He's in all of us. He knows our minds. He can see through our eyes. He's an outcast living in the inside - the ghost of society.
Enter the dark and tragic life of the lowly James Johnson as he trudges forward as an office drone in a boring textile...
Word of the day: Sleuthing. Means investigating. Searching for someone or something.
I wasn't sure what to do next. The girl didn't want me to call the police, yet, she was the subject for murder.
"Maybe we can look at the tapes?"
She rolled her head and laughed. "First step to a crime: shut off surveillance or run a fake reel. You've seen everyone, I've heard them talk about killing people."
"Killing? Here? Why?" I was so perplexed with the idea of a big murder happening in a small nameless company.
"This guy was planning on getting rid of me because I wasn't 'fun anymore' and he was going to kill you because you're better looking than him."
I felt a glint of hope rise inside of him. The creepy guy was really ugly, but thankfully I one-upped him in looks. "That's a weird reason to kill someone."
"Okay, here's the plan--,"
I interrupted her because I knew what she was going to say. "I write reports on all the people in the office and you tell me what you've heard from the vents and then we'll compare and combine and then call the police."
"Exactly."
My chest rose and then fell in a sharp exhale. "Where do we start?"
"Well, no one knows about me or the body, so, you think you can have those reports done in a few days? Or, by tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"Cool, I'll be down here. This better work."
I smiled, made a small wave, and started for the steps before she called out to me.
"Hey, what's your name?"
"James Johnson."
"That's original."
I gave her a curt smile and ascended up the stairs. She was obviously being sarcastic.
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