by Dave Turner
He carefully pulled his feet up onto his chair and, wobbling, stepped onto his desk. He leapt onto a vacant chair. The momentum wheeled him across the floor until he reached the other island of workers. He scrambled up and trod carefully between computer keyboards, telephones and notepads. He snatched the file from his stunned work colleague and spun on his heel. Another leap back onto the chair and he sailed back across the ocean of stain-resistant carpet like a victorious pirate captain grasping plundered booty.
His battered joints aching, Dave clambered up onto Melanie's desk and stepped back over to his own. People began to applaud. Dave allowed himself a smile in his moment of triumph. Pride comes before a fall and physics is a harsh mistress. He stepped too heavily on the chair and it rolled away from under him. Dave hit the ground hard, paper exploding everywhere.
Worried, Melanie jumped up from her desk. She ran around and pulled Dave to his feet. Crouched down, the two of them gathered up the filing. She flashed him a smile.
'Very impressive.'
'Thank you.'
'I think you'll find I've won, though.'
Their eyes met over a spreadsheet. A memory emerged from the fog of Halloween night; jumbled fragments of a promise he had made to himself. The words tumbled out of his mouth.
'Do you want to go for that drink? You and me?'
'What? Like a date?'
'Not like a date. An actual date.'
The words hung in the air like subtitles on the paused DVD of Life.
'I think I'd like that.' Melanie tucked her hair behind her ear and Dave's heart came close to exploding. An office drone leaned over the desk.
'Dave?'
'Yes?' Dave looked up.
'Fiona's office. Now.'
Dave looked back at Melanie.
'You go. I'll take care of Meyer,' said Melanie.
Dave stood outside Fiona's door. As he knocked, he thought back to their last conversation before the accident and what a closed door meant.
'Come in!' A deep breath and Dave stepped into the room, attempting to exude a confidence he did not truly feel. Initially, the view from the window commanded his attention; the stark lines of glass and steel brutally etched against the crisp blue sky. Below, the Thames snaked like a predator ready to wrap itself around the city and consume it in its dark belly.
Then Dave realised that Fiona was not alone. A middle-aged man sat across from her. He was tailored to within an inch of his life and seemed to have been chiselled from some kind of tanned stone.
'Thanks for coming, Dave. I'm sure you know Mr West,' said Fiona. Conrad West. CEO of UberSystems International.
'Please. Call me Conrad,' West said. Though he smiled, his handshake felt like a threat.
'Good to meet you,' Dave said nervously.
'Take a seat. Fiona and I are just finishing some business.'
Fiona grinned. 'As I was saying, I took the initiative to crunch the numbers and, by my calculations, changing the vending machine suppliers and charging the staff for refreshments could save the company almost five hundred pounds a year.'
'Jesus, you're so tight that you'd probably skin your own farts for the grease.'
'I'm sorry, Mr West?'
'Let them have their free tea and coffee. It tastes like shit, anyway.' West rolled his eyes at Dave. Get a load of her. 'What do you think of the coffee, Dave? Do you drink it?'
'Yes, and now I know what regret tastes like.' West barked a big, harsh laugh and slapped the desk, causing pens and notepads to jump across the surface as if terrorized.
'I love this guy!' he boomed. 'Dave, I suppose you want to know why you're here?'
'A bit.'
'Firstly, I wanted to come down here to thank you for what you did to save Melanie.'
'Not a problem.'
'Not a problem?' West looked over to Fiona. 'He throws himself in front of a car to save a fellow team member and it's not a problem? I love this guy! But, anyway, I'll get to the point. Fiona's being reassigned.'
'There's a problem in Tokyo,' Fiona explained.
'Godzilla?' asked Dave hopefully.
'No.'
Dave sighed. 'It's never Godzilla.'
'Ha!' West clapped his hands together. 'Where have you been hiding this guy? That's why we want to know if you'd be interested in moving into Fiona's role? We need someone like you. Someone who can lead from the front. Someone who thinks outside of the box.'
'I think that if you always have to think outside of the box, then you probably need to get a different box,' Dave found himself saying.
'See? This is exactly the kind of blue sky thinking that we need. I love this guy!' West slapped Dave on his bruised shoulder. Dave winced. It was tough love.
'When do you want me to start?' he asked.
'Five minutes ago. Fiona's really got to get moving on her project. You wanna try her chair out for size?' Fiona slipped from behind the desk, relinquishing her authority to Dave.
He crossed from one side of the desk to the other and sunk into the expensive, ergonomically-designed chair. Within the space of ten minutes, he had arranged a date and secured a promotion. Though he did not miss the irony that he had to die to begin to live, none of it had seemed that complicated after all.
But you don't have to make life complicated. Sometimes it can get that way all by itself.
CHAPTER NINE
She wandered through the house. She drifted past the landslide of letters up against the front door and around the islands of books stacked haphazardly on the floor. She knew she didn't belong here, but she had nowhere else to go. She was cold and alone. People used to come and live here in her home. She didn't like the people. They ignored her. This made her angry and she broke things. They noticed her then. People did not come here any more.
A boy used to live here. She missed the boy. She liked him. He didn't ignore her. They talked and played games together. Hide-and-seek was her favourite. She always won. Then he left. That was a long time ago. Now, she waited at the top of the stairs. She had turned it into a game. She told herself she was hiding and, one day, he would find her again.
The boy would come back.
The boy would find her.
CHAPTER TEN
Sunlight tumbled down through a canopy of leaves above Dave's head. He had been here, in Green Park, once before during his first summer in London. It had been a good day with old university friends. He hadn't seen them since. They had been swallowed up by their new lives.
He was reminded of that day now. Young families picnicked on tartan rugs. Hipsters threw frisbees at each other. At the end of the path that cut through the trees he could see Buckingham Palace. Tourists scampered excitedly around it like ants around a greying lump of sugar. Behind him he could hear the hum of traffic on Piccadilly. He was sitting on the shady grass across from Death; a chessboard between the two of them. Death contemplated his next move.
'This is a dream, isn't it?' Dave asked.
'You don't have to worry if you dream of Death. No, you only have to worry if Death dreams of you.' Death moved a rook.
'We've met before, haven't we?'
'You recall that night?'
'A bit,' said Dave. 'I recall being annoyed. Is this going to take long? I've got work in the morning.'
'Oh, yes. Your new job. I've heard about that.'
Dave shrugged. 'You've got to pay the rent somehow.'
'Have you thought about getting a job you enjoy?'
'A job I enjoy? I'm sorry, I don't get you. I mean, I understand the individual words. Just not in that order and not in that sentence.' Dave picked up a bishop from the board. 'How does this move again?'
'Diagonally. I think. It's been a while. Mostly people want to play Angry Birds.'
Dave leaned back, his hands clutching at the green grass beneath him. Green. He thought of his parents again. Had they met this creature? Did they try to bargain or reason with him? Did they accept their fate or did they fight for a few more moments in this wor
ld?
'Do you remember my parents?' he asked.
'I'm sorry, but I don't. I have met so many of you. My time with each soul is brief. I'm basically just admin. Your myths and legends bestow upon me responsibilities that I do not possess.'
'Oh, that's a shame.' Dave sighed with disappointment.
'Let me explain something to you. Bodies are just meat puppets for the soul.'
'Meat puppets?'
'If Star Trek has taught humanity one thing, it's how to bang hot alien chicks. If Star Trek has taught humanity two things, it's also that you will transcend your corporeal forms and become entities of pure energy. I don't know where you'd put your bloody car keys, though.'
'Why are you telling me this?'
'I could show you so much. But you never write. You never call.' Death sighed as he pushed a pawn along the board.
'I don't know how to.' Dave moved a knight to capture Death's pawn.
'I think you do,' said Death.
'Checkmate,' said Dave triumphantly. A confused Death looked down at the board.
'What the fu--'
Throwing off his sweat-soaked bed sheets, Dave gasped awake as though he had surfaced from deep, cold, dark water.
Unable to get back to sleep, Dave showered and put on his best suit. He was checking his reflection in the chrome kettle when Gary stumbled into the kitchen, bare feet padding on the laminate floor.
'You vain bastard,' he said.
'It's not vanity, it's damage limitation.'
Gary peered blearily inside the fridge.
'Shouldn't you be at work?' he asked.
'I'm going in a bit.' Dave's head ached. It felt as if somebody had pushed their fingers into his brain; probing and stretching, pressing it up against his skull. He had thought about phoning in sick, but it was the first day in his new role and he was pretty sure the personification of death invading your psyche wasn't on the list of acceptable reasons for absence. He told himself that it was just a dream. Nothing more than a subconscious manifestation of his anxiety about work, but it had felt so real. Death had seemed so close.
Gary removed a pizza box from the fridge and sniffed the contents. His nose wrinkled.
'That's disgusting!' He shoved the box back in the fridge.
'Why did you put it back, then?' Dave asked.
'Because there's no room left in the bin.' Gary pulled out a cheesecake.
Dave grimaced. 'Cheesecake for breakfast?'
'What's the problem? It's dairy and cereal. It's practically a bowl of cornflakes.'
'Can I ask you something?'
Gary's eyes widened. 'I'm not explaining where babies come from again.'
'What do you think happens when you die?'
'That accident's opened a whole can of philosophical whoop ass, hasn't it? Honestly? I don't know.'
'That's unusual for you,' said Dave.
Gary thought for a moment, then said, 'Life is like a box of chocolates. It doesn't last very long if you're morbidly obese.'
'That's not very helpful.'
'All I know,' said Gary, arms outstretched, 'is that God is dead and I am an insignificant speck in an uncaring universe. But there's cheesecake. So, y'know, swings and roundabouts. Cheese and cake. You have to admit, as a concept it's faultless.'
By ten o'clock that morning, Dave had settled himself into his new office. He had failed to set up his laptop and Blackberry and had been unable to programme his extension into the desk telephone. He rearranged his action figures for the ninth time that day. He looked proudly at the business cards printed with his name and a job title he didn't quite understand. He stared out of the window that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. His fingers gripped the soft leather armrests of the chair. He imagined he was Captain Kirk ordering the Enterprise to swoop over a previously undiscovered civilisation; one whose society was based on the service industry.
'Permission to come aboard?' asked Conrad West, his knuckles rapping sharply on the door. Dave pushed himself back to his desk and grabbed a spreadsheet.
'Oh, Mr West. I was... just... '
'Please, call me Conrad. How are you settling in?'
'Good.'
'Everything working?'
'No. They're all just very expensive paperweights.'
'Have you told IT?'
'I spoke to a guy on the floor below us who put me through to someone in Newcastle who phoned a support engineer in Mumbai who emailed another bloke who sits next to the guy I originally spoke to on the floor below us.'
'At least the process is becoming more streamlined, but I'm not here to discuss our poor business decisions. How are you feeling? Nervous?'
'A little.'
'That's good. It's just another type of fuel for the engine. I have high hopes for you, Dave. You're a good man. You could be the best.'
A memory stirred. The pressure behind his left eyeball grew until he thought it would pop out of his head and roll around the desk. He put a hand out to steady himself.
'I'm sorry? What did you say?'
'I don't enjoy repeating compliments. I said you could be the best. Are you alright?'
'Just a headache.'
'Take some aspirin. You good to come to the boardroom in ten minutes?'
'Of course,' said Dave.
'Great. Is there anything else you need?'
'I don't think so.' West was halfway out the door when Dave thought of a question.
'Just one more thing, Conrad, if that's OK?'
'Sure. Shoot.'
'What do I actually do?'
The UberSystems International boardroom had been designed with understated good taste and an overstated budget. If Dave had known how much the leather chair he sat in cost, he would probably have stopped picking at the stitching. He was surrounded by middle management; cheap suits and expensive ties. The room hummed with fear and buzz words.
This was where he spent the rest of the day, in meeting after meeting. At one point he was pretty sure he was having a meeting about a meeting he was going to have later in the day. Dave reckoned that he could recreate his work day by slamming his head in a door while someone poured cold coffee over him and repeatedly shouted, 'Synergies!'.
At five thirty, Dave escaped back to his office. The mythical computer engineer was staring at Dave's computer with a look of disappointment.
'Dude, you don't need an engineer. You need a priest. What did you do?' he said.
'Tried to change my password. I'm not very good with technology.' Dave pressed buttons on his Blackberry in a futile attempt to retrieve his messages. Melanie looked around the open doorway.
'Well, don't you look the very model of a young professional,' she said playfully.
'I like to make an effort every now and again.' Dave continued to punch the Blackberry's keyboard.
'What is that?' Melanie asked.
'It's a smart phone.'
'What do you need one of those for?'
'It means I can be contacted any time, day or night,' he said with an air of self-importance.
'That doesn't sound very smart to me. We're going to the pub. You coming?'
Dave sighed. 'I can't. I've spent so long in meetings about the work I have to do that I haven't had time to actually do the work.'
'Fair enough. You still got time in your diary to fit me in tomorrow?'
'Of course.'
'Don't work too hard.'
'I won't.'
A large green plastic bag labelled 'PATIENT PROPERTY' was waiting for Dave when he returned home late in the evening. He had the flat to himself. Every Thursday night, Gary attended his conspiracy theorist support group, though he insisted on calling it a Truther Symposium. He had taken Dave along to a meeting once. Fourteen passive-aggressive men drinking real ale and all insisting they sat with their backs against the wall opposite the window.
He tipped the contents of the bag onto the living room floor. The clothes he had died in; smashed devil horns, torn tee shirt and jeans. Then a
moment of clarity. He remembered everything. That night. The accident. The pub.
Dave picked up the crumpled trousers and turned them over. Nervously, he put a hand in the back pocket. He pulled out a creased business card. Ran his fingers over the raised text. 1 Crow Road.
He would definitely be phoning in sick tomorrow.
Dave slept fitfully that night. Whether awake or dreaming, the same thought occupied him like the last chorus of a song he had caught on the radio. He told himself that he didn't believe in any of this. His near-death experience had been his body's biochemical reaction. It was caused by a combination of oxygen deprivation and hormones overloading his system. Then he saw the business card perched against his bedside lamp. He felt like he had as a child when he'd worry about the monsters hiding in his wardrobe. The world now seemed even bigger and even more frightening.
Dave had been staring at the ceiling for thirty-four minutes when his alarm went off. He had been counting down the minutes; a tally drawn on the wall of his mind. Mechanically, he climbed out of bed, showered and made a phone call to the office. He explained about the physiotherapy session he had forgotten about. He was very sorry and would be contactable on the Blackberry. Human Resources understood, wished him good luck for it, hoped he had a good weekend and would see him on Monday.
Dave had been surprised to discover there was only one Crow Road in the whole of London. It had taken several strolls up and down the length of the main street until he found the entrance where he was sure there had once been a coffee shop.
Crow Road, NW1, was a cobblestoned cul-de-sac lined with office buildings whose brickwork had been smoothed and softened by decades of wind and rain. This unassuming passageway didn't look like a location where worlds collided. Dave pulled his winter coat close, wrapping himself against a chill that was not meteorological.
