Chapter 1--The Wheft

Sebastian goes to work early

Approximately 1500 words

The Wheft

by
Max Griffin


Chapter 1

         
         A whisker of frigid air grazed the nape of Sebastian’s neck and sent chills jittering down his spine.  He shivered and turned a searching gaze behind him.  The corridor stretched in semi-darkness, the walls lined with the closed doors to a half-dozen dark businesses.  He narrowed his eyes.  He could swear one door, the one at the far end, clicked shut while he watched.

         That made no sense.  It was 4AM, after all, and no one else should be in the building.  That was the whole point, so he could work without distraction. 

         That click must have been his imagination.  But he had to check. A lifetime of OCD told him that he’d never be able to concentrate on SQL queries, or anything else for that matter, without checking.  He heaved a sigh and made his way to the end of the corridor. 

         The door was like all the other doors: polished pale ash that framed frosted glass.  This one had the words Wheft Enterprises etched in white on the glass.  Like all the other offices, it was dark on the other side.  A faint scent, woody and warm, made him pause.  It vaguely brought to mind a cologne he'd once tried.  Sandalwood and vanilla, perhaps? Vanilla wasn't quite right, though.  Maybe myrrh? 

         Whatever. It couldn't possibly matter.  He tried to open the door, but it was locked. 

         He chewed lip, then rapped his knuckles on the glass.

         Nothing.

         It must be just his over-active imagination, fooling him again.  It had been happening a lot lately, especially since he’d started working at Perfect Bases six weeks ago.  Probably just the stress of a new job.

         He frowned in annoyance and took determined steps to his cubicle, buried in the dark recesses of the Perfect Bases suite.  No windows to distract him.  No chatter from other cubicles to draw his attention.  No hot guys strolling by to bewitch him.  Just blessed silence and solitude.  Exactly the way he liked it.

         A twinge of loneliness made his mouth twitch, but he chose to ignore it.

         Four hours and 386 lines of SQL code later, a shadow crossed his computer screen and the smell of coffee made him look up.

         Irene, the company’s lead Apache programmer, stood just outside his cubicle holding a cardboard carafe containing two steaming cups of coffee.  The bright, overhead fluorescent lighting gave her pudgy features a cherubic glow as she chirped, “I see you’re already hard at it.  I thought you’d like some coffee.”  She put the carafe on his desk and dumped sweetener and a cuppy-thing of cream into one of the coffees. 

         He held up a palm, and turned back to his computer to type in seven more lines of code to close a DO-WHILE loop.  That task finished, he sent a weary smile her way.  “Thanks.  I came in at four so I could think through some programming without distractions.”

         She lifted an eyebrow.  “Like me, you mean.”

         “No, not at all.  I could use a break.”  She was nice enough, even though she seemed to be always hovering over him.  Probably his imagination over-working again.  He dumped three packets of sweetener and two cuppy-things of cream into his coffee and stirred it exactly seven  times before taking a sip.

         She peered at his screen. “You came in at four AM?  I can’t imagine anyone else having that dedication.”

         He shrugged.  “It’s not dedication.  Or, not exactly.  I just concentrate better when I’m alone.”

         Her gaze fell.  “Well, I’m sorry.  I’ll go away and not bother you.”

         “I didn’t mean you were bothering me.  I appreciate the coffee.”  What to say?  He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.  “I’m weird that way. It’s my OCD.  Besides, I think I wasn’t the only one here this morning.”

         “Really?  Someone else at Perfect Base was here after hours?”

         “Not here.  Down the hall.  At Wheft Enterprises.  At least, I thought I saw the door closing when I first got here this morning.”

         She rolled her eyes.  “That place. In the five years I’ve worked here, I’ve not once seen anyone go in or out of that office. It must have been your imagination. I asked Rudy what goes on there, and he said the maintenance staff aren’t even permitted inside.”

         “Rudy?”

         “You know.  He’s the maintenance guy.  Empties the wastebaskets.  Vacuums the place.”

         “Oh, right.”  The vacuum was especially distracting.  Just to keep the conversation going, he asked, “Any idea what they do?” 

         “You mean Wheft Enterprises?  None.  What the F does ‘wheft’ mean, anyway?”

         “Let’s find out.”  He turned to his computer and Googled the word.  “Says here it’s a nautical term.  Some kind of signal flag.”

         “So, it’s gotta be a whatcha-callit, a metaphor for what they do.  Like Perfect Base is supposed to stand for how the company does databases.” 

         “So, they signal something?  Kind of a cryptic metaphor.”

         She shrugged.  “Got me.”  She looked into her coffee cup and murmured, “There’s a new dim sum place on the first floor.  I thought I’d check it out this noon for lunch.”

         Fast food dim sum sounded, well, kind of icky, really, but he didn’t want to offend her.  “Sounds intriguing.”

         She looked up and beamed at him.  “Want to try it out with me?  Could be fun.”

         Fun was the last thing it sounded like, but she was the closest thing he had to a friend at work.  “Sure. Why not?”

         Her smile stayed fixed. “That’s the spirit.  I’ll check back with you, say around 11:30 or so?  Beat the noon the rush.”

         “Sure.” 

         “See you then.”  She left him alone at last.

         Not quite alone.  The unanswered question about what Wheft Enterprises actually did lingered, nagging at him.  Google’s irresistible allure occupied him for the next three hours.  Good thing he’d come in early and gotten some actual work done.

         Still, despite searching endless databases, he wound up learning almost zip. To start with, there was just a shell of website, listing nothing besides the company name, the address of this building, and a logo that said “opening gateways to other worlds,” whatever the crap that meant. He did find a listing in the state’s database of corporations, but the only contact information was for a registered corporate agent representing dozens of firms, with no personal identifying information about the actual owners.

         A typo while searching opened a black hole about weaving.  Apparently “weft” was a term for the cross-wise threads on a loom, not that that explained anything. Besides, the company was “Wheft Enterprises,” not “Weft Enterprises.”

         Eventually, Irene tapped on his cubicle and said, “Just checking in.  We still on for lunch?”

         He glanced at the task bar on his computer: 11:23. His search wasn’t going anywhere.  “You bet.  You ready to head out?”

         “Sure.  Beat the rush.”

         He closed the windows on computer, logged out, and stood.  “Lead the way.”

         She tucked her arm under his, snuggled too close, and led him through the cubical farm and into the hallway.  Too early for the noon rush, the only other figure in hall was a lean, dark-haired man wearing a black suit and horn-rimmed glasses who brushed by them and scurried down the corridor.  As he passed, Sebastian caught that odd odor again, the one he'd noticed outside the door to Wheft Enterprises this morning.  Sandalwood and myrrh. The scent provided an alluring complement to the man’s broad shoulders, tight butt, and cleft chin.  Sebastian tried  and failed to not stare at him.  The guy appeared to be about Sebastian’s age, maybe late twenties or a bit older, and hotter than a pistol.  He had the chiseled good looks of a male escort. Or a stripper.  Way out of Sebastian’s league. 

         Irene seemed immune to the stranger’s charms, and babbled juicy gossip about a co-worker, but Sebastian’s attention was all on Mr. Hottie.  The guy hustled down the corridor to the door at the end, opened it, and entered.

         The Wheft Enterprises door.

         Sebastian turned to Irene. “Did you see that?”

         She stopped her chatter and asked, “See what?”

         “That guy.  The one that just went by us and into the Wheft Enterprises place.”

         “What guy?”  She peered down the corridor. “I didn’t see anyone.” 

         “Well, he’s gone now.  He walked into their offices.”  He tugged at her. “He just opened the door and went it, so they must be open for business.  Let’s check them out.”

         “I’m telling you, there was no one in the corridor.  You’re imagining things. Besides, there’s never anyone in that place.  I’ve checked dozens of times before.”  But she didn’t resist when he led her down the corridor.

         When they got there, he tried the door.  It was locked. The frosted glass hid the interior, but no lights glowed from the other side although a faint lavender glow seeped from under the threshold. He rapped on the glass.  No one answered.

         She glared at him. “I toldja.  There’s never anyone there.”

         “But I saw him.  Broad shoulders, narrow hips, black suit.  Horned rimmed glasses.”

         “Sounds like a Man in Black.  Like in the movie. I couldn’t have missed anyone like that.  Are you sure you saw him?”

         She’d been chattering about her gossip, but she couldn’t have missed seeing him.  He’d walked right by them. Still, Sebastian was sure he’d seen the guy.

         But…maybe not. Maybe it was his imagination. Like earlier this morning.  He had been seeing stuff lately.  Unexplained stuff.

        Irene tugged at his arm. “Come on. Dum sum awaits.”

         He let her lead him away, but the memory of Mr. Hottie remained seared in his memory.