Buried in the Past

Amanda strides over to my desk, her heavy frame teetering on a pair of kitten heels.

“Mike! Morning hun, how’s you?” Her lipsticked mouth is too gaudy for a Monday morning. I shudder internally. 

“The new Creative Director is starting today. I’m thinking it makes sense for you to meet ASAP ‘coz you’ll work alongside him in projects together, yeah?” She leans up against my desk, her backside squashing my notebook. The notebook which holds my ideas that make the money, and in-turn pay her wages.

I sigh, feeling horribly under-respected for at least the fourth time today. 

“No problem Amanda. We can chat in the break room. Maybe we can form a beautiful friendship over crappy instant coffee and bond via a mutual love of getting screwed over by our wonderful clients.”

She threw her head back and cackled. The phone in her blouse pocket buzzed aggressively. 

“Oh he’s HERE! Look sharp, everyone! Let’s not scare him off in the first five minutes with that brilliantly sarcastic humour!” 

She clambored off my desk and sashayed toward the door. A familiar ache began to build in my temples. Presumably my headaches are now a daily mid-morning treat. I naively assumed that moving to the countryside would be nothing but rolling meadows of sweet, fresh air. A fresh start, a new life. Everything else left behind. A cliche slithers through my head.

But you can’t run from your own past. 

I pop some painkillers into my mouth and shove the memories to the back of my brain. The people here are tolerable, but mediocre at their jobs. Some wouldn’t last a day in a city agency. Plus, it’s not too terrible being a big fish in a small pond. Maybe this new guy will bring something impressive to the table. A ball of high-pitched energy enters and I glance at Amanda holding the door open, chatting at full speed. My eyes fall on the figure at her side. 

NO.

His green eyes dart around, absorbing his new surroundings. 

“Hey y’all, this our new Creative Director! Tim Francis.”

Oh my God. Is that… him?

***

I enter the office and gaze at the bored faces looking back at me. A somewhat uninspiring bunch. Mundane job, vapid colleagues, a tedious life. But it will all be worth it. 

The office manager leads me through a sea of cubicles, each housing a middle-aged-and-disengaged worker more slumped over than the last. 

“... so I’m office AND finance, plus like an unofficial PA to the CEO but minus the actual job title!” the woman babbles, gesticulating manically as she gushes streams of unimportant information. 

I tune in and out as I scan each face, nodding politely as my name and job title is repeatedly tossed around. I’m searching for him.

“Ooh so this is Mike, he’s our Technical Lead and he’s just FAB! He’ll join us on the grand tour so you can have a proper natter over coffee straight after!”

The hunched figure jumps and knocks a bottle of painkillers off his desk. He swivels around looking like a deer caught in the headlights, gripping the arm rests of his desk chair with white knuckles. We lock eyes. 

He knows.

***

 I leap up and offer a clammy hand to ‘Tim’. My throat is dry. 

“Hi… Hey I’m Mike… Tech side of things and whatnot” I stammer. 

He’s calm, collected. He grips my hand, looking me dead in the eye. His smile is broad and teethy. 

“Excellent to meet you, Mike. I very much look forward to working with you.”

Amanda claps her hands together and grins goofily. 

“Let us continue, gentlemen! We’ll take a quick trip to marketing…“

I follow the two of them through the cubicle maze, sweat rising under my shirt collar. My ears are hot and sounds are muffled as if I’ve been swallowed by a plug hole. The Eversham Mountain trek. My breathing is rapid, my heart pounds in my throat. February 2005. 

I look at his broad shoulders, the shock of black hair, his firm jawline as he laughs with Amanda up ahead. I catch my own reflection in a window. Disheveled, timid… weak.

“... I think that’s a great idea, if you’re up for that Mike?” Tim stops dead and turns to me. 

I rejoin the room, feeling my cheeks flush. 

“A drink after work. Be good to get to know you.” He was almost… smirking at me?

I gather myself, forcing out the words. “Great, sounds good.” I can’t look at him directly.

Amanda continues her incessant nattering. “Sales! Let me introduce you to the big guns around here!...”

The wind screams all around me, biting at my face and forcing me backwards. I’m back on the mountain. The others are nearby, specks of rainbow jackets in a spray of sleet. Our words are snatched up and flung away in the gale before they can be heard by one another. The deep rumbling is bone-chilling. I’m running, tripping, falling. 

Tim laughs at something, catching my eye. Everything moves in slow-motion, and I’m in the depths of the plug-hole. 

I fixate on a red shape, bobbing up ahead. I’m focussed - follow the red jacket, keep running, don’t look back, don’t stop. Do. Not. Stop. 

The red jacket falls down. I’m catching up, my mouth is burning, lungs alight.

“Help me” screams Red Jacket. His eyes are wild, emeralds against a white face against white snow. 

I skid and slip, offering out a pair of weak, rigid hands. We lock arms, and lock eyes. 

His mouth makes no sound, the fear is pure and numbing. I heave and pull, tug and yank. Death charges closer towards us both. I look up. 

“... the important bit! We have two fire escapes.” We are now in the stairwell at the end of the building. I steady myself, gripping the handrail. Tim is nodding, Amanda is muffled. 

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I shake my head, fixated on the colossal cloud billowing above us. I turn and run, glancing back only once. I see a mess of black hair on the chalky backdrop, like the charcoal eye of a snowman. 

A phone rings.

“Oh jeez, sorry - Mike - can you please finish the tour? Thank you!” Amanda spins on her heels and disappears into the offices.  

“Sure, no problem.” My voice is a trembling squeak.  

The murmuring office sounds dissipate as the door closes with a low thud that echoes around the stairwell. 

“Mike.” He proclaims. His expression is unreadable. 

I wipe my brow, the metallic smell of the handrail catching in my nostrils. Surely he can’t recognise me? It was so long ago. I’m panicking about nothing, this is ridiculous! No. I’ll finish the tour. Second stairwell, coffee, proper introductions. A brief overview of the current projects. All good. 

“I know you” he murmured, non-blinking eyes boring into me.

My stomach plummets into my shoes. 

“You left me to die.”