Office Preserves
Page 1
OFFICE PRESERVES
Galen Surlak-Ramsey
A Tiny Fox Press Book
© 2019 Galen Surlak-Ramsey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by U.S.A. copyright law. For information address: Tiny Fox Press, North Port, FL.
This is a work of fiction: Names, places, characters, and events are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Damonza.
ISBN (Print): 978-1-946501-10-3
Tiny Fox Press and the book fox logo are all registered trademarks of Tiny Fox Press LLC
Tiny Fox Press LLC
North Port, FL
For Steph, who doesn’t know what a quail is
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
THANK YOU FOR READING!
THE GORGON BRIDE
LITTLE COMPUTER PEOPLE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (AND OTHER STUFF)
Chapter One
“Welcome to Preser Tech,” says a pair of blurry, red high heels. “We’re glad to have you aboard!”
Toby groans and rubs his eyes. A cold marble floor presses into his face, and a small puddle of drool clings to his mouth and cheek. Thankfully, he sees that the shoes hadn’t actually done the talking. There’s a female attached to them.
The thought churns in his head. There’s a female attached to them. Toby winces as he pushes himself up and wipes his mouth. “God, my head hurts.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” the woman replies with a laugh. “You’re not the first to get a little bump on the noggin.”
Toby furrows his brow as he tries to remember what happened, but he only draws a blank. He looks the woman over, hoping that she’ll spark something in his memory. Judging from her accent, she’s from Minnesota, and going by her boundless energy, she’s downed a twelve pack of Red Bull and chased it with a couple of lines of cocaine. Her dark eyes promise desire. Her lips promise fulfillment. Her body curves everywhere it should, and her tummy is flat as a board. A sweet fragrance drifts from her skin and tantalizes Toby’s nose. Men, no doubt, fawn over her every day. Smooth ones. Rugged ones. Ones that go on twenty-mile fun runs and bench cars with one arm.
“Where am I?” he asks.
“You’re in the lobby!’” she replies, extending a hand.
Toby gives her a handshake and smiles to be polite. Concern mounts that his amnesia might be due to a head injury. He reaches up and discovers a large knot near his left temple.
“Feeling okay?” the woman asks.
“Hoping I don’t have a concussion,” he says. Toby pats down his pockets, and while he can feel his wallet sitting in his right, both his keys and cell phone are missing from his left. “Son of a bitch.”
“What’s wrong?” the woman asks.
Toby shakes his head. “Not sure where my keys and phone are,” he says. “Or my wife and kids, for that matter.”
“Oh don’t worry about silly things like that,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” he says, looking around. The lobby is sparsely decorated. A few cheap, plastic benches are bolted to the floor, and a handful of generic pictures with no related theme hang from the walls. “You said this is Preser Tech?”
“Yup!”
“Where’s that?”
“Here, silly.”
Toby shakes his head in frustration. “No. Where is here?”
“First floor,” she answers. “The lobby.”
Toby sighs. “Do you at least know where I parked?”
The woman stares at him blankly. “What?”
“Where I parked my car,” he says. When the woman still doesn’t react, he tacks on, “You know, how I got here?”
“Oh. Duh,” she says with a laugh. “Freddie brought you in.”
Toby is about to ask, “Who?” but stops himself when he gets a good look at her clothes. Her red skirt, two sizes too big, hangs loosely off her hips. Her blouse, though tailored, is marred by old stains and has two small tears in the right shoulder. Mismatched diamond studs sit in her ears, and a glance down shows that even the shoes she wears aren’t from the same pair.
Toby steps back, wondering which is worse, that someone would come dressed like this to work, or that her employer wouldn’t mind. Either way, sticking around to solve his memory lapse is no longer in Toby’s itinerary. “It’s been nice talking to you, but I need to go.”
“Great idea! Let’s get you to work!” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“No, I mean I need to be somewhere else.”
“I totally know what you mean,” she says. “You already missed the morning meeting.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t work here.”
“Aw, I think someone’s still sleepy,” she replies. “Why don’t you get some coffee?”
“Yeah, nice meeting you.”
Toby steps away. Behind him, a pair of tinted, glass double doors give a glimpse of the outside world. He can’t see much of the street, let alone where his car is parked, but it has to be out there somewhere. He hurries to the exit. His Rockports echo loudly throughout the lobby. He tries the doors, but they don’t budge. Toby snorts and tries them again. This time he’s more forceful, more panicked.
The doors hold fast.
Toby turns slowly around. “I think they’re locked.”
“Those don’t open,” the woman says, now sitting behind a semicircular desk. “Display only. Dangerous out there, you know.”
Toby marches over to demand his release, but before he says a word, the woman slides him a food-laden paper plate.
“Have a cookie,” she says.
Toby eyes the snacks warily. “No, thank you.”
She turns the plate. “Or a candy.”
“I’m not hungry.”
The plate turns once again. “Rice Krispies Treat?”
Toby hesitates, and the woman grins. “You want one,” she says, nudging it forward. “Go on. They’re not poison.” She breaks a corner off one of the treats and pops it into her mouth. “See?”
“Melissa, is it?” he says, glancing at her nameplate. “I don’t have time to play games. Open the doors.”
The woman sticks out her lower lip in a very alluring, pouty way. “I really can’t let you out, even if I wanted to. I told you, those doors never open. But if you have a treat, I’ll point you in the right direction.”
Toby sighs and gives in. If it gets him closer to leaving, he decides he can indulge the request. He snags the nearest treat and takes a bite. It’s crunchy. It’s sweet. It’s absolutely delicious. His mouth waters. His taste buds burst in delight. He shuts his eyes and chews. His body warms, and his muscles relax. Worries vanish, and he craves more. More! More! MORE!
Toby reaches for another and another. The receptionist smiles as he stuffs his face. Soon, he’s munching on the very last treat.
“Yummy, huh?” she says.
Toby nods, not wanting to interrupt marshmal
low goodness with a bunch of talk. A stupid, happy smile spreads across his face, and his eyes glaze.
“You’ll want to go to the fourth floor.”
Toby stares at her. His mind feels foggy, and he’s unsure what he wants, but her suggestion sounds good. “And the elevators are...?”
“Behind me.”
Toby peers around the divider that separates the lobby from whatever else lies beyond. Sure enough, elevator doors stand nestled between a wall full of soda, cracker, and cookie dispensing devices. The neon colors splashed on their sides threaten to burn out Toby’s retinas, but he can’t look away. A dazzling array of goodies inside the machines’ transparent bellies beckon him closer and make him reach for his wallet.
“There are more machines upstairs,” Melissa says. “Some have Rice Krispies Treats too.”
“More?”
“Lots more.”
Toby nods.
“Well, off you go,” she says with a shoo. “You’re going to love it here.”
* * *
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Toby, now happily nursing an ice-cold Sprite, is about to enter when someone thumps his shoulder.
“Let’s have word, yes?” a voice from behind says in a heavy Russian accent.
Toby turns and sees a guard standing with crossed arms. The man’s pants, black and fitted, are ironed and creased. Muscles bulge beneath a short-sleeved, blue shirt, while pepper spray, cuffs, and a chrome-plated magnum revolver hang from his belt. Light glints off his bald head, and his eyebrows look like they are made of steel wool.
“Is there a problem?” Toby asks.
“You might say that,” the guard replies. He sticks a foot in front of the elevator doors and keeps them from closing. “I saw you talk to Melissa.”
“The receptionist?” Toby says, glancing over his shoulder.
“Yes, Melissa. She is my girl.”
“Oh no. It wasn’t like that,” he says, realizing the misunderstanding. “She was only helping.”
“You say I am liar?” The guard steps forward. He’s still a couple of feet away, but even at that distance, his rank breath is nearly overpowering. “Next time you try and steal Boris’s girl, I break your neck.”
Toby’s Krispy-induced bliss washes away under a deluge of adrenaline. He wonders how little it might take to spark a fight with the man—a fight he is certain he will lose, and lose badly.
“Got it, she’s Boris’s girl,” he says, sidestepping into the elevator. “I think I’ll be going now.
“Yes, I think you will.”
Boris removes his foot, and the elevator doors slide shut.
Toby quickly pushes the button to the fourth floor and exhales sharply.
* * *
Toby cautiously exits the elevator and steps into a long hall that stretches in either direction. Florescent lighting hums overhead, and the faint scent of cleaner hangs in the air. The walls are painted a light blue, and there are countless spots were previous damage has been haphazardly patched.
Unsure which direction to go, Toby heads right. He passes a pair of bathrooms and an empty break room before stopping at a set of double doors to his left. From behind them, he can hear muffled voices and hopes whoever is in there can help.
Toby cracks the door open and peers inside. A coffee machine bubbles on a nearby folding table and gives a pleasant aroma. Little Richard’s “Long Tall Sally” plays from an unseen radio, and the majority of the workspace is filled with cubicles. In, on, and around these cubicles are paper notices of every kind. Some are tacked to the walls. Others hang from bulletin boards. A few are even taped to chairs. Most he can’t read due to the distance involved, but the ones he can make out deal with various policy changes.
“Door!” someone shouts.
Instantly, two dozen people pop their heads over the dividers. They each look about with wide eyes and quick jerks of the head. When they spot Toby, they smile and sink back into their cubbies.
“Can someone help me?” Toby says, cautiously stepping inside. “I’m trying to get out of the building, and-”
“Toby?” someone says. “Dude! Is that you?”
Toby snaps his head to the left, astounded anyone knows his name.
A man in his mid-twenties, wearing khaki shorts and a black polo shirt, strides down one of the dividing aisles. “Hell yeah!” he says with a fist pump. “It is you!”
Toby hesitates, trying to place who this person is. “Matt?” he says. “Matt from IT?”
“Dude!” Matt says with shock. “You forgot me already?”
Toby shakes his head. “Sorry, but you were only with us for a week before you went AWOL.”
“Naw. Not AWOL. Crashed in bed one night and woke up here.”
“But that was a month ago,” Toby says. His mind reels at the implications. His stomach knots, and he has a sudden, inexplicable craving for a Rice Krispies Treat.
“No, not a month,” Matt says as he scratches his head. “Two, I think. It’s hard to keep track. You know, sucky calendars here and all.”
“No, I don’t know,” Toby says. He looks around, worried about who is listening. No one is, but Toby lowers his voice anyway. “You’ve been stuck here for two months?”
Matt laughs. Loudly. “Stuck?” he says. “As if! This place is sick!”
Toby’s hand reaches back for the door. Part of him is convinced this is a dream, and he ought to sit back and enjoy the ride. The other part, however, is screaming at the very real nature of it all and is demanding his exit, post haste.
“Dude, calm down,” Matt says. “I totally get what you’re going through. Freaked me out at first too.”
“This place is not normal.”
“Dude, I know,” he says, grinning. “The second I got here and met freak girl and her moose, I was sure I was getting axed. Must have spent a good hour or two trying to bail, but then I realized what they got and stayed.”
“I don’t care what they have,” says Toby. “I want out.”
“Dude, they’ve got free rooms to sleep, movies to watch-“
“I don’t care.”
“A gym. A mall-”
“I don’t care!” Toby takes a deep breath and fights the urge to lash out. It’s a tough fight, but he knows going down that path usually complicates matters in the same way a tornado touching down on the family car complicates a picnic. So Toby tries his best to stay in control and reason with his acquaintance. “Don’t you want to go home? See your friends? Your family? Hell, go surf?”
“And give up this epic place?” Matt scoffs. “No way. Dude, I got two secretaries, free room and grub, and-”
“Wait,” Toby interrupts. “You’ve got two secretaries?”
Matt grins and looks over his shoulder. “Yeah, and Clarice is practically a doe.”
Toby follows Matt’s gaze until it intersects with two small desks that are sitting in front of a private office. One of the desks is unoccupied, but behind the other sits a redhead, fit and freckled, who is reading a magazine. “Why do you have two secretaries?” Toby says, realizing he’s staring at her a little too long. “You’re an entry-level tech.”
“I’m Assistant Chief Tech of Marketing and Development of Strategic Positions in Volatile Environments,” Matt proudly replies. He throws a thumb toward his office door. “Check out the nameplate, brah.”
Toby squints. “What does that even mean?”
“Hell if I know. Some kook had it before me.”
“And?”
“And what? He got transferred or something. I ripped his office before some wanna-be could. Once I had that, bagging a couple of secretaries was cake. It’s all about the tag. Longer the better, and that’s pretty damn long.”
“No, I mean, what do you do here?”
Matt beams like he came off a kamikaze wave. “I go deep, graze, and enjoy life.”
“And you need secretaries to do that because...?”
“Brah, don’t hate,” Matt says, crossing h
is arms over his chest. “Not cool.”
“I’m not hating,” Toby replies. “I’m not. This place is creepy.”
“I hear you, brah.” Matt leans in close. “But let me clue you in. Get yourself a sec before people think you’re a poser. All the bunnies are taken, but they’re not all swamp donkeys.”
“Keep the secretaries. How do I get home?”
“Freddie’s the only one who can make that happen,” Matt replies.
Toby cocks his head at the first mention of anyone specific that could help him out. “Who?”
“Oh, dude!” Matt says with a bright smile. “You don’t know Freddie? He’s boss!”
“He is the boss or he is boss?” Toby asks.
“Both!” Matt then chuckles. “But don’t flail when you see him.”
“I’m not going to do anything other than demand my immediate release,” says Toby. “And he better let me out or so help me God I’ll punch him in the face.”
Matt looks over Toby’s shoulder, and his eyes light up. “Freddie!”
Chapter Two
Toby turns and finds himself face-to-face with a thing that looks like a hideous mix of snake, man, and spider. The creature supports itself on a serpentine tail, while a second tail, complete with a four-fingered hand at its end, floats lazily behind. Leathery, grey skin covers its torso and reflects the light, making it look slick. A pair of slender arms hangs from its side, but they have enough muscle definition to hint at some strength. Atop its body sits an elongated head covered in short, spiked hairs. Eight beady, black eyes stare deeply into Toby’s soul, and a pair of fangs covers the creature’s mouth.
Words fail to pass from Toby’s terror-stricken lips. He jumps back and crashes into a divider wall before hitting the ground.
“Dude, stop acting like that,” Matt says, one hand partially covering his face. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Toby wants to run. His mind demands it, but his body refuses. With effort, he manages a single question. “What the holy hell is that?”