Chapter Eight
Six Months later
Exoduses
The first thing he notices is the worried stare of two people in the parking lot as he pulls into his parking space and shuts off the engine. They quickly glance away when he climbs out and makes eye contact. He shrugs it off, chalking it up to fear of the boss.
Inside, he gets the same reaction, can feel the stares as he makes his way down the halls, that are, he realizes, so very quiet. Quick glances, eyes following him as he passes. Worried, apprehensive expressions meet his when he pauses a moment to look around, wondering what it is that's happened now. Lab techs stop in mid sentence, pulling their bodies up from being bent over machines to watch him through the glass walls as he passes. Those unlucky enough to be in the hall, step out of his way, pinning themselves up against the wall, and he begins to feel a bit like Moses parting the Red Sea.
Ecklie turns the corner, and the mass of whispering that had preceded his approach now silences itself in his presence. Four or five people gather in an open office doorway, they scatter off in different directions as he stops to take in the scene for himself.
What greets him is absence.
The absence of books. The absence of fluid filled jars. The tarantula tank is gone, as is the bottled pig fetus. All the shelves are empty. A pile of mud colored brown case folders sits neatly in the middle of the now clear desktop. Pencils and pens stick out from the top of a dark blue coffee cup, like soldiers standing at attention. The stapler, tape dispenser and a box of paper clips, all lined up perfectly at the top of the desk blotter.
Stepping into the empty office, Ecklie is greeted with echoes of his own footsteps. It takes him a moment to realize what he's seeing, and then it hits him suddenly with the force of all four winds. He looks around for a moment, taking stock, taking the moment to re-gather his wits. He can feel eyes staring at him from hiding places, waiting for his reaction.
With a deep sigh, he passes back through the open door, back out into the hall, around another corner, to his own office door. Flipping on the light, he sees what he was sure he'd see sitting in the middle of his own desk, underneath the circle of light the desk lamp casts down, where there was no chance of it being missed. Ecklie shuts the door behind him, and without taking his eyes off the white piece of paper, nearly glowing florescent, he makes his way around the desk, and sits in his chair. The leather of the seat crackles and groans as he settles himself in.
He knows what it says, but picks it up and reads it anyway, two typed words and a scrawled signature beneath them.
Ecklie tosses the paper back down on to his desk; it floats for a moment before settling down almost exactly where it was.