The Spaces in Between by Chase Henderson Page A

off of the man in the black suit.
    Out of curiosity he wanted to see what he had written and if it even made a coherent story. Janet could have simply been humoring him. After reading through the first few paragraphs he became enthralled with finding out what would happen next. It was like reading something written by a completely different voice. He was amazed. Anytime he had tried to write his own Cameron story the characters were dull and listless. Nothing they said or did seemed natural. But this short story seemed right.
    “Hey, how did that happen?” the elderly fellow sitting across from him stared at Warren’s arm in its sling.
    “Car accident,” Warren replied. Three months ago I was t-boned by a Hummer and had a comatose dream where I lost my arm that now no longer moves is what Warren wanted to say. He hated wearing that sling because people would always ask about his arm.
    “Well you got lucky, sonny.” Not really old man, not really.
    The interview that Janet was so insistent that he got there on time was for a business firm down by the Harbor. One of her ex’s worked there in human resources and owed her a favor. If Warren ever had doubts about why his relationship with Janet was working out – he just had to look at her string of ex’s who got exponentially worse the farther back. Most likely the guy will have him doing IT like troubleshooting computer and networking of which Warren has very little knowledge. He’s a security programmer; software is his business not hardware.
    The Motorola cell phone in his pocket vibrated for an instant. He pulled it about and saw there was a voice mail message. Janet was just making sure that he had gotten on the bus in time no doubt. The voicemail reported in a voice he had never heard before. There was no such voice like it. It sounded mechanical and forced like the person on the other end had to struggle to voice its words. It said:
    “Get you again later.”
    His train of thought suddenly derailed after a black Cadillac crashed into the bus.
     
    6
     
    Janet Rockbell was at the front desk of Sanford and Son Law Offices where she worked as a paralegal when a car was hitting Warren again. Her job here was to occasionally write a memo or answer the phone then forward it to someone else. The rest of the eight hours she spent writing e-mail, watching YouTube, Twittering, and surfing Facebook in an innocuous manner that looked like work. Warren showed her how to shuffle through windows with ALT-TAB, and she hadn’t looked back ever since.
    A man in a black suit suddenly morphed into her peripheral vision.
    “Is Miss Elliot in the office today?” the MiBS said. He was so nondescript it was startling. There was an air to him that made her feel incredibly uncomfortable. He examined a pen on her desk as if he had never seen it before.
    “No, she’s not in the office today,” Janet lied. She was sure the man in the black suit meant her, “I’ll take a message if you want.” She did not want him to find her, and she did not like this man one bit. Whoever he was knew she was due to become Mrs. Elliot, but not enough to know she was still Miss Rockbell. His presence struck her as that of an invader…but from where? Why such as violent gut-response.
    She wanted him gone, not just from this office or even this town. Janet was not sure if she would feel right until this man was not on the same fucking planet as her. She thought if this man would stay in her office for any longer she’d have to fight every fiber of her being to stop herself from trying to kill this man.
    Then the man was gone. He left as suddenly and undetected as he had arrived. The pressure on her gut released and she let out a great sigh, but an almost OCD nagging sensation lingered in the back of her mind. I can’t be safe until this man no longer exists.
    The phone on her desk rang.
    “Sanford and Son – Attorneys at Law. What’s your party’s extension?”
    “I need to speak with Miss