The room he entered was average. That's the only word to fully describe it. Office carpet, dark wood desk, with an office chair tucked under it. The walls were the creme color paint. An average window sat behind his desk.
The man who entered was just as average. Suit and tie with shiny black shoes. He held a square briefcase, wore a simple watch, and saw the world through glasses that were nothing but average. It was all very...normal.
A small, white envelope sat upon his desk. This was not strange to see as, being a businessman, he found these frequently waiting for his arrival in the morning. However, this one in particular sent a chill up his spine. From what, he did not know.
He set his briefcase down on the desk next to the envelope and eased into his chair. For a long moment he did nothing but stare at it. What made him so hesitant to open this small envelope before him? From all appearances it was a blank paper, indistinct and unimportant. Not even a name labeled its front. Nevertheless, his hands shook at the thought of reaching out and touching it. It was ridiculous.
Angrily shaking off his apprehension, he snatched it up and flipped it, revealing the backside. A dark red lipstick print was plastered on it.
Peculiar, he thought.
He paused only for another moment, hanging onto a lingering worm of doubt, and then proceeded to rip it open. Seeing what was inside, he froze.l
Money, and a lot of it. He gingerly took out the contents and stared at the stack. All in fifty dollar bills, he counted out $1000 in cash. He thought for a moment, but failed to think of any projects he was awaiting payment on. The addition of the lipstick mark had him all the more confused.
He set it all on the desk and leaned back in his chair. Running his hand through his hair, he suddenly craved a drink. He glanced at the clock on the wall.
Craving a drink and it was only 8:15. What a day.
His mind went back to a few nights ago, when he last went to the bar. He only remembered bits and pieces of that night. A run-down place, the usual drunken boasting of his prized rifle collection, a pretty girl.
That girl, she was most prominent in his mind. Though, he had to admit, he had been too drunk to remember her name and face. He also recalled that they had conversed for quite a while. And something about...promises. He promised her something. He couldn't remember that wither. Guiltily, he hoped he had kept his promise. Such was the man he was.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He quickly hid the money under his briefcase a second before Victoria, the secretary, stepped halfway through the door.
"Mr. Hoover, your appointment for 8:30 is here." She stated. He casually noted her long, fair hair flowed well past her shoulders, giving her an almost angelic look.
"Excellent. Please send him in." By this time he had regained his composure, and now took the time to arrange his desk neatly.
Victoria nodded but did not move. When she spoke, her voice was so quiet, he had to really pay attention in order to hear her.
"The funeral is tomorrow at nine at White Oak Cemetery. Just in case you wanted to attend." She paused. "Oh, and Mr. Hoover? Thank you. You have no idea what your kindness has done for me." She smiled brightly, her dark red lips twitched upwards in happiness. She looked much younger, just then. So innocent.
When she left and closed the door behind her, Mr. Hoover couldn't breathe. He sat in his very normal little office chair, gripping his very normal desk tightly. Slowly letting go, he looked down at his hands in horror.
Her words brought back images of that night at the bar. The words he'd said. The things he'd done. But, his thoughts always seemed to return to the absence of Victoria's wedding ring and her dark red lips.
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