Call Now to Receive Death as a Special Offer
Inside the air-conditioning blasted
at my sweaty exterior. I could feel my already tight shirt sticking awkwardly
snug to my body’s unnatural folds. Poor lighting dimly illuminated the normally
spacious hallway, and I quickly noticed that outside of my work, three rows of
office chairs await outside the buildings west stairwell. To the other side of High Speed Marketing’s
glass door was a stack of desks, stretching the length of the hall. A familiar ding
chimed as two men emerged from an opened elevator. Both wore the same uniform:
blue work jeans overlapping worn boots, and a white moving shirt that read “All
Around Movers—Big or small, we’ll take em’ all”.
“I bet we can fit all those chairs
in that there elevator, and both walk up,” decided the taller of the two.
“Sounds good,” replied the other.
They both moved with a solid hustle,
and before I knew it, I was staring at an elevator crammed with rolling office
chairs. The taller one reached in and punched their floor button, and once the
door was closed, they disappeared up the steps. As I walked into open view of
the second elevator, I noticed an out of place couple: An older gentleman in a
musty, brown suit was standing next to an elderly woman. A ghastly white night
dress swayed over the hunched, empty shell that outlined her body, and her chin
was pinned to her chest. The man placed a boney hand on the woman’s shoulder, and
she looked to his pale face. Together, they turned towards me.
“Look, its Matty… such a nice boy…
you couldn’t even tell,” she groaned in a distant, watered-logged pitch.
I paused mid-step, unsure what to
say or do. Their gaze pierced; digging first into my quaking bones, then into
my subconscious. The elevator door began to shut, and the brief paralysis that
caressed my senses fled, leaving me once again in control. Who was that, and
why was I frightened? I realized that my back was too close to the wall, so I
stepped forward. I closed my eyes and draw in a deep breath. I slowly let the air pass down my nostrils,
and between my lips. Within a matter of seconds I was beginning for feel calm.
I entered the front door to High Speed Marketing.
An unfamiliar sight greeted my eyes
as I passed into the threshold of work: emptiness. The maroon walls to either
side of me once catered to random pictures of employees, products, and company
literature now held nothing but dust. At the front desk, stacks of papers and
files covered every inch of surface. Hearing a fast whirring from behind the receptionist
area, I curiously crept onward. Coming forward, I quietly leaned over a stack
of documents to find Cheryl, our office assistant, shoving papers down the
ripping slit of the office shredder. I clear my throat to grab her attention
in-between cycles, startling her as a result. Her complexion was pale and
distant.
“My goodness Matt, you scared me. I
have been at this for almost thirty minutes now and I must’ve spaced it,”
“Ouch, that
sounds awful. What’s going on anyways?”
She opened a draw and pulls out a
white envelope with my name on it. I knew this was my check, but it felt
heavier as I grabbed it from her outstretched hand. Before I could ask, she
spoke without even looking up.
“Pete wants to see you on the sales
floor before you go, he… he will tell you all about it,” her face was painted
with remorse. I sensed something was off.
“Sure, on the sales floor you say?”
I paused, hoping that she would just answer the question so I could pry a
little deeper, but she wouldn’t. “Thanks… see you later Cheryl,”
“Yeah… sure thing Matt, best of
luck,” she ended the last part as if she was never going to see me again. And
with that, she was back to her shredding, and I, was back to wondering.
Pete was found in the far corner of
the sales floor instructing a team of workers on how to dismantle the first of
many work stations. Operating a cordless drill, Pete removed the last screw
from an unseen restraining bracket, collapsing the front dividing wall. With
the barrier removed, he was able to see my advance. He placed the power tool in
one of the grunts hands and points to all of the cubicles, then upstairs. Pete
motioned to me with a sleeveless, waving hand. I smile, and nod. He points to
the direction of his corner officer, and I understood exactly what he meant: it
was time to talk.
“Everything will be fine,” I wheezed
the words through pressed lips. My heart skips a beat as my breathing quickened.
The wall that was adjacent to Pete’s
office was entitled “All stars and leaders”. Tapped to a hanging cork board
were several printouts of employee statistics. On a week-to-week basis the top
five agents would be broken down into various categories. For the last three
years, the main focus had been on our number on vitamin: Neutrexium, a cure-all
marketed towards senior citizens. Aches and pains? Then you need Neutrexium.
Can’t sleep? Sounds like Neutrexium will help. My name was still on a majority
of the tacked screen-shots, and seeing it now, I realized that I might be
losing these bonuses.
Pete Butler’s corner office was now
reset to factory settings. His desk—depersonalized to the last paper clip, sat
in the very same uninviting position as always.
Two chairs remained: Pete’s—pristine leather, stitched to a grandiose,
rolling body—and the other—a small, stationary plastic chair, supported by a
thin, metal frame. I sat in the child’s seat and felt especially uncomfortable
when my stomach and upper legs began to settle in the mold, and I could hear
the plastic moan.
“Hey Matthew, thanks for giving me a
second of your time,” Pete shut the door behind him, and made for his seat.
“Pete, what is goi—
“Matthew we are downsizing,
substantially. I’ll cut right to it,” he opened the top draw to the lone desk,
retrieved a blue folder, and passed it to me.
“No need to worry about your
position here with us, Matt, because you will still be on the team. You—without
a doubt—are still my number one sales agent. Along with the other supervisors,
managers, and other key personnel, were going to be it,” he stopped, and
checked his watch. I could see that Pete was all business.
“Well that’s great, but what for
now, what is with al—
“We will be moving up to the third
floor to occupy a much smaller space. Most of the supervisor responsibility and
duties are to be determined within the following weeks. So for tonight,
Matthew, all I ask is just for you to man the phone,” he shrugged his shoulders
to show his frustration. For once, Pete was no longer in control.
“Will I be by myself?”
“It will be an easy night. If you receive
more than two calls an hour, you should feel surprised. You’re the last one
left on nights, Matt: last one to ever pick up the phone for HSM… after
tonight, take the weekend off, come in on Monday… well, everything is in the
folder,” he finished by rubbing his short, gelled hair. I noticed that this was
not only rehearsed, but something he was dreading. The sales floor was his
baby, and ever was his sightless gaze upon its empty seats a hard scene to
witness.
“No problem Pete,” I left it short
to keep from being cut off for a third time, and also, to put him at ease.
Those two words; “no problem”, would ensure that conversations between him and
I were to the point; and our working relationship, pleasant. I could see that
his once strained, brooding visage was swept away by a content smile.
“Thanks Matt… I knew I could count
on you. Once your shift starts, read those final instructions. Just bring in
the key on Monday, and I will make sure the building owner gets it,” He rose
from his seat, and rushed for the sales floor. As he passed me, he gives me an
at-a-boy on my upper back in the form of a grateful pat.
“But wait, why are we down—
“Everything is in the folder, Matt.
Just make sure you’re killing it tonight:
finish strong,” his voice echoed from behind him, and I knew it was time to
leave.
I saw that Cheryl was away from her
shredding duties as I passed through the lobby. The closest stack of files
revealed a lamented folder entitled:
Neutrexium.
A product of High Speed
Marketing and Providence Labs LLC.
Case Studies 2007-2010.
Why would our best seller,
Neutrexium, need any studies? We sold to hundreds of thousands in those first
three years of existence, and in that time, minimal complaints. Hearing a door
click to my rear I realized that Cheryl was only in the bathroom. I made for
the door, abandoning my curiousness of the soon-to-be destroyed file.
Outside, the dry heat lashed at my
fading climate controlled bubble. My eyes focused quickly on this warm,
cloudless September mid-morning, and I now saw why I was able to park so close.
The parking lot lay deserted, absent of any of my co-workers. I made sure to
gingerly step down the few steps from the building to the sidewalk. My ankle
was swollen from an afternoon
As I made it to the curb I noticed a
woman sitting at the bus station on the opposite side of the road. I hobbled closer and closer, and the woman
became clearer and clearer. Her protuberant body sat slouched in the middle of
the bench. Air tubes passed from her crumbled nose to a green stripped oxygen
tank that was in arms reach. Her wheezing was close to inaudible at first; but
now, I could hear a congested rasp retching from her lungs. I keep my vision
forward as I stepped up off the street and into invisible smog of acrid waste
that hovered around the sickly woman. My stomach rolled, winching from the
stench as I passed through the cloud of stink. I lunged forward, pushing my
body through a man made path that led through a chest high shrubby wall, and
into the parking lot.
“Matthew, why didn’t you tell me it
was going to hurt so bad in the end,” an icy, hoarse voice gargled from my
rear.
“I want you to feel my pain,
Matthew. I would like to try on your lungs; but I could settle for spilling
your entrails,” the crazed woman’s cough was drowned by putrid fluids that
sloshed in her throat.
Fear twisted my stomach in a heated
vice, and my bowels began to feel micro-waved. My cone of vision was limited,
and I could see that there was no one else around. We were alone. My legs
quivered as I started to slowly turn about, and once I could see to my direct
rear, I could only stare in disbelief: the deranged woman had vanished.
“What the hell is going on?” I
whispered aloud in a dry mutter.
My heart began to produce a mild,
uncomfortable flutter that made my body shudder with a cold, nervous sweat..
My keys were already in my trembling
hand as I fumbled for the lock. I opened the door, and squeezed my body in
between the steering wheel and driver’s seat. Having a second to myself, I
realized that I knew neither the repugnant women, nor the decrepit couple from
the elevator. Who were these people, and how did they know me? I only wished to
extirpate them from my memory. I left the business park, rehearsing sleeping
strategies that I learned on my first meeting with her, wishing that I could
sleep this morning away.
* * *
After completing the right turn into the front
parking lot of work, I released my sweaty grip from the wheel momentarily to
wipe the excessive moisture onto my khakis. My palms felt coarse on my thighs.
I veered into the first possible spot and shut off my lights. The digital clock
pulsed five of midnight as I exited my vehicle.
I took my first tender step across
the road, and a stale breeze of arid summer fumes warmed my face quicker than I
would’ve wanted it. My brow was sweating profusely, and I soaked the upper
sleeve of my shirt in an attempt to pad it dry. I was standing in the spotlight
of a street lamp, and I could already see pit stains developing in this humid,
choking air. I reviewed Pete’s instructions one more.
Matthew,
It should be close to dead this
evening. Jesse will be waiting for you, so be on time. He is also flying solo.
Get all of this done before six:
1. Reports
every hour.
2. Power
down the manager’s station.
3. Shut
off the lights in every room.
4. Turn
off the power in the utility closet after the queue is cleared, which shouldn’t
be a problem.
5. Take
any trash with you on your way out.
6. Hit
the alarm, lock the door, and see you on Monday.
Thanks
a bunch,
Pete.
Going over the list again before I walked
in sent a feeling of ease travel through my body. I used my key badge to unlock
the front door, and as soon as my foot touched the inside hallway, the motion
light kicked on, reflecting its luminance down the corridor’s glossy floor. I
limped by the closed elevator doors rather quickly. I was relieved to make it
pass without a scare, and I walked into work.
I made sure to lock the door behind
of me, thinking Jesse would get the hint and lock me in. Passing Cheryl’s desk,
I noticed the men’s room door emanated a slit of light from the bottom. I made
for the sales floor feeling relieved that Jesse was still in the building.
A row of cubicles that sat across from Pete’s
office and the manager’s desk was all that remained. Each station was still
equipped with a computer, keyboard, mouse, and phone. A tacked up emergency
light was flashing above the manager’s station, meaning there was a call
waiting. Jesse was nowhere in sight.
I charged to the middle computer,
signed on, and grabbed a headset. I ignored a tri-folded stack of white papers
with my name on it; instead, I was honed in on doing my job. I looked at the
monitor and saw that the caller had been waiting over sixteen minutes for
Neutrexium. I cleared my throat, blew out a short breathe, and answered the
call.
“Thanks for holding for the
Neutrexium order center. My name is Matthew; may I have your first name
please?”
“Oh Matty, you know me. How could
you forget—the pills you sold me, you said it would cure me. You stole my
money, and my life. I will cut what’s mine from your heart, Matty,” a gruff
voice echoed through a static filled line. I was frozen from terror, and I
could only sit and listen.
“Remember? You said it was going to
lower my cholesterol, clear up the plaque and free radicals that clogged my
arteries. Oh it cleared it up all right—and a week later, my heart exploded.
Now Matty, I want to saw the heart from your very chest,” the voice seemed calm
as he explained his gruesome intent.
For a second my body regained control,
and I was able to end the call. I threw my headset to the keyboard and pushed
off from my desk in my rolling chair. I quickly hopped up, and doing so I
twisted my ankle, sending a throbbing jolt of pain around my left foot. I
gasped in agony. The crank caller was too much of a coincidence; he reminded me
of the old people that I saw earlier, and that was something I had hoped to
forget.
Once more I looked to the telephone
program on my computer screen, and the phone lines were empty. I felt rattled.
Wishing to steer my attention away from the punk who called and my ankle, I
grabbed the papers, and rolled over a shorter chair from the station closest to
me. I eased my backside down onto the chair, lifted my ankle off the ground,
and opened the papers. At the top was scribbled my name in Jesse’s hurried
penmanship. It read:
Matthew,
I was going to send this to you via
e-mail, but I don’t want anyone to know you read this. Who knows who could be
watching. It’s about Neutrexium. It’s bad, Matt. This will explain
everything—why HSM is downsizing, why only a handful people are staying on, and
why so many got sick. Matt, best of luck buddy. Just… don’t stay on. Who knows
who else Providence Labs has hurt in the past. Things are getting weird, and I
have to take off. Take care.
J.
He was always the type to start
conspiracy theories, and this time, it seemed he might’ve been correct. After
Jesse’s personalized note, the next four pages were crammed with legal jargon,
reference numbers, and pictures. Two sentences on the first page were
highlighted in faint, yellow marker. The first read, “Mitochondria in one of
six patients reacted negatively to active ingredient Silitrexium, key component
in Neutrexium…” and the second, “Fifty percent of patients experienced
enlargement in vital organs…” I turned the page and was staring at a picture of
healthy, human lungs. They were of a non-smoker; clean and pink. The next page
was an indescribable mess of human tissue: labeled subject number thirty-three,
a deformed pair of purple, raw lungs sat split open on a silver medical table.
The marks from the implosion of tissue showed that each lung tore in several
places. It reminded me of a sloppy cleaning of an oversized duck breast.
I flipped over to the last page and
saw that it was neatly arranged in lawyer speak. Jesse had once again guided my
eyes to what he wanted me to know, and as I panned down the page, a phone began
to ring. It was coming from the vacant corner station by Pete’s office. Chilly
wisps of air solidified into rough ice in my throat, and I swallowed hard. The
phone rang again. Standing up, I prayed that Jesse had sat in the corner, and
forgot to log off. I stood, placing most of my weight on my right foot so I
could peek at the main computer screen. Seeing that I was the only one signed
into our phone system, I was haunted to hear a call coming through on an unused
line.
Eyeing around the corner, I pushed
off on my healthy foot, rolling towards the ringing. I looked at the call
screen on the phone: Neutrexium. I reluctantly reached for the phone, and
expected to hear another crank caller. After reading most of what Jesse left
for me, I could already make reason to today’s events: news leaked out, people
learned of it, and retaliated against the public figure—High Speed Marketing.
“Thanks for calling the Neutrexium
order line; my name is Matthew, and is that going to be a debit or credit card
this morning?” I immediately closed the customer before a word was spoken from
their end, hoping they would just hang up.
“Matty, I already gave you that
information, remember? I just wanted you to read the last part your delicious friend
Jesse left about how we died… Could you, Matty?” begged a sinister, phantom
voice over the air.
I could feel the blood drain from my
tense face, leaving my mouth opened with numbing fear. Trembling hands rifled
through the pages, and with tunneling vision, I found the implied paragraph. “Providence
Labs LLC, parent company to High Speed Marketing, sold Neutrexium to exactly
Two hundred and seventy four thousand, six hundred and twenty-one customers
over a three year span. As concluded in the studies over the past four months,
seventy-nine patients have been declared dead by results of a negative
Neutrexium interaction, and thousands more are suffering with harmful,
potentially fatal symptoms...” this ended the final footnote to Jesse’s
evidence.
“But of course, you didn’t know,
Matty. You only promised me that breathing would become easier, and that my
lungs would feel ten years younger. How much did you make off of me before my
lungs erupted in my chest, Matty? Was it worth it? I hope so, because I am
going to tear your lungs from your rib cage and fix myself up real nice,” the
voice ended in a cruel laugh.
This time, I knew it wasn’t a crank
caller. I slowly placed the receiver down in the jack, and softly clicked the
phone off. As soon as I stood, an eruption of deafening rings thundered from
the sales floor. My heart began to ache, and my left arm felt tense. I began a
slow breathing routine, hoping that my heart-rate would slow, and the tightness
in my arm would dissipate. After a few cycles of in and out breathing, there
was no change. Warm perspiration oozed from every pore in my body and I felt
light-headed. I held the top of the cubicles, supporting my weight as I walked
my hands, pulling my body along. Forcing my heavy head to peer around the
corner of the last work station, I realized that I was not alone. Standing at
the manager’s desk, a bloated, ethereal man was talking on a cordless head set.
His hair was balding, and his skin was the color of rotten peaches. He smiled
on the phone, and spoke.
“You know, that’s a great question.
Let me ask Matty, he of all people should know. Hey Matty-boy! The customer on
the line wants to know if she can slice out your liver and wear it around for
awhile?”
Sanity and reasoning fled from my
conscience. I back peddled, turning to escape for the front door. In my mind I
saw this is as a horrible hallucination; conjured from my stress and negative emotions.
My ankle was flaring in excruciating pain and my chest began to feel
suffocated. I leaned to the wall, dragging my body along its surface while I
clutched my left arm with my rigid, right hand. Breathing was becoming labored
and my nerves were shot. The bathroom
door was within grasps reach, and I busted through to regain what little
composure remained.
I heaved forward and gripped the
sides of the nearest sink. My hands nearly slipped as I pushed my body erect.
The cold water blasted from the sink as I turned on the cold water faucet.
Cupping the chilled water, I submerged my face into my bowl shaped hands,
panting heavily as water spewed from my mouth. My inner core was spiked with an
anxiety surge that I have never felt. I scanned my memory of every tool that I
acquired from the doctor’s in-home lessons, but my efforts splattered against a
brick wall in my thoughts.
With water dripping from my face, I
pivoted my body against the wall, leaning on the sink to take pressure off of
my now swollen ankle. My eyes remained clenched shut as I struggled to turn my
breathing from a frantic dissonance to a soothing rhythm. I opened my eyes with
mild ease, letting my pupils adjust to the brightness of the room. Once the
blurriness cleared from my now acclimated vision, I was able to see clearly in
front of me. The door to the middle stall was ajar with a splattered scene that
was channeled from my darkest nightmares: blood was sprayed on the floor,
ceiling, and insides of the enclosed toilets. I felt an unwelcomed force guide
my sore legs to the murderous scene that awaited me. I reached out, pushed open
the door, and collapsed to the floor as a grotesque sight greeted my tortured
eyes.
Plastered across every surface of
the stall were the remains of Jesse’s mortal corpse. His work clothes—black
pants and a blue, short sleeved polo—were strewn amongst the clumps of mushy
organ matter. Pink shards of bone stuck to the floor by his ripped loafers, and
clumps of mutilated scalp and strings of brains hung from the toilets water
tank. The very air was stolen from me. I was able to roll my hip to its side
and stand up to make a bolt for the door. I attempted to run, and again fell
off balance; slumping face first as I tumbled through the swinging door. I
attempted to push my body up to a sitting position, but a violent crash from
behind shot my elbow from under me, forcing me to the ground. I careened my
head, and saw a one legged man piloting a motorized hover round. His stump was
fresh and dripping with navy-blue fluids that fell on my shoulder. He dipped
his hallow face down to me, and spat warm, post mortem mucus into my ear.
“When they are done with your
innards, I am going to cut off your leg and sow it back on to mine. I mean,
Matty, you were the one who told me the plaque in my arteries would melt away.
You at least owe me this, boy,” snarled the ghoulish amputee.
I attempted to yell for help, but my
voice was cut short from a cold vice that was wrenching every last speck of
life from my heart. Putting pressure on my good foot, I pivoted my bottom
around, and scooted towards Pete’s office. I would slide my butt back a few
feet, and more walking corpses would emerge from the start of the aisle. The
ghost in the wheel chair was replaced by a shambling man who was pointing at my
privates with his cane. He chuckled in a low, hellish tone.
My back slammed into the wall behind.
I reached up, and was able to open Pete’s unlocked door, and I fell through to
the carpet. A business man in a black suit was sitting on the edge of Pete’s
desk, leering down at me as I gasped breathlessly. An evil smirk appeared across
his twisted face, and his bottomless eyes arrested my soul.
“Matty, what am I going to do with
you? No sales yet tonight… this is a problem. I think it’s time to… terminate
your life. I believe there are some fine folks who want to say “hello” Matty,” he
pointed to the front of the office.
Tilting my head up I saw to my
horror that every human face from the deceased, elderly mob had slid from their
bones and massed into a bloody clump of decaying skin below them. A demonic
profile of crimson, leathery flesh surrounded a wide, putrid maw which replaced
their once normal faces. I could only stare as they swarmed on top of me. The
two that fell on top clawed at my button up dress-shirt, tearing it from my
sore, bulbous stomach. Another fiend that seemed to have been much younger in
life shoved past the first two. As his
boney, sharp hands tore through my fat and into my small intestine, I could
only wish that this was a dream, and that I would awaken before my guts were eviscerated.
