Severance Package

“No, no. She told us she would be doing a few hours of prep work, just like in a normal job. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Smacks of cheating to me.” Keene sipped tea. It soothed his throat, and the warmth—a good warmth— made its way up his sinus cavities. Did nothing for the dull throb in his head, though.

“No, she’s good. Her target is in total shock. That window popping out was the last thing she expected.”

They watched the monitor. Keene sipped his Earl Grey.

“Oh … wait!”

“What?”

“Now I get it. Why she sent me those employee performance sheets.”

Keene took another sip of his tea. He wasn’t about to sit here asking What do you mean? all afternoon.

That was one of the truly annoying things about McCoy. He loved to draw out everything. Instead of just coming out with it, he’d make cryptic statements designed to force you to ask “What?” or “Tell me!” or “Oh, really?” Well, McCoy could play with some other fool. He was either going to tell Keene what was on his mind, or he wasn’t.

This time, it didn’t take too much silence to goad McCoy into continuing.

“A few days ago, she sent me a bunch of paperwork. Resumes for her proposed targets, as well as their employee performance sheets. You know, the stuff bosses use to tell you if you’re doing a lousy job or not, if you’re getting a raise or not.”

Keene said nothing. But inside, a little voice urged: Go on, go on now.

“I couldn’t figure out why she sent me this stuff. I mean, we have everybody’s info, and then some, already on file. This was junk we didn’t need.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Mmmm, this tea was good.

McCoy tuned in. “Hey—are you even listening?”

“Of course, love.”

“Anyway, it just dawned on me right now, when that pane of glass dropped away.”

“What?”

Keene silently cursed himself.

“She’s playing on their individual weaknesses,” McCoy said. “David Murphy would do some subtle mind-ops stuff during employee evaluations—that’s what he used to do, psyops—and work it into his evaluation. Girlfriend here picked up on that. She’s showing off.”

Keene sipped tea, then said: “Some people will do anything for a job.”

Amy was frozen; it was all too much to comprehend. The pane, gone. The pane of glass that shielded her not only from the temperamental seasons of Philadelphia—with its snow and humidity and rain and gusts—but also from her darkest impulses.

Amy had explained it to David years ago when he’d asked her what she feared the most. She’d answered honestly: losing her mind for three seconds.

David had tented his fingers, raised his eyebrows. “Care to explain that one?”

Specifically, Amy had said, “I’m afraid of losing my mind for three seconds near an open window. Because part of me might decide it’s a good idea to jump out the window, just to see what would happen.” If that did happen, Amy knew that she would recover her sanity almost instantly. Not in enough time to prevent her from jumping out the window, but plenty of time to realize her mistake as she plummeted at 9.8 meters per second— plenty of time to scream in horror before pounding into the concrete below.

“Interesting,” David had said.

And now she was looking at it. An open window, thirty-six stories above the ground.

Would Amy lose her mind?

And would it be for three seconds, or longer?

Then, at the moment of truth, the moment she thought she may actually do it …

Fingers.

Gripping the back of her shirt, pulling Amy away from the window. Thank God. A hand, reached into the waistband of her pants, holding tight, and guiding her backwards. Deeper into the safety of her office. Away from the window.

“Oh God,” she whispered, even though her voice was barely a murmur, and her savior was the same person who’d been brutally assaulting her just a few seconds ago. Thank you.

“You’re welcome,” Molly said.

Amy felt something tug at her waist. Her leather belt.

Slipping out of her pant loops.

Then she felt something wrap around her ankle.

Molly eased Amy back until her grip was secure, and she had enough room. Then it was time.

She looked up in the corner of Amy’s office, where the camera was tucked away.

Winked.

And then she launched Amy out the open window. Thirty-six floors above the pavement.

At the last second—and oh, how she hoped the fiber-optic camera in this office could capture this, her impeccable timing, reflexes, and strength …

At the last possible second she snatched the end of the leather belt. Grasped it tight, then collapsed down into a ball, wedging herself against the metal radiator that ran along the lower office wall. All would be lost if Amy’s weight were to pull Molly right out the window.

But it didn’t. Molly held the leather firm.

McCoy, eyes affixed to the laptop screen, said, “Wow.”

In that moment, Amy knew she had lost her mind, lost it to the point of imagining that someone would actually throw her out an open window, thirty-six stories up. Because who would do that? Clearly, she had lost her mind. Not to be recovered.

And it was nothing like she had imagined.

In all her dreams, a fall from a great height like this one was a nightmare, but one of only a few seconds. The crushing air, the blur of motion …it was all horrible beyond words. But it was finite. When she smashed into the ground, she would jolt awake.

Not this time. In real life, falling to your death felt like forever.

She felt like she would

be

falling

forever.

Molly didn’t look, even though she wanted to. She used the scissors to secure the leather belt to the metal grille of the radiator; as long as Amy didn’t jolt around, it should hold for a short while.

Taking a peek over the edge of the open window would be unprofessional. Better to seem aloof, as in: I don’t need to watch. The moment Amy Felton cleared the window, and was suspended—frozen—paralyzed—in midair, it was on to the next task. After all, she was being watched herself.

Molly was curious, sure. She wondered about the expression on Amy’s face. Wondered if her calculations had been correct. But she cared more about what her special audience thought.

There’d be plenty of time to watch later.

On playback.