Page 1 of Captured By Fate
1
KELLEY
“What the hell is that?”
I lean forward to get a better look at the gelatinous substance on the wall of the interview room. It looks an awful lot like bodily fluid.
My lips curl into a snarling frown at the thought of what I think it is.
“Ew.”
Utterly disgusted, I straighten and go back to pacing. The gray carpet muffles the sound of my footsteps as I anxiously await for the interviewer to arrive. I need this job. Not only do I need it, I really want it.
The space they stuck me in is intimidating, claustrophobic even. It’s small, there are no windows, and it’s sparsely furnished with a cheap table that looks like it came from Ikea.
It looks more like a government interrogation room than an office room.
Whoever the fuck is conducting this is also half an hour late. Why schedule interviews at certain times if no one is going to show up? Maybe it’s a tactic meant to make me think they’re considering another candidate.
If that’s the case, it’s working.
Avoiding whatever is on the wall, I open the door and peek out into the hallway to see if anyone is coming. There’s not a soul in sight. The corridor looks like a scene out of The Shining. Quietly, I close the door and take a seat at the table.
I run a hand through my hair in frustration, not caring now that I might mess up my pixie cut that I styled so strategically this morning. I spent over an hour getting ready for this moment.
The black dress pants and hunter green, silk shirt I picked out last night I ironed so that not a wrinkle remained. I spent over twenty minutes on my makeup. Not too much, not too little. I wanted to look professional. I wanted to ensure I got this job.
I didn’t want to be a nameless woman in the crowd of people applying for this office position. I wanted to be noticed and recognized for my achievements.
I even went to the library and printed out a crisp copy of my resume just in case the interviewer needed one. That crisp copy is now sitting unattended on the table.
I glance at my watch, again, only to see that the interviewer is now forty-five minutes late. I can’t fathom what could be taking this guy so long.
“Jesus Christ,” I growl.
More annoyed than ever, I stand up and hear the ding of my phone. Praying it’s news of the interview, I grab my purse and rummage through it for my phone.
A mix of disbelief and fury wash over me as I read the text message:
Interview canceled.
I stare at those words for a full minute, letting them sink in. One would think that a canceled interview would happen forty-five minutes prior to the interview, not after.
When I finally put my phone back in my purse, I can see the writing in the air from staring at the text message for so long. Anger, white-hot, courses through me.
I throw my phone in my purse, grab my jacket, and yank open the door, making a beeline for the back entrance of the building. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so angry in my life.
The entire morning is wasted; all that time spent getting ready: also wasted. I don’t understand. Did someone else get hired? I thought I had a really good shot at this position. I sure wanted it more than anyone else.
The dimly lit hall has the same gray carpet running throughout it as the interview room. Doors that hide windowless rooms like the one I just came from line the hall. The large, red exit sign looms ahead and I can’t wait to be outside.
I just want to go home and forget this morning ever happened. Maybe I’ll make a mimosa and curl up on the couch.
The usually bustling office building seems rather empty for a Friday morning. Normally, this place seems busier.
The staff that I do pass are distracted. Most of them are clutching paperwork and manila envelopes to their chest as they run frantically past me.
As I reach the end of the hallway, the muffled sound of laughter and moaning reaches my ears. The last door on the left is partially ajar and the noise guides me like a siren’s call. I can’t resist.