Chapter 2--The Wheft

Sebastian in the Wheft Offices

approximately 1600 words

"The Wheft" 

Chapter 2

Sebastian yawned as the elevator rose to the thirteenth floor of the building that held the Perfect Base offices.  Sure, going to work at 4AM was a pain, but the solitude was worth it.  He should have started doing this sooner.  Thinking in SQL code instead of English was so much easier when there was nothing to distract him.

         The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open to reveal the familiar, dimly-lit corridor from yesterday.  Except this morning, a faint, lavender mist seemed to hover near the bottom of the door at the far end of the corridor. 

         The door to Wheft Enterprises. 

         The SQL code that had been buzzing in his head evaporated.  He frowned as the mystery—and distraction--of Wheft Enterprises resurfaced.  It didn’t help that the mystery had Mr. Hottie’s bod and craggy features tagging along. 

         He clenched his jaw and took a determined step toward the Perfect Base offices.  But then he stopped. 

         Maybe someone was in the Wheft office.  He turned and looked again.  The glow was still there, like a lavender fog had oozed under the threshold. Inviting him to check it out.  Demanding he investigate, was more like it. 

         It was exactly the kind of distraction he came in early to avoid. 

         Hating himself and his OCD, he trudged to the far end of the hall and stopped, hands on his hips, and stared at the fog.  He brushed the toe of his sneaker through the light and it swirled, like it really was a fog.  The smell from yesterday, of sandalwood and myrrh, permeated his nostrils. 

         This was truly fucked up.

         He pushed at the door and almost fell over when it drifted open, unlatched.  He caught himself on the frame and stood, transfixed. 

         The same glowing fog, faint but persistent, filled the interior of the Wheft Enterprises office.  It gave just enough illumination to reveal a conventional waiting room and receptionist counter.  The leather chairs in the room had a peculiar appearance, like someone had built a chrome cage around them.  Glass and chrome tables completed the furnishings.  What looked like a Dali print hung on the wall to his left. 

         He took a step inside.  “Anyone here?”

         No answer.

         He took another step inside and the door behind him swung shut, followed by a whir and and a thunk.  He tried the door, but it wouldn’t budge.  It sounded like a dead bolt had closed, but there wasn’t any way he could see to release it.  There was just a metal plate where he would have expected to see the knob to release the lock. 

         Without much hope, he pressed his forefinger against the plate.  Red light flashed for an instant at the edges of the plate.  He tried the door again, and it was still locked.

         Awesome.  Now he was trapped in this damned place. 

         He pulled out his phone, but who could he call? He had Irene’s work number, but she wouldn’t be here until eight.  He could call the cops, but then he’d have to explain why he was in this office.  That couldn’t end in a good way. 

         Well, someone had left the office unlocked.  Maybe that someone was still here.  He stepped to the counter and called out, “Hey, is there anyone here?”

         No answer.

         He rubbed his nose.  The Perfect Base suite was pretty big.  Big enough that someone in one of the executive offices wouldn’t be able to hear shouts from the front desk.  Maybe the Wheft suite was the same.  He chewed his lower lip and eyed the door just to the left of the reception area.   

         The woody, warm scent was stronger now. The glowing fog and melted clocks in the Dali print just added to the surreal scene. He still held his phone in his hand, and checked the time.  4:12.  No, now 4:13.  He squinted at the phone’s display.  The network indicator had a bar through it—no signal.

         That was just awesome.

         He was well and truly fucked now. 

         He peered into the receptionist’s area.  No phone there, either. 

         The only thing left was to explore the interior.  There had to be a phone or something he could use to extricate himself from this mess.  This was an office, after all. They had to have phones someplace.

         The door to the side of the reception counter opened when he tried it, and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

         He’d expected to see a replica the Perfect Base suite, with a cubicle farm and glass-enclosed executive offices on the outer wall with windows overlooking the city.  But the interior here was nothing like that. 

         Instead, an open, carpeted expanse stretched unbroken to the floor-to-ceiling windows on the outside wall.  No cubicles.  No desks.  No executive offices.  Nothing.

         Well, not exactly nothing. 

         For one thing, there was that lavender fog.  It filled the entire space, about fifty feet square, with the faintest of illumination.  Tiny eddies swirled within the dim depths, giving just enough light to reveal the emptiness of the space. 

         Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the far wall, with city lights shimmering in the distance.  The walls to his left and right, though, were…different.

         Five human-sized oval shapes shimmered on each wall, perfectly spaced.  Spindly lavender tenacles of light writhed about the edges of the shapes before dissipating to nothingness. The glowing mist seemed to be strongest near the shapes, as if it oozed from their surface.

         Sebastian approached the nearest one on his right.  As he neared it, he could tell it wasn’t on the wall. Instead, it hovered an inch or so in front of the wall, leaving a dark shadow behind it. 

         He reached out with a tentative finger and touched the middle of the shape. It responded to his touch with ripples cascading away from his fingertip and with a gentle trilling sound.  The only sensation was a slight chill where his finger penetrated the shape.

         He withdrew his hand and inspected his finger.  It looked fine. 

         Maybe the shapes were someone’s idea of decoration, like the Dali print and the chairs-in-a-cage weren’t already weird enough. 

         He tried touching the shape again, this time with his palm. 

         Same thing. Ripples and trilling. 

         He pushed his hand on through the light, expecting to hit the wall behind it.

         Instead, his hand extended wrist-deep into the shape and beyond.  It was chilly on the other side, kind of like reaching into a refrigerator.  Not unpleasant, just noticeably cold.  No wall, though.

         There must be a hole in the wall behind the shape for his hand to penetrate that far. 

         He moved to the edge of the shape and squinted behind it.  It was pretty dark, but it sure didn’t look there was a hole in the wall. 

         He stuck his left hand into the shape while he watched behind it for his hand to protrude through it. 

         His arm got elbow-deep before he stopped and stepped back.  Somehow, his hand never appeared on the back side of the shape, even though it was elbow deep on the front side.

         It had to be an opening of some kind, but what kind? It was like a special effect in a movie, but this was real life, not a movie. 

         He stroked his chin and contemplated the shape and its pulsating tendrils. What kind of place was this?

         Wait. It had a website.  What was it the logo had said? Something about gateways to other worlds, maybe.  He pulled out his phone and opened the browser, then winced when he remembered there was no signal. 

         But that’s what this had to be. A gateway to someplace.  Nothing else made sense.

         Someplace cold, apparently. 

         Whatever they were, there were ten of them in this room.  Maybe they went to different places. 

         He stuck his hand in the next one on this wall and met the same chill. 

         He stepped back, put his hands on his hips, and tried to decide what to do next.

         He was still locked inside the offices. 

         He wasn’t about to stick his head into one of these gates.  He wasn’t that desperate. 

         Yet, anyway. 

         A peremptory tenor from behind him demanded, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

         He started and a cold ball formed in his gut.  He whirled to face whoever it was who accosted him.

         It was the man from yesterday, Mr. Hottie.  He still had the horned-rimmed glasses and the movie-star looks, but he wasn’t in the Men-in-Black uniform.  Instead he wore what looked like a Roman toga, complete with sandals. 

         Except no Roman ever carried a snub-nosed pistol like Mr. Hottie Roman Guy now pointed at him.  The man’s eyes widened and he said,  “You.  I thought you could see me yesterday.  What are you doing here?”

         Sebastian looked at him and said, “Uh.”  He closed his mouth and tried to think. The gun pointed at his chest didn't help.  “The door was unlocked.”  Not good, but it was better than nothing.

         Mr. Hottie Roman Guy drawled, “Really?."  He gave a little snort, then continued, "It doesn’t unlock for just anyone.” 

         “Maybe I’m special.”  Mr. Hottie Roman Guy didn’t answer.  "When I tried to leave, it wouldn’t open for me.  I was locked in, so I was looking for a way out. Or a phone.  Mine doesn’t seem to work."  Babbling like an idiot didn't seem to impress the other man, but he couldn't stop.  “I can't think with that gun pointing at me.  Please, Mr. Roman Guy or whatever your name is, could you pretty-please-with-sugar on it stop pointing it at me?”   

         Mr. Hottie rolled his eyes.  “Of course your phone doesn’t work here.”  He looked like Caesar about to turn thumbs down on a gladiator, but then slipped his gun into a holster under his toga.  “My name’s Marcus, by the way.  You still haven’t told me who you are.”

         “Sebastian.”

         “Do you have a last name?”

         “Vargas.  Sebastian Vargas.”

         “Well, Sebastian Vargas, it looks like you’re now my problem.”

         “If you’ll just open the door and let me out, I’ll never bother you again. Cross my heart.”  He tried his most charming grin and made an X over his chest.

         “Let you out?  That’s impossible.  Not now that you’ve seen the gates.”