Page 1 of Protecting Bianca

1

Bianca

For a moment, I thought we were all going to die. A blood-curdling scream ricocheted throughout the office, and I held my breath, waiting to hear something—anything—to determine its cause.

No gunshot preceded the scream. Not even an argument. It had been quiet minutes earlier except for my fingers tapping across my keyboard.

Someone shouted profanities now—it sounded like my boss—and then a man raced past my desk. His black uniform squeezed his rounded middle, the buttons barely keeping the fabric together as he held his gun awkwardly at his side. My body jolted into action, and I followed the security guard as he raced toward the commotion.

While I briefly thought about running in the opposite direction, my feet pursued the man grunting for breath in front of me.

Lizzie, our accountant, popped her head out of her office when she saw me. “Oh my god, what happened?”

I turned to look over my shoulder as I ran. “I don’t know. But wait here.”

I should have followed my own advice, but I’d never been one to listen. Even to reason. I led with my heart and followed my gut. This was one of those times. However, in hindsight, I should have stayed away. I should’ve never gotten involved.

As soon as we rounded the corner that led directly in front of my boss’s office, the guard stopped.

Oof!

Rubbing my nose after it hit the guard’s fleshy back, I stepped to my right. “What the heck, Dave—” The rest of my admonishment died in my throat, having been struck dumb by the scene in front of me.

Standing behind his desk, wearing a black suit and tie, my boss—one of the richest men in America—held the shriveled, cut-off head of a pig in his hands. Blood dripped between his fingers, pooling inside the cardboard box beneath it. I wondered if that was how it’d been delivered. Did it go through a delivery truck or had someone dropped it off at the mailroom downstairs?

A heave racked through the security guard beside me and he threw his hands over his mouth before running toward a trash can and emptying the contents of his stomach.

Turning back to my boss’s office, I realized that neither his assistant Janis nor his VP, Mr. Walsh, had done anything to help the man. Janis stood with her mouth open, another scream at the edge of her lips, while Mr. Walsh’s pale face and wide eyes stared at the monstrosity in front of him. He probably couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Well, neither could I, but someone needed to do something.

Looking around the room, I spotted a white towel inside a gym bag back in the corner of the office. I grabbed it and the trash can as I approached the desk.

“Here, sir. You can drop it in here.” He looked up and blinked several times before loosening his fingers and letting themutilated head fall into the black plastic trash can. “That’s good. Take this.” I handed him the towel, and he balled it into his fists before inhaling deeply.

“Janis, have you called the police?” I asked. When she shook her head, I turned to the VP. “Mr. Walsh, can you make that call, please?”

He didn’t move, still staring at his boss rubbing the blood between his knuckles. “Mr. Walsh?” I said louder this time, and he snapped his head toward me. “Dial 911.”

I waited for the words to sink in. It took a minute. “Yes. Yes. Of course.” He pulled out his cell phone and called the cops.

I waved my arms over the desk. “No one touch anything before the police arrive.”

Janis’s eyes grew larger, as though the thought of going near that thing hadn’t even crossed her mind.

Dave swallowed next to me. “What are we supposed to do with it?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea. But once the police get here, I’m sure they’ll tell us what to do.”

He nodded and carefully placed his gun back inside its holster.

A crowd began to form around us. Now that the building wasn’t on fire or under attack, people ventured toward us to see what was happening.

I spotted Lizzie at the back of the crowd and waved her over. “Can you get us some bottles of water from the kitchen? They’ve had quite a shock.”

“What about you?” asked Lizzie. “How are you so calm right now?”

Good question. I’d always been terrible at making decisions, except during a crisis. Then, I had no trouble seeing clearly what needed to be done next. It was a gift, I suppose, and perhaps the reason our CEO, Mr. Towers, added the title, Crisis Manager,last year. When shit hit the fan, I could clean it up faster than anyone else. And often without getting the company’s hands dirty.

I waved her off. “I’m fine.”

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