The Supervisor (3 page)

“What’cha got there, Dan?”

Trapped! Caught red-handed! Now in sheer panic, my mind flashed back to a recent show I had watched on the Discovery channel.
The baby sea lion, stunned almost to the point of death, goes hurdling twenty feet into the air as it is struck from the dark depths below, with the crashing force of several tons that only the fiercest predator on Earth can deliver.

“Oh…is this yours…Ted?” It was the dumbest response ever. Everyone knew the appointment book was his. I was no wise guy, so I just played on my stupidity, citing that I wasn’t getting much sleep lately, that my thinking was being affected. Trying to get past the awkwardness of the moment, I quickly shoved everything back how I found it, then handed him the book. I avoided his stare, which must have been an alarmed and suspicious one, and proceeded to wash my hands as if nothing at all had occurred. As if I, who just discovered—without a doubt—the only damning secret that madman kept about his monstrous self, cared not the slightest bit. Just another day at the office.

I felt his cold stare burn holes into the back of my head, as I stood there washing my hands. The ensuing stretch of silence exposed the calculated malice I knew was blooming in Ted’s mind. He knew. He knew what I saw.

“Have a good night…Dan,” was all he said. He walked out of the break room, out of the office, and to his car with a commanding stride that left me all but shaking.

During the subsequent days at the office, I continued to pretend nothing ever happened. Ted kept his mouth shut about the incident also, but that gave me little comfort. I feared the man was planning something, and as I found out…he was.

This morning Ted came up to me and asked me for a favor. It was Christmas Eve, he admitted, and the timing couldn’t have been any worse, as our whole office was planning to go home early. But Ted told me he felt bad, having to cut my hours as he did a few weeks ago, so close to Christmas and all. He wanted to make it up to me today, by asking me to stay a little later than expected. There were several proposal letters he needed to get out by the end of the day; “I could really use your help, Dan. You’re the best one on the team.” He even amplified his request by announcing he would be staying late as well. He was chummy again, which I took as his way of buttering me up into saying yes, but since I knew my wife would be wrapped up with cooking for the next several hours, I agreed to help Ted out.

Around 2:30 p.m., Ted walked out of his office and called to me from across the maze of cubicle walls. He was going to grab a bite to eat, and asked me if I wanted something. He was buying. Knowing there would be plenty of delicious foods waiting for me when I got home, I graciously declined his offer and watched as he left the office in a gay and chipper-like, whistling some Christmas tune on his way out to his car.

He came back about an hour later, in the same mood but quick to be back in his office. Minutes later, I heard him in there typing on his keyboard, chuckling to himself as he often did, as I was just finishing up my last letter. Ted then came out and walked over to my desk.

“How’s it going here, Dan?”

“Finishing up the last one right now,” I replied.

Ted nodded approvingly, made some comment on how he knew I was the right man for the job and then, after a brief pause, stated wistfully, “You’re a lucky man Dan…such a beautiful family.”

It struck me as queer at first, how he said it, but then he proceeded to admit he wished he had a family like mine. “Holidays are always lonely without family,” he declared, shaking his head solemnly. “Well, show yourself out when you’re done, I’ll be in the bathroom…oh, and Merry Christmas, Dan.”

Merry Christmas, Dan.
I thought on this statement of his as I drove away from the office and into the stormy, rain-soaked darkness of dusk.
Merry Christmas, Dan.
I thought about the emotional cavity behind those words as I opened my front door to the listless sounds of our home, a home which should have been ripe with laughter, and the thrumming of little, flighty feet across wooden floors.
Merry Christmas Dan.
I heard those words echo in my head as I observed the stiff postures of my entire family in areas not meant for casual resting…
Merry Christmas, Dan.

I’ll say no more about what I came home to, just a few hours ago, save that there are things no person should ever have taken from them. Beyond that horrendous finale of my life, my thinking became gray and nebulous. I retrieved my gun, and went back to the office in a manner more elusive than I thought even I was capable of. I parked around the corner, so as not to announce my arrival, and then crept my way up to our office building. Like one of those Japanese shadow-warriors, I stole my way into the building as quietly as possible, right through the lobby, down the hall, and into that madman’s office.

I remember being starkly afraid at that moment. I wasn’t concerned about retribution for what I was about to do, nor was I worried about my ability to follow through with my deadly impulse. The only thing I remembered about that moment was the horrible fear that I would somehow alert the man to my presence. If Ted knew what I was about to do, if he heard the shifting of my hefty frame as I crept up behind him, I knew he would turn around, lay witness to my plan, and with that subtle crookedness of his, smile upon me as I pulled the trigger.

Victory reigned over me in the end. Under the waves of crashing thunder, I killed The Great White. I killed him without his knowing, winning whatever was left to be had of his sick game. But beyond that, I failed miserably in this life. The cost of my folly was the dearest treasure of all. Ultimately, it shall bleed me out like a jagged laceration upon the femoral artery. One day, I may limp through the streets of freedom once again, after many long years spent in “psychotic rehabilitation,” but forever more I will be sentenced to carry the burden of my memories. I will see them in my mind just as clear as I see this plate of food before me; Kung Pao Chicken, with its golden-brown clumps, and sticky red swirls jumbled all together with flecks of white rice. Colors quite reminiscent of the car now pulling into the parking lot, with its dancing red lights bouncing off the cola-brown, glass window I am looking through…
Merry Christmas, Dan.

The End