Cold Day at the Office

Jack heaved a sigh as he rubbed between his brows. He could hear the distant ringing of a telephone in the outer office. His eyes ached and his back hurt from the old chair. He looked up from the journals and ledgers. The office was empty now. Even the last of the receptionists had gone home for the weekend, but the partners insisted the McCauleigh account be balanced by Monday morning. Jack hated going home late on a Friday, but he knew his wife would like him coming into work tomorrow even less.

He frowned at the window and wondered when it had started snowing. He could not recall a forecast of snow in the paper, not for today or even this weekend. He rose to his feet and moved to the window. The phone in the outer area continued to ring.

The snow was coming down quickly and Jack could see a blanket of white on the roof of the building across the way, and on the quiet street itself.

The phone went silent. Jack looked at the clock and realized it was later than he’d thought.

The phone started up again.

Jack sighed once more and picked up the receiver in his office, hit a button, and accepted the call. “Babcock and Charles Charted Accountants, this is Jack Katillion speaking.”

“Jack! Where are you?” he heard his wife’s voice say.

“Uh, Sheila, you called the office and I answered, where do you think I am?” He could hear the panic in her voice and he hoped to alleviate some of her worry.

“That’s not funny, Jack. I’ve been calling for over an hour. It’s snowing hard. The roads aren’t safe,” she fretted.

“I’m really sorry,” he sighed. “The partners have me on a deadline and I lost track of time. I didn’t want to have to come in tomorrow.” He pulled the cord as far as he could reach and looked out the window again. The snow was falling harder.

“The roads aren’t safe,” she repeated.

He pursed his lips and frowned out the window. He could just make out the headlights of a single car in the street. The rear of the vehicle wiggled back and forth, trapped in the deep snow.

“I know,” he conceded. “I’ll hunker down here. I’m really sorry, Sheila.”

“Stay safe, dear. The kids are home and I’ve got the fire going. We’ll be fine. Look after yourself. And for heaven’s sake don’t just eat out of the vending machine.”

“I won’t, Sheila. I’m sure there’s something around here somewhere.” Jack smiled. His wife made the best food, but the idea of a bag of chips from the vending machine in the lobby was a small consolation for being trapped here overnight. “I love you,” he added.

“I love you, too.”

Jack hung up the phone and looked around. His stomach growled. With the knowledge he now had all night to work on the file, Jack scooped up his keys and left the office. He locked the door behind him, and took the stairs down to the main floor of the building.

Babcock and Charles Charted Accounting had expanded since he’d begun working for them over fifteen years ago, but the biggest expansions had been in the last four years. He’d been passed up for partnership several times with the company taking on accountants from other firms and making them partners instead. The brand-new VCR he’d received felt more like a slap in the face than a thank you for all his hard work. Jack often toyed with striking out on his own, but the economy was in a downturn and he wanted stability. At least he had a paycheck.

The main floor was as quiet as he expected. Everyone was long gone. He could hear the sound of tires spinning in the snow and he pictured that lone car out on the street.

“Sorry, buddy. You’re as stuck as I am,” Jack murmured to himself as he inserted quarters into the machine, pressed a few buttons, and collected his bag of potato chips. He wondered if the person would abandon their vehicle and return to whence they came.

The front doors were glass and Jack could see there was nearly a foot of snow piled against them. The car tires stopped spinning, and Jack tore open the bag of chips as he walked closer to the door. He popped a chip in his mouth and looked out. The car lights turned off and Jack could see a figure get out of the car and run to one of the other nearby buildings.

He nodded to himself and ate another potato chip before he turned and took the stairs back up to the office.

Babcock and Charles Charted Accountants once had a few offices on one floor of the building, but with the recent expansions they now used two whole floors. Jack spent little time on the upper floor, which was reserved mostly for the partners and their assistants.

Each of the floors of the building had a long corridor with a stairwell at one end and an elevator in the middle. Other floors had doors to several offices, the Babcock and Charles Charted Accounting floors had just the one glass door on each level.

Jack used his key, stepped inside, then locked the door behind him.  

Jack roamed the office while he munched away on his potato chips. The accountants’ offices were dark, save for his own. The reception desk was tidy with a container of pens, some business cards, and a closed day planner. Jack deposited his garbage in a trash can near the reception area, and returned to his office.

There was picture of him with Sheila and their two children at his parent’s summer cabin on the desk and he smiled at the picture before he turned back to the file.

It was sometime later before he stretched, satisfied with a job well done. The streets were quiet, and the office building even more so. It was late now, and Jack imagined Sheila curled up in their bed. She’d be worried about him, but calling at this hour wouldn’t help either.

He stood up and went back into the main reception area. He flicked on some of the lights and, for the first time in his career, Jack noted the lack of comfortable chairs and couches throughout the office. He frowned at the idea of sleeping in his desk chair and his eyes settled on the reception desk. He suspected there was a set of keys to access the upper office, and so he opened several drawers in search of them. He grinned as he found them.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he muttered to himself.

Jack locked the lower office up, and made his way up to the next floor. Like the floor below, there was a glass door leading into the offices of Babcock and Charles Charted Accounting. With the exception of a small desk light on the reception desk, the entry appeared dark. He found the right key, and opened up the office.

“Uh, hello?” Jack called. He wondered if this was a bad idea.

There was no reply.

“You’re being ridiculous, Jack,” he muttered to himself. “Just find a couch.”

He closed the door behind him and locked it. The reception area here was smaller than downstairs as few people were sent up here, and even fewer were kept waiting. The chairs looked more comfortable, but they were chairs none the less. Jack vaguely recalled seeing a sofa in Gregory Babcock’s office on one of the rare occasions he was in there, and he was certain that would be a better place to wait out the blizzard. He suspected other offices might have suitable furnishings as well, and a junior partner might have less to say about him using their office.

The office doors were all closed, and Jack opened the closest one first. He found a desk, office chair, some bookshelves, and some comfortable looking seats for clients, but no couch. The office was well-appointed with artwork and wooden framed certificates. The furniture was of high quality. He eyed the office chair enviously. Most of the offices produced the same results and Jack cursed the new junior partners for having better seats than he did.

Jack reached Gregory Babcock’s office and opened it. He stepped inside and frowned at the couch. It looked far less comfortable than he remembered. He glanced around the well-appointed office, then stepped in and sat down on the brown leather couch.

It was fine for sitting.

He took his Oxford wingtips off, placed them neatly next to the couch and laid down. He grimaced.

“Let’s see what else we can find,” he muttered as sat up and put his shoes back on.

He turned the light off and closed the door, then walked down the hall and tried the last door. It was unlocked, and Jack stepped into Lester Charles’ office. He hadn’t been in here before as the partners conducted company meetings in a boardroom in the lower office. On the few occasions Lester had spoken to him, it had always been in Jack’s office.

He flicked the light on. The office held several wooden book cases, a solid wooden desk, an enviable desk chair, two leather arm chairs, and along one wall a plush sofa.

Jack grinned.

“Come to papa!” he said as he sat down. It was perfect. He took his shoes off, then got up and flicked the light off. He settled into the couch and sighed as he closed his eyes.

Jack could hear the ticking of a wall clock across the room. A siren sounded in the distance. He rolled over and willed himself to sleep.

He wondered how Sheila was doing. The snow made her anxious. He wished he’d paid better attention, but he’d been eager to get the work done and get home.

Jack thought of the office chairs again and rolled over in frustration. His eyes flicked open and for the first time he noticed a glow coming from under a door on the far side of the room. When he’d entered the office, he’d assumed it was a closet and hadn’t given it much thought.

Jack frowned and sat up. The light flickered and Jack rose.

He strode across the room and then hesitated.

“Hello?” he called out.

There was no answer.

Jack approached the door. He couldn’t feel any heat from the door, and he realized he didn’t hear the sound of a fire. The light was dim.

He put his hand on the handle, twisted it, and pulled it open.

The door opened into a small room and Jack could immediately see the source of the light. A flame danced atop a large black candle on a wooden bench.

Jack sucked in his breath. Infront of the wooden bench, a large circle had been drawn on the floor in white chalk. It had what he could only guess were runes of some sort incorporated into the design. In the centre of the circle were several flat objects about the circumference of a kiwi fruit.

He reached toward the wall and fumbled for a light switch. A dim light illuminated the room and Jack realized the objects were gold coins streaked with blood. He shuddered, and stepped out of the room.

Jack took a breath. Then another one.

With one final breath, he stepped back into the strange room and looked around.

The candlelight flickered again, and Jack noticed there were etchings on the side of the candle. He stepped around the circle and moved closer. The wax did not appear to be burning. Jack carefully reached a hand out toward the flame. It wasn’t hot.

“What the hell is this?” he murmured.

He turned back toward the circle and counted the coins. Seven. The number of partners and junior partners now at the firm.

“Suddenly I’m glad I wasn’t in those Friday morning meetings,” he mused.

Jack eyed the circle with suspicion, and then carefully stepped around it to the doorway. He turned, frowned at the wooden bench, then flicked the light switch, and closed the door.

The next morning Jack grimaced at the pain in his back. He pulled himself from his uncomfortable desk chair and smiled at the picture on his desk. He stretched his neck as he walked to the window. Some of the tension dissipated with a satisfying pop.

It was still white out there, but the snowfall had stopped and the early rays of the sun sparkled across the blanket of white.

Jack placed the picture frame in his briefcase, pulled on his coat, and made his way to the reception area. He replaced the keys, and left his sealed letter of resignation on the desk.

He didn’t care if the economy was terrible. Suddenly starting out on his own seemed like the best idea he’d ever had.