Unsurprisingly, detailing the story of Bowen’s proposal on the way to the break room elicits further gasps of excitement. On more than one occasion, Abby stops dead in her tracks and makes me repeat myself. I’m not sure whether she’s impressed or can’t understand how the ghost of a hanged man played into the perfect marriage proposal. Either way, she seems satisfied with the story.
After the break room, Abby heads back to her office and I continue downstairs to the first floor on my way to check the receiving bay for a shipment of first aid supplies. My phone vibrates as I reach the ground floor. It’s Bowen, clearly in the process of procuring a new phone for me.
BOWEN (10:17AM): Does color matter? Are you going to freak out if they don’t have the right one? Wtf is Margarita and Drunk Tank Pink?
I laugh to myself, imagining Bowen standing at the phone counter in his boots and flannel, staring in exasperation as a bubbly sales girl asked, in all seriousness, if he wants a “Drunk Tank Pink” phone.
ME (10:19AM): Are those colors?? As long as it turns on it’ll be fine. I need a new case anyway.
I tuck my phone into my back pocket, now at 60% battery, and round the corner into the open-air lobby. The charcoal carpet gives way to polished stone, amplifying my footsteps as I pass reception. The lobby is empty except for Eric Westcote, the security manager, and two other security guards. I recognize one of them as Nate, a tall, lanky guy with dirty blonde hair who makes his rounds past my office every day. I gloss over them as I pass, until I catch a glimpse of the third one.
I do a double-take and it feels like someone just punched me in the gut.
I slow down as I pass behind Eric, nearly coming to a stop. A man with dark auburn hair stands facing him and, consequently, facing me. I know him. I know his hair, I know his smile, I know the freckles on his cheeks just under his eyes.
Dear God, his eyes...
They’re vast aquamarine oceans that drown me as soon as I see them.
I know him.
My breath catches in my throat as our eyes meet. He blinks, focusing on me as Eric and Nate speak to one another, completely oblivious to my presence.
Colson Lutz is staring back at me.
His eyes haven’t changed, they’re just as striking as I remember. But, now, his jawline is more pronounced and his auburn hair is cut much shorter on the sides with the top sticking up and feathered away from his eyes. His arms are crossed, and he’s glancing back and forth between me and Eric.
A familiar chill sweeps over my skin and I can’t breathe. My periphery disappears and tunnel vision sets in. But his expression doesn’t change one bit. He isn’t surprised. He’s calm, unfazed…
Unbothered.
My mind races as I try to make sense of what I see. Where did he come from? Is he being detained? But Eric is speaking to him and Nate in a normal tone. And Colson looks like them. Exactly like them.
He’s wearing black boots and the standard black pants and a black t-shirt under a black tactical vest bearing Wolfsson’s logo. He’s covered in Velcro straps filled with keys and radios and knives, which I always thought was the most asinine piece of overkill I’d ever seen. A black duty belt is strapped to his hips with an assortment of tools and, beneath that, a service weapon is strapped to his thigh.
He's one of them.
A badge hangs from Colson’s belt loop. It looked exactly like mine, with Wolfsson’s logo on it, except his face is on it.
No. No, no, no…
A sickening realization sets in and my body switches to autopilot. I smoothly turn and pick up my pace so I can focus on getting across the lobby. Once out of sight, I take a hard right and fly up the stairs. I don’t remember how I get back to my office, but I must be holding my breath until I shut the door.
Staring at the door handle, I don’t know what to do. I look down at my hands, hanging at my sides, and watch them twitch like an electrical current is running through my veins. I want to hide, but even in a state of panic, I know tearing the name plate off the wall next to my door will look too odd to ignore.
What the hell do I do?
It feels like the earth just cracked in half and I’ve fallen through a crevasse into an alternate reality. Because he’s downstairs. Colson is downstairs. He’s standing down there like he belongs here. And, not only does he belong here, he’s part of the force that’s supposed to keep outside threats from breaching these walls. He’s one of them. But none of them know what he did. Only I know.
I lean on the edge of my desk, my head down, my fingertips turning white as they press into the laminate, trying to take deep breaths. A minute later, I straighten up and decide to sit down before I fall down. Out of habit, I set one hand on my mouse. What the hell am I doing? I can’t just go back to work like nothing happened.
In a moment of clarity, I whip my phone out of my pocket, but my hands are trembling so much I drop it on the desk. This is just what I need in a moment of crisis, to further destroy a phone that no longer holds a charge. Finally, I’m able to hold it still enough to pull up my text thread with Bowen.
ME (10:24AM): Colson’s here. He works here. I don’t know what to do.
I tap my foot and stare aimlessly at my computer screen until my phone vibrates. But it’s not a text, Bowen is calling me.
I’m alone in my office with the door closed, but for some reason I still lower my voice, “Hey.”
“Are you OK? Who are you talking about?” Bowen sounds more curious than anything.
“Colson!” I hiss into the speaker.
Bowen pauses for a few seconds, “Who is Colson?” Bowen finally asks in exasperation.
I suddenly realize I never actually told Bowen Colson’s name. As if he’s Candyman who will appear behind me in a mirror if I say his name too many times. A whole hell of a lot of good that did me, because he’s here now. I take a deep breath and prepare to relive part of my past I’ve tried so hard to bury.
“Remember the story I told you at Salt Fork—about the guy who put a gun to my head back in college?”
“Yes?” Bowen deadpans.
I pick at my cuticles compulsively, “His name is Colson Lutz, and he’s here. He works here now. I saw him and he saw me, and he just looked at me like it was the most normal thing in the world, then I panicked and ran back upstairs and now I don’t know what to do.”
A thick silence hangs between us.
“Are you there?” I hiss.
“Yeah, yeah…” Bowen sounds slightly confused, “where are you?”
