The Eves Drop
Eavesdropper: Create a poem, short story, or journal entry about a conversation you’ve overheard.
There I was, minding my routine, like I did everyday since I got my new job. Arrive, meeting, spreadsheets, water cooler, gossip, spreadsheets, lunch, gossip, spreadsheets leave. 5 days a week, 8 hours a day. Repeat until death. This has been perhaps the toughest pill to swallow, and it’s lodged in my throat. I’m halfway from swallowing it, halfway coughing it back up.
For some reason, I decided to walk the long way around the bank after lunch. Perhaps trying to prolong the inevitable of resuming my role as junior bank teller. As I strolled along the outside of the white marbled fortress, pillars separating every window, one window was slightly opened. Open enough for me to hear some voices. Mr. Jameson? The one guy that managed to instill complete and utter hatred in me after only 4 weeks on the job? Yea, I’d recognize that nasally voice anywhere.
I crept slowly and kept my head out of view, the bottom of the window eye level with me. Around me was a quiet back alley that nobody would be walking through. “3AM and all the security will be down.” Jameson said into the phone. “I’ll pick up the eraser algorithm later on today so the system won’t track activations.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, is my boss about to steal from his own bank?
“Yes…..yes. Everything is in order.” He continued. “He won’t be a problem, I assure you.” That was perplexing, who could he possibly be talking about? It didn’t matter, I’d heard to much and had to get away before I was found out. Quick as a cat and half as quiet I snuck back to the safety of my role as bank teller. The rest of the day was fairly normal, minus the crippling anxiety of knowing what would happen at 3AM. “Miller, come into my office.” The words came from out of nowhere and sank my heart down to my stomach.
Jameson closed his office door behind me, the window still slightly opened from where I was eves dropping earlier. “Take a seat Miller.” Said Jameson as he strolled over and poured 2 glasses of whisky. He placed one at the end of his massive table for me, and kept the other for himself as he sank into his leather chair. “So, how much did you hear?” He asked bluntly. “I’m sorry sir, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” I replied instinctively. How screwed was I? “Don’t bullshit me. I know you heard something from under that window.” Jameson’s voice cold and straightforward as he sipped his whisky.
There was no way out of this one, I had to fess up, maybe he’d have mercy on me. “I….I just heard something about 3AM, and an algorithm, but that’s it!” I pleaded, hoping my innocent nature would be my saving grace. Jameson took another sip and looked up at the sealing, then sighed, and pulled out a gun with a silencer attached to the barrel. “Dammit, Miller. You were doing so well.” My soon-to-be murderer said. “You put up with my crap, got your work done. Another week and you would have been promoted. I am sorry.”
As he stood up from his chair, he held the whisky glass by his stomach as he pointed the gun at my head. My eyes as big as quarters just stared down the barrel. I forgot how to breath I was so scared. A swift and quiet gunshot sound came about. It was exactly how I thought it would sound, but not exactly how I thought it would feel. The silenced gun shot was followed by a spill of whisky and breaking glass. Jameson’s gun lowered as he looked down at the red spot that started spreading on his chest. He looked back up at me and the gun smoke caressing my cheeks.
The only person more surprised than Jameson was me. I looked down and saw a small silenced pistol by my thigh, right hand holding still as ice on the trigger. As my jerk boss took his last breath, he exhaled disbelief and fell back into his chair and I stood from mine. I held the gun up and stared at it. When did I ever own a gun? When did I learn how to use it? I thought to myself. “What the hell is going on!?” I shouted. Jameson’s phone rang.
Curiosity compelled me to pick up the phone. As I did, a low voice emerged, “So, Miller, you’re finally awake.” Confused, all I could respond with was, “Who is this?” A raspy low chuckle responded, “That, young spawn, is not of your concern. What is of your concern is how you’ll get out of the bank. Perhaps the window you’re so fond of?” My head was full of questions, shoulders heavy with the weight of having just killed my boss, the window seemed like a good idea. “I need answers, whoever you are!” I pleaded. “It’ll only be a matter of time before they find his body. Please tell me what is going on.” The low voice left me with this, “Enjoy the rest of the day off, and I’ll meet you back here at 3AM.” Dial tone.
As I put the phone down I looked up and Jameson’s body was slowly disintegrating into the air. This was so damn weird, I hoped out of the window to rid myself of the strangest experience of my life. The next step was to figure out what the hell I was going to do until 3AM.
TBC
