“In my office. I can’t go back out there.”
I run my fingers back and forth over my scalp, trying to focus. A million things flash through my mind, a million seconds playing and replaying over and over again like a bad song stuck in my head.
“OK,” Bowen sounds thoughtful, “what does he do there?”
“Security,” I croak.
There’s a long pause and I start to wonder if the call actually did drop this time.
Suddenly, Bowen’s deep voice growls through the speaker, “Are you fucking kidding?” That got his attention.
“No!” I’m careful not to raise my voice too much, “I haven’t seen him in three years and now he’s here, where I work, with a gun and tasers and mace and knives stuck all over him!”
“Maybe you should go home,” Bowen suggests.
“I can’t stay there forever…” Nothing seems like a good option.
“No,” he concedes, “but it might help you today. You sound like you’re about to lose it.”
Bowen’s right, of course. For a fleeting moment, I wonder whether I’ve crossed over into an alternate universe. This kind of thing doesn’t just happen. How can he be here? The odds are astronomical, aren’t they? Then I remember what Bowen said around the campfire about Colson having three years to think about me…
“Maybe I will. But I just got back from vacation,” I waffle, “I don’t know, I’ll see what I have going on the rest of the day.”
“Alright,” Bowen’s tone still has an edge, “well, let me know what you decide to do so I know you’re OK.”
“Definitely,” I sigh, focusing on my breathing.
“Hey, Brett?”
“Yeah?”
There’s another long pause.
“Whenever you leave, watch who’s walking or driving behind you.”
And now I’m back in senior year of college, locking myself away, looking behind me, watching my rearview mirror, glancing around corners, hoping I don’t see the one person I’m trying to avoid.
But unlike last time, I don’t have an entire university campus with 62,000 students to hide among. Now, I have one office building that only takes two minutes to walk end to end. And I know I’ll not only see Colson walking the halls, but I’ll likely see him in meetings, in trainings, and any other activity that involves safety and security.
There’s a knock at my door.
“Someone’s at my door, I’ll let you know what happens the rest of the day.”
“OK, love you.”
“I love you too,” I set my phone down and type my password into my computer in an attempt to make it look like I’m doing something productive.
“Come in!” I call as I sweep a stack of folders off my desk and spin around to set them on the filing cabinet behind me.
The door opens and I hear Eric’s familiar voice, “Brett, do you have a minute?”
“Yeah, what’s up?” When I spin back around, my stomach drops and I feel an electric shock radiate all the way down to my legs.
Colson is standing in the doorway next to Eric.
“This is Colson Lutz,” Eric motions to him, “he started last week. You might’ve seen his name on the list for access approvals.”
No, I didn’t, because I was on vacation and didn’t pay attention to anything I was signing. Maybe I should’ve just stayed on vacation.
“Oh, yeah,” I clear my throat, suddenly parched, “I’ve been out of town.”
I feel like I’m shaking, but when I look down at my arm, I’m surprised to find it’s still. Colson nods to me with a faint smile. My skin starts to crawl. His expression is both familiar and unsettling. I force myself to respond with the usual idiotic pseudo-smile of acknowledgement reserved for people you pass in the hallway as to not seem rude.
“This is Brett Sorensen,” Eric turns to Colson, “be nice to her. If you want to go anywhere around here, you have to get her say so.”
Be nice to me…yeah fucking right.
“Since we have the disaster response exercise tomorrow, can you confirm he has all the clearances he needs so we don’t hit a snag in the middle of it?” Eric continues.
“Sure,” I squeak, swiveling around to my screen.
At least I have an excuse to focus elsewhere. I click the desktop icon to open the access program for our building. I search for Colson’s name and click on it to open a new window. His name shows up in large, black, block letters at the top of the screen. A list of buildings and access points stretch down the window below it, all of them highlighted in green. A map of the property is below it, filled with blocks of green and no red. Colson has all the clearances. He can go anywhere he wants, just like the rest of them.
“Yep,” I keep it short, “you’re all set.”
Eric walks around the side of my desk to look at the screen, “OK, come here,” he motions to Colson and points at my screen.
To my horror, Colson rounds the other side and plants his hand on my desk, leaning over my right shoulder. My eyes shift from Eric on my left to Colson on my right. My heart pounds faster as the low-key hum in my ears gets louder. I sit, frozen, my hand still on my mouse, staring at Colson’s arm just inches from me.
