The Pipe Dream Society (Part 1)

A full minute had passed before he realized that the blinking cursor on the screen and the pace of his own beating heart were in perfect synchrony. He was amused – albeit only for a moment. The thought of him noticing that insignificant event made him even sadder.

It had been almost a week of fruitlessness in the editorial office, but for Raymond, tomorrow was no longer an option. He needed to finish long overdue short stories and online reviews, not to mention the back logs that had accumulated thanks to his recent  “episodes”.

The last day of the week had finally caught up with him. But even after gulping down an unreasonable amount of coffee and more than 2 overtime hours, he still couldn’t juice out one word from his skull.

Not a word. Not even a faint idea of a word.

Looking at his watch almost hitting 6:30 p.m., Raymond was almost certain that his time with the company was up, and that he’d be asked to clear out his desk by Monday morning. He knew it wouldn’t be a surprise, let alone a shock.

“Hey man, you should get some air.”

He sprang up from his chair and immediately found the direction of the voice.

“Oh, Greg. Didn’t know you were, uh, still here.” Raymond said, straightening his glasses frantically. “Yes, yes. I’ll uh, probably do that in a bit. I’m just gonna – “ he took a glance back at his empty monitor, “– wrap this up,”

Greg couldn’t help but notice that slight hint of misery in Raymond’s voice – he knew a struggling writer when he saw one. He didn’t have to notice the low-level brightness of his colleague’s idle computer monitor just to be able to say that he hadn’t typed anything in hours.

“Is Rebecca here?” asked Greg.

“Rebecca? What – why are you asking me? I dunno. Is she supposed to be here?”

“No. I just thought she might be here. She always hangs out at your station,” Greg answered. He forced a smile that was too far away for Raymond to notice.

What is up with this guy? Raymond thought. He looked down and saw that Greg was carrying a bag. “Don't you guys work out together?”

“Yeah, but she never uses the office gym. She only works out at Kelly’s,” Greg said, swinging his bag up to his back shoulder. Raymond shrugged. Greg walked on.

“I’m telling you, man. You’re killing yourself. Don’t let that sunnuvabitch terrorize you!” Greg howled while heading to the exit. He was still shouting something on the way out but the rest had become inaudible. As soon as his voice was gone, Raymond was left staring at nothing in particular inside the empty office.

A few seconds later, more lights were killed.

Raymond sighed. Greg should be the last one, he thought. He’s probably right, though. I need a break. He groped for his lighter inside the desk drawer and headed to the stairs going up to the rooftop.

He didn’t mind going up 4 more floors from his office, and even if the elevators were operational at night, he would've still taken the stairs. Although, taking slow but long strides, he wished the rooftop wasn’t too spooky at this hour, and yet he found consolation in the fact that nobody would see his face as he bordered between quitting and giving his job one last push.

He knew he could no longer work this way. More and more people were witnessing his collapse from being a well-respected writer down to someone who had become so distant and somewhat possessed.

Of course, he had already contemplated on his fate as a corporate writer before. But tonight would decide his fate once and for all.

He had a lot of thinking to do, and it was a moment of weakness that needed no audience.

When he got there he was somehow pleased that he didn’t have to look for an available spot. The rooftop was always packed with smokers during the day, and in most cases he had to settle for a not-so-pleasant area right beside the generators and the stinking exhaust windows.

Right now, though, he had the place all to himself.

Or so he thought.



**

He was just midway through his second stick of Marlboro Reserve when he began hearing footsteps of someone walking up an aluminum staircase. The noise was coming from the far end of the rooftop, exactly at the opposite side of where he was. There was a white light behind the door leading to the fire exit, and it was getting brighter and brighter through the gaps in the door frame.

Raymond dismissed the possibility of having any of his colleagues for company, since he couldn’t imagine anyone else staying behind at this hour. It was 10 minutes before 7:00 p.m.

Must be Mr. Nayar, he imagined. It was the only logical guess. Mr. Nayar was the building caretaker and Raymond had always thought of him as someone who practically lived in the office.

He watched closely. He wasn’t put out by the idea of someone suddenly spoiling his rare chance to enjoy the rooftop  by himself, but he’d wished it was someone other than Mr. Nayar. He never understood much of his thick Indian accent.

Then it happened. He heard muffled voices; most likely, voices of two people talking.

He flicked his unfinished cigar and it went flying into a small bush of artificial shrubs. More people? Okay now I’m going, he thought. He straightened up and walked towards the other stairs, away from the arriving party of unknowns.

He was about to pass through the door but before he lost sight of the bright city lights surrounding him, the fire exit door from the other side swiftly swung open. It gave way to a whole lot of other voices, definitely not just the two that he had heard.

He half-staggered, and then turned around slowly.

What in the world?

***



Raymond took a step to his side and hid under the shadow of one of the slow-humming generators. People were now coming up out of the fire exit door and onto the rooftop floor. They marched in, two at a time, side by side, and seemed to be holding pieces of paper.

The person leading them – the one without a pair – was holding up a fluorescent lamp right above his head for all to see.

Raymond’s eyesight was notoriously poor under normal circumstances, but never for a second did he doubt the identity of that person holding the lamp. With that health-buff physique and Andy Dufresne hairstyle, he‘d recognize Greg anywhere.

He knew most of the other people by their faces, but it seemed that Greg was the only one he knew personally – by his own standards of office socialization. Yet, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

What’s all this? What’re they all doing here? Raymond whispered to himself.

Years of watching cult and secret society movies somehow influenced Raymond to concoct crazy theories in his head while watching his colleagues gather on the office building rooftop at 7:00 p.m. on a Friday night. But there wasn’t any ritual of some sort.

They were not wearing hooded robes nor were they dishing out weird-looking candles to one another. No bronze idol in their midst and there were no manifestations of worship or sacrificial rites. No incantations, no ancient languages. They were just there, casually talking to each other in demure voices, like patrons at the theatre lobby discussing a play they’ve just seen.

For a minute, Raymond had forgotten about his deadlines. He wanted to leave, but decided against it, thinking that what he was seeing right now would never escape his mind anyway.  He decided to stay and see what it was all about.

He saw Greg asking the others to sit down and listen to him. This is it, he thought. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and readied to record a video, but the moment his phone lit up, one of them turned his head towards his direction.

Shit!

Raymond instantaneously shoved his phone back in his pocket and tried not to breathe. The man was still looking at where he was. He glanced at the door just a few feet behind him. His feet were ready to bail him out any minute now.

Three seconds later, the man scratched his head and turned towards Greg again.

Holy fuck.

 

tbc ♣