Read Online The Empty Room by Lauren B. Davis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lauren B. Davis
Ads: Link
the floor with the sound of thunder and earthquake and the very heavens splitting asunder. The floor would open and swallow up all the terrible crushing mass, and bury it in the ground, dust to dust. It was possible. She had a fleeting sense of how light she would feel, how she’d float up to the ceiling a hope-filled thing, and it wouldn’t matter if she needed help or if these people pitied her or felt they were better than she was because just letting it all go would be such an enormous relief.
And then Pat Minot said, “That would be a great shame, but yes, I’m afraid that’s the way it is.”
The way it is. Yes, that’s just the way it is and nothing would everchange and people are who they are and so they ever will be. Colleen knew then that she was never going to get out from under the load of her own life. We play our parts. It is inevitable. She was not the sort of woman who would go to rehab, who would hand over her power to a bunch of strangers who were paid to pretend to care about her. She would not, could not show them who she really was. Her skin crawled. The very concept filled her with self-loathing. Whatever weight had shifted now lurched and settled itself again, right over Colleen’s heart.
Colleen stood up and smoothed the front of her pants. “Well, then. Fuck you very much,” she said.
The room was silent for a moment, and even though Colleen’s head felt as though it might pop like the mercury in an overheated thermometer, she got considerable satisfaction from the looks of true astonishment on Moore’s and Minot’s faces. They really hadn’t seen that coming, had they? She was able to arrange a small, self-contained smile on her lips, and for the first time since she woke up that morning, she felt a kind of dignity and control. Thus, she chose to think of it this way: things hadn’t been good at this job for ages, and though she’d miss Harry, Max (well, maybe not Max, not after he’d said whatever it was he said about her) and Michael, she’d find somewhere else, somewhere better. And who knew, Harry might very well go to bat for her and protest her firing. Yes, that was a real possibility. Even Michael. He liked her. The possibilities spooled out in front of her like a yellow brick road.
“How sad,” said Minot. She stood and faced Colleen for a moment,then turned and opened the door. A security guard stood in the hall, waiting. “We’ll just walk you out then, shall we?”
The smile slipped from Colleen’s face. What did they think she was going to do, go berserk, pull a gun out of her bra and shoot them all? Dignity and control, my ass, she thought. Humiliation like a riptide threatened to knock her legs out from under her. Maybe it wasn’t too late? She glanced at Dr. Moore, but his face was aubergine. She felt a little weak.
So, that was that. She tossed the packet of tissues on Moore’s desk. “I want my things from my desk.”
“Of course,” said Minot. She gestured that Colleen should precede her through the door. Then she changed her mind. “Actually, would you just wait here a moment, please. Derek, stay with Ms. Kerrigan, will you?”
The security guard nodded and Minot disappeared.
The moments ticked by. Colleen kept her eyes on the antique instruments in the locked cabinet. The mysterious devices of weather divination. They looked medieval, and she imagined torture chambers and trials by fire. A scene from a film she had once seen flashed through her mind, set in Elizabethan England, in which a man was dangled above a huge cauldron of boiling oil. The executioner asked him which he preferred, head first or feet first. It would make no difference, of course; death would come either way, horribly and in shrieking agony. Would she want to get it over quickly, head first, skin peeling off her face, eyes bursting, lips and tongue and throat searing and … or feet first, hoping to passout from the pain before the oil reached … Why was she thinking of
And then Pat Minot said, “That would be a great shame, but yes, I’m afraid that’s the way it is.”
The way it is. Yes, that’s just the way it is and nothing would everchange and people are who they are and so they ever will be. Colleen knew then that she was never going to get out from under the load of her own life. We play our parts. It is inevitable. She was not the sort of woman who would go to rehab, who would hand over her power to a bunch of strangers who were paid to pretend to care about her. She would not, could not show them who she really was. Her skin crawled. The very concept filled her with self-loathing. Whatever weight had shifted now lurched and settled itself again, right over Colleen’s heart.
Colleen stood up and smoothed the front of her pants. “Well, then. Fuck you very much,” she said.
The room was silent for a moment, and even though Colleen’s head felt as though it might pop like the mercury in an overheated thermometer, she got considerable satisfaction from the looks of true astonishment on Moore’s and Minot’s faces. They really hadn’t seen that coming, had they? She was able to arrange a small, self-contained smile on her lips, and for the first time since she woke up that morning, she felt a kind of dignity and control. Thus, she chose to think of it this way: things hadn’t been good at this job for ages, and though she’d miss Harry, Max (well, maybe not Max, not after he’d said whatever it was he said about her) and Michael, she’d find somewhere else, somewhere better. And who knew, Harry might very well go to bat for her and protest her firing. Yes, that was a real possibility. Even Michael. He liked her. The possibilities spooled out in front of her like a yellow brick road.
“How sad,” said Minot. She stood and faced Colleen for a moment,then turned and opened the door. A security guard stood in the hall, waiting. “We’ll just walk you out then, shall we?”
The smile slipped from Colleen’s face. What did they think she was going to do, go berserk, pull a gun out of her bra and shoot them all? Dignity and control, my ass, she thought. Humiliation like a riptide threatened to knock her legs out from under her. Maybe it wasn’t too late? She glanced at Dr. Moore, but his face was aubergine. She felt a little weak.
So, that was that. She tossed the packet of tissues on Moore’s desk. “I want my things from my desk.”
“Of course,” said Minot. She gestured that Colleen should precede her through the door. Then she changed her mind. “Actually, would you just wait here a moment, please. Derek, stay with Ms. Kerrigan, will you?”
The security guard nodded and Minot disappeared.
The moments ticked by. Colleen kept her eyes on the antique instruments in the locked cabinet. The mysterious devices of weather divination. They looked medieval, and she imagined torture chambers and trials by fire. A scene from a film she had once seen flashed through her mind, set in Elizabethan England, in which a man was dangled above a huge cauldron of boiling oil. The executioner asked him which he preferred, head first or feet first. It would make no difference, of course; death would come either way, horribly and in shrieking agony. Would she want to get it over quickly, head first, skin peeling off her face, eyes bursting, lips and tongue and throat searing and … or feet first, hoping to passout from the pain before the oil reached … Why was she thinking of
Similar Books
