Chapter Three

          Chapter Three

1

     In the wash of fluorescent light Brenda turned into her office where an array of papers cluttered her desk. Sunshine poured through the tall arched window overlooking the city, but the view hardly captivated her. As she approached her desk, eyes still narrow, she sat with a plop, listened to the chair squeak beneath her weight and folded her hands across a formal wear design in need of finishing details.  At the moment the flowing gown gracing the lengthy page was half filled in with blue.

     "Glad I caught you," Judan said, entering with an armful of folders and a clipboard in her free hand.  "These need your signature." She laid the mountain of beige folders in front of her with no attention to the designs lying there. "And in thirty minutes you have a meeting with those jackasses from New York."

Brenda put on a fake smile and said with as much sarcasm as she could, "Why thank you, Judan for ruining my designs and taking the time to s**t all over my day."

Judan scoffed with her hands on her hips. "Excuse me?" She shifted her head from side to side as she seethed, "I don't answer to you. You may think you are better than everyone else, but you are about as useful and a handful of s**t!"

Brenda shot up out of her chair and leaned across her desk to come within a hair distance from her face as she yelled, "I can fire your mega fat a*s so fast you will wonder which way McDonald's is! You never talk down to me!"

Judan rolled her eyes as redness highlighted her puffy cheeks. "Oh, like I am afraid of you or anyone else for that matter. Without me this puny company would be s**t."

Brenda snatched the folders off her desk and threw them at her. An assortment of papers instantly rained down and drifted in all directions as Judan took a few steps back and rubbed her nose. She was about to launch herself at her when Brenda grabbed handfuls of her tight curly locks and yanked her toward the door.

     "Let go," Judan barked as she struggled against her and clawed at her eyes.

"Damn it," Brenda screamed as they stumbled into the hallway and up against a wall.

     "Hey," yelled another from their left. Before they knew it two strong hands were separating them and holding them at arm's length. When they looked up they saw it was Thorne. "What is going on here? This is a place of business, not some high school play yard!"

     "She started it," Judan hissed as she continued to glower in Brenda's direction.

     "I don't care," Thorne said. "You two are grown adults! Start acting your age!"

     Brenda broke free of his grasp and spun around into her office where she proceeded to slam the door and begin picking up the papers off her floor.

     Judan smoothed back the hair out of her face and smiled as Thorne gave her once last glance before resuming his stride toward his own office around the corner.

     "Stupid," Judan huffed under her breath and she stomped away.

2

     As Thorne swung into a packed room he sighed as Patty reeled her head and asked, "Is everything all right?" The mannequin blocked out her head from sight as she returned her attention to the details of the hem she was pinning.

     "Yeah," Thorne said and folded his arms across his chest as he admired his latest creation. "I think this is going to be our best collection yet."   He gestured to other dressed life-sized models cluttering the space around them as others worked to add last touches to each delicate dress. He smiled again. "I love them all. They are like children to me."

     "Well, you have worked hard to bring this edition to life," Patty Weir said.

3

Patty turned into the small office and closed the door. She needed a breath of fresh air but opening the windows would be a damn sin if Thorne ever found out. Sometimes that man proved to be a royal pain in the a*s. Then again he wasn't half as bad as those two bimbos Judan and Brenda. She really wanted to erase them all from her mind, but there was a better way. Was it a better way?

"Of course it is better," Ronan said and she turned around with a hand pressed against her chest.

"How did you get in here," she whispered and looked around before realizing how stupid it sounded for her to ask. "You shouldn't be here."

     "They can't see me," he said.

     "They can't?"

     "Only if I want them to and at the moment I don't want them to," he explained. "Working as a designer's secretary must be so demeaning. I believe you can do so much better. I know you are better than this."

Patty raked her teeth over her lower lip. "Well, I do feel unappreciated. They never give me credit and when I give my voice on something they take all the glory and leave me out in the cold. I am sick of it."

     "That is why we have created a creative way to open their eyes," he replied. In a flash he was beside her, tall and still as he tilted his head to one side and narrowed his line of vision. "They might have sight but that doesn't mean they can see."

     "Even so," Patty whispered as she tiptoed to the door, "I don't want anyone to get seriously hurt. I couldn't live with myself if that happened." She pressed her ear against the high gloss wood and then closed her eyes. "I think everyone is in their offices."

     "No matter," Ronan said and when she faced him he was standing by her desk. "Only the truly innocent will be spared."

     A cloud of crackling lightning and mist swallowed him. It flowed like a tunnel of chaos with brief black orbs pressing out from beyond and then as it dissipated he was gone. Misty fragments remained a moment longer before dissolving, but not before a rush of wind carrying his scent rushed over her.  The sight of her chair was a delightful thing. She deposited herself in it and leaned back against its cushion. Her stomach churned bitter acid into her throat and she swallowed to keep it from spilling into her mouth.

"What have I done," she asked herself.

     Her fingers laced over her breasts. As her toes curled inside her shoes she stared at her lap. Her polyester skirt never seemed grayer. Heat flushed her ears and cheeks. Rubbing her knees together she her heart skipped a beat then leapt as the phone to her right rang.

With a shaky hand she plucked it from the receiver and said, "Thorne Designs. This is Patty. How may I help you?"

The voice on the other end hesitated before replying, "May I speak to Patricia Weir?"

     "This is Patricia Weir," she softly stated.

      "Ma'am, I am Officer Pete Bradley, DFPD. I am afraid there has been an accident."

She swallowed hard as her vision dimmed. "Accident? What type of accident?"

     "It is your husband."

     Soon to be ex-husband, she thought and pressed her ear firmly against the speaker to hear him better.

     "I think you should come down to the station, Ma'am," he said.

"Is he all right? Is he hurt?"  Her legs went numb as her lower lip quivered.

     "I am afraid it is much worse than that, Ma'am."

She paused. Her voice cracked as she asked slowly, "Is he dead?”

"Yes, Ma'am."