The Dangers of Deadlines

“Watch your step.”

Harry jumped, nearly dropping his briefcase. Turning to see what he had thought was just a cardboard cutout next to the turnstyle was an actual living person. A ticketmaster, adorned in perfect navy blue suit and cap, stood a foot away from Harry, his brilliantly white teeth shining in a wide grin.

Harry did not smile back. Mouth slightly agape, he stared at the, quite literally, picture perfect man. He wasn’t sure if the stranger was an actual subway operator, or maybe just some stunt set up by a group of punks with hidden cameras somewhere.

The reason Harry was so baffled-- at least, the one most giving of pause-- was that it was three in the morning. In a perfect world, Harry should’ve been home by now, but the past week and a half saw a rather pressing deadline for an incomplete project that had given way to his new found habit of sleeping in his cubicle at work. The only reason he was even taking the subway now was to pick up a file he had accidentally taken home and left on the desk of his home office. It was essential to make sure the file was handed in with the rest of the project documents, all of which was due first thing when his manager walked in, so it unfortunately couldn’t wait. Cabs are expensive this time of night, so here he was. 

But, why was there a ticketmaster here?

The ticketmaster, or perhaps just a man a the blue suit, reached into his jacket and pulled something out. It appeared to be the size of an egg, and for a moment Harry wondered if the true “prank” was beginning, but with a click, the object opened a metal face and Harry saw that it was a golden pocketwatch. The man peered at it for a moment with mild curiosity. A short laugh escaped his stretched lips before he closed it and looked back up at Harry, sliding the glinting gold back into its hiding place. He raised a firm finger and pointed over the turnstyle to a sign beyond. Harry eyed him suspiciously, then leaned and looked over the metal bars.

“Line To: GREENPOINT -> 0 mins.”

A squawk of alarm slipped up from Harry’s throat as he scrambled for his MTA card. He slapped it down onto the screen connecting turnstyles, which beeped green as he moved through the rotating bars, briefcase clutched to his chest.

Just before he descended, Harry gave a glance backwards to the man. The man still stood there, smile still wide. A hand raised upwards and tapped his nose twice. Harry turned back and hurried away from the ticketmaster in the blue suit.

It was by the thread of his jacket that Harry jumped over the yellow and into the closing doors. When no voice came in over the loudspeaker to scold him for the dangerous behavior, Harry took an empty seat and slid down.

It had been a least a week since he had been home. His office building had their own showers for the company’s personal gym, so going home had simply become a waste of time. The only downside was the stiffness in his back no longer dissipated after sleep, since “sleep” was just timed power naps in his desk chair. No matter, though; the discomfort, the stress, the pain-- it would all be worth it when he handed everything in tomorrow morning. 

Harry looked up from his seat. A poster across from him was advertising some kinda toothpaste; one of those ones that brightened your smile with some “New Recipe” or something. The slogan, plastered in bold black lettering next to a man with a dazzling bright smile read: “Watch Your Step.”

Harry blinked.

He looked again. The sign read, “Watch Your Smile Grow.”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Maybe it was just the coincidence of recency or pure strangeness of the wording, but Harry was almost sure he had read it right the first time. The letters had changed… right?

No. No. That was crazy person thinking. He was just tired. However, the more he stared at the smile of the man on the poster, the more familiar it looked. Realizing where his brain was wandering, he tore his eyes away and looked anywhere else. This is New York. Odd things happen all the time. A stranger posing as a ticketmaster to creep out people on the subway was no weirder than the next thing.

None of that matters anyways, Harry thought to himself. Just keep your mind on the file. Only the file. Once you’ve got the file, everything will fall right in place.

Movement in Harry’s peripherals caused him to jump slightly. An older man, eyes glazed in an unknowable search, walked between him and the poster on his way to the other side of the car. His gaunt face expressed a permanent depression that was inexpertly hidden by the wild matting of beard and mane which had long been given to nature. Harry pretended to be interested in a spot of gum on the edge of his seat as the man passed, but as the old man went to step in front of him, the train lurched into a turn.

The old man stumbled, catching his balance on the arm bar above, but Harry instinctively threw a hand up to grab ahold of the man before he fell on toppled over. Like a magnet pulled within range of another, the movement sparked the life into the old man’s eyes, which quickly locked onto Harry’s own. The eyes maintained their waxy wild nature for a few moments before suddenly breaking into horrible terror.

“You’ve seen him.” The man’s voice came out from the beard in a whispery rasp. “You’re too close to the edge. You’ll fall. Don’t follow him. Don’t follow him!”

They stared at each other. Harry didn’t move, afraid that any reaction would set the man off again. The cold feel of his words dripped down Harry’s spine like ice.

Harry saw the beard move again, but this time the words were too quiet to hear.

“... what?”

“Change!” The old man spat, droplets of saliva sticking into his beard. “I need change, sir. Just five dollars and I can eat. Please!”

The look of horror was gone from his eyes, replaced again with that waxy glaze; a look so hardened and unmoldable that Harry began to wonder if it had ever been anything else at all. 

“I… don’t carry change.”

The man pushed himself back up and shuffled away. Words that sounded like God Bless broke from his beard, but Harry did not feel as though they were meant for him.

Harry shook his head. It had not been that long since he last slept… had it? Yet, the more he thought on it, the more he remembered that, in the past two days alone as the feeling the deadline loomed closer, he had began replacing his nap breaks with the little bottles of pure caffeine that his manager had left on his desk as a “Thank You” present for “All your hard work!”

Harry’s eyes wondered back up to the poster. It was making him uncomfortable, but he didn’t wanna change seats. Eyes were still on him.

At the next stop, a nightcrawler got off, and at the stop after that, the old man. Two stops later, the train halted and Harry stood up to leave.

He moved quickly to the doors as they opened, but froze in place as he looked onto the platform beyond.

The man in the blue suit stood on the other side, his smile bright and wide.

“Watch your step.”

Harry choked. Somehow, this man, without Harry noticing, had gotten on the train with him, maybe in a different car, then jumped out and stood in front of the doors to scare him. He was following Harry. He must be. But, as Harry looked over the picture perfect man he saw no sign of hurry. No wind-swept hair or stagger of breath or dishevel of clothes or… or anything! Everything about this man looked as if he had been standing there already. Waiting.

Harry choked on nonexistent words, mouth opening and closing like a salmon on the chopping block.

Shrieking laughter pitched from out of sight as a pair of inebriated women in outing apparel descended the stairs, tall pointy heels clutched in hand.

“Hold the door!” One of them called, the sound of slapping of bare feet echoing through the empty platform.

The man in the blue suit stuck out an arm in between the doors, his eyes fixed on Harry. The girls walked quickly over the faded, filthy yellow line and onto the subway car, moving around the man without so much as a glance or pause for concern. As if he wasn’t even there.

“Thanks!”

It took Harry a few moments before he realized that the woman was speaking to him. When he didn’t say anything back to her, she gave an affronted look. “Okay, creep.”

The other woman glared at him when he didn’t move and said, “Are you getting off, or just trying to creep people out?”

Harry looked back at the man in the blue suit, who grinned amusedly. With a nervous swallow, Harry walked out past the man and towards the stairs. He felt the eyes moving with him; the cackle of the two women’s laughter played on his heels and all the way to the stairs until they became muffled by the closing doors and screech of the train as it, too, moved away.

In a final glance down, Harry saw the man had not moved from his spot. Just before the blue suit and smile descended too far out of sight, Harry saw from between the bars of the railing as the man raised a hand to his nose and tapped it twice. The rest of the walk out of the subway, Harry thought only about how on the return trip-- money be damned, he would hail a taxi.

His apartment was only a block and a half away from where the subway entrance reached street level, but the whole time Harry kept turning around to peak back over his shoulder, searching for so much as the trace of a familiar shadow in the distance, outlined in the light of a dying MTA sign.

If only the deadline wasn’t so early, and he could just wait out till daylight. If only he’d started sleeping at work in the first place, he wouldn’t be in this stupid mess. If only he hadn’t chosen a profession that didn’t care if he ate or slept. If only he didn’t need to eat or sleep. If only… 

Harry shook his head. He was breaking the first tenet of business school: “Don’t think on it; Act on it.” The fatigue was getting to him, so now he was looking for an escape. All this paranoia over a weirdo on the subway?

You are making up excuses to avoid responsibilities.

The thought echoed in his brain like his supervisor had actually spoken them aloud. He just needed to grab this file and go. Tomorrow, things would be better when he handed everything in. Once he had that file, everything would just fall right into place.

As his apartment finally loomed, Harry sped up. Through the first set of doors, he punched in the code at the second. A breath of cool air-conditioned safety washed over him, but he didn’t let the feeling relax him. He walked quickly for the elevators, but saw the doorman, dressed in an unsettling blue, stirred from his spot at the desk as Harry approached. The man thrust a hand into his pocket and pulled something out. Something small. Egg-sized. With a familiar glint of gold.

“Hey, pal. Ya know what time it is, right?” The doorman said to Harry’s back. “Ya know on weekdays this building technically has an eleven o’clock curfew, right? I’m gonna have to see ID.”

Harry had frozen in step. There was no way. Absolutely no way.

He took a shuttering breath, eyes locked down as he walked back to the desk. The doorman extended a hand, and Harry hastily removed his Tenet’s ID card and handed it to the man.

The doorman looked at it for a second then said, “Pal, can you just look up at me. I’m not trying to get you in trouble or nothing, but I gotta do my job.”

Harry looked up, and panic spiraled like jolts of electricity up and down his spine. It was him. The ticketmaster. The doorman. The man in the blue suit.

Yet, it was off; the shadow of a beard cropped over his jaw line and the eyes racooned slightly. It was like a camera filter had been turned off, and the real image had come into focus. For a few horrific moments, the two of them stood, each taking the other in. 

“Christ, guy.” The doorman’s brow furrowed. “You look like a dog that died yesterday-- pardon my saying.”

Harry stared at him a few moments longer, searching his eyes for the faintest trace of understanding. What was this? Two people don’t just have the same face. But, had he ever even seen this doorman before? What did his doorman even look like? The more he tried to pull the image, the more clearly he could picture that smiling, picture perfect version of the man standing before him.

“You doing okay?” The doorman’s gaze became more concerned. “You need some water, or something?”

Harry shook his head. He had had enough of this. He didn’t wanna be here anymore. He wanted to be back at the office. Back where it was safe. This was a mistake. All for a stupid file.

“Well… listen, I’ll leave this little late night return off the books; just try not to go making a habit out of it, right?” He handed Harry his ID back, which Harry snatched quickly before walking quickly towards the stairs. He risk waiting. Not with him.

“Hey! Pal!”

With a glance-- his neck pushing against the force of every muscle and nerve in his body crying out not to-- Harry turned around to look at the doorman. The man gave a knowing smile, as an arm raised up and gave two taps on his nose.

Harry wanted to scream.

He ascended the stairs two at a time, not stopping even as a stitch began to form in his side. At his floor, the stairwell door flung open as he all but sprinted to his door, hands fumbling with the keys and nearly dropping them, before--

With a slam, he closed the door to his apartment, with him on the other side.

The file.

Harry walked quickly to his home office. As he pushed the still ajar door open, he saw the desk lamp was still lit. And the desk… empty.

In two long strides, Harry approached the desk and flung open the drawer where he kept all his folders. He thumbed through them. Nothing. He pulled them out, searching each and every one of them as he discarded them to the floor.

It wasn’t here.

“Where is it?!” Harry screamed. It had to be here. He had it on his desk. It was here. He could not have come here for nothing. IT. WAS. HERE.

Harry paused. A sound rang in his ear.

Tap. Tap.

Two taps. Two distinct, familiar taps. He walked out of his home office and looked to the window that led to the fire escape. It was open, the breeze playing lightly at the drapes. A thought spoke in his head:

It was him. He was in here.

Tap. Tap.

He’s on the roof, the thought went on. He’s on the roof, and he has my file.

In seconds, Harry sprang onto the counter that led to the window and crawled outside onto the metal frame of the fire escape. Grabbing the ladder, he ascended.

It was at the top-- out of breath as his arms screamed and legs shook, his clothes disheveled with eyes glazed in a frantic search-- Harry spotted him. The man in the blue suit. On the other side of roof, hidden in shadow, Harry saw his outline as clear as anything. And he had the file. Harry couldn’t see it, but he knew. He had stolen the file. He had the file.

The shadow raised a hand to its face, as if to tap at its nose. Harry sprinted just as the shadow moved out of sight behind the wall of the stairwell entrance. Feet slipping on the gravel laden roof, he tripped a few desperate steps before the wall turned and with a heavy break, Harry tumbled to the ground. He felt his pants rip as his palms tore and cut against the bits of graveled ground.

“Give it back!”

Pulling himself up, Harry rounded the corner. “Give it--

But, he saw nothing. No one there but the darkness beyond.

“Where are you?!” Harry screamed. “Give it back! Leave me alone!”

He jumped off, a thought said in his mind. He jumped off and he has the file.

Harry ran up to the edge and tentatively peeked over. The drop was far. Too far. There was no way anyone would survive a jump like--

“Watch your step.”

The words came from right behind his ear. As Harry spun around, his shoe caught on the ripped pant leg and he stepped backwards for balance. Only, there wasn’t anything to step back to. His scream caught in his throat as he fell backwards and out of sight.

The wind whipped noiselessly over the empty rooftops high, high above the long fall below.