Mystic Elevator
The rooftop -or- The ballad of Ronnie Hollander
The smokers lounge is located just past the restroom. A door opens up to the roof of another part of the building. There are two men out here, thick shouldered Berry and average Jim; Jim with a cigarette, and Berry with a nearly expired cigar.
Berry surges forward with a merry grin and a hand to shake. "Hey," he says to you. "Welcome to the roof."
You smile a bit and chuckle, giving him a firm hand to shake and a brief "thanks for the welcoming."
"Well it's been a long time since you been up here," he responds, moving his hands as he talks.
"Dude, I was here Friday." You tell him.
Berry looks at you weird and then shakes his head laughing. He takes one last hit from his cigar and drops it to the ground, crushing it with his boot. "You're a weird dude," he says to you, exiting into the building, again doing the stupid fucking middle-finger salute. Damn it, that shit is annoying.
You give Jim look, gesturing to the exiting Berry. Jim just shakes his head and turns away, avoiding eye contact with you. He says nothing, just hits his cigarette and looks at the ground.
You walk over to the brown haired, average looking and average sized Jim and try to figure out what the hell his deal is. You go for the direct approach.
"What's your deal?" You ask.
He meets your eyes, looking astonished. "Do you even have to ask?" He says. "You know what my deal is." He hits his cigarette, shuffling his feet as he shakes his head.
"I do have to ask," you reply. "I don't know what your problem is, or why everyone is acting like I've been off for more days than them, but frankly I'm getting annoyed. Explain to me what your fucking problem is."
Jim gives one laugh, it comes from deep in his belly and he tilts his head back as he delivers the singular laugh into the open air above. "Ha!", he practically shouts to the heavens. He looks you in the eyes and opens his mouth to speak. The door starts to open, another smoker starting to come out into the lounge. Jim looks at you quickly. "I'll tell you in a few minutes," he says while watching a woman walk out with a smoke in hand. "When she leaves."
You nod in agreement. The woman walks over. She's a new girl. You've never met her. She is of average attractiveness save for a slightly large bust and a pretty face.
"Do any of you have a light?" She asks.
Jim jumps on the response, pulling the lighter out of his pocket and lighting the cigarette for her. "Here you are," he says. She smiles in thanks and takes her first drag from the cigarette. He puts his lighter away and smiles back.
When she smiles, you are taken aback a bit by her gleaming white teeth. She has them filed to tips, like some sort of damn carnivore.
"Thanks," she says. She wanders over to the cheap railing at the edge of the roof and looks over the edge of the building to the city below.
"That's Heather," he tells you.
You smirk a bit. "You already know her name?"
He says nothing but shakes his head again, taking another drag from his cigarette. "She started last week. Word is she's a bit of a freak, if you know what I mean."
"I caught on to that pretty quick," you reply. "Have you seen her teeth?"
"No," he says. "What's wrong with her teeth?"
Before you can point out her super pointed teeth and make a joke about felaceo, she interrupts you from a distance. "Has anyone ever jumped off of here?" Heather asks from afar.
"Only once," Jim says quickly, the typical setup for the gag. All of you at the office perform this little gag when a new-hire asks the inevitable question. You take your queue out of habit.
"Ronnie," You say.
Jim nods grimly. "Yep," he says. "What was his last name?"
"Hollander" you say.
"That's right, Hollander." he says. The two of you walk over to continue with the charade.
Though the routine is pretty much ad lib, there are two permanents involved. They jumped in the last few years. The name generally used is Ronnie Hollander, a former boss many of you wish had jumped from the roof. But occasionally another name is used, some made up, others are picked from a vast array of undesirable former company employees.
"Ronnie Hollander," you echo.
"Say," he says, "How long ago did that happen?"
You appear to be in deep thought, "What, about three years?"
Jim nodded back. "I think so, yeah." He looks out over the city scape as if lost in throught. "He was a nice kid."
"He certainly was," You agree.
"That's sad," she says. Their reactions were usually the best part of the gag. Usually they take this route, appearing to regret that they'd asked; but every great once in a while you'd find the gem who pretended to have heard about it in the news.
Noting the shift in direction, Jim leans forward on the rail and moves on to the next step.
He takes a deep drag from his cigarette. "They say that sometimes he can still be seen wandering around out here, still wearing his brown-suit and tie."
"Oh come on," Heather says. "You gotta be shitting me."
"I'm afraid not," Jim says.
"Why would we even joke about someone killing themself?" You say with mock sincerity in your voice.
"Seriously," he echoes.
"Whatever," She says, rolling her eyes a bit and flicks her cigarette butt over the edge. She turns around and walks to the door.
"I don't think she bought it," Jim says as she enters the building. It's just you and him out here again.
"So what is it, Jim?" You ask. "Why is everyone acting so strange?"
"You're supposed to be dead." He tells you simply.
"What do you mean I'm dead?"
He avoids making eye contact with you as he speaks. "I mean that you're dead." He seems real nervous.
"Well obviously I'm not dead, Jim. You can see that."
"Right," he replies. "That's part of the problem."
"I don't see how that's a problem," you say.
"But it is," he responds. No evidence of humor in his tone.
He seems serious enough, but he has to be fucking with you, right? It doens't make sense... What the hell is he talking about? You don't have any enemies, really. At least not to the extent of wanting you dead.
"Dude, I don't understand what you're saying," you tell him. "Who wants me dead? Who the hell did I piss off and how?
"You know who wants you dead. Michael, of course. The same guy that already killed you once."
You furrow your brow in confusion. "Michael? Killed me? I don't recall him even attempting, but if he did try, he clearly failed."
"But he didn't fail," Jim says to you, looking into your eyes with intensity. "I watched you die, man. He stabbed you in the chest with a fucking knife. He ate your damn heart for crying out loud."
"You been doin' acid again, Jim?" You ask.
He shakes his head. "Michael is surprised to see you back to, He remembers killing you. He made me help him bury you."
You shake your head, confused even further.
"I don't know what else to tell you. If anyone asks, we didn't have this conversation, okay?"
You nod. Jim takes one long hit from his cigarette and flicks the lit butt over the edge of the building before heading inside. You watch the embers' glowing trail as it tumbles into the distance below.
So you're dead? You don't remember being stabbed or dying and that seems like the sort of thing you'd remember. You don't feel dead. How the hell can you be dead? Jim must have lost his mind. Why would Michael try to kill you, anyway? You've never gotten along or anything, but you've never really had any problems with each other. The two of you just don't speak.
Michael having killed you is certainly a strange rumor. More strange is that this supposedly took place last week and everyone somehow missed the fact that you were at work all last week. And that new girl with the pointed teeth, something was weird about her... How the hell did Jim not pick up on that?
The smokers lounge is located just past the restroom. A door opens up to the roof of another part of the building. There are two men out here, thick shouldered Berry and average Jim; Jim with a cigarette, and Berry with a nearly expired cigar.
Berry surges forward with a merry grin and a hand to shake. "Hey," he says to you. "Welcome to the roof."
You smile a bit and chuckle, giving him a firm hand to shake and a brief "thanks for the welcoming."
"Well it's been a long time since you been up here," he responds, moving his hands as he talks.
"Dude, I was here Friday." You tell him.
Berry looks at you weird and then shakes his head laughing. He takes one last hit from his cigar and drops it to the ground, crushing it with his boot. "You're a weird dude," he says to you, exiting into the building, again doing the stupid fucking middle-finger salute. Damn it, that shit is annoying.
You give Jim look, gesturing to the exiting Berry. Jim just shakes his head and turns away, avoiding eye contact with you. He says nothing, just hits his cigarette and looks at the ground.
You walk over to the brown haired, average looking and average sized Jim and try to figure out what the hell his deal is. You go for the direct approach.
"What's your deal?" You ask.
He meets your eyes, looking astonished. "Do you even have to ask?" He says. "You know what my deal is." He hits his cigarette, shuffling his feet as he shakes his head.
"I do have to ask," you reply. "I don't know what your problem is, or why everyone is acting like I've been off for more days than them, but frankly I'm getting annoyed. Explain to me what your fucking problem is."
Jim gives one laugh, it comes from deep in his belly and he tilts his head back as he delivers the singular laugh into the open air above. "Ha!", he practically shouts to the heavens. He looks you in the eyes and opens his mouth to speak. The door starts to open, another smoker starting to come out into the lounge. Jim looks at you quickly. "I'll tell you in a few minutes," he says while watching a woman walk out with a smoke in hand. "When she leaves."
You nod in agreement. The woman walks over. She's a new girl. You've never met her. She is of average attractiveness save for a slightly large bust and a pretty face.
"Do any of you have a light?" She asks.
Jim jumps on the response, pulling the lighter out of his pocket and lighting the cigarette for her. "Here you are," he says. She smiles in thanks and takes her first drag from the cigarette. He puts his lighter away and smiles back.
When she smiles, you are taken aback a bit by her gleaming white teeth. She has them filed to tips, like some sort of damn carnivore.
"Thanks," she says. She wanders over to the cheap railing at the edge of the roof and looks over the edge of the building to the city below.
"That's Heather," he tells you.
You smirk a bit. "You already know her name?"
He says nothing but shakes his head again, taking another drag from his cigarette. "She started last week. Word is she's a bit of a freak, if you know what I mean."
"I caught on to that pretty quick," you reply. "Have you seen her teeth?"
"No," he says. "What's wrong with her teeth?"
Before you can point out her super pointed teeth and make a joke about felaceo, she interrupts you from a distance. "Has anyone ever jumped off of here?" Heather asks from afar.
"Only once," Jim says quickly, the typical setup for the gag. All of you at the office perform this little gag when a new-hire asks the inevitable question. You take your queue out of habit.
"Ronnie," You say.
Jim nods grimly. "Yep," he says. "What was his last name?"
"Hollander" you say.
"That's right, Hollander." he says. The two of you walk over to continue with the charade.
Though the routine is pretty much ad lib, there are two permanents involved. They jumped in the last few years. The name generally used is Ronnie Hollander, a former boss many of you wish had jumped from the roof. But occasionally another name is used, some made up, others are picked from a vast array of undesirable former company employees.
"Ronnie Hollander," you echo.
"Say," he says, "How long ago did that happen?"
You appear to be in deep thought, "What, about three years?"
Jim nodded back. "I think so, yeah." He looks out over the city scape as if lost in throught. "He was a nice kid."
"He certainly was," You agree.
"That's sad," she says. Their reactions were usually the best part of the gag. Usually they take this route, appearing to regret that they'd asked; but every great once in a while you'd find the gem who pretended to have heard about it in the news.
Noting the shift in direction, Jim leans forward on the rail and moves on to the next step.
He takes a deep drag from his cigarette. "They say that sometimes he can still be seen wandering around out here, still wearing his brown-suit and tie."
"Oh come on," Heather says. "You gotta be shitting me."
"I'm afraid not," Jim says.
"Why would we even joke about someone killing themself?" You say with mock sincerity in your voice.
"Seriously," he echoes.
"Whatever," She says, rolling her eyes a bit and flicks her cigarette butt over the edge. She turns around and walks to the door.
"I don't think she bought it," Jim says as she enters the building. It's just you and him out here again.
"So what is it, Jim?" You ask. "Why is everyone acting so strange?"
"You're supposed to be dead." He tells you simply.
"What do you mean I'm dead?"
He avoids making eye contact with you as he speaks. "I mean that you're dead." He seems real nervous.
"Well obviously I'm not dead, Jim. You can see that."
"Right," he replies. "That's part of the problem."
"I don't see how that's a problem," you say.
"But it is," he responds. No evidence of humor in his tone.
He seems serious enough, but he has to be fucking with you, right? It doens't make sense... What the hell is he talking about? You don't have any enemies, really. At least not to the extent of wanting you dead.
"Dude, I don't understand what you're saying," you tell him. "Who wants me dead? Who the hell did I piss off and how?
"You know who wants you dead. Michael, of course. The same guy that already killed you once."
You furrow your brow in confusion. "Michael? Killed me? I don't recall him even attempting, but if he did try, he clearly failed."
"But he didn't fail," Jim says to you, looking into your eyes with intensity. "I watched you die, man. He stabbed you in the chest with a fucking knife. He ate your damn heart for crying out loud."
"You been doin' acid again, Jim?" You ask.
He shakes his head. "Michael is surprised to see you back to, He remembers killing you. He made me help him bury you."
You shake your head, confused even further.
"I don't know what else to tell you. If anyone asks, we didn't have this conversation, okay?"
You nod. Jim takes one long hit from his cigarette and flicks the lit butt over the edge of the building before heading inside. You watch the embers' glowing trail as it tumbles into the distance below.
So you're dead? You don't remember being stabbed or dying and that seems like the sort of thing you'd remember. You don't feel dead. How the hell can you be dead? Jim must have lost his mind. Why would Michael try to kill you, anyway? You've never gotten along or anything, but you've never really had any problems with each other. The two of you just don't speak.
Michael having killed you is certainly a strange rumor. More strange is that this supposedly took place last week and everyone somehow missed the fact that you were at work all last week. And that new girl with the pointed teeth, something was weird about her... How the hell did Jim not pick up on that?