The Influencer

People have no idea how deep my influence goes. No matter how many times they’re warned: they ignore the risk. They can’t wait to wrap their hands around me, and when they caress me, I take over. I infect their mind, body, and soul like a deadly virus. I breakdown all the barriers that keep their anger, hate, and vengeance bottled up, and I release it. Take for example Eric Chapman. Once he invited me in, he never had a chance……. 

Eric nervously slid into the armchair across from the president of the company, Chip Anderson. As Eric stared into Chip’s Botox filled face, his hands began to tremble so violently, that he had to grab the arms of the chair to steady himself. His heart fluttered with every breath he took, as his left foot tapped the thin Berber carpet that decorated Chip’s luxurious corner office.

Eric had been waiting for this meeting all week. The position of sales director was vacated last month with the retirement of his former boss and mentor, Lewis White. Eric paid his dues, put in the hard work, and now it was time to reap his reward. The only person standing in his way was, Ronald Jackson. Eric knew he was a better worker than Ronald, but Ronald could kiss ass with the best of them. 

Chip sat straight up in his seat, locked his grey eyes with Eric, and cleared his throat, “Mr. Chapman, I know that you were vying for the director of sales position that’s open.”

“Yes sir,” Eric responded with a bright smile. This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for. 

Chip frowned at Eric’s exuberant expression and pushed out the soul crushing words, “While we value you and your impeccable record of service to this company; we feel that Ronald Jackson is a better fit for the position at this time.”

Eric fell back in his chair as all the air in his lungs escaped his body at the same time. He searched for the professional words to describe his disappointment, but could find none.

“That’s not it,” Chip said swallowing hard, “We fell way short of our fourth quarter projections. The board of directors have issued a twenty-five percent cut in staff. I wish I was here with better news, but as of this Friday your position with the company will no longer be available.”

Eric’s jaw was on the floor, “Your firing me?”

“Sorry Eric,” Chip said almost dismissively, as if a shoulder shrug was soon to follow.

“Sorry!” Eric said rising in his seat again. “You just said you valued me. How do you fire someone you value? I have given twenty years of my life to this company. I’ve come to work sick. I’ve come to work on the holidays. I sacrificed my vacations, and my children’s birthday parties to get the job done. And this is how you repay me?”

Chip glanced out the window and back at Eric. He grinned and said, “I know. But you’re a smart guy. You’ll land on your feet. Try to see the silver lining in this.”

“Silver lining,” Eric snapped. “What possible upside could there be to getting fired?”

“A new beginning.”

Eric looked at Chip with astonishment. The nerve of this asshole to say something like that to me, he thought to himself. Eric’s eyes fixated on the glass paper-weight that was on the edge of Chip’s desk. His first thought was to pick it up and slam it right into the side of Chip’s head. But he knew he couldn’t do that. He suppressed the anger, venom, and rage. Humbling himself, he shook Chip’s hand and said, “thank you for the opportunity to work here. It was a valuable experience.”

Eric pushed out a breath as he walked out the door. He immediately looked at Lewis’ empty office to his right. He saw Ronald with a big smile as he was putting up his things in his new office. The fake Brad Pit want-to-be smiled and winked at Eric before putting his nameplate on his new desk. Eric shook his head before looking sideways at Lisa, the office secretary, sitting at her desk. When his eyes met her beady looking green eyes, she quickly stuck her big nose back in her computer screen and pretended to be busy.   

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and held it for a few ticks. As he stood there, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the office staring at him. He turned and slithered into the nearest bathroom to avoid the shame. Making his way into one of the stalls, he grabbed some tissue to wipe his watering eyes. I’m not going to let them see me breakdown he thought to himself. He waited in the bathroom for a few minutes peeking through the cracked door. When no one was paying attention, he crept out the office.

Eric walked outside and looked up at all the skyscrapers. At this very moment they all felt just a little bit taller, while he felt smaller than ever. In his disappointment, he didn’t realize his phone was ringing. It was his sister Tara. He declined the call, but she called again.

“What’s up?”

“Hey bro. You trying to duck my calls or something?” Tara asked jokingly.

Eric considered telling her what happened, but thought better of it. “I was in a meeting. What’s happening?”

“I was calling to remind you to get a gift for dad’s surprise party tomorrow night. You know you’re always forgetting stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m a find something right now. Don’t worry. I’ll see you at the party,” Eric replied.

“You sure you’re alright,” Tara asked with concern in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s just allergies. Don’t worry. I’ll get the gift today.”

Eric hung up and started walking down the avenue. Since he was getting fired anyway, what difference was it that he took off early. He dragged his feet along the pavement, passing stores, until he came across a rare antique store that caught his attention. His father loved to collect all kinds of memorabilia from old baseball cards to World War 2 artifacts. 

Stepping inside, the first thing to greet him was a musty smell. Pushing pass that and the dust, his eyes roamed the store of goods and picked an isle to browse down. He rubbed his hands over statues, antique phones, and porcelain figurines looking for anything that his father might find intriguing.

“Good afternoon,” a raspy voice shouted through the air.

 Eric spun around trying to locate the man who uttered those words. Backing up, he poked his head around the corner to find a man who was as old as the antiques he was peddling. His white rubbery skin was wrapped around a skeleton that was hunched over and propped up with a cane.

“Can I help you find something, chief?”

“Just looking,” Eric replied not really wanting to be bothered.

The old man moved like Yoda from Star Wars as he made his way closer to Eric. “My name is Shorty Defazio, and you have come to a very special antique store. As you can see, we have a little of everything. Perhaps you tell me what you’re looking for, I can help you find something.”

Eric grimaced and reluctantly answered, “I’m not sure. It’s my father’s birthday, and I’m looking for a gift.”

“Well, what is he into, chief?”

“He’s a collector,” Eric titled his head back to think, “He has stuff like, a vintage Lionel Train set, Al Capone’s fingerprint sheet, and an Uncle Sam recruiting poster signed by General Patton.”

“So your father likes World War 2 memorabilia. Well you’ve come to the right place. Follow me,” he commanded as he limped over to a display case. He waved his hand over the case like Eric was a contestant on the Price is Right and he’s showing him the new car he won. “This case is all original artifacts from the second world war. I should know. I fought in it.”

Eric nodded and hovered over the case looking at every item. His eyes were drawn to this old beat up handgun. “What about that gun?”

Shorty Defazio smiled while making his way behind the cabinet. “You have an eye for the best my boy,” he said reaching into the display case, grabbing the gun, and placing it on the counter. “This is the prize of my store. An original 1941 German Luger P08: taken from a soldier after Germany surrendered in forty- five.”

“Wow. My dad has been looking for one of these for years. His father, my grandfather was a soldier during the war. He served in Italy, Sicily to be exact. He passed down to my father all his medals and souvenirs from the war. The one prize my grandfather wanted the most was a German Luger from a German soldier. But only officers carried them, so they were hard to come by. This would make my father’s year. How did you come by this?”

“It passed thru many hands, but it’s still in good condition.”

“It still works?” Eric asked with an eyebrow raised as he picked up and examined the weapon.

“Of course. But you must never fire it though,” Defazio warned, leaning in closer and dropping his voice to a whisper. He looked both ways before locking eyes with Eric, “Legend has it, that this gun has mystical properties.”

Eric flashed a grin. “Mystical properties?”

“Oh yes. You see when the soldier carrying the gun was captured at Auschwitz, he told the Americans the gun was evil. The story goes that anyone who fires the gun will become possessed by the weapon. It will force you to give into your hate and act on your most primal instincts. It can turn a regular man into a cold-blooded killer.”

Eric chuckled, “I’m sure the soldier told that story to explain his conduct at a concentration camp. And let me guess, the US wasn’t buying it then, and I’m not buying it now.”

“You are correct. He was hanged for his war crimes. However, strange things happened to the men who own this gun after him. They all went on crazy shooting sprees. Including the last man to shoot this gun. His name is Howard Unruh. A mild mannered guy that snapped and killed thirteen people. Nobody thought he was capable of doing anything like that, until he bought this gun.”

“You’re really trying to use your sales pitch on me. How much?”

“For someone like your father, who would appreciate this, I’d let it go for three hundred dollars.”

“Two hundred.”

“Sold,” Defazio snapped quickly before Eric could change his mind.

Eric walked into his empty house. Setting his keys and his father’s present on the kitchen counter, the first thing to greet him, like normal, was the large family photo at the end of the foyer. Eric stood and admired the picture they took dressed in white shirts, and standing in front of a barn. His beautiful bride with her big brown eyes staring back at him made him feel shame. How was he going to explain this to her? Who would hire a fifty-two-year-old? With slump shoulders, he strolled in the living room and poured himself a glass of scotch. Just then, he got a text from his sister, “You find something?”

           “Yeah, I got him a surprise that he’ll love,” he texted back.

           Taking a sip of his drink, he strolled back into the kitchen to look at the gun he just purchased. Taking it out the bag, he wrapped his hands around the grip. “Mystical powers my ass,” he uttered with a chuckle.

           Eric stepped out on his patio. The rear of his house faced a massive wooded area. Taking another sip of his drink, he sat his glass down on the table. Walking into the grass, he aimed the gun at the largest oak tree a stone’s throw away. He could see the faces of the men that stole his future, Ronald and Chip. Standing there with that gun in his hand, he felt empowered. A surge of dopamine began coursing its way through his veins. Before he knew it, his index finger was on the trigger, and the gun went off.

           “Shit!” A startled Eric yelled as he dropped the gun and clinched his racing heart. As he took several deep breaths, he realized he forgot to check and see if the weapon was loaded. Falling back into a patio chair, he took a swig of scotch until it was all gone. Closing his eyes, he calmed down.

           Suddenly, he felt a warm sensation radiating through his body. Just the alcohol he thought to himself initially. But the sensation lingered longer than normal. He found himself staring into space, his mind drifting back on his job and how he got screwed. All of sudden, his disappointment and frustration turned to a sweltering hatred. They needed to pay for what happened to him.

           In a trance like state, he bent down and grabbed the gun. Tucking it in the waistband in the small of his back, he hopped in the car and drove to his job. Like a zombie, he walked passed the security guards and office personnel, ignoring their greetings and pleasantries. Arriving at an empty elevator, he stepped in and punched the button for the eight floor. Robotically retrieving the gun out of his waistband, he cocked that German Luger like a soldier ready for action. The bell sounded and doors slowly opened.

           “Hey Eric,” said Emily. Another coworker whose tiny office was next to Eric’s. Her stride was broken as she waited for a response. Then her brown eyes glanced down and immediately noticed the gun in his right hand. She let out a high pitch scream that could’ve broken a champagne glass.

           Unfazed, Eric march down the hall as people popped their heads out their cubicles to see what the commotion was all about. Eric walked pass them until he reached the desk of Lisa. She was so focused on getting her eyelashes to pop just right in her compact mirror, she didn’t notice the ruckus. Eric strolled over and raised the gun to her face just as she closed her mirror. Those green eyes now trembled in fear. She opened her mouth to scream, but the bullet went straight through her brain. Killing her while her scream still floated in the air.

           Eric stepped over her dead body and pushed open Chip Anderson’s door next. Chip was on the phone with the police. When he saw it was Eric, he dropped the phone and his eyes were big as silver dollars.

           Chip’s voice quivered in fear as he struggled to get out the words, “Eric, you don’t have to do this. Please. I have a wife and children at home. For god sake!” 

            Eric’s glassy eyes didn’t blink. He aimed the gun at Chip’s chest and squeezed the trigger. Chip fell backwards in his chair as the blood gushed out his chest like a broken water main. The bullet pierced his lung, taking his breath away: so he pleaded with his eyes. Stone face, Eric inched closer, pointed the gun at his head, and fired another round. Chip was gone.

           Amidst the screaming, running and confusion, Eric made his way into Ronald’s office. His eyes scan the room from left to right trying to find him, but nothing. He looked behind the door next, he wasn’t there either. Then he walked behind the desk and flung the chair across the room. Cowering underneath was Ronald. When he saw the gun, his mouth flew open. He threw up his hands in submission and carefully crawled forward.

           “Eric, please don’t shoot. I know your angry about what happened. But it’s not what you think. Just let me explain,” Ronald pleaded on all fours, looking up like a lost puppy dog.

           Eric, still stoic, pushed the barrel of the German Luger against Ronald’s temple and squeezed the trigger. The blood splattered on his cloths and face, finally snapping him out of his trance. Looking down at Ronald’s lifeless body, Eric was confused by what was happening. His mind functioned like an old computer downloading new software, as the two other murders popped into his foggy brain. His body went limp as he released the gun to the floor. Stepping back in shock, he glanced down at the blood that sprayed on his hands. Before he could fully gather his thoughts, he felt the rush of law enforcement bombard the office.

           “Show me your hands! Now! Hands!” A command was shouted with authority from a SWAT team dressed in black, holding assault rifles with itchy trigger fingers. They quickly filled the room and got in position. 

           Staring down the barrel of an AR-15, his hands shot up in the air.

           “On your knees with your fingers lock behind your head! Now!”

           Still confused by what happened, Eric fell to his knees and put his hands behind his head. One of the officers planted his combat boat in the middle of Eric’s back and pushed him to the floor. Another officer placed zip-ties on his wrist.

           “What the hell happened? Somebody tell me what’s going? How did I get this blood on me? This has to be a nightmare,” Eric screamed hysterically as he was dragged away.   

Like I said in the beginning, my influence runs deep, like an ocean. You think a rapper convincing you to buy liquor, or some Instagram model influencing you to try new lip-gloss is powerful, they got nothing on me. But you won’t listen. So the next time you get cutoff in traffic, somebody disagrees with your politics, or that no good spouse cheats on you. Pick me up. I’ll take you for a ride you’ll never forget.  

                                                     The End