CHAPTER TWELVE

She stared at me for a few beats. During that time my mind went on a paranoid rampage. OK, so yes, a few weeks ago I had a panic attack. I screwed up a call between some old bag on the phone and the person she wanted to speak to. She raised such a fuss about me (no seriously, that bitch was cruel) that I ended up having a panic attack that a lot of people in the office, unfortunately, bared witness to. I just blamed it on PMS or something. I guess that hadn't really fooled Frida.

But other than that, and a few other instances before, I was fine.

"How about you go home and get some rest. Come back tomorrow if you feel better," she suggested gently.

It would have been a dream come true. My boss was finally giving me a day off and for no real reason, to boot. Except the way it was actually going down was completely humiliating. I felt my pride bristle along my back like porcupine spines.

"I'll be fine," I countered.

She gave me a sympathetic smile and said something rather chilling, "You won't. And that's all right. Really, Perry, life gets hard sometimes. We all know it. And we all know you can't deal with it while you're here at work. So, coming from a friend, really, just go home and sort yourself out. Come back full of pep and beans. Just...deal with whatever you need to deal with."

There was more to it than that, I knew that much.

"And if you weren't my friend?"

"You're projecting a bad image for the company right now," she answered bluntly. "Since that incident a few weeks ago, people have been a bit, um, concerned about you. I think it would be best for you, and everyone else, if you could do your job properly. You are, after all, the face of the company. So go home; again, it's no big deal, but just go deal with whatever it is you need to deal with. And if you need assistance from the company, you know, in medical terms…if you need to talk to someone and that sort of thing, please don't hesitate to ask. We have some really lovely benefits in that area."

My face was red and I felt sick. All this talk about panic attacks and I was about to have one in this empty office. Frida was watching me closely. The hint of trepidation across her forehead told me that she was a bit afraid of what I might do or say.

Ridiculous. I have one bad morning of answering phones and I get sent home.

Well, I had no choice but to take the professional route. I told Frida that if that's what they thought was best, I would do what was best for the company. I've never cared about the company a day in my life, but suddenly I wanted nothing more than to prove them wrong. I'd go home, graciously and with understanding, and come back tomorrow full of pep and beans, or whatever the hell she was talking about.

Back at my desk, I quickly gathered my stuff as Frida was gathering Alana to take over my duties for the rest of the afternoon. Because of that, she was going to be an even greater bitch tomorrow.

I suppose I should have been happy to have such a concerned workplace, but it just didn't bode well for me. Call me paranoid, but I felt like this was the start of my job heading in the absolute wrong direction.

With no choice and under my boss's watchful eye, I quickly grabbed my purse and headed to the elevator before Alana showed up and undid me with her ice queen glare.

I got in the elevator. The doors shut just as I saw Alana coming around the corner, the metallic closure eradicating her sneer in progress. Good timing.

The elevator started to make its way down. I thought about what I would tell my mother when she caught me coming home early.

The elevator lurched to a stop.

The motion caught me off guard and I fell over slightly, catching myself on the rail. I had fears of malfunctioning elevators but always brushed them off as irrational. Luckily, it seemed to have stopped with that one lurch.

But I still wasn't moving and the elevator doors didn't open.

The floor buttons on the console were lit up in the shape of an X. It flashed "X" – three times.

What the—

The doors opened, faster than normal, like they had been oiled with speed.

A man dressed head-to-toe in raingear stood on the floor staring at me. His coat and pants were wet and he was standing in a puddle, the carpet soaked through and spreading out in a radius around him.

Before I could even comprehend any of it, the doors shut. The man didn't even make a move for them. The elevator lurched again, seeming to drop a floor.

I let out a scream, feeling like I was in the Tower of Terror but with no safety belts.

The elevator stopped abruptly and once more the doors opened.

I expected to see the fisherman again but the doors revealed the lobby, lit with daylight from the building's front entrance. Two straight-laced businessmen were waiting impatiently on the tiles. They gave me a suspicious look. I must have looked scared out of my wits.

I quickly walked out of the elevator, stopped in the middle of the lobby and looked back at the two men. The doors closed on their amused faces and off they went.

"What. The. Hell?" I said aloud, my hand at my chest. I almost (almost) wished that the Creepy Clown Lady from last week was down in the lobby again, just so I could have someone to talk to. But alas, I was alone. I rubbed my fingers along my temple, trying to bring a sense of peace and clarity to my head, which now felt dangerously overloaded.

I walked out of the building, gasping for the damp air outside and avoiding the eyes of the business people passing me by on the busy street. What just happened?

I looked back at the ugly building, its sleek, tinted exterior that hid a wealth of weirdness behind it. Maybe Frida was right after all. Maybe I really did need to go home and sort myself out. If it wasn't the nightmares, or terrifying situations in a lighthouse, it was the imaginary fishermen I saw in my office building.

I suddenly had no problems with writing it off as a sick day.

***

I arrived back at home to find out my sister was there and in her bed. It turned out she might have the dreaded, infamous swine flu and was spending the next few days or so away from school.

"Don't go visiting her," my mom warned me, as she stirred a pot of chicken soup. "If you are sick already you'll only get worse, even if you have a face mask on."

"Mom, I'm not that sick."

She eyed me. "You are something considering you're here and not at work. I can tell that much. Now go lie down."

I obeyed and headed to my room. I had planned to tell her that I was sent home because of physical sickness instead of the truth. Anything that had to do with me and mental illness always brought out the worst in my parents, especially my mother. If I had told her that Frida sent me home because of concerns about my mental state… oh boy.

As I walked down the hallway past Ada's room, I heard a muffled cry from behind her door.

"Perry, is that you? I heard your bike."

I stopped and stared at the door, not daring to come any closer lest the influenza be waiting on the other side of it.

"Yeah, it's me. Work sent me home because I'm sick."

"Do you have swine flu too?"

"No. I don't have any flu. They just think I'm sick."

Silence. I started to walk away.

"Perry, can you come in here, please?"

"No. Why?"

"I need you to do me a favor. Please?"

I sighed and edged closer to the door. "I can do you a favor but I'm not going in there. You're swine flu ground zero."

A loud, painful sigh followed and then, "OK. Um. You see...it may sound funny, but...well..."

It was like pulling teeth. "What, Ada?"

"Can you write on my blog for the rest of the week?"

That was not what I was expecting. "Huh?"

"I have to do my blog posts but I'm too sick to get dressed or take pictures. Plus I look like shit."

"Well, I look like shit too, so I can't be much help."

"It doesn't matter, I just need you to write a few posts, even if you are just updating people on my situation."

"Which is?"

"That I have swine flu! Goddamn it, Perry. Don't you listen to a thing I fucking say?"

Though I had an admitted potty mouth, I still winced whenever my "sweet" young sister dropped the F-bomb.

"Sorry. Continue."

Her voice came through, more muffled. I leaned in closer to hear her.

"I'll give you my login information and everything. You can go onto your computer and do it all there."

It sounded easy enough, but for the life of me, I had no idea what to write about. I told her so.

"Anything. It doesn't have to be clothes-oriented. I would prefer if it wasn't because Converse Chucks and leggings will never be the height of fashion."

Buuuurn.

"And anyways," she continued, "it doesn't even matter. I just need the posts to be generated. If I don't post every day, I lose readers. Even by not doing it this weekend I have already lost ten per cent, and if that continues, I'll lose my advertising revenue."

"Not to mention global domination," I added.

"Yes!" She cried out excitedly then lapsed into a coughing fit. I grimaced and backed away from the door as a precaution.

"Exactly," she squeaked out when she found her breath. "Please, Perry?"

"Sure, sure. It'll give me something to do at any rate." And hopefully would take my mind off of my problems.