Miles and Miles

thethemeis: What Happened Next?
theauthoris: LiamD

    As he walked through the heavy fire doors into Heathrow Departure Lounge 81, Miles Henderson glanced timidly toward the smooth, steel machine that towered above all else on the opposite side of the room. At approximately two and a half metres high, the device was admittedly not a great deal taller than himself, yet this particular object held certain ominous connotations in Mr Henderson’s mind. The room itself was barely as large as his lounge at home; it wouldn’t take him long to reach his destination. Briefly suspending his slow, deliberate walk toward the Instagrater Terminal, he stopped in the centre of the room and took a deep breath.

  ‘Take all the time you need, sir.’ the smiling attendant in the blood red uniform suggested. ‘And remember, it’s perfectly natural to have second thoughts. If at any point you decide that you no longer wish to go through with it, you only have to say.’ She flashed him a smile with her full red lips that Miles was sure had given many men before him the courage to walk through the terminal without a single look back and surely, if Miles wasn’t fifty years her elder, he may have felt the need to prove his own manhood. But while there were many downsides to growing old, one of the few aspects he enjoyed was a seemingly unconditional kindness and sympathy from young ladies, regardless of how he acted toward them.

   He thanked her, and as she moved back toward the lounge entrance to greet her next customer, Miles nearly jumped at the low drawl which addressed him from beside the terminal. In his pensive state, he had momentarily forgotten about the most important member of staff in the building.

   ‘Good afternoon Mr Henderson, my name is Jack Eastleigh and I’ll be your pilot today.’ He held out a hand and Miles shook it firmly. ‘I’m afraid we’ve been so busy that I didn’t get a chance to read your customer records. Have you Instagrated before?’

   ‘Not exactly…’ Miles murmured, mostly to himself. In a sense he had done it before. In his mind he had run through the Instagration process thousands of times. The short walk to the local terminal, the quick I.D. scan and baggage check-in, the ever-so-brief wait in the now frankly redundant waiting room, the chaperone to the terminal and the brief chat with the pilot before stepping into the Instagrater and being on his merry way. There was but one detail about the process he didn’t know, a question that had plagued him for the forty years that this technology had been around and had made him walk away from his current location time and time again: What Happened Next?

   What bugged Miles the most about this question was that nobody knew the answer for sure. It was impossible to prove. To describe the process as teleportation, to simply say that the Instagrater zapped you from A to B would be the epitome of over-simplification. Despite the commercial attempts at a friendly name for the service, it was the science behind the transport that Miles had come to half-understand and half-fear. An Instagratee, once ready, would be sealed inside the device and literally disintegrated. At the exact same moment of being disintegrated the ‘passenger’ would be reintegrated inside an identical Instagrater at their chosen destination.

   It wasn’t even these technicalities that Miles feared exactly; billions used the service every day and he had not once even heard a whisper of the reintegration process going wrong. Miles’s fear was a more philosophical one. As a man who had been raised by well-meaning Christian parents (an ideology he later rejected entirely), Miles found it incredibly difficult to reject the notion of the human soul. That is not to say he believed in an afterlife and an all-loving God (as mentioned, he rejected the ideologies - later came to loathe them), yet he struggled to accept his conscious mind and sense of self as by-products of his physical body, molecules that could be destroyed and recreated without him noticing. As far as he was concerned, the walk to the Instagrater could well be his last. Sure, an exact copy of himself would walk out the other side believing the whole process went swimmingly and go on living his life, but what consolation was the continued existence of an (admittedly perfect) clone to an original who had ceased to exist?

   When all was said and done, Miles was afraid to die and for that he could not reasonably be blamed.

So he had never gone through with it. Once he had even entered the Instagrater itself (surprisingly bare on the inside, he noted at the time) before the fear had once again become too much and he had turned tail, fleeing home. That had been the winter of ‘56, nearly twenty years ago now. Then it was thoughts of Kate, his dear companion who he couldn’t bare to part with, that had stopped him from taking the trip.  Now she was gone, peacefully at least, but gone all the same, and with her, the last of his family and true friends.

   Yep, he thought to himself. No one left now, I wouldn’t be anywhere near this thing if they weren’t.

   ‘Let’s just be done with it.’ grunted Miles and without a further word he walked inside the terminal,  prepared for the worst. The steel doors closed smoothly behind him.

---

   Inside Arrival Pod 81 of the LAX Instagration Port, Miles Henderson was recovering from a brief tickling sensation. Slowly the pod doors opened to reveal a room not entirely dissimilar from the one he had recently left. If the man now standing in front of him smiling hadn't been there, he would have sworn that he hadn't been transported at all.

   'Congratulations Mr Henderson!' the stranger in the casual blue jeans and smart white shirt jubilantly exclaimed. 'You've just successfully Instagrated. How do you feel?'

   Miles looked at him blankly. This perhaps was the one eventuality of the trip he had failed to prepare for. 'I feel like a stubborn old fool!' he exclaimed, though not without a smile on his lips, and promptly left the building.

   

New Year's Resolutions

thethemeis: New Year's Resolutions

theauthoris: LiamD

‘Hmm, I don’t know Mummy,’ Timmy mused, almost comically. ‘Are you doing a revolution?’

The Philips household were concluding their first dinner of the new year. As both Christmas and New Year’s day had fallen on Sundays this year and there was still a fair amount of turkey left over, the two meals had been pretty much identical. Timmy had finished first on both days; roast dinner was his favourite.

‘It’s resolution sweetie, a revolution is completely different.’ Hannah corrected him patiently. ‘My resolution is to be more assertive.’

Timmy looked blankly at his mother as he mulled over her response and after a short time, gave up. ‘What does assertive mean?’

‘It means that Mummy is going to shout at Daddy more.’ interjected John, showing off his handsome teeth in a cheeky grin. Timmy laughed at this, aware that his father had made a joke.

‘You may be surprised to hear that not all of my life decisions revolve around you, dear.’ Hannah retaliated playfully. ‘What exactly are you going to do differently this year anyway?’

John shrugged, ‘I’m not sure there’s anything I could change about myself that would be an improvement, darling.’ The grin was still there, it made Hannah weak at the knees. ‘Maybe I should focus on helping other people improve their lives.’

Hannah’s eyes lit up. ‘That’s a great idea, you can start by helping me out around the house more on your weekends!’

John’s grin faded slightly. He liked his weekends as they were; the quality time spent with his son and the alone time he could find for his own hobbies were a perfect contrast to the long, stressful hours at the office that devoured his week. 'That’s not exactly what I meant,’ he began, attempting to back-pedal. ‘Surely there are people in greater need of my help than my lovely wife?’

Hannah looked unimpressed. ‘You can’t give up on your resolution before you’ve even tried it. Besides, I think you’d make a great housemaid.’ She looked toward Timmy expecting a laugh but the boy seemed lost in thought.

John felt compelled to fight his corner. ‘I can’t be giving up; I didn’t make a resolution in the first place. It was just a thought.’

Hannah thought about this briefly before her mouth creased in a sly smile. ‘OK then, in my first act of being assertive I shall hound you every weekend until you do something helpful. How does that sound?’

John thought that it sounded like Hannah had confused assertiveness with harassment, but before he could begin his riposte, Timmy interrupted.

‘I know!’

‘Know what dear?’ Hannah asked, a little confused but still smiling.

‘My resolution!’ Timmy was excited, he’d had a long hard think about what he wanted to do differently in his life since his parents had begun their little exchange and was proud with what he had come up with.

‘Well, what is it?’ asked John, somewhat relieved at the change of topic.

‘I’m want to sleep in the dark.’ he exclaimed.

The mood changed immediately. Hannah’s smile completely vanished, her usually pretty face suddenly looking drawn and sullen. Even John looked serious.

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea sweetie,’ his mother told him. Her voice sounded tremulous, as if she might burst into tears at any moment. ‘You know how upset you get with the light off.’

It was probably true, Timmy thought. He had a vague recollection of screaming and crying hysterically when his father had turned the light out one night after tucking him in. But that must have been at least five years ago now, he was much older and a lot more grown up.

‘I’m not a baby anymore Mummy, I won’t cry because there’s no night light.’

John clasped Hannah's hand gently under the table. ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow buddy, your mother and I need to confer.’

Another blank look passed over Timmy’s face, easing some of the tension as it did so. ‘What does confer mean?’

‘Just a posh word for talking,’ the grin began to appear on John’s face again and Timmy, who had been a little worried he was in trouble, relaxed slightly. ‘Why don’t you go and play some Mario while we wash up, that Peach isn’t going to rescue herself!’

Timmy didn’t need encouragement to play his 3DS. Within five minutes he was silently sitting on the beige faux leather settee on the other side of the room, fully immersed in the Mushroom Kingdom.

John turned to his wife, his face as grave as hers. ‘I know it’s hard,’ he began softly. ‘But it has to happen one day.’

Hannah breathed deeply. She had managed to keep her mind from dwelling on Charlie for a good few days now and the subject had caught her off guard. A single tear rolled down her left cheek. ‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘I just don’t want to forget about him.’

‘We’ll never be able to forget.’ John was blinking back tears himself. ‘But bit by bit, we’ll find it easier to get on with our lives.’

‘Maybe you’re right’ Hannah concluded solemnly. ‘Maybe this will help us move on.’

---

Timmy didn’t remember much about his big brother. A vague memory of his father switching off the light, the joy of a peaceful sleep interrupted by sudden raucous movement, and a muffled scream were all the memories that remained of the night Charlie disappeared. John remembered the evening a lot more vividly. Comically reading the final ‘Not now, Bernard’ from his children’s night time story, opening the big window to help keep their room cool that humid summer, turning off the light for his children for the last time, the unexpected ruckus around an hour later and the way Timmy had screamed and screamed and screamed. Most vividly of all he remembered the empty bed, perfectly made as if whoever had removed Charlie from it thought John and Hannah might not notice he was gone. It had made Hannah physically sick. The two policemen who investigated the room could offer no more than the obvious guess. They came through the window. There was a brief struggle. They left through the window. All they’re after is your money, there will be a ransom note.

But the ransom note never came. Worst of all there was no contact at all. Whoever had taken Charlie clearly had no interest in giving him back. So the Philips went through it all: the televised appeals, the county-wide manhunt, the tabloid accusations that broke Hannah’s heart time and time again and would have left John uncharacteristically irate if he read such nonsense. The case of Charlie Philips ticked all the missing child boxes. On the second day in the January of 2012, John and Hannah had more money from anonymous donations than they would have done had they won the EuroMillions. And it all amounted to nothing because after six and a half years, their first born was still missing. It would be unfair to say that the Philips had given up, but deep down John knew that ever seeing Charlie again would be nothing short of a miracle. It was all they could do to live in hope and try to carry on with their lives.

‘Did you and Mummy finish your confer?’ enquired Timmy during breakfast, interrupting John’s morose reminiscence. John smiled at his son, thinking of him as a shining beacon of happiness in these dark times.

‘As a matter of fact we did son.’ he said ‘You can have your light off tonight.’

‘Yay!’ proclaimed Timmy, jumping on the spot. John laughed at his overjoyed child.

‘There is a catch though, your mother stuck to her word and assertively asked me to finally do some decorating.’ This was a joke, the decoration had been John’s suggestion. He’d always enjoyed a bit of DIY. ‘Your rooms first buddy, you’ll have to sleep in Ch…’ he felt a twang of sorrow while he corrected himself ‘…sleep in the spare room.’

Timmy didn’t notice the slip ‘Yeah, I’m gonna watch TV all night!’

John smiled again, he couldn’t help it; no matter how down he felt, Timmy was always so happy. For Timmy, every day was a trip to Disneyland. Even after John explained that the old Samsung in “the spare room” had stopped working since the digital switchover, Timmy had come up with five other reasons why sleeping there would be the best night of his life.

He found another reason when bed-time came around; Timmy liked the bed. On first impressions, he liked it a lot. He thought the tarnished brass frame (that his poor father could no longer bear the sight of) made it look very homely and as he relaxed for the first time on top of the aged mattress covered by its plain white sheet and pulled the enormous duvet up to his shoulders, he quickly decided that it was the most comfortable bed he had ever lay in. Happily drowning in the luxurious pillows, Timmy couldn’t help but fall to sleep quickly, forgetting about the night light he had left on the bedside cabinet just in case he couldn’t manage to keep his resolution on the first attempt.

---

He awoke with a start, his breathing rapid and body shivering. He could hear the wind blowing ferociously outside as if it was in the room with him and looking over to the outer wall he immediately understood why; the window had been left wide open. The room was absolutely freezing and as much as he wanted to curl up and ignore the temperature drop, Timmy knew he’d not be able to get back to sleep comfortably without closing the window. It was as he begun to walk across the pale blue carpet, as the wind died down ever so slightly that he heard it. It was definitely a groan, as if whatever it was that made the sound had been unexpectedly woken up and was rather unhappy about it. Timmy thought the noise far too monstrous to be either human or animal and the idea made his blood run cold. He ran to the window and slammed it shut, repeating to himself that the two glaring yellow eyes he thought he saw glinting up towards his room from the centre of the garden and the hulking, grotesquely fragmented arachnid body attached to them were all in his imagination.

He ran for his bedroom door, no longer shivering from the temperature but from pure fear. I have to tell Daddy, he was thinking, he’ll know what to do. But as hard as he tried, the door wouldn’t budge. The groans from the garden were getting louder, the whole house was beginning to shake. Timmy knew the monster was climbing up the side of the house, toward his room. As the window smashed open, he closed his eyes tight. This must be a dream he tried to convince himself. I’m going to count to three and wake up. The window frame creaked against the weight of the creature that was pulling itself into the bedroom.

One,…

The ungodly stench of the thing pervaded the room as it entered and Timmy could hear an unpleasant squelch as each of its legs found a surface in the room.

…two,…

No later than a second after the eighth leg splashed down it was upon him. Not daring to sneak the slightest peek, Timmy squirmed as two hairy, adhesive limbs grabbed him by his hips and tossed him into the air toward the creature’s slimy mouth.

…three!

---

John and Hannah heard a loud crash from Charlie’s room and immediately feared the worst. They leapt out of the king-size bed and bolted out of the door, across the hall. As John burst in, his fear subsided as he realised what had happened.

The boy was on the floor, absently nursing the bruised left arm he had fallen on. He was staring at the closed window in disbelief.

‘We heard a bang son, you must have fallen out of bed pretty hard,’ John told him.

‘I had a nightmare,’ Timmy said quietly, blinking back tears. ‘It felt real.’

‘It’s ok sweetie, it’s over now.’ Hannah assured him.

Timmy looked genuinely relieved at this, ‘Yeah I guess it is, Mummy. Sorry for waking you up...’

John and Hannah were pleased to see Timmy calm down so quickly. ‘Don't worry about it, son. Will you be alright getting back to sleep?’ asked his father.

‘I think so Daddy…’ he answered. ‘…thanks for checking I was okay’ he added shyly.

‘Anytime buddy’ winked John. He and Hannah and both kissed their son on the forehead before heading back to bed.

---

Timmy looked toward the night light on the bedside table and fought the temptation to sleep with it on. He couldn’t give up on his resolution, that’s what his mother had said. He unplugged the light and hid it inside the room’s empty wardrobe to ensure he’d sleep through the night without it. This time he found it harder to get to sleep, the old mattress that had previously felt so luxurious now felt hard and cold. He experimented with various positions until he found one that was comfortable enough to doze off in and it must have been later than two o’clock when he finally managed to fall to sleep. Again his rest was troubled. He dreamt he was desperately trying to leave the room again, knowing that something evil was shimmying up the drainpipe, coming for him. The door wasn’t locked this time, he instinctively knew this to be true, but the doorknob was just out of reach, climbing away from his groping hands as he jumped for it.

Again the window crashed open ashishe pursuer made his entrance. Timmy caught sigh of the face once before immediately closing his eyes tight.

One,…

The head had been completely scalped, the smell of freshly cleaved flesh was overwhelming. It made Timmy gag. He heard dull and heavy footsteps limping purposefully towards him.

…two,…

The face was the worst part, there was no doubt about it. He had seen the disfigured face of his father. The voice chilled him to the bone when it spoke: ‘Come on buddy, lets go see your brother!’. He felt cold dry hands squeeze tightly around his neck, just before they cut his air supply completely, he managed a brief scream.

…three!

---

He awoke in the bed once again, tightly and uncomfortably wrapped in the over-sized bed sheets, sweating from head to toe. He had screamed for real this time, he was sure of it as soon as he heard the scamper of his mother and father running for the room. The light hurt his eyes as John turned it on.

‘What happened, son?’ he asked, once again alarmed.

‘I’m ok.’ said Timmy, once again calming down quickly. ‘Just another nightmare. I think I tucked myself in too tightly,’ he added sheepishly.

Hannah was concerned ‘Do you want to come and sleep in our room for the rest of the night sweetie?’

Timmy thought about this hard. He certainly didn’t want to have another bad dream, especially one so vivid. But he also wanted to be true to his word. He wanted to start his new years resolution today, he wanted to sleep a full night in the dark.

‘No it’s ok Mummy, I’ll be a big boy and stick with my resolution!’ he stated confidently.

Hannah was still concerned, but admired the boy for his determination ‘Ok darling but if it happens again I’m afraid I won’t take no for an answer!’ she told him in what she thought of as her new, assertive tone. After a final hug and kiss goodnight, John and Hannah went back to bed.

Before getting back into bed Timmy turned the dial on the wall radiator to allow more heat in the room. For some reason it had always made sense to him that the cold caused bad dreams, and this seemed like the best course of action. He grabbed one of the dull blue woollen blankets from underneath the bed for extra warmth and placed it neatly on top of the duvet. It certainly seemed to help him get comfortable, once again the bed felt luxuriously soft, and sleep took him quickly.

---

It had learned from its previous two mistakes. The attempt to fling the child across the room had gone terribly wrong. The second attempt to asphyxiate the disgusting parasite had been thwarted by the older worms and their blasted light. But now it had learned from its previous mistakes and this time it took no chances. As soon as it was sure that the wretched, vile creature who was arrogant enough to lay upon it was dormant, the bed made it’s move. The extra blanket slithered up towards the boy's face and began worming its way into his mouth. When he awoke, Timmy’s attempt to scream was futile as the blanket forced its way down his throat, making him to choke and wretch. Once he tried to pull the blanket out of him with his hands but the sheer force of its lunge further into his body sent his hands flying into his own face, his nose dripping blood onto the white sheet.

He kicked and flailed, desperate to get off of the bed but sheets suddenly sprung up, cocooning him in unyielding polyester. The blanket had now stopped moving, only a small percentage of it was gagging him now with the rest hidden inside the body that was still trying in vain to ejaculate the intruder. Unable to breathe, the world was slowly growing dim and as he lost consciousness Timmy heard various cracks and squelches and could feel the vaguest suggestion of agony as the sheets squeezed tighter and tighter, slowly modulating in colour from their plain white to a deep red.

The last thing Timmy remembered before losing consciousness permanently was the duvet moving up over his head, plunging him into an eternal darkness.

---

Will and Sandra Denton couldn’t believe their luck. The house was perfect and at £400 per calendar month, a complete steal for its size and elegance. They could scarcely believe that they’d found somewhere in England to live that was so close to Will’s new company.

Will looked lovingly over to his wife, her blue eyes sparkling ‘I wonder why it was so cheap, I thought living was supposed to be expensive in England.’

‘Oh it’s sad story, the broker told me’ Sandra began, knowingly. ‘The last couple who lived here lost two of their children, it was big news at the time.’

‘Oh that’s just awful,’ agreed Will ‘Where are they now?’

‘That’s the worst part,’ replied Sandra ‘They left a note saying they’d never be happy again without their boys and went off an’ killed ‘emselves.’ She began to cry, Will held her tight.

‘I hope they found their peace, I’m sure those boys are making them smile again in heaven, yes sir.’

‘I hope so, Will.’ There was a brief silence as they held each other, thanking the Lord for their good fortune.

‘Anyway, it’s getting late Sandie, and I’m gonna be up late decorating that room that’s half done up there,’ Will explained. ‘While we’re waiting for the new king-size to be delivered, why don’t you have one more night in that snazzy hotel?’

Sandra looked concerned at this suggestion, ‘Oh I can’t do that, where will you sleep, hun?’

Will smiled, ‘Don’t you worry my sweet, I'll sleep in that kiddie room, that old bed looks comfy as!’

Sandra had seen the bed earlier and thought it looked far from “comfy”. ‘You’d do that for me? Oh I love you Will Denton’

‘I love you too, Sandie’ he replied truthfully. After a passionate kiss, Sandra called a cab to take her back to the hotel while Will, smiling, proceeded upstairs to get on with some decorating. Passing the “kiddy” room on his way he saw the nostalgic brass bed-frame and inviting soft mattress through the open door. 

‘Damn comfy, indeed!’ he exclaimed, to nobody in particular. 

New Year's Resolution

thethemeis: New Year's Resolutions

theauthoris: Aaron Twentythree

   The only person making an attempt on my life is me, Greig had to reassure himself again. He had to repeat this mantra and so many others to himself countless times a day, just to keep the worry from eating him alive. She was looking at you because you looked at her first, when someone glanced his way; you can't have dropped anything incriminating because you don't own anything incriminating, when he'd finished quadruple checking his spot at the bus stop for reputation-damaging paraphernalia he might have left before the bus departed; she can't be pregnant, you didn't even have sex with her, whenever a night he spent long ago with an old flame popped back into his mind seemingly just to haunt him. 

   They came thick and fast, these little gremlins with their scratchy voices and evil influence, telling him to be scared of shopping or commuting or phoning a friend or falling too far into his little crush on that woman at work or even contributing to debates. Every time, no matter how difficult it seemed, they would find a way to twist an event so that Greig was the bad guy, and he was soon to be punished. He was sure to receive a death sentence within the next few days for giving someone on the train a funny look; certain to be struck down by gangs for having his most innocent words misinterpreted.

   This fear of Greig's made life a chore. A simple journey to work became an ordeal that he dreaded more than anything, as he had to battle with a new demon at every step, telling him that passing cars were slowing so their drivers could watch him and strangers could hear his thoughts and he was unknowingly dropping pieces of paper with his address on, which someone would pick up and use to find and slaughter him. At work, conversations became trials as he forced himself to sit through hours of worrying over whether or not he had said something he shouldn't have to someone who had it in for him. Even after eight hours of that every day, he only had another commute and a whole evening of dread to look forward to.

   He couldn't even trust his friends anymore, poor Greig. He was sure they were getting too close, wanting too much access to his life, becoming so entangled with his everyday that soon enough they'd be stalking him if he didn't respond to their calls or messages quick enough. He wondered why some would treat him so fondly, and assumed that they had fallen in love with him and would need to be excommunicated until they had learned to keep their feelings under control. He would worry for hours if they hadn't replied to his correspondence, petrified that he might have offended them beyond belief. The world was darkness closing in on Greig, and it was all he could do to just stay alive enough to still fear his impending murder. 

   A lot of the time, Greig avoided planning anything over a month in advance because a big part of him assumed he wouldn't be alive by then. 

   You don't understand, I know. Greig would have had the same trouble comprehending a year before. He used to be normal, in control, lively and free. He used to be the life and soul, permanently networking without making any effort at all to do so. But now, this was how he lived his life. Something had consumed him, wormed its way into his head and got itself lodged there. He couldn't look at the world like you or I do because his entire perspective had been turned on its head. The world he used to think was so bright and promising had become a dark, haunting place where everyone he saw was a stalker, a murderer, a psychopath, and they were all out to get him. Call it what you will - paranoia, delusions, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; whatever it was, it suddenly reared its ugly head from nowhere in February last year, and now, on the 1st January the next year, he was still tightly held in its grip. 

   It's best to think of it like a virus. Anybody could get it, overnight, and we'd be powerless to stop it growing inside us. There is no such thing as normal to a species whose mental health is so incredibly fragile. 

   But now, he was determined to make it history. Laying on his sofa watching films with his dull New Year's Eve headache still hanging around like an unwelcome housefly, he made a decision. As of this year, he scrawled on the scroll of his mind, I will let go of these insane thoughts. I will get over this affliction and no longer allow this horrible way of thinking to control my life. I am no longer a slave to paranoia.

   And that was the truth. He was sure of it. No more would he allow fears of reprisals for past mistakes cloud his judgement today; no longer would he turn down invitations because he was too worried that he would be stalked the entire evening by unknown and unseen assailants; never again would he hold himself back from flirting with anyone because he feared they might get too close to him and destroy him from the inside. No, Greig was a new man, and it would all begin here! Greig, the man who never made New Year's Resolutions, had made one this year that he was going to keep. 

   With these joyous thoughts, he went to bed and slept better than he had slept in months. 

   

   The next morning, on his way to work, Greig made eye contact with a man in a hood who had his face covered with a scarf, and Greig spent his whole working day terrified that that man with a heart full of violence would be waiting outside of the office to murder him on his way out.