The Balance

by C. L. Nelson

  THE BALANCE

  C.L. NELSON

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, actual events, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2020 by C.L. Nelson

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner. Reproduction of this book without permission is illegal and punishable by law.

  ISBN: 9798683894375

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  CHARLIE

  I have a feeling it’s just going to be one of those days. You know, when nothing goes right, and the day just doesn’t end. I have a lot of those days. In fact, it seems like my whole twenty-seven years of life is made up of those days.

  It’s May, and spring is in full effect here in Massachusetts. I just love this time of the year with all the colors returning after the death that is winter. Tulips, a sure sign of spring in New England, have been up for weeks now and the robins have returned to rebuild their nests. The gross snow mounds covered in black sludge have finally melted and the dead grass has been brought back to life, leaving the ground blanketed in green. The trees have awoken from their winter slumber, dressing for the occasion with their impressive vibrant flowers that will leave the floor beneath them peppered with petals as they make room for new leaves. The dogwood trees are my favorite with their bright purple and pink blossoms. And the best part is that we are finally starting to get some warm days that remind us that summer is right around the corner.

  Despite enjoying nature’s rebirth, it’s Tuesday morning and I have just arrived an hour late to the office building where I work. It hasn’t been an easy morning, but mornings are never easy for me. Saying I am not a morning person would be an understatement. Don’t even try talking to me or looking at me or breathing in my general direction before I have had caffeine and some food. The last person that tried is now buried in the woods. Just kidding! Or am I?

  However, today has been an especially crappy morning. I was already running late and was unable to have a proper breakfast. I had to settle for a protein bar that I barely choked down with the lukewarm coffee that I had set to brew for when I was supposed to wake up.

  I couldn’t find my sunglasses and my eyes were on fire thanks to the sun. My eyes have always been very sensitive to sunlight. My tepid coffee fell out of my hands when I swerved to miss a squirrel, drenching my white blouse. I didn’t see the bastard until it was almost too late. Stupid sun. Swerving caused me to scrape my car along an overgrown bush which added some lovely scratches down the side of my car, and now I am late for work. Again. Ugh! How can it only be Tuesday?

  The office building where I work is located about twenty minutes south of Boston in Braintree, Massachusetts. I work in the customer service department for a local solar energy company that thinks it’s a good idea to cut corners. To my extreme delight, I get to handle the problems caused by those cut corners. Fan-freaking-tastic.

  I don’t think the designers of our office even tried to make it pleasant. Everything is gray and dreary. Old gray carpet runs from gray wall to gray wall. We each have our own gray cubicle where we take our calls with a gray computer and a gray headset. You would think they would try to make the place feel sunnier considering they sell solar panels, but I think they designed it to match our moods, not to improve it. It’s fitting, seeing as this job will definitely put you in a dreary, gray, Eeyore-with-a-rain-cloud mood.

  I hate my job. I am not entirely sure that I didn’t die at some point and now I am paying penance in hell for some unknown crime I had committed when I was alive. It’s the same painful torture day in and day out. I arrive at work, get yelled at by pissed off customers, and go home. Rinse and repeat, day after day, week after week. And the cherry on top of that crap sundae is my asshole manager. If you haven’t had a job that has made you feel this way, consider yourself lucky.

  The only thing that makes this job bearable is my coworker and best friend, Finlay. We have been inseparable since we met on our first day as freshmen in high school. Neither of us dated much in high school which for me makes sense because I detest trying to fit in and I tend to rub people the wrong way with my dark sense of humor and sarcasm. However, Finlay was handsome and popular. He could have had his choice of any of the girls that threw themselves at him, but he always chose to hang out with me. He gets my darkness and complements it with his mischievous tendencies.

  Finlay was standing casually by the water cooler when I arrived, leaning against the wall with one foot crossed over the other. He had his reusable bottle filled with water and he appeared to be taking a break, but he doesn’t even work on this floor. I looked around and no one is looking at him with questioning stares, though I was getting a few glares myself for being late. I don’t know how he gets away with hanging out down here so often when he should be working. The strange thing about Finlay is that I have never once, in all the time that I have known him, seen him do any work. Did he even go to classes in high school?

  “You’re late again, Charlie, and you have a large coffee stain on your shirt,” he whispered in his delightful Irish accent as he steps into my path.

  His accent melts the panties off women here. He has been in the United States for at least ten years, but he still sounds like he is living in Northern Ireland. He doesn’t talk much about his past and he is always vague when I ask him about where he grew up. He told me he was born in Ireland but moved around a lot during his life until he ended up here. I’ve tried to find out more, but he is really good at distracting me, making me forget my question.

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I said as I stepped around him and sat in my cubicle. “What is it that you do here again?” I asked Finlay for the hundredth time as I log on to my computer.

  And for the hundredth time, he gave me a non-answer with his characteristic mirthful grin. “This and that. The real question is do you want to take an early lunch with me and just forget to come back?”

  “How have you not been fired yet?” I quipped as I put my headset on. One of the reasons I love Finlay so much is because he is so spontaneous and fun-loving, but sometimes he is a little irresponsible.

  “Probably for the same reason you haven’t been fired for being late all the time, love. We are just too pretty, and you know this office desperately needs some eye candy or everyone would lose their minds in this dull, depressing place,” he said with a wink. “Speaking of which, we really need to get out of the office this afternoon...for a refreshing change of scenery.”

  I turned to him and rolled my eyes. Straight women find Finlay very attractive with his dirty blonde hair, emerald green eyes, and 5’11” dancer’s body. His perfectly symmetr
ical face with a strong jaw and noticeable cheekbones makes him utterly irresistible. Maybe that’s why he gets away with doing so little work.

  My intense will power, and stubbornness have allowed me to resist his charms, but only just barely. He doesn’t have to know that he stars in many of my erotic dreams. He would tease me endlessly if he knew. I am pretty sure he doesn’t even think of me in a sexual way. He just likes to joke around.

  “I can’t, Fin. It’s only Tuesday and I just arrived late for work again. I really need to get some work done today,” I said as I forced myself to get my mind off Fin’s body and back on work.

  “If you were going to get fired, they would have done it already. You know you want to go have some fun. It has been a while since we have caused any trouble together. Besides, I know you don’t want to work all day with that coffee stain on your shirt,” he said as he leaned against my desk.

  He’s right. Not about the stain on my shirt. I am pretty sure I’ll survive the day. It’s the other part that he’s right about. We haven’t gone on any adventures in over a year. Perhaps, that’s just part of growing up and being focused on paying bills. Finlay doesn’t have to worry about money. I think he inherited money or something but again that is something he avoids talking about. He’s always offering to pay so we can do things together, but I’ve never really been comfortable with that.

  Things used to be simpler before life got in the way. In high school, we’d hang out nearly 24/7. We’d get lost in the woods a lot because trails are for boring people, though I suspected that Fin was never really lost. He had a good sense of direction and he loved the outdoors.

  Fin was also really good at starting rumors in high school. It didn’t matter what ridiculous story we’d come up with; by the end of the day, everyone knew about it and believed it. My favorite was when Finlay made everyone believe that one of the least popular kids was actually the secret love child of Johnny Depp and Jennifer Aniston. The rumor made him very popular.

  “Tell me you’re coming,” Fin said, bringing me back to the present.

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m wicked behind on my work.” I said, some New England slang sneaking out as I turn around to face the computer.

  My accent isn’t very strong like a stereotypical Bostonian and if I travel people wonder why I don’t drop my r’s and say things like I pahked my cah in hahvuhd yahd. I pronounce my r’s, thank you very much.

  “Please, Charlie, do you want to see me beg? I will get on my knees just for you…and while I am down there, I can do other things if you like.” He teased. “Just please leave work with me today. We can do whatever you want.”

  My mind started to drift toward that delightful scenario, but I slammed down a mental barrier just in time. “I can’t. I’m sorry. We can hang out after work if you want,” I offered.

  “It will be too late by then,” he said softly as his grin faded and his gaze lowered to the floor. He gave me a sad smile and walked away without another word.

  “That was weird” I muttered.

  “Excuse me?” said a woman in my ear and I realized I had answered a customer’s call. I apologized, took a deep breath, and proceeded to be yelled at by another unsatisfied customer. My day continued like that for about an hour until my boss called me into his office. I inwardly cringed. I just knew this was going to be one of those days.

  Harris Miller or as I call him, “Harass” Miller, is a thirty-year-old married man and the son of the owner of the company. You would think either the married or the boss part would keep him from making unwanted sexual advances in the workplace. Harass must think he is god’s gift to women since he clearly feels the need to give himself to as many women as possible. I think he is more like unwanted advice, something you don’t want, but it’s forced on you anyway. He might have been fairly attractive in a tall, blonde, and handsome way if the ugliness of his personality didn’t ooze out of his pores.

  I walked into his office and he shut the door behind me. The white vinyl blinds that cover the windows that overlook the cubicles are already down. If that doesn’t ring all of your warning bells, then you aren’t paying attention.

  “You wanted to see me?” I asked.

  “Charlene, you were late again today.”

  He knows I go by Charlie. He is just too much of a dick to care.

  “You have been late five times already this month and we are only halfway through May,” he said as his gaze dropped and lingered on my breasts.

  I fight back the strong desire to punch him in the face. I’ve been told I have a little problem with my temper. I’ve known how to throw a proper punch since I took one-on-one boxing lessons when I was sixteen as a way to manage my anger. That anger is still there. It’s always there but I’ve learned how to cage it.

  “Most managers would have fired you by now. My father is on my back about this situation…but I can be persuaded to forgive these transgressions.”

  In my head, I started playing “I’d Rather.” It is a game Finlay and I play where we state all the things that we’d rather be doing instead of what we are actually doing. Our humor is dark and fatalistic. Some people wouldn’t understand.

  I’d rather be mauled by a bear. I’d rather be struck by lightning. I’d rather take a bath with a toaster. I think to myself.

  “Mr. Miller,” I responded formally to remind him that he is my boss. “I will try not to be late anymore. I just have had the worst luck recently and something is always delaying me.”

  “Ms. James,” he switched to using my last name but continued to leer at me. He stepped closer to me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “You will need to stay late today to make up for some of the time you have missed.”

  I stepped back immediately. “I’m sorry that I have been late, but we do not receive customer calls after 5 pm. There would be no point for me to stay late,” I said as I continued to back up toward the door.

  He continued to advance on me until I am trapped against his body and the door. He cut to the chase. “Charlene, you know what I want from you. Do you want to be fired?” He asked as he caressed my hair.

  My heart is racing. I can smell his stale coffee breath and the overpowering smell of cologne as he pressed himself against me.

  I need this job, or I would have quit already. This isn’t the first time he has been inappropriate with me, but it is the most blatant he has been. It would do no good to report him. He is the boss’s son and the last woman that complained was fired. I am usually able to get him to back down, but he is persistent today.

  I take a deep breath, trying to keep a lid on my anger. “Mr. Miller, do you know what the #MeToo movement is?” I asked as I give him a hard look. “Your father will have a hard time covering up your indiscretions when I convince the other women to go to the media about your behavior in the workplace.”

  His father is a prominent political figure in the community, very wealthy. Buying a company that installs solar panels was a way to show voters that he believed in alternative energy sources and an easy way to employ his lazy, spoiled son.

  He raised his head, his gaze finally meeting my eyes. He flinched like what I said finally sank in and had frightened him. Just as he was taking a step back to rethink his actions, we hear a loud bang from somewhere in the building, like the sound a plastic bag filled with air makes when you pop it. This loud crack was closely followed by more pops in short bursts and terrified screams coming from a lower floor. Having gone to a shooting range with Finlay, the sound is unmistakable for anything other than gunshots.

  Harris jumped behind his desk and hid underneath. Coward. Not a surprise that he only cares about his own safety. I run out of his office to look for Finlay. People are screaming. They are either running for an exit or looking for a place to hide. We are on the fourth floor. It’s not like we can go out of the windows, so there are limited ways to exit the building. There are two staircases on either side of the building and an elevator, but it has been out of orde
r for the last week.

  The gunshots are getting louder. The shooter must be making his way up the floors. Terrified, frantic screams are coming from the stairwell on the farther side of the building from the people who had the terrible misfortune of choosing the wrong exit.

  “FINLAY!” I called out but get no response as I frantically search for my friend. I really hope he left for the day like he was planning. God damn it! I should have gone with him.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I said aloud to myself.

  I hear more screaming and gunshots. People near me are hiding and crying softly. I overhear someone report that both sets of stairs are blocked, one by a barricade set up by the gunman and the other by the gunman himself.

  My heart is pounding in my chest. “What am I going to do? Come on! Think, Charlie!” I’m talking to myself again. Apparently, I do that when I am in life-threatening peril.

  I have now hidden in the supply closet. I don’t have many choices. I can either wait where I am and hope the gunman leaves or is killed by police or I can be more proactive.

  I look around to see three of my coworkers who are also hiding in the supply closet. Maybe if we work together, we can stop the gunman. They are sobbing and shaking. They don’t look like they are going to be any help in this situation, but I try to calm them down anyway.

  “We are going to be alright,” I whispered. “If we make a plan, we may be able to take him down.”

  Silence. They have stopped sobbing, but they are looking at me like I am nuts. The sobbing starts again as they hear shots being fired somewhere very nearby, maybe even in the next room.

  That’s okay because I really didn’t want to play hero right now anyway. “Alright, I guess that’s a no to that plan. I can’t just sit in here, so when I leave, you all need to slide the shelving units up against the door. After you do that, you should probably stay as quiet and low to the ground as possible,” I tell them as I prepare to leave the supply closet.

  I am not dying today! Fate, destiny, or whoever set this into motion can kiss my ass. I grab some scissors from a shelf just in case things get desperate and I need a weapon. I quietly exit the closet. My goal is to save myself. I am not a hero. I am not the good guy. Taking down the gunman to save everyone is not my job nor is it my moral responsibility. Some people would judge me for that, but they are fooling themselves if they think they would act differently. Karma might kick my ass for this later, but at least I will have a later.