Page 64 of Flint

“You were run down?”

Damn, this guy likes to repeat things a lot.

“Yeah, that’s how I hit my head and ended up losing my memory. Everyone else I’ve talked to can’t think of anyone or anything, so I thought I would ask. Figured as the boss, you would know better than most.”

He sweats a bit but shakes his head. “Ah, no. Actually, everyone really likes you. I think it might be because you tend to do the extra work so they don’t have to. You’re sort of thought of as the worker bee around here. Since you’ve been out, people have had to actually do the job I hired them for, and we’ve actually let a few go who proved they were useless without you doing their work for them.”

Great. So I had a boring, no-sex life and let others take the credit for my work pre-memory loss. I swear, the more I find out about myself, the less I find the appeal to want to remember. I used to get walked on constantly back then. Now I feel like I’m doing the walking. Okay, sometimes I’m getting carried, but by my biker. At least I ain’t alone in this.

“Okay, well, thanks. I’ll just get back to work, then.”

We both do a weird nod thing, and then I head back to my office. Did I mention how creepy it is to see into other offices? Why even have walls if they’re glass? And they suck at keeping noise out. I can hear everything.

Like how everyone is going out for lunch to celebrate Shannan’s birthday. News flash: no one invited me. Or if they did, no one reminded me that I was invited. I feel that while everyone might like the worker in me, that’s about all I’m good for around here. Guess I’m not the cool chick even after high school. Their loss. At least I got a guy who likes me.

And with that thought, I’ve now got a little jig in my step as I shut down my area and turn off the lights. It’s lunchtime, meaning I can get the fuck out of here and get to just plain old fuck. I’m smiling and not even caring who sees as I walk down the almost-empty rows. Better to wait outside than in this place. Makes it quicker to get naked if he doesn’t even have to turn off the bike before I hop on.

That’s when I finally check my phone, because I still don’t feel the urge, like everyone I saw today, to look at it every thirty seconds.

Flint: Going to be longer here. I’ll call you before I come over. Could be a few more hours.

“Well, this fucking sucks,” I say out loud as I reread the text three times. I see the irony in all of this, as I was the one just a few short hours ago not wanting to stop work midday. I wasn’t exactly saying no to seeing Flint this morning; I just thought I would be so encumbered with work that time would fly by. Guess I was wrong. In fact, he was also wrong, since his work is now taking more time than expected for him, and his ETA is unknown right now.

“Now what?” Well, first, I need to stop talking to myself out loud. Already gone crazy; don’t need to be sent to a hospital anytime soon. With luck, General would be considered a saint compared to the others they would assign as my health advocates.

Second, as much as it pains me, I guess I’ll get back to work. I’m not hungry—well, not for food, anyway. I bet I can get a few more hundred lines entered by the time Flint’s done. He didn’t exactly say he wasn’t coming, just going to be later than expected. I doubt calling a cab to come get me would work. I could ask whoever is guarding me, but I didn’t pay attention when we arrived to see who was following. And I’m kind of lazy to go all the way downstairs just to look. I mean, I do have work. And I guess I need a paycheck, or I think I do. Money hasn’t really been a topic I’ve dived into. No one has been knocking on the door asking for any, so I guess I have automatic bills or something.

I head back to my office, not even bothering to turn on lights as I go. Apparently automation might work with banks but not in this office. Not sure who flipped the switch in the main cubical area, but it’s not like I need it. The offices are all see-through, and each has a window. The long, dangling blinds might cover them, but there’s enough light to see everything. Not the finer details, but at least I can avoid a chair pushed too far away from a desk.

“I’m telling you, man, she’s alive. I thought you were going to handle this?”

Might not fall over something walking, but I sure as fuck will trip after hearing that shit. Not fall on my face, but enough to stumble and stop moving a second longer than needed.

“No, man, she says she lost her memory. Yeah, sure, but how long do you think it’ll take before she gets it back? Fuck. Hell, she might just be messing with me. I don’t know.”

My heart is beating the shit out of my chest. I grab it before it bursts through my skin. I look around, though I’m not sure why. I know who’s talking, as there’s only one office with a light on. Larry.

He turns, and I shrink low. Fucking glass walls. I’m hiding behind a chair, but that’s not going to save my ass for long if he actively looks for me instead of just a passing glance like he did before turning back around. No way am I going to my desk, but I’m not sure I can make it out of the place without him seeing.

I eye the office closest to me. No one’s been in it since I started this morning. I pray to God the guy is out all day and not just coming in late as I scurry into it like a cat after a mouse.

At least this office is three away from mine, two away from Larry and whoever he’s talking to on his phone. The desk is also facing the entry. Simple plan here: crawl under the desk, hide, call for backup. No sweat.

“Fucking hell, Duke. You promised you would take care of this shit.”

Ever seen fireworks? I think I have. How else would I know that’s what’s going on in my head? Bright bursts of colors are flickering behind my eyes, but it ain’t just lights I’m seeing. Memories, thousands of them, plaguing me, and now I can’t even crawl anymore. I barely make it behind the desk, but not under it, before I flop down. I’m breathing through it, but fuck, it’s a lot. I groan and cover my mouth with my hand. I might be having a total breakdown right now, but at least a part of me still knows I need to keep quiet.

Tears cover my hands that I have clamped to my mouth as I lie on the ground, twitching with each memory that comes forth, feeling like it’s a kick to the solar plexus.

My friends didn’t trigger it. Not my job, or my home. Just one word. One name.

Duke.

I remember. I remember working later than the others. I remember coming back from getting a Diet Coke to check the numbers one more time on an account that wasn’t adding up. That’s when I saw it. Saw a guy in a leather jacket snapping my boss’s fingers. I tried to leave, but then two janitors came in, turning on lights, and I was caught. I tried to play it off, just going to my desk and grabbing things, when Larry called me into his office.

“Julianne. Working late, I see.” His hand was under his desk, which he was now sitting at, and the leather guy, plus two others, were just casually standing by.

“Ah yeah, just wanted to finish the Duke books. But I think I’ll do it on Monday.” No way am I sticking around here.

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