by Lotta Smith
My jaw dropped. “Pardon me?” I muttered, wondering if I didn’t catch his words. I was here as the company’s potential employee and not a patient seeing an ophthalmologist or a neurosurgeon, and asking me about the number of interviewers sounded utterly inappropriate.
“I’m asking you how many interviewers you see in this room,” he went on breezily. “Oh, don’t forget to count me in, okay?” he added with a wink.
I knew I’d have to answer him with a smile—maybe cracking a joke or two to lighten up the atmosphere in the room. Except I wasn’t in the mood for telling jokes, and I was excessively annoyed. I felt like standing up, kicking the door open, and leaving. Except I was lacking in the audacity department.
“I see four interviewers lining up at the desk.” I indicated the long desk in front of me, and I glared at Jack Adams.
“Oh, okay.” He nodded, looking amused. “Thank you.”
The CEO exchanged a glance with the guy sitting next to her, and they were frowning. Maybe they were afraid of me going on a Twitter rant, complaining about the stupidest job interview question.
Anyway, the interview was over, and I was so done.
CHAPTER 2
After leaving the massive skyscraper of Quest Realty headquarters, I powerwalked my way, fuming, down the sidewalk. I couldn’t calm down and walked on the little bridge interconnecting Quest Realty with another building next to it. As I went past the people looking professional and successful in smart casual attire, my frustration-o-meter was totally going off the chart.
I was so annoyed that I felt nauseated. The way that Jack Adams treated me made me mad, and the perplexed look on the other executives’ faces embarrassed me. On top of all that, I wanted to kick myself for having such high hopes of actually getting hired by the realty giant. After all, I was a country mouse, and they were city mice, and we both knew I didn’t belong in their world.
Then again—
“How could he ask me to count to four?” I snapped to no one in particular. Good thing I was out of my hometown. At least I didn’t have to worry about someone telling my folks about my weird behavior.
Eyes shut tightly, I stopped and stretched my arms. And then, I felt someone standing next to me.
On instinct, I opened my eyes.
I sucked in air as I found a middle-aged guy standing very close to me, and I recognized him.
He was sporting an elegantly tailored dark suit and a pinstriped tie. He was one of the interviewers, and I offered him a small smile. “Hello. Thank you for meeting me minutes ago.” I tried my best to appear energetic and professional, but I wasn’t sure if I managed to do so. I had a hunch he’d caught me muttering complaints about the interview, and in a panic, I attempted to recover.
Honestly, I didn’t even recall his name, and I knew that wouldn’t make a good impression. Still, it didn’t take long for me to calm down. I knew I’d failed the interview miserably, and I could fail just once, right?
I noticed something wasn’t right about this encounter when he kept on glaring at me without saying anything for well over a full minute. First of all, he didn’t look well. To be exact, his complexion was so pale, bordering on translucent, and his eyes were lacking life. I knew he was standing by my side because he was alive, but he was lacking something very subtle yet very important—it might have been the pinkish complexion due to blood flowing in our bodies, and it might have been a social smile to help us look polite. Anyway, something was missing from him.
I looked around, just in case I’d needed to call for help. Somehow, the crowd of people in business casual attire had disappeared from the place—as if they had evaporated like smoke.
* * *
Two minutes later, I was clutching one of the columns of the safety rail on the edge of the bridge. I was not only hanging on to the steel structure, but I was also hanging on to my dear life.
“Help! Help!” I screamed, completely forgetting about the protocol of appropriately calling for help at an emergency by shouting “Fire! Fire!” at the top of my lungs.
One of my arms was restrained by the interviewer’s death grip, and I was using all my strength in the other hand. The interviewer dude was looking down at the busy road as if he was so entirely fascinated by the endless traffic and couldn’t wait to morph into a chunk of bloody meat.
“Hello? Killing yourself wouldn’t make it better for anybody, you know. If you have complaints, you can step forward and make your point,” I said breathlessly, adding, “I know a lawyer!” I didn’t tell him Mr. Lambert, the retired entertainment lawyer living across the street was suffering from COPD, and he had to carry an oxygen tank with him wherever he went.
When I noticed the interviewer’s hand was cold like ice, I felt the dull heaviness in that arm. Oh my God! He jumped! Not that I saw that with my own eyes because I was too scared to witness my final moments on my own, but I knew he did. My arm gripping the steel column grew numb. I was so going to fall when I couldn’t hang on to my life anymore, and I truly, madly hated to be called “The girl who killed herself following a disastrous final round of a job interview.”
I yelped, “Ouch!” I felt a jolt of pain in my arm, and it was the opposite one from the one held captive by the crazy interviewer.
I opened my eyes. In front of me was the bridge’s safety railings. Underneath me was a mirror-like surface of a little stream, and the distance between me and the water was just about ten feet. I didn’t see the road with heavy traffic anymore—as if it never existed in the first place. Under normal circumstances, I’d have tilted my head, knitting my eyebrows, but before I had time and energy to do so, I caught someone groaning.
“Come on, why don’t you try some pushing up? No offense, but I’m slightly worried about dislocating my shoulders—Oh, crap—”
The voice came from over my head. It was a male voice. I looked up, trying to see who he was, but he was invisible, hidden behind the safety railing. Still, I knew one thing about him. He was a different guy from the one who’d previously attempted to jump off the bridge with yours truly in tow. I could tell that from the warmth of his hands holding my arm. I had no idea how the interviewer guy had managed to materialize on the road with heavy traffic and the sky-high bridge. I could have been daydreaming, but the feelings of his ice-cold hands on my neck and wrist felt so real.
“Hey… Come on. Can’t you at least try climbing up?” he said breathlessly, and I realized I was still dangling from the bridge.
“Oh. Sure.” I clasped one of the steel rails with my free hand and wiggled up. I was no gymnast, but thanks to his assistance, I’d managed to go up, and we ended up on the little bridge probably designed for strolling after lunch.
For a while that felt like forever, the two of us were panting like wild animals. I didn’t know about my savior, but I was out of breath, and all the cells in my body were in serious needs of oxygen.
We sat simultaneously, but he talked before I did.
“What are you, an idiot?” he snapped, loosening the collar of his shirt.
“Than—” I stopped in mid-appreciation, and I was thankful for not thanking him appropriately. “It’s you!” I exclaimed, pointing my finger at him. I knew it was rude to do so, but I didn’t care.
It was Jack Adams, the rude guy who asked me the number of interviewers.
The warm and fuzzy feelings of appreciation blew up like a car bomb in terrorist-infested areas around the world and Sicily during mafia wars, and I didn’t hesitate to demand an explanation. “That guy from the interview! He tried to kill me by pulling me off the bridge! I thought Quest Realty was a decent company sticking to something called compliance, but apparently, I was so wrong. I know interviewers can get pretty mean sometimes, for some reasons totally unfathomable to interviewees, but being rude is one thing, an attempt at murder is a totally different story!”
“Wait a minute, he’s not an interviewer.” He raised a hand, furrowing his perfectly shaped eyebrows.
“Hel
lo? Aren’t you done making fun of me?” I threw my hands up in the air. I could have gone on with my rant forever, but I stopped in the middle. “Wait a minute. Where is he? I didn’t see him coming up… He went into the water, didn’t he?” I stood up and squinted at the little stream beneath us. Its surface was calm like a polished mirror. Then I knitted my eyebrows. “Why did I think he tried to jump off a skyscraper when he was actually dragging me into the water?” Oh, did I mention I tended to speak my thoughts when my mind was working like a super computer?
“Listen, there was just three of us who talked to you at the interview,” Jack said, leaning on the fence.
Without replying, I looked at his face. To my surprise, he looked unexpectedly serious. I was more than keen on complaining to him, but instead, I shut my eyes. I was reliving my interview in my head. The CEO sat in front of me. To her right side was the director of commercial properties—a forty-ish guy in a navy suit—and Jack Adams to his right. As for the murderous guy, he sat to the left side of the CEO. I tried to recall his name, but I realized he didn’t have a name plate in front of him. He was a total stranger to me, and it was acceptable that I didn’t recall his name. Still, I should remember his position, at least.
“Did I see his name plate in the first place?” I muttered, and I felt a shiver going down my spine.
Jack looked me in the eyes. “Eight years ago, an employee jumped off Quest Realty’s headquarters building.”
My eyes widened. My heart beat fast and furious.
Without waiting for my reply, Jack went on. “There was no suicide note. So, nobody knows why he died. He was said to be under stress from family problems and the job itself. Anyway, the police had concluded he’d jumped on an impulse. And—”
“And, what does that have to do with me?” I interrupted him in mid-sentence. I knew things were looking like some cliché scene from horror movies, and I wanted to steer the conversation out of the twilight zone.
“Here’s the thing. The guy hasn’t realized that he’s dead,” Jack replied casually, sporting something resembling with a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. “Death from an impulse occasionally ends up with people like him. So, every morning, he comes to the office, does his work, and at the end of the day, he jumps off the headquarters building. He’s been doing this routine for years and years. Occasionally, he encounters people whose wavelengths match with his, and he doesn’t hesitate to drag whoever he lay his eyes on to his side of the universe.”
“Matching wavelength? Dragging to his side of the universe?” I tilted my head, not quite following him.
“Come on, no need to play dumb.” Jack chuckled. “You’re lucky to meet him here. This little stream isn’t deep enough to kill you.”
“Are you making fun of me?” I narrowed my eyes at him. Honestly, I was more scared than angry, but I had a feeling if I let the fear rule me I’d totally freak out.
“What?” Jack Adams tilted his head. For the first time, he looked confused. “Then again, seeing people like him is nothing new for you, right?”
“Pardon me?”
“Hey, I said don’t play dumb.” He cracked up laughing. “But I have to admit you’re a good actor. Seriously, if you were starring in a C-horror movie, I’d almost believe you encountered a scary moment for the first time in your life. I might even recommend you for the best horror-movie victim at the Oscars.”
I cleared my throat. I wasn’t looking into the mirror, but I was sure I was sporting the frown of the year. “What are you talking about? I’m not quite following you?” The latter part of my sentence sounded more like a question than a statement.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Jack’s eyes widened as if he’d just seen something truly unbelievable.
“Like I said, I have no idea about whatever you’ve been talking about.” I shook my head. “Anyway, I had enough with this silly conversation. I know it’s a goodbye for good, but I’d recommend you quit playing with the interviewees. Just because we’re jobseekers doesn’t mean we aren’t your potential clients, and they say the first impression matters a lot.” I turned on my heels and waltzed out of his sight.
“Hey, wait a moment—” he called to my back, but that didn’t stop me from getting as far away from him and Quest Realty as quickly as I could.
The sight of the skyscrapers and the strange dude attempting to jump off one with me in tow was so real, but I didn’t want to think about it. Following the silly interview with Jack Adams throwing a stupid question at me, and the ultra-scary experience, I no longer wanted a position with the company. More precisely, I didn’t want to do anything with them.
Okay, I was still unemployed without much prospects in life, but screw joblessness. I might hit the jackpot anytime, and I’d be able to stop worrying about work and life altogether.
At this moment, I had no idea about what the future had in store for me.
CHAPTER 3
Two weeks later, I was back in Los Angeles.
In spite of the interview that went extra wrong, I got an email from Quest Realty in my inbox telling me that I’d passed the interview and was proceeding to the next stage of the selection process. I’d double- and triple-checked the email to confirm it was real. I even got a physical letter from the company with an invitation for an aptitude test.
I was like “huh?” with the question marks literally flying all around my head. If I recalled it right, the interview ended with an epic disaster followed by a scary but surreal experience sprinkled with an additional mocking by that mean interviewer. Under normal circumstances, I’d have declined the opportunity and joined a local company—a safe and happy place. However, the owners of the local businesses had realized that all the companies I’d worked with ended up closing soon after having me on board, and my application processes weren’t going nicely. In my defense, I had nothing to do with the businesses shutting down, but the hiring managers didn’t think so.
Besides that, my mom and mad were super excited about their only daughter finding “a glamorous job with a big, established company,” so I decided to give this new process a try. Not to mention having a little excursion wouldn’t hurt to help me shrug off some minor weird happenings at home.
The night I returned to home sweet home in Napa Valley, I had a hard time falling asleep due to noises. Just like many of the neighbors, we Valentines lived in a detached house. It wasn’t a McMansion in Beverly Hills, but it was comfy most of the times. But that night was different. Noises like a bunch of adults body-slamming onto the walls kept on coming until two o’clock in the morning. I knew they were doing something crazy and/or kinky, and I hoped someone would have called the police. Unfortunately, no one alerted the police, and I was too exhausted to do so myself. Maybe other neighbors were too keen to listen to the sounds potentially coming from kinky sex. Except, I didn’t catch voices, moans, and so on.
The funny thing was, my parents didn’t recall this noise issue when I brought it up at the breakfast table. Also, Mom informed me the home facing my room was unoccupied, and new residents were yet to move in.
“You must be tired, Fio,” Mom said affectionately. “Flying to and from L.A. is tiresome enough, and you’ve been having interviews with a big company. Imagine all the stresses and hush-hush in the big city.”
“Of course,” Dad chimed in. “You tend to see weird stuff when you’re tired. Every time you saw the taps running water, the TV switching on and off, and the lamps doing the disco on their own, you were exhausted.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“Of course!” Mom nodded enthusiastically. “Still, I think it’s really cool if you actually see paranormal activities. After all, Great Mama Jane had named you as her successor.”
“Oh, speaking of her—” I was going to ask a thing or two about my late witchy great-grandma, but Dad interrupted.
“Anyway, you want to relax and take it easy, Fio. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
I nodded, thanking him. I
decided to believe him and forget about the weird experience in L.A. If I recalled it right, some called the place the City of Angels, but that nickname was overrated in my opinion.
* * *
The day for the aptitude test came so soon that it almost felt like I’d traveled time.
The massive headquarters building of Quest Realty stood as tall and shiny as ever. Its surface was decorated with mirror-like glass, reflecting the extra strong sunshine of California summer.
I went past the two doors made of bulletproof glass and went inside the atrium. The first ten floors or so had no room, and it was just a giant atrium hall. When I saw it for the first time, I thought a person or two could easily live unnoticed in this place for years. I’d heard about a guy who lived in the ceiling of a liquor store for a month, and considering that the owner and the customers didn’t notice him until the roof fell from his weight, I assumed the chances of the potential squatter living here undiscovered for more than a month was huge.
Anyway, thanks to this spacious, air-conditioned atrium hall and its elegant atmosphere, I was feeling uplifted when I walked toward the reception area. Also, having proceeded one more step closer to being hired had definitely helped as well. The invitation letter to this exam said the company was going to formally hire me if I passed this test. Not that I’d completely forgotten about the surreal experience the previous time, but the possibility of getting a decent job rocked.
Already picturing myself pursuing a successful career in real estate, I strutted toward the reception desk where photogenic people greeted the visitors. In my head, I was with an interviewer from Forbes Magazine, talking about how I found a super-duper career in the field, and the imaginary me went so far as mentioning the part about the magical dream in which a voice told me to apply to Quest Realty’s Los Angeles headquarters. At this moment, I’d completely forgotten about ever judging the voice weird. Can you say short attention span?
After taking a moment to take a deep breath and fluff my hair, I walked toward the reception desk where the photogenic people were ready to welcome me.
