SATe [✔]

[4] madeleine

There was a slight shove at my shoulders that I wanted to ignore. I'd had trouble sleeping for the past few weeks, so finally finding myself being able to cosy up to the couch and rest was a lifeline I didn't want to waste. As much as that was the case, I couldn't ignore the gruff voice that invaded my eardrums, "Bastian."

I turn to see my father's face inches from mine and looking rather bemused. His blonde but greying hair was covering his blue eyes again; he really needed to visit the barbers. I always got a strange feeling when I looked at him now; when you couple my parents together – the pale, blonde, blue-eyed couple; the probability of me coming out of them was so slim. Or as my science teacher called it, "A scientific improbability."

"Hm?" I murmur, turning over on the couch to avoid looking at him any longer. I grip onto one of the red throw pillows that she'd only bought two weekends back in the local shop sale. Maybe it won't be important, and I can just stay here.

No such luck.

He places a hand on my shoulder and pulls me around to look at him, "Hey kid, your work called. You're scheduled for a shift in two hours, and they want to make sure you're aware of it. Chester said something about a few people forgetting today."

That makes me dart up to a sitting position. I pull my jumper sleeve up from my wrist to look at the watch; barely one in the afternoon. As I look up at him, I realise he still has the phone clenched between his ear and shoulder. I point my head towards it and ask, "Are you sure they said two hours? I only ever do overnights."

He tilts his head deeper into the phone and nods briskly, "They're pretty sure about it, son."

Son. I hate that word.

But there was something that made me more uncomfortable than this man calling me son. There was something irking me about this change of work pattern. I remember when I first took the job that I told them I would only ever do late shifts because both my mother and I would be changing our sleeping patterns for it. It would be senseless to take an earlier shift because there'd be no possibility of me being fully awake during it.

Yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't picture who was meant to be doing this shift. I knew every single member of the team, and their usual shift routines, even down to the buildings they'd be in and what days they'd be in them; so why couldn't I picture who did a Monday afternoon shift? Something inside told me that I did know who did the shift, but there was nothing more coming to mind than that.

Which is why two hours later, I found myself in Chester's office. He was situated in one of the bigger buildings the company was assigned security detail with. A cushy fifth-floor office that was hidden away from the rest of the office workers, filled with books and fitted with a large television screen that he tended to use whenever he had a free moment to ignore his responsibilities.

On most occasions, Chester would be full of energy and raring to joke around with anyone who entered through his door; this occasion was a rare one. As I entered his overtly blue office, he had his head pressed against the desk with one of his arms extended up towards the ceiling; a phone gripped tightly in his hand. There were employee files and timetables strewn across his desk, some of which had ended up on the floor in front of it. As I closed over the door, his head sprung up to look at me, but the cheeky smile that he would usually give when he saw me didn't appear.