The Quiet One

By Christopher Setterlund

The Quiet One is a mixture of science fiction and fantasy revolving around a weak, shy young man named Stanley McGee. Stanley has been pushed around and passed over for seemingly his entire life. That begins to change when his identical twin brother, Max, begins giving him advice from deep inside his own mind. How far will the advice carry him, and what are Max's true intentions for his brother?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Setterlund
• Release date: Nov 20, 2009
• ISBN: 9781102468370

Christopher Setterlund

My name is Christopher Setterlund and I was born and raised on Cape Cod. Being the oldest of five siblings, and coming from a large family mixed of many different nationalities, I enjoyed hearing the stories my elder relatives would tell. I was a born storyteller from the time I was eight years old and writing tales of adventures that my friends and I would take. As time went on my passion changed to film and producing, even going to college with the intention of becoming a film director. Still, throughout all of my time making my own home movies with my friends it was the stories that I enjoyed creating the most. Nothing is better for me than creating your own world or characters and bringing them to life.After losing interest in directing I spent much of my twenties writing poetry that described my world and emotions surrounding it, it was quite a growing experience to be able to open my heart but also do it in a concise and interesting way. Eventually I wanted to try my hand at taking the chains off of my mind and creating a full-length story complete with many interesting characters and a great plot. Second Coming was that story and since then I have never looked back.My biggest hope for all of you that choose to read my books is that you will be able to lose yourself in the world I create; sights, sounds, and emotions. Much the same as I did with my poetry I do not limit myself in one specific genre of writing; I want my words to reach as many people as possible and realize that different people like different types of stories. I believe that there is something for everyone in my collection, and if there is not keep checking back because I have many more books to come in the coming months and years. Thank you for taking a chance on my books, you will not be disappointed.

Book preview

The Quiet One

Christopher Setterlund

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 Christopher Setterlund

Discover Other Titles By Christopher Setterlund at Smashwords.com

Table Of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 - Present Day

Chapter 2 - Better Off Without You

Chapter 3 - Introducing Max

Chapter 4 - New Boss, Same As the Old Boss

Chapter 5 - No Other Alternative

Chapter 6 - Halloween Night

Chapter 7 - Keeping It Together

Chapter 8 - The Funeral

Chapter 9 - Fire in Her Eyes

Chapter 10 - Another Long Night

Chapter 11 - The Day After

Chapter 12 - Return to Work and A New Enemy

Chapter 13 - The Trouble Caused by Willie

Chapter 14 - The End of Harris Investing

Chapter 15 - A Change of Plans

Chapter 16 - Never Satisfied

Chapter 17 - The Breaking Point

Chapter 18 - Just For the Thrill

Chapter 19 - Battle in the Happy Place

Prologue

We all have little voices inside of our heads. These voices offer up their thoughts and views and help us to decide what is right and wrong in life. These voices give us confidence that we can achieve great things, and warn us when we are treading down a dangerous path. Sometimes we listen, and sometimes we ignore them, but they are always there. Some voices, if unappreciated enough, give up and fade with time. Still, others are more determined and will not stop until they are heard. One way or another they will be heard.

Stanley McGee’s voice was one such voice, but it did not always appear so. As a young child at home there was no little voice inside Stanley’s head yet. There was no need for it to speak as life was fresh and new; both the voice and Stanley shared the same rosy outlook on the future. It was not until the fifth grade at Nicholas Simpkins Elementary School that the two voices began to separate.

It was in fifth grade where the first Standardized Testing came into play. Before that moment, Stanley’s young mind had always believed that whatever he wished to be was possible. Only after his fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Hopkins, explained that the test results could help to push students toward the proper occupation did a sense of uncertainty creep into Stanley’s life.

Mrs. Hopkins had said the tests ‘could’ push the students toward a specific occupation, not that it would. What Stanley took it to mean was that he had better do a perfect job on the test or risk being placed into a field that he did not like. The little voice inside his head told him to relax, that no test in fifth grade could have that much bearing on his future, but Stanley tuned it out to focus on the mix of ‘multiple choice’ and ‘true/false’ questions. That pattern of ignoring the obvious wisdom the little voice was sharing would become prevalent through Stanley’s adolescent years.

It was in the wake of the first Standardized Test that Stanley’s life, and the voice’s hopes for Stanley’s life, began to separate. The differing paths came back to one problem: Paranoia. It was Stanley’s overwhelming paranoia, seeing all that could go wrong and fearing that it would inevitably happen, that kept him from achieving his full potential during high school and college.

The voice tried to pull Stanley back toward reality using the full range of his wisdom. He tried to gently nudge Stanley forward when, in 8th grade, he was approached by his childhood crush, a beautiful, popular field hockey player named Christy Nardone. She tried as best she could to show Stanley she was genuinely interested in him, but his paranoia would not let him see that. He believed that she was either using him to make someone else jealous, or being kind to him as some sort of cruel joke. Despite the voice telling him that her interest was no joke, Stanley rebuffed her advances, insulting her and blowing her off. He said at the time he was just hurting her before she could hurt him.

When it came time to choose a college to attend, Stanley had several to choose from, for despite his paranoia, Stanley was able to roll through high school with honors. Stanley’s first choice was the University of Oregon. In the end the paranoia took over again; Stanley figured there was no way that he could afford the tuition. The voice said there was financial aide available. Stanley figured the classes would be too crowded and he would not get into those which he desired. The voice said that he would simply have to get there early.

For every excuse that Stanley gave, the voice had a logical solution. Despite this fact however, Stanley chose a nearby community college, close to his home town of Oradale, Oregon. The voice begged, pleaded, and shouted, but it was ignored. Stanley McGee simply did not want to risk failure, so he took an easier route, with lower expectations.

During his time at the community college, Stanley made next to no impact. On a daily basis he went out of his way not to be special. He drove to the campus each day, choosing not to find housing closer by. In class he rarely raised his hand for the fear of being seen as stupid, in turn his grades suffered. It was not like high school where he could coast by and make the honor roll. He barely survived his Freshman year and his paranoia and fear of failure were at an all-time high.

During the second semester of his Sophomore year he abruptly dropped out of the college and returned to his parents home in Oradale in rural Western Oregon a defeated and deflated twenty year old. Just two years removed from high school Stanley felt like he had failed at life. He was battered and bruised with no signs of a recovery. The voice, in disgust, went into hiding, ashamed by choices Stanley had made. Though it did not actively participate in shaping Stanley’s future for years to come, the voice was always there watching and waiting. Waiting for the right moment to step back into the light and take a second shot at turning Stanley’s life around.

After more than a year of moping around the house, Stanley’s father, Leonard McGee, grew tired of his son’s attitude and gently pushed him into a course in investing. Having done it himself for thirty years, Leonard thought maybe it would be the right path for his son. Stanley did enjoy the course, and thanks to his father was able to land a job on the bottom rung at an investing firm run by a man named CJ Nellis. It was a small, laid back company which suited Stanley to a T. He never would have left the place if not for a state investigation into Mr. Nellis’ laundering investors money. The firm was closed down after Stanley had been there more than two years; he went back to square one.

With his father’s help Stanley got an interview at Harris Investing, one of the largest firms in the state of Oregon. Stanley came off as genuine and intelligent during his interview and got the job. The pay was decent enough that he was able to get a newer car and a small apartment. The apartment, sitting above an antique shop, was a bit of luck considering that Stanley’s parents were friends with the widowed Mrs. Anderson who owned it. Once he was settled in, Stanley’s parents sold their home in Oradale and moved up to a small town on the Washington border just north of Portland.

Over the next three years Stanley managed to somehow keep his job and even find a girlfriend who moved in with him above the antique shop. At age twenty seven things seemed to be looking up for Stanley but there was one problem, and it was the same old problem. Stanley’s drive to succeed was hindered by his own fear and paranoia. He had ample opportunities to climb the corporate ladder, as employees seemed to come and go like the wind at Harris, but when the time came to man up and buckle down Stanley found that the pressure was too much. He feared the extra responsibility which would come with any promotion; greater expectations meant there was a greater chance he could fail. He would rather stay the course and revel in the menial tasks that his boss, Mr. Harris, doled out rather than take a chance on a better life.

Being a shy, nerdy, introverted, pushover of a young man Stanley did not see anything wrong with the many coworkers who received bonuses and promotions instead of him. He just saw it as the ‘way of the world.’

The little voice inside his head kept quiet though, despite knowing that Stanley those bonuses and promotions just as much as any of those other people. The voice knew that there would be a breaking point, a final line in the sand, that when crossed would prompt the voice to speak up again. At that point in time it had not happened yet.

Stanley continued on his path, like a treadmill he had been walking for years. He did not care to hear how he could be so much more as the voice had often told him, and now his parents and girlfriend constantly reminded him. Stanley simply put on his blinders and tuned them out. Eventually those voices gave up on trying to persuade Stanley toward a better tomorrow, but there was one voice that was never going to give up. Very soon would come the time when Stanley’s little voice inside his head would be heard from again.

Chapter 1 - Present Day

It was a cool but pleasant late-October morning, much the norm for autumn in Central Oregon. It was to be just another average day in the slightly below average life of Stanley McGee. He woke at exactly 6:45am, as he always did, and ate his modest breakfast of oatmeal and coffee. Everything about his daily routine was an exact science, down to the precise minute. He would leave the apartment above the antique shop no later than 7:40am which gave him ample time to make it to work. It was only a ten minute drive, but he did not like to speed and risk catching the eye of any authorities.

Stanley arrived in the parking lot of Harris Investing and hustled his way into the building. The lobby, brightly lit with a freshly waxed floor, which made it look like a car dealership showroom, was empty at that moment. Stanley passed through and headed up the stairs to the main office located on the third floor. The stairs gave off a ‘ping’ with each step. When the building had been built, stairs were not figured into the monetary equation and thus had to be made from the cheapest materials possible. They were metal and sturdy, but hollow. The walls in the lobby and in the stairwell were a bland shade of white and devoid of any paintings or photos which might slow down an employee’s ascent to the office.

Stanley arrived at the front door to the main office three minutes before 8:00am as he normally did. He peered in through the rectangular window on the left side of the door before entering, it was part of his paranoia that he believed he needed to be on his guard in case he was to be attacked upon entry. After pushing the door open as quietly as possible he marched robotically toward his bare-walled cubicle, as he always did. Sure, he said polite ‘good mornings’ to anyone that made eye-contact, not wanting to be seen as rude, but Stanley otherwise kept his brown eyes covered by his long, stringy, light brown hair and facing toward his desk. It took Stanley twenty-three steps to get from the front door of the office to his cubicle; he had often times counted them silently to himself knowing that with each step he was closer to being isolated from the other workers. Though not as overwhelming as some of the offices he had seen on television, the investment firm at Harris was every bit the Cube Farm as any of the larger insurance firms and call centers of the big cities. He lay his beat up, old black briefcase, which he had been given by his father, Leonard, on his first day at the CJ Nellis investment firm, on top of his spotless desk and sat down to begin his day.

Stanley was not a people person, it was fairly obvious whenever he tried to force himself into a conversation with one of his nearby cubicle-mates. He had always been shy and introverted since childhood, but it grew more excessive after his experience with the Standardized Testing in 5th grade. Stanley spent so much time by himself in his room, or in the backyard, that his mother and father at times had to ‘surprise’ him with play-dates. Kids he mentioned every now and then at the dinner table would suddenly be dropped off by their parents, usually much to Stanley’s chagrin. He would warm up eventually but it was often just in time for the other child’s parent to come and pick them up again.

Stanley had very few close friends even into his late twenties as he was. Many of the people he considered ‘friends’ were either the same folks he conversed through gritted teeth with at work, or worse, were simply people at a local bar that would mumble and gurgle in Stanley’s direction if he was sitting next to them. It seemed that he was destined to live a solitary, unspectacular, life by choice. It was for that reason that it came as such a tremendous shock when one evening about a year earlier, he telephoned his mother, Beth, and revealed with great glee that he had met a girl, Danielle. Sure, Beth was very happy for her only child, but even she had to ask him exactly how and where he met someone.

Stanley told his mother that he had bumped into her at the grocery store. They both had the same exact order at the deli and things kind of went from there. He called it a ‘serendipitous moment.’ Even though Stanley had felt a pleasant warmth running through his body upon meeting Danielle he did not make the first move, rather it was the tall, athletic, blue-eyed, brown haired beauty who approached him and commented that they ‘had all the same meat.’ They exchanged laughter and phone numbers before going their separate ways.

It was three days before Stanley had worked up the courage to call Danielle, but once they went out he was hooked. It took only two weeks, and four additional dates, before he dropped the ‘L’ word and asked her to move in with him. She happily accepted, but once she was on the inside and saw how mundane and downright boring Stanley’s home life was Danielle’s eyes began to wander. Deep down Stanley had a feeling she was unsatisfied, but as was the case with his life in general, he did not want to risk a confrontation if he was wrong about his feeling. He decided to turn a blind eye to her many nights where she did not come home, or the weekends that she had to work extra hard styling hair.

As per usual, Stanley systematically unpacked his black briefcase and laid out his paperwork neatly on his desk, trying so hard not to draw any unwanted attention that it ended up doing just that. Most of the people in the neighboring cubicles just half-smiled and shook their heads, but one person in particular, a handsome and confident workaholic named Tom Davis, seemed to go out of his way to try to push Stanley’s buttons.

A fraud in every sense of the word due to his unending brown-nosing of Mr. Harris, while treating every other employee like dirt under his shoe, Tom would often peak his head over the top of the five-foot high white fiberglass wall and just stare at Stanley with his dull blue eyes. This would continue until either Stanley said something, or until Mr. Harris came out of his office, at which time Tom would offer to do just about anything short of wiping his boss’s behind.

This day was no different. After hearing the latches open on his Stanley’s briefcase, Tom poked his head, topped with a dark blond crew cut, up like a gopher emerging from his hole, just high enough over the wall of the cubicle so that his eyes could be seen.

Hey Stan, he asked in a condescending tone, what did you do last night? Anything exciting? Stanley tried to remain focused on the paperwork he was neatly organizing but he knew that Tom would not stop until he received some sort of response. He turned his head only slightly, preferring not to make eye contact with Tom.

I had a good night, Stanley muttered, that’s all you need to know. Tom snickered and rolled his eyes. Stanley was his favorite target for ridicule, his harmless, unsuspecting nature made him a perfect target for someone like Tom who at times seemed as though he was still trapped in his high school jock days. Though he did treat just about every person in the office like they should consider themselves blessed to be in his presence, the difference was that the others did not stand for his attitude while Stanley rolled over and allowed it to continue.

Yeah, I’ll bet you did, Tom replied coldly, all the while still staring down at the top of Stanley’s head whose hair resembled a bird’s nest from above. Stanley, thanks to his passive nature, was able to basically tune out Tom’s antics and get to work on his daily load. Mr. Gary Harris bustled in through the main door to the office at a quarter past eight, the gardener of his Cube Farm, which sent Tom scurrying to appear to be busy. Stanley breathed a silent sigh of relief and kept on working. The boss was a fifty three year-old former triathlete who had started his firm fifteen years earlier with one of his brothers using the money he made from endorsements during his racing days. He was still in great shape, in fact it was only the silvery hair which gave away Gary Harris’ true age.

Behind Stanley’s cubicle he could hear Mr. Harris giving his cold and brief greetings to all of his employees, he was also not a people person, but it was more to the fact that he did not know how to treat anyone he did not see as an equal. Then he stopped at Tom’s cubicle.

Good morning Tom, he said with a smile, busy as usual I see.

Yes, sir, Tom gushed, taking care of business is my job. The tone of Tom’s voice was so sickeningly sweet that it amazed Stanley that the boss could not see through it. He figured maybe Mr. Harris enjoyed having his ass kissed; it probably reminded him of the days when he was winning triathlons and having companies fawning all over him for his services.

You know Tom, I was going to call you into my office later but I cannot wait and would like everyone to hear what I have to say. Mr. Harris’ voice raised a bit at the end of his statement and the office grew hushed. We are having a conference in Portland next week, sort of a meeting of the minds with some other investment firms, and I have chosen Tom to be there by my side representing us. There were very few applause or congratulations given Tom’s way since most of the other employees hated him, but Mr. Harris clapped by himself and then stared menacingly around the office with his hazel eyes until almost everyone else joined in. Stanley, once he had heard of Tom’s great opportunity, had gone back to his work and not paid attention to Mr. Harris’ order. He was quickly found out. Mr. McGee, Mr. Harris questioned, why are you not clapping along with us for Tom’s accomplishment? Stanley lifted his head from his paperwork.

I am sorry sir, he meekly replied, I was trying to get ahead on the Patterson files. Congratulations Tom. Feeling like Stanley was getting his feet put to the fire, Tom could not resist needling him further.

I am sorry that you don’t want to share in my accomplishment Stan, he said in a mockingly sad voice, maybe if you pushed harder and lived up to your potential it would have been you going to Portland and not me. Stanley barely batted an eyelash as he did not want to start a bigger problem, he nodded in agreement.

You’re right, I should try harder and be more courteous, I am just trying to get this work done. I did not mean any disrespect. Tom then turned to Mr. Harris who was still standing next to his cubicle now running his hands through his silvery hair and tugging at his collar as the suit he was wearing was getting hot under the buzzing florescent lights.

Well, if Mr. Harris doesn’t mind I could take the Patterson file off of you. You know, help you out? Mr. Harris, while pulling his teal tie away from his tanned and sweaty neck, smiled and nodded. Tom had succeeded in throwing Stanley under the bus so to speak.

That would be fine with me, he said proudly, Tom, once again you have shown me why I put so much trust in you. Stanley give him the paperwork, Tom will help you out. For a moment Stanley thought about resisting but he did not have the will to fight and eventually caved. He rationalized the situation by telling himself that Tom was the better man and deserved the extra credit despite the fact that he had been working hard on the Patterson file for two weeks. The work was nearly done, it was the stretch drive, all Tom was going to have to do was sew up the loose ends and he’d get all of the accolades. Stanley figured with the extra accolades would come extra responsibility and extra chances to fail which was exactly what he did not want.

Here you go, Tom, Stanley said while handing him the manilla folder containing the papers. Thanks for your help. Tom gave the folder a yank from Stanley’s weak grasp and slapped it down in front of himself. Rather than enjoying his victory over a much weaker opponent, Tom chose to drop some more dirt on his beaten foe.

Well, looks like I’d better get to work, he said with a smile and a look in Mr. Harris’ general direction. The boss gave Tom a loud pat on the back and continued on to his office all the while trying to remove his suit jacket and not drop his own briefcase. Once his office door closed Tom’s head popped up like a jack in the box. He smirked. You are pathetic, you didn’t even try to stop me from stealing your work. Fucking pathetic. He shook his head and cackled like a raven as he got to work finishing Stanley’s project.

Consistent with his personality Stanley simply chalked it up to the better man winning. He did not want to cause any problems and cast himself in a negative light. In his mind there was no use in worrying about Tom, good things would come to him in time if he just kept on plugging away at his own tasks. He had been a good, if not perfect, employee at Harris Investing for three years. In that time he had been passed over for more than a few promotions, not because he was not qualified, but because he was practically invisible. Although he was largely responsible for the success, albeit it minor, at CJ Nellis, Stanley’s introverted personality made it nearly impossible for him to be noticed. He was just as good at his job as anybody else there, including Tom, but since he went out of his way not to make waves that fact was barely noticed by the boss. Instead he relied on hoping that the accolades would come to him if he just kept on doing his job.

Stanley fished through his black briefcase, looking for other projects to get to work on since his days work had been pilfered by Tom, but he found the soft interior of the briefcase barren. The Patterson files had been his entire workload over the past week to ten days and he had just given it away without a fight. Now he was stuck at 8:30am at his empty desk with no work to be found. It almost was enough to make him angry, almost. For a few moments he stared blankly at the egg shell-colored fiberglass wall of his cubicle directly in front of him trying to come up with an alternative solution to his problem. It was easy to get caught up in a daydream while staring at the bland office walls. They, like the walls in the lobby and stairwell, were nearly barren. Only a calendar, lists of project deadlines, and a dry erase board adorned the walls of the main office. It was plain to anybody working there that Mr. Harris went out of his way to make sure that his office was a place of business and nothing more. Once Stanley’s vision began to glaze over, he knew that he had no other choice, he would have to enter Mr. Harris’ office and ask him for some sort of a new project.

Stanley began to feel queasy as he often did when he knew that a possible confrontation was coming. Mr. Harris would not be pleased that he was paying an employee to simply sit and stare at a wall. His hands began to sweat, he ran them through his stringy light brown hair while leaning against the wall of his cubicle adjacent to Tom’s. He pressed his ear to the wall and listened; he could hear Tom speaking rather softly on his cell phone.

Yeah, I know, Tom muttered into the phone receiver, the guy just gave it up to me. What a complete tool. He does 99% of the work and then hands it over to me and I’ll get all of the credit. Man, I love this damn job. Stanley pulled his head away from the wall, took a deep breath, and went back to staring straight ahead. He wanted so badly to stand up and say something to Tom, or better yet, reach over and take his Patterson files back, but he knew that Tom was so heavily rooted in with Mr. Harris that there was no way he could win. All of the ass kissing Tom had done had paid off. Stanley figured he couldn’t win, so why bother trying. To build up some confidence he began going over what he would say to Mr. Harris upon entering his office, like he was rehearsing a speech. When the words were basically memorized, and his queasiness and sweaty palms subsided, Stanley rose from his chair.

Tom stopped talking on his cell phone and, although Stanley did not look over, he could feel Tom’s eyes on him. He took a long, cleansing breath and began to walk the central aisle separating the middle rows of the Cube Farm. There were six total rows of cubes, single ones against either wall and four, two paired in each row, in between. A few of his fellow coworkers looked up at him as he passed by with a mix of pity and surprise as it became obvious that Stanley was going toward Mr. Harris’ office. Many times employees had been cursed at for even considering bothering Mr. Harris. He only had contact with his subordinates when he was dishing out the latest rounds of paperwork.

Once he was done with giving his orders he did not want to be bothered until the jobs were done. As Stanley walked, he did not acknowledge the surprised and pitiful looks for fear that their stares might cost him his nerve. His eyes remained locked on the frosted glass door behind which Mr. Harris resided.

Once in front of the frosted glass door which sported Mr. Harris’ name in large, shimmering gold letters, Stanley ran his right hand through his nest of light brown hair. His palm was just sweaty enough that it acted as a sort of gel, slicking back the stringy hair and making him look almost confident. He hesitated as long as was possible as he tried to build up his confidence. The time he wasted did just the opposite, he began to feel a knot in his stomach. The fear began to run through his body and his knock at the heavy oak door was weak and feeble barely emitting any sound at all. To be expected there was no reply since there was no real sound. Stanley thought that maybe Mr. Harris had in fact heard him but chose not to answer, he also thought about turning around and going back to his cubicle, pretending he had not even tried. However, he was certain that Tom, and many others, were watching him at that very moment and he could not bare any more ridicule on that day. Stanley summoned up what little courage filled his scrawny body and knocked again, this time with more force, almost too much force.

Come in, Mr. Harris said with a shout. Stanley opened the heavy oak door and spotted Mr. Harris on the far side of the office behind his desk. Yes, McGee, he impatiently continued, what do you want? Stanley had barely even closed the door to the office but Mr. Harris had him feeling like he had already overstayed his welcome. He stood as far away from the menacing looking boss, as if he hoped that Mr. Harris could read his mind. McGee, you obviously came in here for a reason, now what is it? The boss glared out from behind his desk, his hazel eyes shimmering in the light of his bronze and marble piano desk lamp, seemingly growing more annoyed at his charge by the moment. Stanley was nearly frozen with fear and intimidation, he began to sweat and quiver. Somehow he managed to open his mouth and spit out bits and pieces of the speech he had rehearsed at his cubicle.

Um, Mr. Harris, sir, he said with a trembling voice, uh, I realized when I surrendered the Patterson files to Tom that it left me without any major project to work on. After speaking Stanley went about trying to hold his shaking hands still as he waited for a response from his boss. There was no show of emotion from Mr. Harris, only a cold, glassy stare. It was made more terrifying by the fact that his piano desk lamp cast shadows on his face; it caused what few wrinkles Mr. Harris had to stand out as deep, black grooves. Stanley waited a respectable time before he continued on. So, I was wondering, he said with his voice cracking as the fear of reprisal from his boss weighed on him, if it would be possible for you to give me another project to get started on, I will work extra hard to get it done quickly. Stanley though that last line might win his boss over as he had spoken it with sincerity, but sadly it had the opposite affect. Mr. Harris ran a slender, bony hand over the shadowy wrinkles on his face. He stared at the wall to his right, at the pair of awards hanging there which he had received for completing two triathlons, and let out a loud, dissatisfied sigh.

So, you don’t have any work to do? He grumbled while he continued looking at his past awards.

No sir, Tom took my work. Mr. Harris turned his eyes back to his young, meek employee and frowned.

The way I saw it, you were complaining about how hard the Patterson files were and Tom graciously agreed to help you out. Was that not what happened? Now, Stanley knew that was not correct, but he had to be careful with how he responded. Tom was the golden child as far as Mr. Harris was concerned, Stanley knew that and did not want to try to defend himself by showing up Tom. He swallowed hard and relented; he did not want to let a conflict escalate.

No sir, you are right, he whimpered. But I am ready to start a new project, whatever you have is fine with me. To his credit, Mr. Harris knew that Tom had basically stolen the Patterson files from Stanley, but it was the fact that Stanley had no backbone that really angered him. Tom’s drive and determination to succeed at any cost was what he truly liked about him, not his ass kissing which he found pretentious. Instead of yelling, or cursing at him though, Mr. Harris took a different path. He played into Stanley’s introverted personality and treated him like some sort of mentally challenged child as he sometimes did.

I’ll tell you what Stan, he said in an overly condescending tone as he folded his bony hands in front of his face, maybe things have been a bit rough around here today. I don’t know of any projects off hand for you, so why don’t you go home, take the day off, and come in tomorrow and I will try to have something for you to do. He stopped short of patting Stanley on his head, but any man with a shred of dignity and pride would have been outraged at the way Mr. Harris spoke. Stanley? He took it as a good sign.

Okay sir, he said with a relieved smile. I will be here bright and early tomorrow.

I am sure you will, Mr. Harris concluded. He made a wave of his hand in Stanley’s direction to signify the conversation was over. Stanley took the hint and excused himself. He cracked open the heavy oak door and headed back down the center aisle of cubes toward his own. He did not acknowledge Tom’s nosey stare as he packed up his black briefcase. It was hard not to see his head, like a prairie dog, popping up and down over the fiberglass wall, but Stanley did his best to focus on what he was doing. He also had to work hard to ignore Tom’s line of questioning as he began the twenty-three steps to get from his cubicle to the office door. He talked to Stanley like he was asking a dog to go for a walk, following on the opposite side of the row of cubes until he had run out of room. Stanley hit the office door and kept his mind focused on going home and waiting for Danielle.

Once he had exited the office and started down the stairs Tom waited a moment until Stanley was out sight and then walked slowly and deliberately toward Mr. Harris’ office. He knocked once and let himself in.

Stanley’s car reflected his very meek, introverted life. He drove a lime green, 1994 Geo Tracker, it had recently passed 200,000 miles but Stanley had no intentions of trading it in. He felt that since the car had been good to him for so long he would be good to the car, even though it was breaking down and needing repairs at the rate of once a month. That was becoming more of a problem as the car had been discontinued several years earlier, making parts harder to come by.

He walked the entire length of the parking lot asphalt to reach his small SUV. In the past he had parked almost exclusively in the first row of spaces closest to the front doors. Things changed when Tom began intentionally parking his black 2003 Mustang right next to his Tracker. The contrast between vehicles made Stanley feel inadequate, but rather than say anything to Tom he simply began parking as far away from the Mustang as possible. That included parking next door at Finnigan’s Furniture Outlet until the owner, Mr. Finnigan, had his car towed.

Stanley lay his briefcase on the snub-nosed hood of the mini-SUV while he fished his keys out of his off-white khaki pants. The door was very light and had to be opened gently, especially at the SUV’s advance age. It gave off a sad creaking sound when it was opened and closed; the engine sputtered and stalled when Stanley turned the key. He sat in silence for a few minutes figuring that, as often was the case, the Tracker would start on the second try. Again he turned the key in the ignition, again it sputtered and stalled. This process was repeated several more times, each time the sputtering was shorter as the engine simply had nothing left to give. Finally Stanley realized that he was going nowhere and gave up.

He stepped out of the Tracker and slammed the lightweight door shut in frustration. He stood silently in the shadows of Finnigan’s Furniture Outlet with his hands on his hips. What was he going to do? Then he remembered that he was a AAA member, it seemed that he would catch a lucky break. Stanley yanked his black leather wallet from his back pocket and fumbled for his AAA card. In amongst a sea of receipts and movie ticket stubs he found the white card with the red ‘AAA’ logo on it. It had expired two months earlier. Stanley wanted to tear the card in half but it was laminated so he sheepishly slid it back into one of the pockets of his leather wallet. He remembered that the reason why it was expired despite the fact that he had been a member of AAA for ten years was that he had never needed them and thought it was a waste of money. If the Tracker had ever been in need of repairs, he had always had the luxury of driving it to the mechanic; it had never needed to be towed. Stanley thought he had been lucky and could risk not renewing his membership. His luck had run out.

Stanley did not get angry about his situation though besides slamming his door which he thought might have been a little harsh. He knew his anger would not solve anything; that was what barbaric people like Tom would do. He began the long trek back across the parking lot and into the lobby of Harris Investing. There was nobody stationed at the receptionist’s desk at the front of the lobby and Stanley thought momentarily about using the phone on the desk to call a cab. However, he thought that it was not a proper use of the company telephone line