Chapter 1 - Genesis

David

I should have known it was a bad day to go to work when I woke up with a stuffed nose, splitting headache, nauseous stomach, and a temperature of a hundred point seven degrees. Any fool could see that I had a spring cold - or even worse the flu - and that going to work would only end in one of two disasters. One, I would pass along the cold to someone else until I eventually caught it again, never really recovering from this debilitating sickness. Or two, I would push myself too far and miss more than just this one day to recover laying in a hospital bed with pneumonia. I shook my head at the outcomes, neither one very conducive to my already poor bachelor lifestyle.

At this point, a smart person, maybe even a smart fool, would have picked up the phone and called their boss. And then, explaining ever so delicately and unobtrusively, asked to be released from work because of an illness; probably even going so far as to label it an elusive "24-Hour Bug" and saying that I should be back on my feet by tomorrow.

I was not a fool though. I was an idiot. Like every idiot with bills to pay, I dragged myself out of bed, flipped on a bathroom light, and fumbled around until I found the Dayquil. Then, I tried to clean the rafters and shutters with as much wind as I could force through the musty pipes. Not much air, but a lotta phlegm.

Gazing into the mirror, I looked like a total mess. I was used to looking like that in the mornings. My thick black hair hung in opposing waves from the pillow I had smashed against my head, once again trying to administer the needed relief directly. My eyes were dull, instead of the usual bright starburst hazel that caught people's attention. I also cast a critical eye over the frumpy body that housed my soul. I mean I had enough muscle to move around and work with, but nothing to attract the right kind of attention from the ladies. I sighed to myself, wishing as usual to break the mirror and rearrange the image until I was satisfied with the "me" that I saw. When living in a house that you don't own - and were a few days late on the rent for- it was a poor option. So, I grabbed some clean clothes out of the dresser in my bedroom and hopped into a hot shower.

The water was so soothing I almost didn't realize I was running ten minutes late. Moving like a whirlwind - which was normal for my scatterbrained life - I toweled dry, dressed into my drab work uniform, and grabbed my wallet, keys, and cell phone before blasting out my door with a granola bar quickly being jammed down my digestive tract. A few miles over the speed limit was all I allowed myself as I gunned my car to life and rocketed down the old farm roads. Recently paved to look brand new due to housing development, it was a perfect shortcut. The last thing I needed was a speeding ticket on my way to work when I was already running late. Just like any average guy my age, I enjoyed the exhilarating feeling of speed. It had almost cost me an arm and a leg a few times, but I still couldn't help myself.

I made it to work, luckily without a single police officer on the back roads this morning, with seven minutes to spare before I was due to punch in for the daily duties. Working customer service for a huge corporation was worse than a root canal for a crocodile without Novocain. At least the crocodile would kill you when you started. This job did just the opposite. It drained you of all personality and flavor that made us as humans unique. At least, most of us became boring.

Many of my coworkers said I was highly resistant to such immunizations against humor and spirit. I wore green shoelaces for Pete's sake. How much more crazy, weird, and humorous could you get? That was a story all of its own though. As I walked in that morning, I kept thinking it was going to be another beautiful day in hell. Paradise was not even in the same universe as mine anymore. Paradise sat reserved for the super rich that could afford not to shop where I worked.

Our company - and I use the term "our" very loosely - used to have competition. However, thanks to a bankruptcy from our competition's main office, they closed down their doors. Our company was only too glad to take over the surprised customers, as any good flytrap will do for roaming flies. Doing so created something that terrifies shoppers in a local area. It created a monopoly; a monopoly so powerful that several small businesses closed within a year. A monopoly that would probably give ancient empires something to look at and go, "Hmm, now there's an interesting idea." But of course, just like all good monopolies, it was pointless to fight against it. Those who tried to attack the incoming wave only prolonged the inevitable. Sooner or later, the wave swallowed everyone in its depths. Those of us who saw it smartest to ride the wave have also paid the price. Soon, everything we wanted was no longer available.

Well, perhaps not everything, now that I think about it. The hottest CDs still came out every Tuesday. The clothing lines kept a venerable stock of up-to-date fashions and styles to keep most people looking "today", though some people still needed to hire personal stylists just to leave the privacy of their own homes. A small selection of other random items and objects brought in a steady stream of income, all of it flowing upward to line pockets already crested with silk and jewels.

For people like me it was not to be so much sunshine and daisies.

See, as an employee in customer service, I had no voice. Whatever I said had one of a few recourses, each one worse than the first. The first, of course, was silence and obliviousness. Like putting your hands over your eyes really makes me go away people! You should have realized that childhood myth doesn't work in the real world, but some children just get too big for their diapers. Silence was easy to deal with though, it wasn't as if I forgot, but persistence was the best antidote for that problem.

The next was incredulity. How could some schmuck that doesn't have more than two semesters of a local college under his belt come up with something that might actually work? Get something called "work experience" people, then you can try to tell me how to do my job! I guess that's something that you rabbits burrowed in your offices wouldn't even begin to understand.

The third is perhaps the most annoying, though certainly the most deadly of the three. Ecstasy. Not the drug. The simplest way to describe it is a helium balloon, fun and exciting then popped in front of your face. Like all highs it's short lived and fades under the swagger of reality and trial.

It is this third method that slays the will of an employee fastest. The first and second methods of domination just make employees angry; makes them try harder. The third does the opposite. It breaks the spirit from an energetic and driven individual to a mindless slave that when asked to jump, jumps and then asks, "How long?"

I am no one's puppet, and refuse to play their games. Beaten down by this third method of aristocracy and dictatorship, maybe, but I was a rebellious soul to begin with. What was my recourse? To retaliate against fire with oil.

By continuing to strive to do the best of my job for the sake of saying that I do my job with pride, I rub their control back in their faces. No matter whom or what may be said about it, I worked hard. I do my job to have the satisfaction of saying one day, "Yes, I did it. And I was good at it." I encouraged the others to do the same too, to take a personal pride in their work and be damned about the rules of politics and procedure. It was always better to hold both the executioner's axe and the king's pardon in your hands. It gave you the most leverage.

All that was neither here nor there when it came to my "job." Today it was to be another taxing day of monotony. Broken merchandise, depressed employees, and an even more enigmatic uniform. Who honestly chooses khaki pants for a sales floor representative? Seriously people? What happened to good old-fashioned jeans or black slacks? If we have to get on our knees for merchandise or labels on the bottom shelf, we have to come back up with more dirt on our knees than in some deserts around the world. It always made us look unprofessional in my opinion.

Oh that's right; no one really cares about my opinion.

Blue polos; boring blue at that. What happened to creativity in the work place? It seems as though when we signed up for our employment we signed ourselves to a mindless collective with either no fashion sense, or a rather morose and quirky young innovator. My money is on the first. We will add your philosophical and professional distinctiveness to our own, and all that stuff.

I walked to the back and opened up my locker with a few familiar twists. Like many things in life, after you do it a few hundred times you could do it in your sleep. Come to think of it, I think I did do it a couple times in m sleep.

"Good morning David," a familiar voice called from down the hall.

I smiled to myself. I didn't even have to turn to recognize the owner of that voice. "Morning Delilah," I answered.

"Oh, is it one of those mornings?" she teased, coming up to stand by my open locker.

She was a simple woman really. Her blond hair was very manageable, though she usually kept it swept wild away from her face. Her eyes were an intense shade of blue. It was the kind of blue shade I just couldn't quite put a name to. Some days they bore a blazing fire, while others they held a peaceful sapphire glint to them. I guess it was just my neurotic impulse to have a name for them that kept me looking.

Delilah was very cheerful in the face. Her nose and jaw kept gradual lines to better shape her smile. Her body frame, showing the signs of hard and dedicated labor, yet she still managed to look fair and sassy in her uniform, which I always thought was incredible. I never managed to make any outfit look good on me no matter how hard I tried. And even with a slightly raised heel on her orthodic shoes, her height was dwarfed by mine. But who's wasn't in this store anyway? I was over six feet tall and worked mostly with women. That thought made me feel nominally better.

"Yeah, I've got a bit of a cold today," I said. My voice had the usual froggish quality that held the tenor of one whose lungs were swimming in liquid and rebelling against oxygen.

"And you didn't call in?" she asked with concern. Just like Delilah to go from "friend" to "mother mode" with a flick of a thought. I think being made a grandmother in her late thirties had increased her maternal instincts somehow.

I turned and gave her the look. The look we all knew. It said simply, Yeah right. "You know what they would have said," I retorted turning back to my locker for my accessories.

"Yeah," she muttered. Then smiling quickly she changed her voice to a higher pitch. "'Can you take a few pills and come in anyway?'"

I laughed with her at our common joke. Not coming to work was as taboo as hiring a homeless person to cash your paycheck. You just didn't do it unless you were very brave. Or very foolish.

"So who we got this morning?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going. Talking and gossip were like chocolate to a dieter in this place. It didn't relieve the pain, but it offered a little comfort. Ironically, it was also more relaxing the darker it got.

"Well, for our Cashiers we have Amanda, Brandie, and Linda," Delilah ticked off. Delilah had been the supervisor assigned to train me when I first came to this company, and we shared a very special bond. I looked up to her professionally. She kept the schedule in very straight order. Everyone got to bathroom and lunch breaks on the dot of when the schedule dictated. Whenever they didn't it usually was because of unforeseeable circumstances. I never heard of her upsetting a customer either.

"That will hold for a while I guess," I muttered. "It is the first Saturday of the month. Everyone and their grandmother will be here demanding attention."

Delilah sighed one of those heart heavy sighs. "I know. See you up there." And with a quick pivot on her heel, she was off at a dash.

I pocketed a few pens, my watch, and a box cutter before closing my locker with finality. Stepping into the break room I sat down at a table to while away the last few precious moments of freedom. I was in no hurry to begin the masochism.

Only a few other employees were scattered throughout the sparsely furnished brisk white room. Lucia, though most of us called her Lucy for short, and Nina from the Electronics department were gossiping idly about Nina's new hairstyle - I knew I didn't remember those fuchsia highlights before. Jeremy, out in the Hardware department was talking to his wife in that gooey kind of voice usually meant for a private place with dim lights and rose petals. I don't think he was saying anything overly important, but his voice had the mutual respect tone that he reserved only with his wife. Rebekkah, or Bekka for short, from the Health & Beauty area was also on the phone, but with her mother about her boyfriend; having another fight over apparent lack of commitment - I felt sorry for her to choose that loser. In the farthest corner, Amanda was playing solitaire by herself, losing horribly for once. It was so funny I smirked in spite of myself, though I managed to tactfully conceal it from her probing eye.

"Morning everybody!" I called with mock enthusiasm, watching for everyone's reactions.

I got a few halfhearted waves. We would probably talk around lunch, after we had claimed some more energy via liquid caffeine - in one form or another - and fully woken up. We all enjoyed a very subtle kind of friendship. We talked about what bound us all together: poverty, stupidity, and aspirations. Virtually everyone in this store had shared something with me. I tended to fit into multiple niches, easily switching from style to style like the pages of a book. It just came naturally to me, no matter how obscure people's personalities.

Take Nina and Lucy for example. We often talked about books we'd read, friends that had done something with their lives, or the latest disaster on a sitcom we all enjoyed. With Jeremy, we discussed musicals and cinema, on and off Broadway. He was very theatrical; not the flimsy, feminine, kind of guy that acted like he was afraid to break a nail, but the strong, passionate, and manly kind. Then there was Bekka. She and I would talk about politics and social problems - she had a Bachelor's degree in sociology, which blew my mind of why she was working here.

That was the way it was with everybody. I found some kind of sparkle of myself to attach to and explore inside the depths of the soul. Well, at least for those who would allow me. Not everyone allowed me to divulge of myself and to discover their little nuances that made them unique and interesting. Some people were two dimensional and boring. Off or On. Tough or soft. White or black. No shading or texture to divulge the majestic and tragic shapes of history. I tried to avoid those people. I could barely handle my own shortcomings on my best of days; I didn't need to drag myself down with others on my already low days.

A small electronic beep broke my reverie. I looked down at my watch; seven o'clock sharp.

Time to work. Yippee.

"Well, see y'all later," I called before breaking into a glass-shattering cough.

I pushed back out into the hallway, stopping in front of the time clock. Reaching into my slot, I slid my timecard and punched in for my daily dose of fire and brimstone. How much worse could it get, I thought as I unwrapped a cough drop and slid it into my mouth. I turned and stepped out into the bright fluorescent lights of the sales floor. The cacophony of noise and light escalated my headache, spiking the already boiling nausea in my weak stomach. It was officially worse, and I had only taken one step into my torture chamber.

Miraculously, I placed one heavy foot in front of another down the beaten path between the back room and my service area. Half-tempted to leave the light off in my area I began counting the register drawers to ensure everything was even. Overages and shortages always meant more paperwork than I wanted to do.

That chore completed, I looked up and I already had two cranky customers in line. Neither of them was less than fifty years old, and both looked as though they'd skipped their morning coffee and breakfast to try to do something before going to work. Joy.

I smiled, plastering on the best friendly smile I could muster while trying not to hurl, I played my part. Each customer flowed into the next, faces bleeding into the next and problems vanishing as quickly as the customers. I glanced at the clock and waited for my first breath impatiently. All I had to do was last another few hours and my help would come. Only a few more weeks and I would get my vacation.

Hold on just a little longer, I chanted in my mind. It will all be over soon.

I had learned a long while ago that you can't tackle this job all at once. Broken into segments, like a mouse eating an elephant, it could be accomplished. Each hour would drag on most mornings, but in the end even time would give way and grant me rest.

I took a split second to breath, waiting as the hour crawled at its sluggish pace, and pictured myself resting on a hammock with a good book. An ice cold glass of fresh lemonade sat in the insect-free grass next to me, the sun playing hide and seek in the clouds overhead. I know it was just a fantasy, but I was desperate at the moment. Securing that image in my mind I immersed myself in my work again.

A shadow moved quickly through the bustling streets. Even the sharpest eyes would disregard the movement as a figment of a child's imagination. A shadow amongst the shadows; hidden from the revealing powers of light.

It continued its path down sunlit roads, dodging nimbly between parked cars and open alleyways. Always staying in the shadows. Always just out of sight and understanding of the people walking by. This was the intention of course. Hidden away from all sense of presence, the predator was free to feed at will. Invisible and dangerous, a demon in the winds of legend striking down their prey without pity or mercy.

It stopped in front of a decrepit old home. Not much of the beautiful chateau remained. A house that once held fancy parties, upscale society persons, and grandeur to rival some palaces today now entertained cockroaches and crickets as guests with mildew and decay as the decorations to the gala. A pale hand reached from behind the enclosing shroud that made up the shadow. It glittered and sparkled in the sunlight's rays before knocking on the front door.

The weathered wood disintegrated from the force of even the gentlest push. A thick layer of dust and debris floated in the still air, adding an enchanting mist to the dark interior. Stepping as quietly as a cat stalking its prey, the shadow stepped inside. The shadow stopped inside the poorly furnished main room. A decaying couch and matching lounge chair sat near the corners. The Parisian rug swam between burn marks and dark stains in scattered patterns along the once bright carpet. Beyond that, not a creature stirred in the dark, even the cuckoo clock having ticked its last tock.

"Logan," a velvety voice whispered out of the dark. It was so low it was almost a purr. A sound that would make even the chastest man dream of dark fantasies.

"I am here my love," the shadow whispered with the same passion, slowly pulling back its hood.