HUSH in the STORM
Jen, a young widow floundering in the storm of mourning, whose only lifeline is her humdrum job, is thrust into a maze of deceit and intrigue by a coworker named Tom. . . at the request of her late husband, or so Tom says.
PART ONE - Death and Life
Chapter 1
If I screamed, would anyone hear me?
Except for the muted swoosh of piped-in air, there was nothing but silence. I sat alone, imprisoned within concrete walls two stories beneath the world. Could anything break me free?
I longed to smell fresh air, hear birds sing, and see sunshine. But, by day I was shackled to my cubicle in the basement of a downtown office building, and by night, I locked myself away between what could never be again and what, perhaps, never really was. I had a foreboding feeling this would be my future as well, only worse. The thought pressed like a clammy hand upon my shoulder. I shuddered it off.
A short, high-pitched ding pierced the quiet. Tom stepped out of the elevator, then pushed open the glass door with the words Abernathy & Smith Accounting Firm etched on it. He was drenched to the skin.
“Hey, Jen.”
“Hmm.” I raised my left hand in a semi-response as my right one smoked over the number pad on my keyboard, one more time.
“Man, I’m soaked.” He rubbed his dark curls as he peered over my four foot cubicle divider. Water dribbled from his shirt cuffs down onto my flower of the month calendar. He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to an imaginary window. “Did you know it was storming like crazy out there?”
“Really?” My jaw set, making a dental impression in my now tasteless chewing gum. I hate small talk. Leave me alone.
“Still at it?” He nodded towards my corner-angled monitor, flinging a few more droplets in my direction.
I glared at him. “No, I just love my job so much I hate to leave.” The sarcasm in my voice dripped like molten tar. The promise I’d made to my husband to work here no longer applied. Still, this job remained a buoy in the stormy swells of uncertainty which engulfed me in a hushing roar no one else heard. Dutiful routine. It was the main reason I didn’t stay in bed with the covers pulled up over my eyes.
Tom raised an eyebrow, then looked down at his hands. His hurt, little-boy act scraped across my nerves. But, the way those wet, black locks stuck to his forehead tugged at the sympathy string in my heart.
I sucked in a deep sigh, and then let it out to a silent count of three. “Sorry, Tom. I’m just a bit frazzled right now.”
“You’ve been working too much.”
It seemed better than going home, but I wasn’t going to discuss that with him. I swung my office chair to face him.”So, why are you still here in the netherworld?” And making a puddle inside my cubicle?
He snorted a quick chuckle. “Came back ‘cause I left my umbrella.”
“Ah.” Why would he come back for one now since he was already sopping wet? I shook off the question and looked back at the spreadsheet.
He came around to my side and leaned forward to read my computer screen. Remnants of tuna fish sandwich fumed from his breath. I scooted my chair over an inch. The black rimmed office wall clock across the room ticked away the seconds. Why wasn’t he leaving?
“Tom, look. I hate to be rude but. . .” I swiveled away from him. “I need to get back to this so I can get out of here.” Though for the life of me I didn’t know why. All that awaited me was an empty apartment, dark and cold. Same as here. Same as the rest of my solitary life. There is some comfort in consistency.
“Back away from it for the night, Jen. You’ll find the error with fresh eyes in the morning.” He slapped his hand on my desk, making me jerk. “Come on. Let’s get outta here and grab a bite to eat.”
I felt my eyes widen. "What?" Was he asking me out?
His deep, blue eyes twinkled with a spark of life. “You know? Fresh air? The real world?” A tint of brogue, no doubt leftover from some forgone ancestor, twirled the last word on his tongue. They called his type the black Irish— dark hair, piercing blue eyes.
The real world. How long had it been since I sensed that existed? My soul moaned for something different, exciting and unexpected. Maybe that would yank away this grip which held me under as wave after wave of numbing grief rolled over me. Then, just maybe, I could feel something again.
I glanced to the lower right-hand side of the computer screen. It said, “6:25 PM”. My stomach responded with a silent rumble to remind me I hadn’t stopped for lunch. Now it was dinnertime. I still couldn’t muster the courage to eat in public alone, but knew I was too tired to whip up something back home. That meant I’d munch out on a bag of salt and carbs instead. If I was going to blow my diet for the fifth time this month, why not do it in a restaurant with company for a change? “Sure, I guess I should eat something.”
His back straightened as if someone inserted a pole down his neck. “Really?”
He had a nice chest when he didn’t slouch. I grabbed my purse off the back of my chair. “Yes, but we go Dutch.”
He blinked. “Okay. But, we’d better take Broadway. Roads are really slick. Must be a wreck up on Dead Man’s Curve again. It’s a freaking parking lot out there on the highway.”
My mind jumped to another rainy commute last autumn. It was the night I learned why the curve had that nickname. In my mind, I saw red and blue lights pulsate at the edge of the sharp turn, mirrored in the sodden asphalt. The sound of sirens and news crews re-filled my ears.
I saw Tom go pale, hand to mouth. He touched my shoulder. “Geez, I’m sorry. I forgot that was where your husband . . .” He gulped, wide-eyed.
“Yeah. It was. That’s okay.” I waved the awkward moment away and pushed the tears back into the deep, dark crevice where they belonged. I never wanted to hear the eggshells crack as well-meaning friends and colleagues tiptoed around my mourning. My father’s child, I’d learned to be strong and “buck it up” at an early age, at least in public.
He cleared his throat. “Alright. How about Bob’s Burgers—or do you eat red meat?”
“Usually not. But tonight, yes. I could devour a cheeseburger with relish.” I moved my eyebrows rapidly, pen between my fingers in a mock cigar, imitating the Vaudeville comedian Groucho Marx.
Those sapphire eyes beamed brighter as his grin reached them. He’d caught the pun. At least he was intelligent. I had to say that for him.
He spun on his heel and bowed. “After you, Ma’am.”
I stood, clicked off my monitor and followed his lead. Tom played gentleman and punched the up button. The elevator gave a swift ding. The steel doors whished open. Tom humphed. "Still on this floor. Luck o’ the Irish.”
“Must be. This dinosaur usually takes forever.”
"Probably no one else in the building. Just us two.” He let me pass.
I felt another shoulder-clamp feeling. I didn’t really know this guy. He’d only worked in my section for a few months. Could I trust him? I sighed to myself and shook it off, again. Please, Jen, get a grip. It’s just a cheeseburger. I dug into my purse. "Where are my keys?"
He dangled them in front of my nose. “Left 'em on your desk. But, we should take my car."
I shook my head. "Uh, no. We shouldn’t."
With a jolt, the elevator, my passageway back to the real world, grunted and churned. He glanced at his cell phone and texted something. His left jaw twitched. Was it me, or had his mood suddenly darkened?
“I was just trying to save you . . .” His thought trialed off as his attention lifted to the numbers above the door. They lit up. B2, ding, B1.
I touched his arm. “Tom, I don’t need saving.”
The left side of his mouth stretched into a smirk. There was a jolt, then a bang. The lights went out. We were stuck.
I sensed his presence move closer to me, invading what little space I had. Oh, no. Don’t make a pass at me. Not here, trapped like this.
Then, in the semi-darkness, I saw a reddish-white glow illuminating the panic button. Please, God. Please let there be someone else in the building. I reached to push it, but Tom grabbed my wrist and shoved it down.
“Don’t press that.”
My eyebrows knit together. Before my mouth could form a “Why?”, his other hand slipped underneath his damp jacket. My eyes followed it. The glimmer of shiny metal reflected off the panic button’s light.
My heart froze.