PART 2

Hunter got onto the subway just in time and got to work only five minutes late, which was early for him. Even so, he didn't hurry to his cubicle to try and make up for those five minutes. Hunter hated his job anyway; he didn't quit because it made decent money until he could do what he wanted. His dream had been to start his own record label and move to a nice condo in a better part of New York with his wife to start a family. It had all been planned out perfectly, these dreams, before Death sliced through them all with one swing of his scythe.

As Hunter turned the computer on at his desk, a stern voice said his name from behind. He lazily swiveled in his chair to face the man with crossed arms and salt-and-pepper hair. "You're late again," Hunter's boss stated angrily as if Hunter was unaware of the fact. "You've gotten to work on time just fine before, and I expect no different now."

"Sorry, Dad," he mumbled to his father's shiny black shoes. Hunter didn't mean the words any more than every other morning he had to say them.

His father grunted and cleared his throat. "Mr. Wells at the office," he reminded his son gruffly before walking away to deal with what, Hunter thought, was more important to him than his own son.

Hunter spun back to face the computer. He worked for a computer company and wasn't fired yet only because it happened to be the company his father owned. Hunter's job for the company was to make sure that orders were registered and that the computers were shipped to where they had to go. He hated the job, but had kept at it for the last three years with the thought of his future in mind. Now there was no point.

Time passed too slowly as Hunter worked, but eventually his lunch hour came. He got up from his chair and left his cramped cubicle for the employee's lounge on the floor. As he poured himself a cup of much-needed coffee, a heavy hand came down on his shoulder and startled him into spilling some of the coffee. An almost baby-faced man was grinning in a way that made him look like he was in high school even though he was twenty five, a year older than Hunter was. His name was Ralph, and he had been Hunter's friend previous to the car accident that claimed Nicole's life. Now the combination of Ralph's immaturity, dumb smile, and loud voice dragged razor blades across Hunter's nerves.

"Dude," Ralph said in his version of a whisper, "did you see the babe your dad hired for his new secretary?" Not waiting for a response to the question, he went on. "Aww man, if I didn't have a girlfriend, you know what I mean?"

"No," Hunter wanted to reply irritably, "I don't know what you mean. I don't even know what the fuck you're talking about." He burnt his tongue on the hot coffee as he sipped it to wash down his equally scolding words. Ralph was, of course, oblivious to Hunter's discomfort as he said, "Dude, as my friend, you should totally go for it."

Hunter's coffee almost slipped from his hand. It was typical of Ralph to try and set him up with women since Nicole, but each time it caught Hunter off guard and made him furious about just how fucking dumb Ralph was for not taking the hints that were dropped like atomic bombs. Hunter supposed Ralph's thick skull was immune to the radioactivity. "No," was all Hunter ended up mumbling.

"Come on, man!" Ralph protested as Hunter tried to ignore him by mopping up the spill he had made earlier. "You owe this to all men everywhere!"

"I don't owe anyone anything," Hunter snapped in a low and dangerous tone he couldn't control any more than the words that were finally let slip. He was too sick of this daily bullshit to even want to try and be civil to anyone. What was a sting from his words compared to his own unbearable pain, anyway?

Ralph sighed loudly as if he was expecting the harsh retaliation. His hand ended up back on Hunter's shoulder as if it was a comfort to be there. He squeezed, making Hunter cringe, and said, "Look man, I get it. You're still not okay with Nicole and all—" Hunter winced again when he said her name "—but it would probably be best if you moved on. It's been, what, six months already?"

"Five months," Hunter whispered, "and sixteen days."

Ralph sighed again. "See, man? That ain't healthy. You gotta try and forget—"

Hunter's head snapped up from its hung position. "Forget? How can I just forget that my soul was ripped out and it's all my fault? If I had been more careful, I wouldn't be standing here a fucking murderer. I will never see Nicole again in this life or the next, because I'll be burning in hell when I finally get to die." Hunter's memory flashed to Nicole, standing in their apartment wearing her ruined dress, smiling sadly as if he was the one that should be pitied for living instead of her for being dead. "I—will never—forget."

Ralph's brown eyes were wide so he looked like a deer staring into racing headlights. A few people close by were staring at them; Ralph took notice with a nervous glance. "Look, it wasn't your fault that—"

"IT WAS ENTIRELY MY FAULT!" Hunter shouted. Whoever wasn't staring before was certainly staring now. "How can you not fucking see that?" He ran his hands through his black hair and tugged violently. It was too hot all of the sudden; Hunter pulled at the tie around his neck to loosen the choke hold. His ears were buzzing, and he started seeing red. Upon focusing, he realized that the red he saw was just on his hands.

Someone touched his shoulder. Hunter viciously shook it off and shoved Ralph aside to get out of the room. "You know what?" Hunter heard Ralph shout, "Fuck you, then, you crazy son of a bitch. I was trying to help you!"

Hunter had to have looked half crazy as he stormed through the office in pursuit of the elevators with wild blue eyes, a mess of black hair sticking up against pale, clammy skin, a loose tie, and his hands being wiped on his black slacks to clean away blood that wasn't there. Stares and whispers followed him out; everyone had to have heard what he had been shouting from the employee's lounge.

Hunter was almost at the elevators when his father stepped in front of him. "Hunter," he said firmly like a command as if the tone of his voice alone could physically stop him. As it was, he did pause to stare at his father, but just as quickly shouldered passed him and hammered the elevator button. He thought he saw a bloody smear on the button, but when he focused his eyes, there was just the orange glow of the arrow pointing down.

"Hunter." His father was beside him now. "What's wrong with you?"

Hunter couldn't recall a time he's ever seen fear in his father's eyes until he turned his crazed glare on him. When the elevator opened, he stepped inside and punched the button for the lobby.

"I can get you help," his father said with a thin layer of care to cover his panic. "Whatever help you need, I can get it."

Hunter's face went blank, and he cast his eyes to his father's knees. It was all the farther up he could manage to look at him. Hunter knew his father cared about him deep down, but was never fully convinced of it by the way he didn't seem to see the raw hurt for the past six months. There was too much hope in his father's voice for Hunter to bear. "You can't help me now," he whispered. He wasn't sure if he had been heard, so he looked up. The mix of a deep sadness and the lingering fear was answer enough. He dropped his eyes again.

"Son, please."

Suddenly Hunter's head snapped up so he could meet his father's eyes. "Mr. Wells at work," he had told Hunter, but now he was this man's son? After so many years of neglect because of Hunter's mother dying? For some reason, this all made Hunter chuckle. That chuckle turned into giggling, and that twisted into a demented laughter that made him slide down the reflective elevator wall. The sight of people staring at him like he was crazy made him laugh even harder. His insanity-filled eyes met his father's as the doors closed.