The Guy
As Ron slid the white, plastic, key card through the slot next to the door, he knew what he would find.
Since joining the prestigious brokerage firm over a year ago, he had cleaned the offices at precisely 8pm every night, and he always found the same sight.
And tonight was no different. Sitting at the far end of the, otherwise empty,open plan office, was The Guy.
He didn't know his name, just that he was here every night that Ron worked. He was alone, as ever, his face light up by the glowing computer monitor in front of him.
Always wearing a crisp white shirt, a steel grey tie, and a black suit. The suit jacket was always neatly hung on the coat stand, and despite being in a job where everyone was under constant pressure, the shirt always remained crisp.
Ron began, as usual, to clear the desks. Every scrap of paper that was on the desk, or on the floor around it went into one bag. This was the burn bag. Ron scowled.
By company rules, the agents were supposed to clear their own desks and put the rubbish in a bin, but they rarely bothered. More than once, Ron's supervisor, Alan, had to defend him for burning a piece of paper.
Each time Alan had pointed to the rulebook that made this clear. If the agents didn't dispose of it, and left it on the desk, then it was fair game for Ron.
So each time, the agent left, muttering. All except for The Guy. Despite the fact he was still working, The Guy had a completely clear desk.
Only a leatherbound notebook lay on it. Ron had caught a glimpse of it once, but understood nothing. It wasn't even English. As he did now. He placed the burn bag by the door, a plastic tie wrapped tightly and securely around it's neck. He pulled in the vacuum cleaner and set to work. The Guy didn't react at all.
His fingers moved effortlessly and silently over the plastic keys in front of him, those grey eyes flicking left and right. occasionally, his right hand would flutter over to the mouse, a few rapid clicks, and he would be typing again.
Ron carefully navigated through the office, then unplugged the vacuum and put it back on his cleaning trolley. He collected the burn bag and left. He nodded to The Guy but received no reaction.
Outside in the corridor, Ron unlocked the nearby closet that held the janitorial supplies. he pushed the trolley inside, then with only the burn bag in his hands, he locked the door behind him and walked towards the bank of elevators.
He pressed the silver button, and watched the cool blue light surround it. From above, he heard the motors begin to work and the lift began its ascent.
Ron watched the indicator lights as it moved up from the 1st, through the 15th, 20th, 25th floor untll it reached floor 27. This floor.
The lift door remained closed...
Ron pressed the call button again, but the doors remained stubbornly closed. Ron scowled and started towards the stairs. As he did reached the plain white door leading to the stairwell, the lift pinged, and the doors slid slowly open. Ron hurried back, but froze as he saw inside the lift. He dropped the bag in his hand and involuntarily stepped backwards. Pinned against the mirrored wall that served as the back of the lift, was a security guard.
Blood pooled beneath his suspended form, and his white shirt was stained a deep red. His head was lowered, but Ron had the feeling that he was most definitely dead. He swallowed painfully, his throat suddenly dry and constricted.
He looked from side to side, seeing nothing, his hand slowly sliding into his pants pocket, searching for his cell phone. He keyed in 911 and raised the device to his ear. He could hear the ringing.
"Welcome to hell Ronald White" a gravelly voice, full of venom and hatred spoke to him, and he dropped the phone to the floor where a high pitched wail began to be emitted. The lift pinged once more and the doors slid shut slowly.
Ron stepped quickly away from the cellphone, his back pressing up against the cool concrete of the wall. He could feel a damp patch begin to form in the small of his back.
As he looked down at the cellphone, it's display still alight, he could hear the faint, echoing, laughter of whoever was on the other end of the line.
Or whatever, Ron thought for a split second, and a chill ran down his spine
He raised his foot, and brought the heavy boot he was wearing down with a crunch. Plastic shards skittered over the white tiles of the floor. the LCD display flipped over and over and came to a rest near the door to the office he had just cleaned.
The office where The Guy was still working.
Still with his attention, and mind, on the horror that the lift had contained, he felt his way towards the office door and let himself back in. He looked towards The Guy and spoke, his voice cracking with fear.
"Call the police, quickly"
The Guy looked up and looked directly at him.
"Why?" His voice was accented. English, Ron supposed, or Australian maybe.
"There's been a murder, a body, in the lift"
The Guy raised an eyebrow in curiousity. After a brief pause, he stood. Ron could see that he was shorter than average, maybe five and half feet.
He walked towards Ron and the doorway. As he raised his left hand to open the door, Ron glimpsed a plain silver bracelet around the wrist.
"Don't go out there, it might get you too"
"It?"
"Whatever killed the guard, and called me on my cell. It knew me. It laughed at me so I stamped on the phone" Ron shivered. "That laughter was awful"
"Hmm" was the only reply The Guy gave, and with a pull on the door, he departed. Ron looked through the small window in the door and saw The Guy press the call button for the lift, then reach down and pick something up from the floor.
After a few moments, Ron heard the lift ping, and the door to the lift that had contained the body open.
Instead of recoiling, The Guy stepped into the lift and because the angle from the window was too great, Ron lost sight of him.
At least for a few minutes. The Guy re-emerged and walked towards the office door. He passed his own security card through the locking mechanism and entered.
As he did so, he took hold of Ron's hand and placed something in it.
Ron's Cellphone. undamaged...
Ron stared at the phone that sat in his hand. His eyes looked over the battered casing.
He couldn't believe that this phone was his, but there were the scratches on the screen from where he kept it in the same pocket as his keys and where the logo had been nearly
rubbed out, and the small chips where he had dropped it on the road. He looked at The Guy
"But you saw the body right?" he asked, half afraid of the answer. His fears where confirmed when The Guy shook his head slightly.
"No body, no blood" Ron could have sworn The Guy knew more than he was saying, but he needed to see this for himself.
He opened the office door and walked towards the lift. His footsteps hesitant. He pressed the button and waited.
The lift pinged it's arrival, and Ron took several steps back, afraid of what he might see.
The lift doors opened, and true to "The Guys" word, there was no body in the lift. The mirror wall was smear free, and no blood pooled on the floor.
"I don't understand, it was there, I'm sure it was"
"You must have imagined it." His voice was dismissive now, as though he thought Ron was worth no more of his time.
Ron stared at his phone, then at the empty lift. With some trepidation, he stepped into the lift, and pressed the basement button. The lift doors closed quietly.
The Guy stood in the corridor, watching the numbers above the lift fall, then turned to face the wall behind him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then lifted his right hand and with his index finger extended, he traced a pattern in the air. For a moment, an odd shape glowed, suspended in front of him.
Then the corridor started to shimmer around him and he was facing the lifts again, the wall behind him.
He pressed the call button and the lift doors slid open to reveal the body inside. He stepped into the lift, careful to avoid the bloody pool on the floor and scowled at the sight.
"Amateurism" he muttered. "Simple amateurism" He crouched down, and pressed his pinky finger to the blood and lifted to his nose. He sniffed, then extended his tongue and tasted the blood on his finger.
He spat into the corner of the lift in disgust
"Complete and utter amateurism" he muttered again. He stared at the body, then pulled open the shirt and saw what lay beneath the cotton.
Markings had been brutally carved into the flesh. His scowl hardened.
He stepped out of the lift again, then paused, staring into the blood spattered lift. He raised his right hand, palm upwards.
His eyes closed and he clenched his hand shut tightly. From between his fingers, light began to flare. The light expanded, seemingly pushing apart his grip until his hand was flattened.
Hovering mere inches above his palm was a glowing, golden ball. He opened his eyes and the ball hurtled into the lift.
The light expanded, filling the enclosed space, then just as suddenly, it contracted until it became just a tiny source of light, which then vanished with a pop.
The lift was empty now, the walls and floor cleaned as if new. He waited for a moment, then walked back towards the office and his desk.
Despite the efforts he had made to clear the mess, he had made a rare error, for there, underneath the chair where it had skittered earlier, was the broken LCD screen from Ron's cell phone.
Even despite Ron's nervousness, the lift ride to the basement was uneventful. Ron didn't tarry for long, even in the brightly lit space.
He threw the burn bag into the furnace and quickly got back into the lift, this time pressing for the garage. It was just time to leave for the night.
The garage, except for a dark corner where a bulb had blown, was also brightly lit.
The office building had many companies who employed women, and the owners were determined to make every employee feel safe.
Ron's truck, a dark blue Ford pickup was parked near the exit. He opened the drivers door, ignoring the creak that the hinge caused.
The truck started easily, and he pulled out of his spot and towards the gate. He waved to the guard inside the small office which overlooked the exit, and pulled out into the night air.
If he had looked back, he would have seen The Guy standing in front of the bank of elevators, watching.
An hour later, after a quiet drive home, Ron pulled his truck onto his drive and turned off the engine. He sat for a moment, looking at his empty house, the windows dark.
He had lost his wife some time ago, and the pain was still fresh in his heart. He opened the truck door and climbed out. Arthritis always plagued him when he drove for too long.
Of course, these days, an hours drive was too long. Perhaps he would dip into his health insurance for a new knee, or perhaps pigs might fly.
As he went into the house, he was too tired to notice a figure move from the shadow of a large tree on the opposite side of the road. The Guy stood there and he waited.
He watched as a light flickered on in the living room, then a second in the kitchen. He could see Ron at the sink, washing his hands.
He watched still as Ron left the kitchen and another light appeared on the second floor. The bedroom perhaps. He waited.
Eventually, the lights turned off one by one, until only a faint light in the bedroom remained. a reading lamp, The Guy thought. He waited.
The lamplight vanished and the house was plunged into complete darkness. Or so it seemed.
Anyone looking at the house would see only the pitch blackness, but The Guy wasn't just anyone. For a brief second, his grey eyes flared purple, and he could see what else occupied that house.
His waiting was done, and he moved with purpose across the road.
His fingers flickered at the lock and the door sprang open silently. He took the stairs, three at a time, his shoes silent on the wood.
The bedroom door was already ajar, and he moved inside and stopped.
Ron was asleep on one side, his arm curled under his pillow. His face was hidden by shadow.
The Guy moved towards the bed, leaning over it. He reached out his left hand and placed it on Ron's forehead. And the house erupted into life.
The lights began to glow brighter and brighter. The television and stereo burts into song, their volumes rising and rising, as though in competition.
The channels began to change rapidly, news, sport, documentaries all flickered unseen by Ron or The Guy.
If they were downstairs, they would have seen the images of fire and ash that intermingled with the images, and heard the screams of agony that blended with the dialogue.
Cupboard doors flew open and slammed shut. The large vanity mirror that formed the back to a dresser exploded, showering the room with razor sharp slivers of glass.
They sliced at Ron's exposed skin, opening it and releasing bright rivers of blood. The Guy stood, a half smile on his lips, the glass bouncing off him harmlessly..
Ron began to thrash and twist under his hand. The Guy grimaced and his brow furrowed. A few whispered words and the thrashing ended.
The figure in the bed became utterly still immediately, and a long breath escaped his body. The Guy watched as Ron's face slackened, and his head lolled.
The Guy stood back and smiled slightly as he looked down at Ron's body.
The Guy moved back from the bed, and Ron's lifeless body. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, letting himself relax.
The first step was done, he thought, now comes the most difficult moment.
He only opened his eyes when he felt the temperature drop. He took a long, deep breath through his nose, then flexed his hands.
He looked over at Ron, and smiled slightly as he saw the thin black thread of light that emerged from his lips.
As he murmured a few words, the thread turned from black to a glowing green. The thread flowed from the lifeless lips up, and towards a wall, vanishing through it.
He moved out of the bedroom and followed the path of the thread which angled downwards and through another wall out of the house.
As The Guy walked, he kept the line in sight. It trailed above the floor, taking a direct path that The Guy couldn't follow directly without causing a great deal of notice.
Eventually, the thread pierced the wall of another house, and when The Guy skirted around it, he found that it did not emerge again.
He made his way back to the front of it and knocked three times upon the door. As he did this, the thread slowly faded from sight.
A clicking noise sounded as the door was unlocked, then opened. From behind the door, a boy appeared. Around 17 years old, he was lanky, with greasy black hair and dull blue eyes.
He stared at The Guy with a sneer.
"Yeah?" he asked, leaning one arm on the door, showing his wrist, and the tattoo that appeared there. The Guy took one glance at him, at the wrist, and shook his head slowly.
"Amateur" he muttered.
The boy stood up straight *What the fuck did you say old man?"
"I called you an amateur, boy" The Guy was deeply unimpressed by the show of bravado that the boy started to put on.
"You wanna be careful man, I'll fuck you up so bad, your bitch of a wife won't recognise you"
The Guy looked at the boy, then at the house.
"Your parents mind you talking like that boy?" he asked, his voice low
"They ain't here, now fuck off before I.."
"Before you what?" The Guy asked, his voice dangerous now, his patience worn away. "Curse me like you did the old man?"
The boy stumbled slightly as he took a step back.
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about" he shouted.
"Perhaps I will remind you" The Guy took a step forward, and felt a slight pressure against him. The boy smiled.
"No way you're getting in, I got security".
The smile shattered as The Guy took another step and felt the pressure evaporate.
"Poor execution, shoddy invocation and completely inadequate materials" he whispered and closed his eyes slowly. He could sense the boy moving away
"Who are you" the boy asked, his voice more wary now
The Guy stepped completely into the house, and turned to look at the front door, which closed with a slam by itself. He turned back to the boy.
"I'm the one who was been cleaning up your mess this evening. I'm the one who had deal with a scared man who has done nothing to warrant the images that you showed him tonight.
I'm the one who isn't fooled for a moment by the image you are showing me. I have no idea how such an incompetent could have gotten free, but you are going back. Tonight"
The boy smiled slowly, his mouth growing wider and wider until it was a narrow slit full of too sharp teeth. His eyes flickered with flames from an unnatural source.
"So, someone thinks they know what I am. Someone thinks they can take me on? you have no concept of what.."
The Guy interrupted "You're a demon. And not a full blood either. You're probably a child molester or petty murderer who sold your soul for a pittance, then bartered and weaseled your way up from the lowly and eventually got your reward.. Power."
The demon behind the boys eyes froze. The flame-filled eyes narrowed.
"What are you?" he asked
"That's a more accurate question... and one that deserves an answer"
The Guy closed his eyes for a moment, then dropped the veil that surrounded him.
A great light shone from behind his closed eyes, and his suit, his tie and his shirt vanished to be replaced by silver armour.
From his back sprouted a pair of wings, their feathers such a brilliant white that they shone.
When he opened his eyes, the light flooded the hallway. And when he spoke, his voice was like thunder.
"I am Michael"
The demon's veil dropped as well, but it didn't evaporate as Michael's did, but shattered into million pieces of black light.
The demon wailed loudly in agony and fear and Michael raised his right hand slowly.
He gestured to the wall and a doorway formed there, it's frame made of solid fire. From beyond, a wall of blackness, and the sounds of screams behind it
.
"Return" was Michael's only word, and a great wind rose up. The demon fought against it, but it was too weak to withstand the great vortex within the blackness and he slid slowly towards it. And was gone in a split second. The doorway vanished, and as it did, so did Michael...
As Ron exited the lift the next evening, he saw something glitter beneath the bench seat. He reached down and picked up the smashed LCD screen from a cellphone. He shrugged,
wondering whose phone had broken, and dropped it into the trash bin attached to his cart. As he entered the office, he saw it was, as usual, completely empty. Nobody here worked past 6pm anymore.
Lyndon Barry - December 2009