— there’s bile building up in the back of your throat. This was worse than last time; now, you’re alone.
Surprisingly, the doors open to a normal office floor. Your anxiety is calmed a bit; you’re safe, for now. The people on this floor seem to in similar positions as you— except there’s a good chance they clock out earlier. As you step out (quicker than necessary), you take a moment to look at your surroundings.
Against your natural aversion to staring up interactions with others, you tap the shoulder of the closest person. He’s taller than you, dark freckles contrasting the coral color of his suit. You blink, and he warmly smiles.
“Sorry to bother, but, do you know the owner of this lighter is? I’m trying to give it back. He’s tall, dull green blazer, blond…” you try to explain, but his expression doesn’t seem to indicate any recognition of who you’re talking about.
Unsurprisingly, the stranger shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Did you catch his name?”
“He gave me a couple… I’m not sure any of them were right.”
“I can’t really be of any help then, sorry. Hope you find him, though,” he waves you off, and goes back to his current task. Quietly, you sigh, and continue to search.
No one else has any input on him. Unlike the higher floors, the people here seem to be a bit more friendly to you— but still, the information you need is seldom. You check the clock.
7:09 AM.
You have a bit of time, as of now; You use this to ask others on the floor. Some give you suggestions on where to look next, others give you weird stares before answering. Yet, no one seems to know where he is. Just how niche is this guy’s job?
You step back into the elevator solemnly. Maybe another floor will bring you luck. Better yet, maybe someone has record of just who he is.
Just get this done before your shift, you think.
The next floor brings you to the employee catalogue. This is usually open to socially oriented workers or Human Resources, but your employers didn’t care enough to specify that, so it’s legal (for the most part) to be here. There are dozens of files, so you decide it would be in your best interest to start searching here.
You search in S, B, and C— half because those are the first initials of the fake last names he gave you, and half because you don’t believe you’re C-ing this B S. You don’t find him for a while. Some people share names, there are even files that have completely redacted info entirely. Your fingers brush over cabinets, dangerously close to getting an accidental cut at times. You skim the papers, the minutes tick by idly. There’s nothing.
You start to question if he even worked here. Your interviewer seemed to acknowledge him and be fine with his presence, which means the man had to have had a position there or at least have been familiar with him. It wouldn’t make sense if he just— didn’t exist. At least… he didn’t think it would.
Finally, you find something under C. A status report, fitting his image. The name is replaced in brackets with the word “COWORKER”. Odd, but you’ll take whatever you can get. The information on it is weird; unfortunately all the sentences with useful intel have been blacked out. Your eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing; The universe has to be fucking with you. there’s no way you went through all that just for this. Depressingly, the most you can do is shrug your shoulders.
It’s past 8:30 now. That took up a lot of your time. You push your glasses back up the bridge of your nose a read the document again, as if it’ll help. To your shock, your supervisor has been standing behind you for god knows how long. You let out a startled noise in tandem to your jolt— He smiles at you, unfriendly, but almost considerate. You can’t help but avoid eye contact.
“How’s my favorite intern doing? Sneaking around Company guarded areas, I see? I’ll give you lenience this time, but if you do it again, I’ll have to administer punishments.” He says, clasping his hands together. You nod while trying to swallow your fear. Brushing that aside, you ask him something about the senior from the elevator.
“Sudden question, but, do you know who that guy was? From the elevator a couple days ago? I’ve been trying to find him, I clocked early today so I could—“
“—ah, I see your superior has made a positive effect on you! I’m glad you’ve been convinced to start your work day earlier because of a friend.” He cuts you off, setting his hands behind his back.
You awkwardly smile. “Mhm… sure. But do you know where he is?”
You hold up the document to the interviewer’s face for a second; He doesn’t falter, scanning it to give you any information he has. His pupils shift back up to you, and politely, he shakes his head.
“I apologize, but, I’m not sure I can give you anything on who this is. An extra hire would certainly be.. news to me. I wonder if anyone else has done a report on him.” He says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I suggest you start your work early today. This little escapade you’re going won’t result in anything fruitful, I’m sure. Nevertheless, have a good rest of your day— I hope you find something.”
With that, he turns a heel and leaves. Undoubtedly, his answer didn’t add up at all— he acted like he knew him, but still gave nothing useful in the matter. You check the time again; 8:41. There’s disappointment heavily sulking in your chest, but you push it aside for now.
Maybe getting work done would be a good benefactor to your early start today.
—————————
6:36 PM.
You practically collapse onto your couch. The interviewer was right— your day was loaded with assignments. This job is going to be the end of you— like it hadn’t been already at least 6 times before you even got properly accepted. You’re sure you could be pronounced legally dead while droning around the office.
You turn, staring up to the ceiling. God, if only you could sleep without taking that goddamned medication first. Then maybe you’d be already getting rest for tomorrow. Along one of the arms of the couch lays a newspaper, strewn across it without much care. You recognize it. It’s the same paper you saw the posting for your job in— the one that got you into this whole thing.
You were so determined to obtain the position that once you found it, you immediately started researching. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to actually read it this time. Do the crossword, sudoku, maybe even catch up with the world…
Sitting up, you grab a pencil and flip to a page with a word problem in it. It’s a way to pass the time, at least. You begin scribbling away— puzzles were something you’ve been at least decent at.
while writing down the answer to one of the questions on the side, an article catches your eye. It’s the man you saw in the elevator, a charming photo of him sitting under the headline just above. You pause— finally, maybe something. You adjust the paper to properly examine it, words bold and almost jarring.
Reading the title, you freeze.
UNIDENTIFIED MAN COMMITS SUICIDE BY FALL IN YESTERDAY’S MORNING HOURS
What…?
…No, no, that can’t be right. This was published before you got the job, you met him. You were stuck in an elevator with him for god knows how long, you have his lighter. Suicide? The guy was perfectly fine when you saw him. But.. those kinds of things are always silent, you think. You read the rest of the article. He fits the description, based off the information they got from his lanyard— similar to the one you wear. Your breath hitches.
You’ve been searching for someone who’s dead. That’s why no one knows him. Maybe because no one bothered to tell you what happened. Maybe it’s a company taboo. Before you can even stop it, tears border the ducts in your eyes. Subconsciously, you were looking forward to meeting him again. Even if shallowly, you knew him.
You’re mourning someone you’ve only met once. How pathetic.
> …You’re alone on the elevator now.