Hi everyone! Thanks for taking the time to read my story. I wrote this for Nanowrimo last year so it may be a bit slow at times. But keep going. It's worth it. :)
Chapter One
"Thank you for your time. Here's your cheque; everything should be in order. It was nice working with you," the human resource officer recited blandly as she handed me my cheque. "Don't forget to hand in your security pass to the guard in the lobby as you leave."
I hate the human resource department. To someone like me, who has dealt with countless such officers, they are like the evil overlords of the corporate world, whose sole reason for existence is to ensure the rest of us drones keep the wheels of the corporate machine turning. And when cogs fail, HR officers like this highly polished girl in her Marc Jacobs business suit and Christian Louboutin high heels pick up the telephone and give the temp agency a quick ring, and people like me come running to pick up the slack.
I took the cheque from her, barely glancing at it – big corporations like this one always get it right. Even if they didn't, trying to squeeze more cash out of them was like trying to dry laundry outdoors in April – near impossible.
I tucked the cheque into my cavernous no-brand messenger bag; my security blanket, as it were, containing all I needed for the day – too many times the temp does not get assigned a desk to put her things and I just solved that problem my own way.
"A pleasure," I said, trying to keep the sarcasm in my voice to a minimum. I pulled out my name card from a special holder and held it out to her. "If you should need anyone to fill a position in future…" I began, the obvious end of that statement remaining unspoken.
"I'll ring the agency," the HR officer said, smiling sickeningly sweetly and ignoring my name card. "Good day."
Without another word, she turned on her heels and strode back into the depths of the department office, making it clear that this exit interview was over.
"And good riddance," I mumbled, slipping my name card into my coat pocket and leaving the office. People like these who think they are so high and mighty are just not worth my time, in my opinion. Down in the lobby, I obediently handed over my security pass and endured the indignity of standing by quietly while the guard conducted a search of my bag to ensure that I had not tried to make off with any confidential company documents.
Even the guard's most enthusiastic and thorough digging turned up nothing and I emerged into the cool October evening a free, but unemployed, woman. Two months of hell in that place as "office assistant" for a pittance. I was kept on my toes all day doing everything from typing reports, answering phone calls, making phone calls, brewing tea and watering the plants. I heard that their previous office assistant cracked one day, ran around the office in circles screaming then lay down on the floor and started making movements with her arms and legs as though making snow angels on the thick, expensive carpet. I'm glad I did not stay long enough to suffer the same fate she did. That episode was still recounted in awed hushed whispers around the office to this day.
The office crowd was starting to grow and the Tube was packed. If there is one good thing about the London Tube, it is a great equaliser. With few cars making it into the city, the minor executives who were pushing you around in the day are free game to be pushed around by you on the Tube after work. I had handed out my share of shoves to ex-colleagues who had made my life hell.
I got off at Monument Station, squeezing and shoving my way through the crowd to get to the doors before they shut. I then made my way up to street level and navigated down Cannon Street to the building where my agency was located. The problem with the company paying me directly was that it created a lot of extra paperwork for me. Such companies usually did not pay the agency its fee directly but included everything in the cheque and expected me to handle it. So I had to do it for them and hand over the cheque to the agency. Their accounting department would sort it out and hand over my share.
The people at the agency knew me well by now and I had little trouble in dealing with this situation. By the time everything was done and my hard-earned pay was in my hand, it was nearly 8pm. The sun had long set and the crowds, thankfully, long dispersed.
Stomach rumbling but having little desire to splurge now that I was officially unemployed again, I stepped into a nearby Pret-a-Manger for some dinner. Soup, a sandwich and a packet of crisps made up a meal. The shop was not too crowded but there were enough people so that I could hide at my corner table for a significantly long amount of time nursing a vanilla yoghurt smoothie and surfing the shop's free Internet on my HTC smartphone.
By 9pm however, a staff member came over and firmly but politely told me they were closing for the night and (unspoken, of course) it was time for me to get out. I complied and, the second I was out of the door, they flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed". I drew my coat tighter around me against the cold night air and made my way to the nearest Tube station to catch a train and go home.
By the time I had changed trains and got onto the Overground line, it was late and the train carriage was, for once in a rare while, empty except for me. I selected a seat at the far end of the carriage. As it was warm in the train, I took off my coat and draped it over the seat next to me. Settling in, I watched the lights of the passing buildings flash by and was lulled by the rhythmic clacking sound of the train passing over the tracks.
But, as the train pulled out of Dalston Kingsland Station, there was a terrific jerk and a bright unearthly light shone from the preceeding carriage. The sounds the train usually made also seemed to have been muffled and silenced.
"Oh god," I thought. "There's been an accident. I'm seeing the light, I'm going to die."
I got to my feet, trying to figure out what had happened but not daring to go to close to the forward carriage. They all say not to go towards the light, right? As I stared into the light, I was certain I was going to see my life flash before my eyes. But instead of old and best-forgotten childhood memories, the door between carriages was flung open and a man dashed in, dressed in nothing but a pair of black and brown checked boxer shorts.
My jaw dropped open. It is not everyday you get to see a sight like this half-naked man, especially not when said man had a dashingly handsome face, with complementing beard, melting brown eyes, luscious shoulder-length brown hair and a modelesque physique. And his abs – talk about a six pack; I had never seen anything like that in real life before.
The man ran to my end of the carriage and stood watching the other end as though waiting for something. Soon, another man (this one, sadly, fully clothed, taller, black-haired, blue-eyed and clean shaven) burst through the door, running hard as though being chased. The half-naked man caught his friend and stopped his momentum, pointed at the door and shouted urgently: "Shut it! Seal it off! Hurry!"
The second man extended his hand, palm out facing the door. There was a loud roaring and the entire carriage shook. I grabbed hold onto one of the grab bars to stop myself from losing balance and falling. Through the light, I thought I saw huge tentacles reaching out.
"Hurry up!" the man urged. His friend said a phrase in a commanding tone of voice, in a language I did not understand. There was a loud cracking sound and another huge jerk and then nothing – the light disappeared as if it had been sucked away and the train continued its journey as though nothing had happened.
"Well, that's that then. Goodoh Col," the half-naked man said, clapping his friend on the back. I must have looked like a fool, standing there with my mouth agape and eyes wide, wondering what the hell had just happened. It seemed like he noticed me then for the first time. "Close your mouth, love, you'll be catching flies," he said with a grin.
There was an odd but charming twinkle in his eye as he looked me over. His gaze fell on my coat, still draped over the seat. He picked it up and put it on. While it reached my mid-calf, it fell to just above his knee. "Hope you don't mind, love. Needs must," he said before opening the intercarriage door behind him. He flashed another debonair smile and disappeared through to the other carriage. His friend gave me a sheepish grin, shrugged and followed at his heels.
The announcement that the train had reached Hackney Central knocked me out of my stunned reverie. Had it been only five minutes since the train left the previous station? It felt like a much longer time.
"He's got my coat," I said aloud to myself, still feeling stunned and barely able to believe the strange events of the last two minutes that had culminated in this conclusion in my mind. "He's got my bloody coat."