An Unsatisfactory Employee

An Unsatisfactory Employee
By Halli Gomez

I’m slipping!  Hold on, hold on for just a little longer.  Well that, and pray that they don’t find me, which is a big request based on what I just heard. I guess it wasn’t such a smart idea to climb up and hang off the second story balcony, but I needed to know what was going on. After hearing that phone call I knew it was a matter of life and death, but what I didn’t know, was that it was mine.  Not until I heard them planning to kill me and dump my body in a lake.

“This is a crazy idea. I can’t believe we are going to do this, John.  Have you tried to get her to quit or can you fire her?”  I heard Tom ask.

“Believe me, I’ve tried everything.  I told her that she should start thinking about retirement, I tried to make her life difficult so she’d quit, I even threatened to fire her if she didn’t mind her own business.  That’s when she threatened to talk to the big boss and have me fired.  I’m all out of ideas.  You know it’s not like I go around killing people everyday” answered Mr. Wilson.  “Are you still with me on this?”

“Of course I am, and I see your point. This really is the only way. I was just making sure.”

“Yes it is, and don’t worry, I have a plan.  One of us will grab Katherine at her house and the other will drive her car to Eastlake Mall and leave it there with her empty purse. Then we will drive to the lake and dump her body there.  The police will think she was robbed and kidnapped.  By the time she is found, we will have alibis.”

Did I hear him right? Did he just say my name?  They are going to kill me? Oh my God!  I didn’t know all of that was about me!  But the phone conversation… I feel like I was just punched in the stomach and I can’t breathe.  If I open my mouth to catch a breath, they might hear me.  I need air in my lungs, my chest is burning.  No air will go in.  I have to breathe or I’m going to die. On no!  Please don’t let me die here.

I try inhaling again and get some air in.  It’s like diving in to a swimming pool on a hot summer day; the cold water covering your body from head to toe leaving you shivering from the change in temperature.  Nothing has ever been as refreshing, until now.

“…bashing her brains in is bound to leave a mess, that’s why we have to do it at the lake.”  Mr. Wilson is saying. “We can tie her up and gag her at her house so she won’t make any noise or try to get away.”

“Gagging is a good idea.  That way we won’t have to hear her lecturing us that we are doing it all wrong.”

“You’re right!  Man!  I am so tired of hearing her complain about everything!  ‘Bill took an extra long lunch; you have to dock his pay.  Debra has been taking off two days a week for the past couple months.  You have to fire her, she is not pulling her weight.’  Blah, blah, blah.”  I heard my boss sigh.

They are going to bash my… I can’t even think about that.  The pain, the blood, all of this is making me sick.  Relax, relax I start chanting, but it’s not working.  I can feel my chest burning again and the pain is making me nauseous.  I swallow, fighting back the urge to vomit, but I can feel it coming up my throat.  I almost choke on the tuna sandwich as it comes as it comes into my mouth.  I can taste the food mixed with bile.  The taste is rotten, what you think of when you smell old fish.  The thought of swallowing it makes me gag more and then I can’t hold back.  It all comes up, out of my mouth, and drips down my chin and shirt.

I’m gagging on my lunch, hoping they don’t hear me, and when I listen again they are still talking about the office.  I don’t understand what’s happening.  What is wrong with them?  They do take a lot of time off.  I’m just worried about the company

Be strong, they will pay for what they are trying to do to me!  Am I such a terrible person to work with?  I’ve been with this company for 32 years and understand the needs better than any of them.  It’s this younger generation; they have a poor work ethic and no pride in their company.

But me, I come in every morning promptly at 8 am.  They stroll in an hour or two later wearing their business casual clothing, which I think is another name for sloppy.  That’s what I wear on the weekend to the grocery store.  In my day, men wore suits and ties and women wore skirts.  I told them how much more professional they would feel if they looked respectable but they dismiss me as an old lady.  Then they stand around talking about TV shows or sports games.  I try to keep conversations to a minimum because loud conversations are disturbing.  It seems I spend the entire day asking them to be quiet. 

And while they are busy talking, I am editing their reports.  Where did they learn grammar and punctuation?  Proofreading their reports is not my job and I have explained that to Mr. Wilson on numerous occasions, but I do it because those reports reflect negatively on our office. To prove my point, I counted 15 mistakes on one report.  I’ve given them writing tips, but they don’t use them.

It was when I was bringing Mr. Wilson the reports that I inadvertently overheard the phone conversation.  I don’t know who he was talking to, but I thought he said, “I’m going to kill her.” It wasn’t the words that caught my attention; I know people say things in anger and frustration. I think it was that he didn’t sound angry; actually, he had no emotion at all.

“She’s making me miserable, I can’t concentrate on anything and my work is suffering.  I’m afraid I’m going to get fired. This is the only way out.  We need to kill her.  Trust me, no one will miss her.  When she’s dead, everyone will be happy.”

Did I just hear what I thought I did? Was Mr. Wilson was going to kill his wife?  That wasn’t the talk of a frustrated person; it was that of a cold-blooded murderer. Then he said, “Meet me at my house tonight at six; I have a plan.”

He hung up the phone so quickly that I thought I was discovered. I ran to my desk with my heart racing and tried to appear busy by shuffling papers around. By this time however, Mr. Wilson had turned back to his computer and was working as if everything was normal.

My mind was racing! Should I confront him?  Should I call the police? Should I tell Mrs. Wilson?  The problem was, I didn’t have any proof.  It would be his word against mine.  I had to find evidence. When Mr. Wilson went to lunch, I searched his office and pulled out every drawer and read every paper looking for a love note, credit card bills, anything.  I stared at the family picture on his desk.  They seemed so happy anyone would think they were in love, but you never really know.

I will not let him get away with hurting that woman!  The only way to get the proof I needed was to go to the meeting.  I left work and drove to Mr. Wilson’s house, parking several streets over. I walked quickly to the house and hid in the bushes, wondering what to do when they went inside. Should I look for an unlocked door?  I noticed open windows upstairs; could I crawl in one?

Just then, two cars drove up to the house, one was Mr. Wilson’s, but the other was not what I expected.  I thought another woman perhaps, but definitely not Tom Adams from our office.

They went inside and I went to the front window.  I saw them go upstairs.  How would I learn their plan?  Again I thought about searching for an unlocked door, but time was running out. I needed to hear what they were saying. I felt helpless until I saw the balcony, and before I could reason with myself, I was climbing up the trellis.

The trellis was well made, like climbing up a ladder.  There were vines wrapped all through it and they scratched my face and arms.  Despite that, I gripped the wood tighter, my eyes on the balcony.  When I had reached it, I heard voices and knew they were not far from here.

I reached the balcony and leaned most of my body toward the railing.  It wasn’t as close to the trellis as I thought.  Relax, I told myself, and go for it.  I stretched my arm out and grabbed the railing with my left hand.  I scooted my body as close to it as I could, and let go of the trellis.

A cold rush of air swirled around me and in that moment I didn’t feel anything, not the trellis, balcony, or the ground.  Is this what it would have felt like to fall? 

***
So this brings us to where we started.  I made it and as I said, this was probably not my best idea because now I am stuck hanging off the balcony with the remains of a tuna fish sandwich dripping down my face.

Now that I knew their plan, I had to get to the police.  Unfortunately, the only way down was back on the trellis. I took a deep breath, swung my legs over, and climbed down. 

I ran across the street smiling. I didn’t even feel the pain of the scratches anymore.  I was thinking about Mr. Wilson and Tom going to jail and the next thing I knew, I was lying down. I moved my hand and felt tiny rocks slide in a warm liquid.  Was I lying on the street?  I couldn’t remember what happened after leaving Mr. Wilson’s house. 

Turning my head brought back the pain from the scratches and bruises in places I didn’t know I had.  I heard talking and saw a crowd standing over me looking at me like a little girl with a broken toy that couldn’t be fixed.

“Are you ok?” A man was asking.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t see you run into the street.”

A woman’s voice said, “I called 911.  An ambulance will be here soon.”

“I need the police,” I yelled, “they are planning to kill me.”  No one moved. Why weren’t they answering me?  I closed my eyes for a minute trying to figure out what was happening.  When I opened them, the man was talking again.

“Officer, the lady ran in front of my car.  I tried to swerve, but it was too late.  I hit her.”

A car hit me?  Is that why I was lying in the street?

The officer was asking if anyone knew who I was.  Everyone was looking at me and then Mr. Wilson stepped through the crowd.

“I know her, sir, she is my secretary, Katherine Jones.  She was bringing me reports to review; she is a very conscientious employee.  Everyone is crazy about her.” 

“What are you saying?  You’re lying!  I know you are going to kill me!”  I was screaming but no one was listening.

Looking at him, I knew he couldn’t hear me.  I felt hot liquid in my throat and the bruises were becoming more painful. I think I need the ambulance.  There will be plenty of time to talk to the police.

I closed my eyes trying to relax.  The pain was starting to fade, but a light was now blinding me. Just before the light went dark, I heard the officer say, “I’m sorry sir, this has been a terrible accident.  Unfortunately she did not make it.”