Intrigue, cont.
Sam started awake, placing his hand upon his booth table and forcing himself up. As he did, he felt a strong pang of pain shoot throughout his head. Clutching his forehead, Sam looked around him.
“Hey, you’re alive,” Paul said. He was sitting across from Sam, his dress shirt wrinkled and his tie thrown askew. Next to him was Charlie, who was passed out and leaning against the wall, “Here,” he passed over a whiskey glass filled with ice and some bubbling drink, “It’s just club soda. Hope this helps somewhat. You never told me you were such a lightweight!”
“I didn’t realize I was one,” Sam said, taking the drink and sipping it lightly, “At least… I’m not the only one,” he said, gesturing to Charlie.
“Him? My God, no. He’s had—what—ten times what you’ve had! I mean, look at this,” Paul reached over and grabbed the black leather check presenter in front of Charlie. Looking at it, Sam noticed the bill already stretching out of its holder, “Listen here: Three martinis, (I didn’t even see him drink them, but it’s pretty clear he did), three beers, two scotch—both on the rocks—and a screwdriver. Jesus, I don’t think I was prepared for this.”
“Is he okay,” Sam asked. As he did, the two heard Charlie grunt and watched as he shifted in his seat.
“Well, he’s alive. Not sure why he drinks so much, though. Probably just because he has the excuse. I’ve never seen him drink outside of parties or gatherings.”
Sam nodded but, looking around, noticed that someone was missing, “Where’s Steve?”
“I sent him home early. Had a bit too much too quickly. Let’s just say drunk Steve is really grabby and can be quite…sentimental. Thus, the shirt,” he gestured to himself, “After that, I decided it was best to send him home in a cab.”
Sam took another drink of his soda before looking down in front of Paul and noticing that he had no drinks nor glasses in front of him, “Did you not have anything to drink?”
“No, I’m the DD.”
“The what?”
“The…you really don’t get out much, do you?”
“Hey…my question first.”
“Fine, fine. I’m the designated driver. I’m the person who stays sober and keeps an eye on the rest of the drunk idiots. Which, to say the least, is not exactly pleasant. Now, my question.”
“Fine. No, I don’t get out much. Happy,” Sam asked, placing his head back down on the table, “But the train ride home doesn’t let me stay in the city for…too long…anyways,” Sam trailed off in thought but as soon as his mind caught up to what he was saying, he jumped up unexpectedly, “Train! Train! Oh God, I’ll miss the train.”
“Calm down,” Paul said, dragging him back into his seat, “You’re not going to miss your train. Last one departs in about an hour. You’ve got time. Regardless, you really don’t live in the city?”
“No. I like the train. The trip is nice. That and apartments here are expensive.”
“That train ride isn’t exactly cheap, either.”
“True. But it’s nice. I like the scenery.”
“The junkheaps? Really.”
“Yes! It can be pretty…sort of. Why is it there, though,” Sam looked up to Paul, “Do you know?”
Paul’s eyes widened slightly, not quite expecting such an oddly coherent question from a drunk, “I’m not sure. I think it was just sort of…there before the city was built. Some scrapping company was doing pretty well with it apparently, especially when the city was built. Used to be one of our firm’s clients, I think. They would give their taxes to the newest employee. Last one was…shoot, I think the last person was boss Boyd. He saw the numbers and said they were heading towards bankruptcy. Sure enough, they did later that year. By that time, they were pretty large. The city had long since changed where they sent their garbage and so…it just sat there. Then when nobody wanted to buy it and no one was willing to clear it …it stayed. No one watches over it anymore either, so I’m sure it’s a haven to homeless and whatnot. Anyways, why do you ask?”
“No reason, just… curious.”
“Well, now I believe it’s my turn to ask a question. How’d you do it? How’d you get the Trade Cache audit?”
“Um… well I,” Sam paused. Paul moved forward in his seat, his eyes fiercely attentive, patiently waiting like a vulture for Sam to continue, “I don’t know. I had finished my projects early and I was sending in everything when Boyd came to my cubicle and asked for me to go with him to his office. I was terrified, honestly. Thought for sure that I was going to be fired.”
“Why is that?”
“I- I don’t know. I’ve never felt like I fit in here, anyways. So for him to call me to his office and confirm it…I guess it felt natural.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me about the Trade Cache audit, and how he was interested in watching it. He said it was a simple assignment and that the other branch would handle most of the work and that I would most likely still be doing most of my usual work alongside it. But…”
“But?”
“But I ended up taking the lead on it all. It’s been fun…I guess…and some of the numbers haven’t quite been adding up the way I’ve been expecting and…I don’t know.”
Paul sat back in his chair; he almost looked deflated.
“I…I ought to get Charlie home,” he said, standing and dragging Charlie up to his feet, “I can call a cab for you if you’d like a ride to the station—”
“No,” Sam said, standing alongside him and helping with Charlie, “I’m fine. I can walk…I think. I’ll help you get Charlie out of here.”
While Sam held up Charlie, Paul left money on the table. Slowly, the three made their way outside the bar and into the light-filled city. Paul stopped and tried to wave down one of the taxis that rolled up and down the streets and eventually managed to hail one. As the brightly painted yellow car parked next to them in the street, Paul opened the door, then stopped.
“You could take this one,” he said as Sam struggled with Charlie, “I could wait with him for another.”
“No, it’s fine,” Sam replied, passing his drunk coworker along, “It’s probably better you get him home first. As I said, I can walk.”
“Okay, then. You know the way?”
“Of course. See you next week.”
“Sure.”
Sam took a step back from the curb as Paul closed the car door. As the taxi drove away, he shivered as the cold breeze caused by its movement wafted over him. Once he was certain the car was out of sight, Sam walked towards the train station. It was a fair walk, but not much further than his walk from his office building to the station normally. Eventually, he found his normal path and followed it, passing various restaurants and storefronts he had always seen yet never entered. The streets were mostly sparse with life with only those in positions similar to Sam being present. Soon, Sam saw in the distance the lights of his destination. It was a long building built to contain the entirety of the train. It was built only as a two-way transport between the city station and the outskirts station. As Sam approached it, he watched as the train—in its last voyage to the city station—came into its terminal. The sleek, silver vessel shone with a bright blue aura. At each end was an engine built to be as smooth as a bullet in order to glide down the tracks with as quick a speed it could. Sam picked up his pace somewhat as he watched it pull into the station, but not by much. Because it only had the two destinations, it usually stayed in its terminal for a fair amount of time, making certain it picked up all of the passengers it could before it crossed for efficiency’s sake. As Sam approached the station, he patted his pockets and found his rail pass, swiping it through the scanner in the entrance and entering. Like the city streets before it, there were few people within the station. Sam noticed a few people leaving from the previous train, but other than that it was desolate. Silently, Sam boarded the train, finding his usual window seat.
After what may have been half an hour, the train finally came to life—its automatic doors closing and its recorded PA system announcement beginning. Ignoring his surroundings, Sam stared out of the window and watched as the train slowly exited the station and picked up speed towards the city’s outskirts, passing once more over the scrapyard.
Sam was never a fan of the scrapyard during the night. While in the day it was easy to tell what, exactly, you were looking upon, the night changed and warped its very reality. Shadows stretched and distorted themselves throughout the mass of metal and rust, corrupting what beauty Sam found within into a horrific vision. The visage of the wasting expanses inverted itself, every aspect of it turning into the worst form of its original self. Skeletal structures become contorted monstrosities that stare out upon all onlookers with eyes dead and rotting with rust. The history of an old fridge with playful magnets still on it becomes a story of familial decay and death. As Sam was about to turn his gaze from the horrible specters, a beautiful light found its way to the surface of the nightmare that lay out before him. Sam saw, out in between the two mounds of scrap he knew so well, a light shining brightly. A bright, golden light illuminating the large, flat area he knew just as well. It was like a calling beacon, and Sam was but a moth to a flame. Sam felt his heart swell with desire—a desire he had felt only during his daydreams. He needed to find out what the gold speck was, and soon. However, as soon as he saw it—as soon as he found his very dreams laid out before him—it was gone. As he watched it fade, he felt the flame in his very core fanned even brighter. Sam stood up and dashed down the aisles of the train car. As he ran, he passed a few scattered passengers who were startled by his sudden fury, but he did not mind them. He ran until he found himself at the end of the train and the golden speck—which the train had passed long ago—so far out of his reach. Yet even as he watched his target disappear, his determination to find it once more only grew. Calmly, Sam returned to his seat, apologizing to all others he disturbed on his way. Once he returned, he sat down silently. While any person looking at Sam at that moment might have assumed his disposition one of tranquility, they could not have been more wrong. At that moment, Sam’s heart and mind raced faster than they ever had before. Faster still than even the train, which speedily found its destination.
Once the train slowed to a halt and its doors opened, Sam wasted no time to exit and return home. His walk to his small apartment was one of silence and contemplation. He had long since been trapped in thought and could not be freed until his thought was put to plan, and his plan put to action the very next morning. His determination required fruition.
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