Chapter 2:
It was nine-thirty a.m. on a Thursday morning. The rain was falling heavier outside. It pounded against the office window. It stole the sunlight away, casting dark shadows across a wooden desk and desktop computer. The lights overhead were already dim, and the small, black numbers blurred against the white page. The computer screen shined an eerie green across pale skin as brown eyes scanned more numbers before typing them in. It was just another day, another long day, and somewhere in the distance, thunder began to rumble.
"Marc? Marc?"
Marc looked up from the computer screen, still holding the white pages in his hands. His gaze fell on the thick, manila folder that his boss held. He tried not to frown, knowing what that was, but Jones was still out on sick leave. Today was his day, and he had forgotten about that. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe an excuse. Yes, he would try to weasel out of it, but his boss was already shaking his head.
"It's your turn, Marc. Stop doing the data entry for now, and make the calls."
"Can't someone else do it," Marc asked.
"It's got to be done, and Tina's done it twice this week already. Do it today. I'll do it tomorrow," and he noticed that Marc raised an eyebrow at that. "Yes, I can make the calls tomorrow, but you're doing today." He held out the thick, manila folder to Marc, who reluctantly took it from him. "Tomorrow, the office staff and I are going out for drinks, if you would like to join us?"
"I don't drink," Marc replied.
"You could still join us, Marc. You've been here for almost a year now. You should come out with us."
"Can I think about it?"
"Yeah. Think about it, and start making those calls at ten. Okay?"
"Okay. Thank you, Bob," and Marc watched him leave the office.
The office was small. The desk was pushed up against the wall with the computer on top of it. There was a bulletin board nailed to the wall next to him with random memos and emails. The window behind him continued to darken, and his door creaked a little from a draft coming off the window. None of that bothered him except for the task that he was given, and a knot now formed in his stomach. At least, there were only eight calls that needed to be made.
"Good morning. This is Marc calling from Forrester Nursing Care. I am calling about the outstanding bill for your father… Yes. Yes, I understand that he recently passed, but our services still have not yet been paid… I understand that, but the bill is months overdue… I understand that. You really don't have to yell at me. I completely understand, and…"
Marc stared at the black phone in his hand. He could still hear her screaming from the other end. He waited until she was finally done yelling. Two things would then happen. She would hang up, or she would scream at him some more. Then, he heard a slam, and he knew that the conversation was over. At least, for now. One call down. Seven more to go.
Twelve-thirty. Lunch time. Marc opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a paper brown bag. Inside was a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. He leaned against the wall and began to eat his lunch. He glanced outside his office and noticed Tina sitting at her desk and filing her nails. She was a young, Black woman, and he found her attractive. But when she realized that he was staring at her, he looked away.
The rest of the afternoon dragged by, but there was a lot of data entry, debt that continued to grow from patients in the nursing home and their families. He tried not to let that bother him. It was just a job, and somebody had to do it. He couldn't believe that it was almost a year now, but it was still quiet. And nobody asked him any questions. The moment that something didn't feel right as his mother would say, it would be time to go, but that wasn't now. And it was time for him to finally go home.
Marc lived in the Village of Chester, and his apartment was barely twenty minutes away from where he worked. His apartment was in the third building on the second floor. The majority of his neighbors didn't bother him. Sometimes, they waved. Sometimes, they said hello. It was really just Barry, who lived across from him and often visited him. Barry was a painter, and right now, he suffered from painter's block or as he called it. And for the most part, he didn't ask Marc too many questions. The moment that he does, Marc would have to move, and again, he wondered if he had stayed here for too long.
Six p.m. Hungry Man Dinner. Marc sat on his couch and flipped through the channels on his television set. For a moment, he watched President Bush at a press conference, but then he quickly changed the station. As usual, nothing was on, so he carried the rest of his dinner over to his desk and opened his laptop. Marc was careful with the social media websites like Facebook and Twitter, but he loved Google. But there was nothing to google today, so instead, he picked up a black cd case and opened it. He placed a dvd into his laptop and then sat back in his desk chair.
"Come on, Scott. Make a wish. It's your tenth birthday. Make a wish," the woman behind the camera said.
"I wish…"
"No, silly. If you tell me your wish, it won't come true."
"I'm sorry, Mom."
"It's okay, Scott. Did you make your wish?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Blow out your candles."
A gray orb lifted up from Scott's hand and glowed blue. It gently flew over the large, white cake, and the candles blew out. The gray orb then flew back into Scott's hand, and he closed his fingers over it. "Candles are out," he said.
"Scott, I told you about that. Now, would you like to try to blow out your candles again?"
"I'm sorry, Mom, and yes, I'll blow the candles out."
"Just remember what I said, Scott. Nobody can know about what you can do."
"I know, Mom. I know."
Marc reached into his pocket and pulled out the gray orb. It rested in the palm of his hand. It glowed a faint blue, but then its light disappeared. Ever since his mother died, things have not been the same. If he needed to use this, would he be able to? Just then, there was a knock at his door, and Marc quickly pocketed the gray orb and closed his laptop.
"Barry," he greeted his neighbor. "Come in."
"You okay, Marc?" Barry patted him on the shoulder before walking in. "You look a little green."
"I'm okay. Did you paint today?"
Barry was in his early forties with a long, brown beard. He wasn't fat, but close to it. He was sporting a white, stained top and blue overalls. He smelled of paint, and his hands were multi-colored. Barry looked down at himself and laughed. "I tried to, but it's crap. At least, according to my agent, it's crap, but what does she know? I guess you went to work today."
"How'd you guess," Marc asked as he closed the apartment door.
"The blue dress pants and black dress top. It kind of gives it away. Did you eat? I was thinking about ordering pizza," but then Barry saw the hungry man left at the desk. "I guess you ate. How about a movie tonight? I'll bring one of my dvds over."
"Not tonight, Barry. I'm kind of tired." Marc remained standing by the apartment door. "It's been a long day."
"Okay, but you owe me."
"I know," Marc laughed.
"Okay, so this weekend, we're actually going out to a bar. Right? I need some inspiration. Badly."
"As long as we don't get into a bar fight, Barry."
"No. I won't. You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. Just a long day" and Marc opened the apartment door for him. "Does Saturday work?"
"Yes, and I am going to hold you to it." Barry moved toward the apartment door and stepped outside. "Get some rest, Marc. You look tired," and he moved over to his apartment.
"Night, Barry."
"Night, Marc."
Marc stepped back into his apartment. He closed the apartment door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the gray orb. Again, it glowed a faint blue, which then quickly disappeared. He closed his hand over it and looked toward the windows nearby. Maybe, he had stayed here for too long, and maybe, they were closing in right now. Would they let him sleep for one more night before storming the door down and taking him away to God knows where? His grip tightened over the gray orb, and then he turned off the lights.