Desk Fatigue Andrew Galvan Copyright 2012 by Andrew Galvan Smashwords Edition © Andrew Galvan, 2012 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of said author/publisher except in cases of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, events, or places is coincidental. Logos and graphics are also original works of the author and are so protected by said copyright. Mandible ***The following are transcripts of the coroner’s audio log dated from August 1971 to September 1971 from the mortuary in St. Louis, MO.*** -08/21/1971 8:23pm- Dr. Darcy: “Ok, I think we are recording now. *clears throat* This is Dr. Harold Darcy, medical examiner for the city of St. Louis, Missouri...and I am ready to conduct the forensic examination of said individual. The time right now is 8:23pm on August 21st 1971. I am opening the body bag now.” Detective Bridges: “Detective Jim Bridges for the St. Louis police department is also present. Not so fast doctor, let me put on my mask here. I could smell that body before they brought it into the building. I’m surprised it doesn’t bother you.” Dr. Darcy: “Nothing bothers an old coroner like me, James. Let’s see what we have here.” *unzipping of body bag* Detective Bridges: “*cough* Jesus Christ.” Dr. Darcy: “Yes, this body is at least eight days old. *clears throat* Victim is a white male and appears to be in his late twenties. Height is five feet and seven inches and weight is a hundred and thirty two pounds. The obvious cause of death is from the severe...massive lacerations on the left side of the neck. If I hold back this loose tissue with the forceps...I can see that the lacerations are clear down to the cervical vertebrae, specifically C3 through 6. It is indicative that the entire carotid artery has been also torn in this incident. And...lateral to the artery, inside the carotid sheath with the common carotid, are the jugular vein and vagus nerve, also torn in the same manner. Being that this is the primary injury, victim would have suffered a massive loss in blood pressure, and dying within about a minute.” Detective Bridges: “And probably for the better too. Doctor, move your hand so I can get a better shot please.” *click* Dr. Darcy: “There also seems to be some post mortem injuries as well. Small cuts, about...quarter of an inch in length and quarter to half inch in depth. These cuts would in fact be multiple stab wounds inflicted after complete exsanguination of the body due to the fact that there are no indications of bleeding. They seem to be made into the body in an elliptical pattern. I count about three individual sets of sixteen...one on the shoulder, another on the abdomen, and one more on the chest. The major diameter is measured to be...four and a half inches; this is consistent with all three sets. If I turn the body *grunts* there seems to be no immediate injuries underneath. Also, no signs of sexual trauma. Interesting.” Detective Bridges: “Whoever did this is pretty sick. He must have really hated the guy. So doctor, any idea on what kind of weapon the killer used?” *click* Dr. Darcy: “James...where was the body found?” Detective Bridges: “On the far side of Forrest Park in a storm drain...naked as the day he was born, why?” Dr. Darcy: “There is a zoo there, right?” Detective Bridges: “Yes.” Dr. Darcy: “Start there. I would ask if any animals have escaped. *clears throat* This is Dr. Harold Darcy, medical examiner for the city of St. Louis, Missouri, performing a forensic examination on John Doe corpse, August 21st 1971. End of session.” -END- -08/30/1971 9:45am- Dr. Darcy: “This is Dr. Harold Darcy medical examiner for the city of St. Louis, Missouri...I am ready to conduct the examination of said individual. The time right now is 9:45am on August 30th 1971. I am ready to begin...James?” Detective Bridges: “Detective Jim Bridges for the St. Louis police department...also present.” Dr. Darcy: “Yes well *clears throat* victim is a Latino male and appears to be in his early twenties, if not late teens. Height is five feet and six inches and weight is a hundred and twenty seven pounds. Initial police report estimates the time of death was last night between midnight and three in the morning, which I would concur with. The cause of death however, is from...massive lacerations to the right side of the neck. And...it is apparent that these lacerations are clear down to the cervical vertebrae. C3 through 6 is exposed and they appear to have scratch marks engraved into the periosteum of the vertebrae themselves. It is indicative that the entire carotid artery has also been torn in this incident. Victim would have suffered a massive loss in blood pressure, and dying within a minute. Also note that puncture wounds to the trachea are present.” Detective Bridges: “Shit. Are you thinking what I am thinking, Doctor?” Dr. Darcy: “Yes, it is identical in my opinion. Do you have the photos from last week...are they developed?” *removes gloves* Detective Bridges: “Yeah, let me pull them out. Here you go.” *papers shuffling* Dr. Darcy: “Thank you James. Yes, the same small stab wounds are here as well. These killings appear identical. And did you find this body naked?” Detective Bridges: “Yes, but near the river bank this time. I also questioned the manager of the zoo last week...all animals are accounted for. Maybe a mountain lion is loose or something?” Dr. Darcy: “Possible, I just don’t know. We shouldn’t make assumptions just yet. Do you have a contact number for the zoo?” Detective Bridges: “Sure.” Dr. Darcy: “Let me have it, I would like to contact one of the veterinarians there. Let me suspend this session and talk to the superintendent...I’m sure he would want to know about this immediately.” Detective Bridges: “Right” *door opens and closes* Dr. Darcy: “*clears throat* This is Dr. Harold Darcy, medical examiner for the city of St. Louis, Missouri, performing a forensic examination on John Doe corpse, August 30th 1971. Session is suspended pending further investigations.” -END- -09/01/1971 3:18pm- Dr. Darcy: “This is Dr. Harold Darcy, medical examiner for the city of St. Louis, Missouri. The date and time is September 1st 1971 at 3:18pm. With me is Dr. Steven Linus, veterinarian of the St. Louis zoo here as an expert in predatory animals...Dr. Linus please say hello.” Dr. Linus: “Hi.” Detective Bridges: “And detective Jim Bridges for the St. Louis police department, present.” Dr. Darcy: “Good, once again I would like to thank Dr. Linus for attending this session. This is the body of a young Latino male, murdered on August 30th in the very early morning and was found...naked on the west banks of the Missouri river.” *unzipping of body bag* Dr. Linus: “Oh God.” *table is bumped* Dr. Darcy: “You alright, Dr. Linus.” Dr. Linus: “*coughs* Yes, I am...just startled is all.” Detective Bridges: “Dr. Linus, if you would please examine the body and let us know of your opinions, it may help us in finding this mountain lion or whatever is killing these people.” Dr. Linus: “Sorry, of course. Let me see...well my initial opinion is that this is definitely an animal attack, no doubt about that. This looks like a very common...*clears throat*...kill. Went straight for the throat, bit down, and thrashed it to pieces...some signs of gnawing too. It must have been a fairly large predator to take him down. Were there any signs of a struggle?” Dr. Darcy: “No, nothing. It’s almost as if he had his neck ripped open instantly without any provocation.” Detective Bridges: “There was also no blood at the scene.” Dr. Linus: “So the bodies were killed, and then dragged to their respective locations?” Detective Bridges: “No drag marks...we think the bodies were carried.” Dr. Linus: “It’s possible with a large enough animal. This boy only weighs what, 125...135 pounds? Many large predatory cats are known to carry close to 250 pounds with nothing but their jaws. But what interests me is that these people were outright killed and not eaten...which would suggest rabies in my opinion.” Detective Bridges: “You’re saying that there is a lion with rabies roaming the streets St. Louis?” Dr. Linus: “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Please detective, this is all preliminary.” Dr. Darcy: “James, please let him finish. Dr. Linus...” Dr. Linus: “*clears throat* Yes well, what I was about to say is that you need to test for rabies. I would suggest having a tissue sample of the wound tested immediately. As far as this big cat theory is concerned, I highly doubt this is felid in nature. This bite structure totally does not match.” Dr. Darcy: “Can you be more specific?” Dr. Linus: “Well first off, pay no attention to the neck wound...there is far too much damage there to determine much of anything. However, these puncture wounds interest me much more. See how there is no deep or penetrating openings where the larger cuspids would be.” Detective Bridges: “Cuspids?” Dr. Darcy: “The fangs, James.” Dr. Linus: “Yes, well that is what is peculiar about these additional puncture wounds on the chest and shoulder. These teeth marks do not correspond with a large cat...and I think a bear can be ruled out as well.” Dr. Darcy: “What animal bite would this be similar too, Dr. Linus?” Dr. Linus: “Um...well...if I tell you, you’ll probably think I’m crazy.” Dr. Darcy: “Please, Doctor.” Dr. Linus: “Ok, well...I have to say that, in my opinion, the predator with the most similar bite to this would be...a shark.” *phone ringing* Detective Bridges: “I got it fellas.” Detective Bridges: “Hello, this is detective Bridges... Where? ... You sure?... Alright, I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Just contain the scene... Bye.” *click* Detective Bridges: “Doctor, you are not going to believe this. There has been another murder. Another naked body was found near the fairgrounds, throat ripped wide opened. I have to go.” Dr. Darcy: “We will continue this later, Steven.” -END- -09/01/1971 11:02pm- Dr. Darcy: “This is Dr. Harold Darcy medical examiner for the city of St. Louis, Missouri...ready to conduct the examination of said individual. The time as of this moment is 11:02pm on September 1st 1971.” Detective Bridges: “James Bridges, present.” Superintendent Clement: “Superintendent Bernard Clement, also present.” Dr. Darcy: “Alright, this is the third victim in a string of unsolved murders involving similar bite wounds to the neck. The recent victim is a white female, possibly late thirties. Height is five feet and four inches and weight is a hundred and fifteen pounds. The police report estimates the time of death was around three in the afternoon, today’s date. Again we see the large and gaping lacerations to the left side of the neck down to the cervical vertebrae. Puncture wounds to the carotid artery and trachea are also present.” Detective Bridges: “Doctor, were you able to send some tissue samples out for rabies testing.” Doctor Darcy: “Dr. Linus offered his help with that. The zoo has its own medical wing and he says he can give us results sooner than the hospital can.” Superintendent Clement: “Gentlemen, I need something to tell the public. Tomorrow morning I am going to make a statement to the press and I need the best possible information you two can give me.” Doctor Darcy: “The turnaround time for rabies testing can take as long as twelve hours. Dr. Linus is at the zoo right now trying to figure that out. He also thinks he will be able to even identify the type of animal we are dealing with.” Detective Bridges: “But what we do know right now is that all of the victims are relatively small in stature and weight. So I believe small adults and maybe even children are the ones being targeted.” Superintendent Clement: “A rabid animal that targets children? That’s ridiculous! Rabid animals don’t pick and choose, they just attack. Can you imagine the panic that would result from a press release about a large rabies infected animal killing children? Think Bridges! We need evidence, not hunches.” Detective Bridges: “Yes, sir.” Doctor Darcy: “Well I can tell you both that everything about this attack is identical to the other two. I won’t know anything else till the tissue samples come back.” Detective Bridges: “The time of day of these murders isn’t consistent. Hell, we don’t even know where the killings are taking place, we always find the dumped bodies. I think the only way we are going to catch this thing is if we bait and trap it.” Superintendent Clement: “That’s not a bad idea. Let me make some calls to Harvey over at the department of animal control and see if we can get some help on this from the rest of the county. Doctor, call me as soon as you learn the test results from the zoo.” Doctor Darcy: “Will do, superintendent.” *door opens and closes* Detective Bridges: “God...that guy.” Doctor Darcy: “Don’t be too hard on him, James. He is stressful because he has two hundred thousand people to answer to tomorrow.” Detective Bridges: “I know, but sometimes he can be a real ball-buster...is that thing still recording?” Doctor Darcy: “Oh, yes...sorry...I will end it now and edit later.” -END- -09/02/1971 10:22am- Dr. Darcy: “This is a personal log of Dr. Harold Darcy medical examiner for the city and state of St. Louis, Missouri...dated September 2nd 1971 at 10:22am in the afternoon.” *stirring ice in glass* Dr. Darcy: “This morning the Superintendent made his statement to the press about a rabid animal possibly loose in the park or fairgrounds. He has assembled animal control employees from across the county to organize a massive hunt across the city over the next week. This should be successful I would think. Also, Dr. Steven Linus from the St. Louis zoo just called with the test results from tissue samples extracted from one of the victims.” *sipping from drink* Doctor Darcy: “They were negative for rabies, but the more interesting part was that he was able to identify the type of animal involved in these attacks...a large primate. In ways it may correspond with the attacks now that it is known to be premeditated and victim specific, being a highly intelligent animal and all. Perhaps it escaped from an abusive owner and has a grudge against humans; targeting smaller individuals of similar size.” *sipping from drink* Doctor Darcy: “But in other ways it doesn’t make sense. I’m no expert, but I do believe that most large primates have fangs. This conflicts with the bite marks found on the three victims. It also does not explain why all the victims are found naked. So we are no better off than where we were last night. This is disappointing to say the least, after waiting all night for these results...I should have retired last year.” *sipping from drink then refilling glass* Doctor Darcy: “There are rumors circulating around saying that the FBI refuses to be involved since these are animal attacks and not technically murders. It seems that the whole city will be shutting down...even some of the schools are closing their doors for a few days while this hunt goes on. Can’t be too careful I suppose.” *stirring ice in glass* Doctor Darcy: “Also, there has been no luck in identifying the first two victims...but the latest victim, the female, has been identified as Alyssa Gaston. Apparently she was with the traveling troupe of circus performers in town. They too were forced to leave early after she was attacked and killed. I never much cared for the circus, especially the freak show attraction they have with all of those poor souls on display...geeks, invalids, wild tribesman and such.” *sipping from drink* Doctor Darcy: “Anyway, I hope this hunt goes well and they catch the beast so this can all end...*sigh*...I’m going home to get some sleep finally. This is Dr. Harold Darcy medical examiner for the city of St. Louis, Missouri...September 2nd 1971.” The Pallbearer It is a humid night. The kind of night where the stench of the city seeps from the still warm ground through the cool night air, wafting up to the highest penthouses. Beads of sweat roll from the armpit of a nervous middle aged hooker as she tries to make her pimp’s quota for the night. The gentle flicker of lighters can be seen heating spoons of heroin in the city parks. It is the kind of night where people get calls to meet at undisclosed locations. The kind of night when dirty secret work is done. Work that is carried out by people...like him. There is a call at two in the morning with instructions to meet in a seedy neighborhood with lots of broken street lights. The price is six grand per body. This is the agreement; the unwritten contract between him and the Vor of the Krukov family, kingpins of the Ukrainian mafia. An agreement to clean up after his Bratva. 65th street is coming up, as he makes a left turn spotting a black sedan parked on the side, the kind of car that has no place in a neighborhood like this. Park the van facing the sedan, flash the lights twice, and wait for a response, these are their codes. This sort of work is not enjoyable, lots of secrets, lots of lies, lots of death, but lots of money. The sedan flashes the lights and begins to drive off, he also puts it in drive and tails him to the destination. He takes the freeway, barley able to keep up with the speeding black sedan. It is possible to make out only two figures in the car; just a couple of henchmen. An exit; appears to be the industrial section of the city with large warehouses, crumbling silos, and a train yard. Passing through the gates it’s not hard to notice the chain and lock were cut off with a pair of loppers. The sedan pulls up to a cargo container, another fellow leaning against is. The two step out of the sedan. Monstrous figures in black leather jackets, built like gorillas and just as intelligent probably. Giving hand signals to guide the back end of his white van to the container’s steel doors. With a loud creak, the doors break open. He watches from the side mirrors as the two goons walk inside and begin loading the bodies in the back. They are completely black shadows with burning red cigarettes protruding from their faces. The third man is still leaning against the side of the container. *THUD!* Slim, calm, and as cool as spring water. He doesn’t move, just sweeps his vision left to right with his hand on his holster. *THUD!* This man was definitely part of the family, not high ranking, but a youngster working his way up. *THUD!* Proving himself to the 78 year old Vor of the Krukov. *THUD!* Each body thrown in the back depresses the springs. The van rocks gently with each corpse. *THUD!* Bodies are usually placed in duffle bags, tonight they are wrapped in black plastic and ductape. *THUD!* The big ape pounds on the side of the van signaling a full load. The statuesque watcher reaches into his jacket, pulling out a brown paper bag. The gangster walks toward the back of the van throwing it atop the corpses. No contact is to be made whatsoever as part of the arrangement. The driver reaches back for the bag, counting the take for tonight. 36 grand for the job, and the three mobsters have already disappeared. There is a place just outside of the city where a deep grave is hungry and waiting. 6 bodies tonight, business always picks up when the weather is hot. It makes loan sharks impatient and trigger fingers are quicker. You can’t judge these souls, these thugs, degenerates. Whatever debt they owed, they have paid in full. The freeway is the easiest way to get there. All alone in four lanes of running asphalt. A ferryman delivering passengers along the black river Styx. A flashing red and blue boy scout making his last stop for the night. Pulling over, the cop runs the tags, calls dispatch and bides his time. He lights a menthol cigarette to depress the sweet odor of rot from the back. The cop walks along the side of the van noticing the fake “Leeman Bros. Mortuary” printed on the side. Tapping on the glass he requests license and registration. All of the paper work is there and legitimate. “What is in the back of the van, sir?” “Used up cadavers from the medical university. I pick them up.” “Kind of late for a pick up isn’t it?” “Ever smelt three week old cadavers in hot day traffic, officer?” He sneers at his face. But they both know he is not going to do anything. They both know there is a shift change in 20 minutes and he is not about to be late getting home to his two kids and fat wife. Confused and impatient the officer gives. “Have a nice night, sir.” “Yeah.” The cop drives off to his station, and the last bit of ash falls off the cigarette. This is why the Bratva can’t do this job. The police have all their ugly mugs posted on some endless corkboard, making connections, planning, raiding, “cat and mouse” shit. There is a place about five more miles ahead; an abandoned quarry. Last year two stupid kids tried to go swimming in the water sump there and wound up drowning. It was a big deal in the news and the mayor promised to clean it up so things like this wouldn’t happen again. This all too cleverly draw attention away from his city worker’s union scandal. Now, a crew of a few knuckle-draggers and a foreman has to reclaim the site, to make way for a fancy new 18 hole golf course designed to boost tourism. And he has a special deal with the foreman. The foreman is already waiting for him. The skeleton crew on graveyard shift is working to fill this hole in the ground to the brim with dirt. Skeleton crew...graveyard shift... he can’t help but to find these terms both ironic and appropriate. He gives half of the money to the foreman, and is directed into the site. The van stops near the edge of the pit, and he begins throwing one body after another down the 150 foot tall slope. The bodies tumble against the generator lights, until they disappear at the bottom darkness. They roll down stiff as logs, since rigor mortis has had time to set in. Not long after, the dozer comes from behind dumping tons of earth on top. A soon to be country club mass grave. And 18 grand is not a bad take for an easy job like this. Its 4 ’o’clock, and the night air is stale and humid. Daylight begins to break the black night. It is time to return to the apartment to shower then clock in for the janitorial day job at the school. The city begins to stir with the sound of newspaper bundles dropping off trucks, street sweepers making their last rounds, and the sound of the snoring homeless. He walks up the steps into the building, speaking under his breath. “Good morning.” mumbles the pallbearer. Mr. Powell The sound of Neil Diamond is blaring through the car speakers. After listening to "Sweet Caroline" in an SUV, Mr. Powell will have a hard time not being reminded of this accident, if he survives. This, being a failed suicide. This, hesitating at the moment of truth. This, being a coward. Mr. Powell teaches high school biology. Not a large school, but formidable. The kind of school that would rather throw more funds into football pads than microscopes. But that didn't bother him. Mr. Powell loved to teach, absolutely loved it. Being single allows a person to devote most, if not all, of their time to their passions. And everything was great until last week. Last week, the class assignment was pig dissection. These were piglets that originally came from the local corporate farm; died of natural causes supposedly. But who honestly ever cared about a piglet. The piglets come in 5 gallon plastic buckets filled to the brim with a formaldehyde brine. It is like whiffing carpet cleaner when the top is removed. Then all you see is wrinkled floating pigs. About 4 fit in a bucket. Mr. Powell assigns 2 students per piglet. The routine is simple; identify lungs, heart, stomach, stomach contents, and everything else. And it just would have been a normal day of dissection if there wasn't something horribly wrong in one of the buckets. A scream in the back of the classroom said it all. Not a normal surprised scream, but rather a brain melting. What was all of the commotion? Inside, snuggled with all of the other little runts too weak to suckle, was a human fetus. How it got into the bucket, no one ever bothered to find out about it. It is an obvious goof at the distribution center where the high school and the medical research lab get their supplies. Being a God fearing Midwest state, not much mercy was handed out from the parents. Once news of a fetus spilling onto the floor of Mr. Powell’s biology class room got out, that is pretty much it for him. Pack it up, and put your belongings in a box was his orders before being escorted off property. The school decided to combine biology into some other curriculum and auction off all of the lab equipment to help pay for a new mascot costume. This leaves poor single Mr. Powell without a job and without a chance. Public pressure even had his teaching license revoked. And even though it wasn't his fault, Mr. Powell is the teacher who tried to dissect a baby in the classroom, at least that's what the parents say. So what is a fired teacher to do? How about burning the football field? Caustic potash is fairly easy to obtain from any industrial chemical company. All one would need to do is to dissolve it in an alcohol solution, then boil it off to make potassium oxide. Potassium oxide reacts so exothermically with water, that it burns the hydrogen that is released from the reaction in a bright pink fire. With enough time and patience, one could collect enough of the pale yellow powder to spread over the grass. Then simply wait for the sprinklers and "FWOOSH!"; hotter than a Russian forest fire. And it would have been great too, if only there wasn't band practice going on after applying all that powder. And on a humid day after school, the entire ensemble wound up being burned to crispy pieces of unpopular teenage fodder. The saliva leaking out of the brass section's spit valves was enough to set it off. And if it wasn't for stop drop and roll training, the kids would have only melted their sketchers. But as soon as they hit the ground to put themselves out, all covered in sweat, they didn’t stand a chance. Screaming kids burning like road flares from head to toe running out of formation. It was a sad sight indeed; a tragic outcome from a petty revenge plot. So, there was really nothing left to do except run. Drive and drive and drive. Get out of the state, country, hell even the planet didn't feel safe. But after 3 hours on the road, crying his eyes out with regret, Mr. Powell came to terms with what he did and swerved in front of an oncoming semi with an oversized load. The headlights are blinding and the horn is deafening. And as poor single Mr. Powell sucked in his last breath, he suddenly realized he wasn't ready for this. A hard right allows him to miss, but he clips the side putting him in a spin. Those top heavy SUVs stand no chance in a side skid at 70 mph. Over he went with Neil Diamond. Mr. Powell, the teacher who turned misfortune into tragedy, revenge to manslaughter, suicide to accident. There he sits, upside down after scraping car paint over 500 feet of highway asphalt. The windshield glass has lacerated his chest badly, and Mr. Powell sits there hoping he will lose enough blood not to be saved. Lose enough blood to not have to suffer the coming trial. He fumbles his broken fingers around the radio knob, trying to find another oldies station to listen to. Because who wants their last song to be by Neil Diamond anyway? 759-587-8343 Samuel begins his shift just the same as always. He has developed a routine after just the first two months which has carried him through some long hours. He puts his meal in the mini fridge behind his desk, making sure that his soda can is not placed too close to the cooler...unless he wants frothy cola ice everywhere again. The room is a cool seventy degrees as always. Being a painted concrete basement, it almost never deviates from this temperature. Samuel takes out a can of dust cleaner and quickly wipes away the dirt around the cubicle, paying special attention to the desk phone that sits by itself. To his relief the calls haven’t started just yet, which gives him a few extra minutes to open up his Sudoku book and continue the puzzle he was working on during the bus ride. As he searches for nines the only sound in the large basement is the gentle hum of forced air circulation. A fluorescent light in the corner clicks and flickers incessantly, but it is hardly noticeable. Samuel finishes his second box on the puzzle and reaches for a small bag of chips he was saving from lunch earlier that day. Straining at the bag to open, Samuel is startled by a sudden loud ringing. *RING RING RING* Samuel’s chips explode out of the bag and onto the empty desk. He lets out a disappointing sigh as he watches the crispy potato wafers bounce and crumble everywhere in a big mess. *RING RING RING* He rolls his eyes and picks up the phone’s receiver. “What.” On the other end of the line, the sound of wind and traffic can be heard in the background. “I don’t know, man. I just can’t live like this anymore. I mean, she’s gone...you know. I don’t know how to live without her. I’m just going to jump and get it over with. What else is there, man?” Samuel puts his hand atop his head and leans back in his old desk chair. The crying man on the other end sounds very distraught and vulnerable. “Sir, how high up are you?” “Huh? *sniff* I don’t know...five stories.” “You are probably going to need to climb another five stories just to be sure.” *CLICK* Samuel sternly hangs up and begins collecting his chips off the desk. Luckily he has a napkin in his lunch bag. He unfolds it over the desk like a towel and places the chips on top. Getting back to his Sudoku puzzle, he struggles to hunt for twos and threes. He has been working on the same Sudoku book for about a month and a half now. Its tattered cover indicates its treatment by Samuel, stuffed loose in his bag day after day. *RING RING RING* Samuel quickly pencils in a three he has just found and reaches for the phone. “What.” “I don’t know what to do with myself any more. No one wants me around. My parents hate me, my wife and kids hate me. I just got a gun this morning and been sitting in my car with it. I should just do it here. Just be done with all of this...” Samuel, still intently focused on his Sudoku, only listens to about half of what the gentleman is saying on the other end as he drones on and on. He then interrupts the man mid-sentence. “Alright sir, what you want to do is place the tip of the barrel behind your ear before you pull the trigger.” As Samuel is about to slam the phone down, something terrible dawns on him. Thankfully he has not hung up yet and he hurriedly retracts the receiver back to his ear. “Hold on a second, sir! Are you still there?” The man on the other line pauses for a brief second before he confusingly answers. “Uh...yes?” “Make sure that you place your head down on the passenger seat so that the bullet passes towards the ground and not out the window. You don’t want to kill somebody who is walking around on the street.” *CLICK* Samuel sighs in relief, feeling glad that he was able to convey that pertinent piece of information. He takes a chip with his fingers and eats it. Reaching behind him, he pulls out his log book from his bag. Opening up to the current date, he then pencils in his first two calls of the night. It is a very simple spreadsheet. Date, time, caller ID number, caller’s condition, method, and other comments are all recorded in the log book. Its pages are filled, line by line, of phone calls from the past months. *RING RING RING* Samuel finishes his entries, scribbling them down as quickly as he can. *RING RING RING* “What.” There is no answer, just incessant sobbing. Samuel is able to determine that it is a woman on the other line just by her high pitched wailing. “You there?” The crying just continues. Samuel is obligated not to hang up, as stated clearly by the rules. After a while he hears words, very faint words. “Pills. I...am going to keep...swallowing pills...*sniff*...so it doesn’t hurt anymore...” Another call is coming in. The flashing red light is signaling Samuel to wrap up the current call. “Ok ma’am, if you can still move, try to make your way to the bathtub, fill it up with water and pass out in it.” He presses the button to take him to the next caller. “What.” “I can’t stop cutting myself, man. I just want to bleed out into blackness.” “Cut down the wrist, not across.” *CLICK* Samuel tilts back in his chair before writing down the entries in the log book. He rubs his eye underneath his glasses, trying to relieve its dryness. A yawn and a scratch later he his back to his puzzle book yet again hunting for numbers on the grid. Calls come in sparingly throughout the shift and the log book slowly fills up with more entries. The hours drag by, especially towards the end. Thirty minutes before Samuel’s replacement is supposed to come in, the door down at the end of the hallway opens and slams shut. Samuel is able to hear this outside the office and thinks it odd that his replacement would show up so early this morning. The footsteps come closer and closer as well as the sound of a squeaking wheel as it is drug across the linoleum. “Morning, Sam.” It is Cal, the building janitor. He wheels in his squeaky mop bucket, getting ready to make his bi weekly pass through the basement offices. “Good morning. How is everything?” “Fine. Just fine. And yourself.” *RING RING RING* Samuel politely holds up his finger to Cal and reaches for the phone. Cal nods and begins mopping the floor. “What.” There is a heavy and laborious breathing on the other end. Then after a brief pause, a young man speaks. “Tell my girlfriend, Sherry, that I know what she did with my best friend. They can find my dead hanging body in room 231 at the highway motel off of the 48...” Samuel cuts in during the man’s speech. “Sir, what kind of rope are you using?” “Wha...uh...who is this? This is the hotline right?” Cal chuckles silently to himself as he douses his mop in the bucket. “It is but listen, if you are using a nylon rope, try and find something else like a leather belt or a chain because nylon will stretch too much.” *CLICK* “Long night?” “You know, there is just something about Thursdays...I don’t know.” “Yeah. How is the thesis coming along?” “Good. About another two months and I should have enough data to present to my committee.” “Finally, huh? Oh, I was wondering. Did you ever get the new results back from the police department. “I did, and they said that suicides within the city are down sixty percent from a year ago.” “That is incredible, Sam.” “Yeah, who would have thought that a little reverse psychology was what these people needed.” “Well I think that they are just so blindsided by what you say, it gets them thinking about what they are doing actually.” “I agree. All in all I just want to hurry up and finish my PhD and then I wouldn’t need to manage this phony suicide hotline anymore. But first I need to get out of here so I can sleep. One of my undergrad assistants should be coming any...” A knock on the door, and the replacement walks in. “Ah, good morning Allison, and good timing.” Samuel grabs his things quickly and bolts for the door before another call comes through. Allison begins to settle in, pulling a text book from her backpack to begin cramming for her midterms. Cal rings out his mop water into the bucket as Samuel passes him. “See you later, Cal.” “Bye, Sam.” *RING RING RING* Allison rolls her eyes and reaches for the phone on the desk. “What.”