Glitch. Part 26

"So the room is booked and you and Rohit just need to give your presentation." Henry said.

Presentation?

"Just do it like you did last year." Henry continued.

Rohit's eyebrow quirked.

"Answer any questions, yadda-yadda, welcome them to the company, let them know that interns are a vital part of our family. And are part of a holistic body that gets their hands dirty to do some G.o.dd.a.m.n finance."

"Henry..." Rohit began. "Sarah did the presentation with me last year. Not Sam."

"Oh." Henry said. "Okay then. Rohit takes point and Sam can read off the powerpoints. It's not hard."

Overtime pay, I thought. Think of overtime pay.

Henry and Sean ferried the interns down the elevators, leading them to the presentation room on the first floor. Rohit and I stayed behind to go over the slides.

"Hey, Sam. Sorry about the short notice," Rohit said. He packed a bundle of papers under his arm. I saw lots of blue ink on his papers. Lots of notes. "This must be pretty random."

"It's fine," I said. It wasn't, but overtime pay The two of us took the elevator down. Rohit in his business-casual, myself in sweats and a tie. Rohit carried a stack of slides. I carried an empty bag and a single sheet outlining the orientation for the new crop of interns.

People clapped as we entered the presentation room-a lecture style room splashed with TEB's gold and green. Rohit told a joke that wasn't funny, and everyone laughed. I stumbled along.

"The TEB interns.h.i.+p is all about getting dirty!" Rohit shouted gleefully. The interns clapped. "We push the envelope of hard work and transparency."

"Now, you've all volunteered to work for us, for free, and we respect that. We respect that so much that we're not getting paid to be here today!"

The interns clapped. My mouth hung open.

"Henry's not getting paid, he just loves to be here." Rohit pointed out Henry at the head of the audience.

The interns clapped.

"Sam's not getting paid; he just gives one hundred and ten percent!" Rohit said. The interns clapped again.

"And I'm not getting paid either. Because work isn't about money! It's about play!"

f.u.c.k this s.h.i.+t.

"Next slide Sam." Rohit said.

I raised an eyebrow at him. People laughed.

The projector glowed a single blue light. I clicked the next slide and it flickered. At the front row, one of the better-dressed interns adjusted his gla.s.ses. The blue-white power-point caught the gla.s.s.

Glowing eyes again.

I dreamt of the Stalker Man that night.

Its eyes glowed bright blue-s.h.i.+ning through my closed eyelids. When I opened my eyes, the Stalker Man was there.

The light from its eyes spilled across the walls, blazed in rows on the floorboards, and glowed along the sallow, stretched skin of the Stalker Man.

I'd never realized how huge the Stalker Man was before. Now, in the searchlight-s.h.i.+ne of its eyes, I understood.

The Stalker Man's hands were planted at either side of my bed. Its feet pushed into the walls at the corners of my room. Its long, thin limbs were bunched up. Its double-jointed arms had folded over to make room for itself. The thing's double-elbows sc.r.a.ped the walls of my bedroom. Its arched back rose to the ceiling.

The Stalker Man exhaled a cold breath. So cold it hurt. It stiffened my s.h.i.+rt and burned the feeling out of my skin.

I could hardly breathe in this nightmare. The weight of a flipped Volvo pushed down on my chest. The clock on my bedside was just out of my range of vision.

I strained my eyes to decipher the half-numbers in the clock. I think it said 13:21. If the Stalker Men followed the pattern from last time, he would leave at 13:00, when the world entered real time.

Just twenty minutes.

I stared at the clock. I ignored the Stalker Man's gaze, the s.h.i.+fting limbs and the strange sounds like falling rocks that came from its bubbling, s.h.i.+fting stomach.

The clock changed to 13:20. It was counting down.

I exhaled weakly. Yes. It was moving. I'd survive this. The Stalker Men watched me, its pale, drawn face still like a wax mask. It would leave. I knew it would leave. This was just a nightmare.

The clock was at 13:15.

I strained to breath. I could take in just enough air to keep from panicking, but only if I gave it all my concentration. After a while, breathing became exhausting. A thin sheen of sweat appeared on my forehead, and when my scalp tightened I realized that it was freezing in my hair.

13:10.

I stopped breathing, just for a bit. My lungs felt full of coal, slowly lighting.

13:09.

Pain was too much. I pushed, pulled my lungs to breath again. They did. The fires dwindled. But my chest was so heavy now. I was so heavy and so cold beneath the Stalker Man's eyes.

13:08.

It never stopped staring.

13:07.

A wave of nausea ripped through my chest and pooled behind my eyes. Stars burst inside my vision. The weight on my chest grew. I sucked in air but it was all so cold now.

13:05.

The coals in my gut crackled, hissed, popped. Tongues of heat licking up my throat, roaring against the cold.

13:03.

No more. I looked out to clock, straining my eyes.

13:00.

Just pain, just pain, but it was okay-it was just a dream. And it would end...

Now.

12:59.

The Stalker Man didn't move.

I tried to get. I tried to scream. I couldn't, so I screamed inside my head. I stared at my lifeless body and willed it to get up and run.

I didn't move. Why didn't I move?

The Stalker Man stared, its face a perfect blank. Its blue eyes shone so bright they torched whorls of colour in my vision.

"You."

The voice came from the bottom of the Stalker Man's chest. It sounded like it was squeezing several organs to make that noise.

My fingers twitched. My legs shuddered. I wasn't moving them.

My feet swept across the bed. My hands pushed me off my back and to a crouch. Light. Blue blinding light.

This was a dream this was a dream dreamdreamdreamdream. I tried to get up. Why wasn't I getting up? I needed out. I needed to run.

I fought. I strained. But then my lungs opened up, taking in a rich, cool breath of air; a realization like poison bloomed inside my head.

I wasn't in control. I never had been.

The Stalker Man rumbled. "Rise."

CHAPTER TEN: NIGHTMARE.

The Stalker Man rumbled. "Rise."

The tiny muscles in my spine twitched, then pulled. My back stiffened. The still and silent room with its piles of books, tech, and clothes spun in my vision as my legs swept across the mattress and I lurched out of bed. My arms hung at my sides-dead weight.

My lungs opened. Sweet, cold air rushed in, banking the fires in my gut. Sweet, yes, but also sour, tinged with the Stalker Man's gross scent of chemical sweat.

The Stalker Man hung above me, still straddling my bed. I turned to look at it, except I didn't turn. I didn't move at all. All I could see of the Stalker Man was a thin, milk arm cast in reflected blue light.

I tried again to turn, to move on my own. I couldn't.

I took another breath and I realized I wasn't controlling it. An instant revulsion walloped my gut, demanding I throw up. But the only reaction my body showed to this puppeteering was a tickling, gagging feeling in the back of my throat.

I felt like the Stalker Man's cold, long, baby-soft hands were reaching inside of me. I felt like they were snaking along my nerve centres, caressing them, smoothing them out, and tw.a.n.ging them like guitar strings, playing my body how it wanted.

The Stalker Man's head s.h.i.+fted-I could tell by the shuffling light. A patch of cold settled on the back of my neck and I knew it was staring at me.

"Move."

My foot rose. It went down. I couldn't stop its fall any more than stop a speeding truck. But still I tried. I pushed on my disgust like a lever, trying to break the thing's hold. But all that did was worsen the gagging sensation at the back of my throat.

I shouldered the door open and swung into the hallway. The light from my room blazed behind me. I couldn't see anything but colour-burn. I moved blind, but I moved. I swerved around furniture I didn't know was there. I stepped around floorboards I didn't know squeaked as my track pants swished across the floor. I danced through the living room, across the kitchenette, and up to the front door. At the door, my elbow flew up in a crude, broad swing. The blow smarted. Impact rippled up my to my shoulder.

The door creaked open. I'd somehow hit the lock.

I stepped barefoot into the hallway. The carpet p.r.i.c.kled my bare soles. I walked down the hall, into the darkness.

Without the Stalker Man's searchlight eyes, I couldn't see where I was going. But I kept on walking. I pa.s.sed dark windows, fractured with lines of traffic-light. I pa.s.sed gently humming air vents and still, silent doors-each one staring at me with a tiny bra.s.s peephole.

I came to the elevator. I twirled; my palm smacked the call b.u.t.ton.

The elevator arrived instantly. I stepped inside and the floor turned to cool granite tiles the colour of static.

My elbow swung back. It jammed a b.u.t.ton I didn't see.

The doors closed behind me. The elevator jerked down.

I stayed facing the back of the elevator.

The elevator halted. The doors opened. I walked backwards out of it, never stumbling.

I crossed the lobby. The lights were on but the security desk was empty. Where was the guard?

I came up to the heavy, plate gla.s.s front doors. My hands rose and I pushed them apart. Usually I needed both hands to inch them open, but now the doors swayed apart for me. I shuddered at my easy strength.

Outside was colder, but my skin was still so numb that the air felt almost warm. It was a regular sort of night. Cool air brushed against my face. Crickets chirped far away. Streetlights shone for no one in the ring road around the apartment.

I walked across the empty road, pa.s.sing the light of a streetlamp and mounting the curb onto the circular lawn around the apartment. Damp gra.s.s p.r.i.c.ked my bare feet.

I moved ahead, finding even ground like magic. When I sat in the middle of the lawn, away from the streetlight's reach, I stopped. Turned around.

My lungs lifted by themselves again. The breath felt perfectly measured: just enough to keep me from death.

I waited, staring. The apartment shot up in front of me, a column of black studded with gold light, piercing an inky blue sky.