*One new notification*
The message pops up on the screen like it’s some good news. I sigh and pray that I’m not rejected again. It’s so hard to find a good job these days with all this competition. I opened the email, expecting to have been on ‘review’, since my past.
I gasped and dropped the phone. I picked it up and read the email again.
Thrice.
Twice more.
I mulled over the fact that I got ACCEPTED by a pretty good business, with a good position, and a good pay. I jumped up and down in my crappy apartment bedroom. “Ecstatic, it’s magic, to trip the light, fantastic!" I said, a line that I always said when I was younger and happy.
I looked in my closet, searching for the most professional clothes for tomorrow. I had one blazer and some matching colour pants. “Needs to be ironed, I’ll do that today," I said, smiling ear to ear, good memories flooding my mind. I ironed the clothes, humming a silly tune from an old cartoon.
I twirled, danced, sang, hummed - the whole lot of glee. I finally drank my stale cup of coffee, not enjoying the taste, but cherishing it nonetheless.
I was jolly the whole day, you could say. Everyone noticed. The old aunt next door made a rumour that I got a boyfriend, and every gossip spreader bought it. Honestly? I could care less. I got a job and finally won’t have to touch into my savings anymore.
The next day, I was quickly getting ready for the job, worried I’d be late on the first day. Luckily, I was five minutes early. Rush is a strange thing, right?
“Hm. Early. I thought that you’d be ON time, but it seems that you defied my thought process, huh?" the boss asked me. I laughed a bit. “I hope I’ll live up to your expectations," I said. “By the way, you remember how one of the interviewers told you that the interview would be recorded, right?" he asked me. “Ah? Yeah, I remember. Why are you bringing this up?" I asked, trying to make my response sound casual but respectful at the same time.
“Well, I was viewing the interview when I heard one of the interviewers say that they’ll do a background check? Well, we don’t do that nowadays. We believe that anyone applying for this job position is a good person, whether they always were or not," he said, sipping his coffee.
“But isn’t that dangerous? You could potentially allow a person with a history of money embezzlement in this building, if not this job, and they could repeat their antics," I asked, curiosity rising with each word. “I’ve noticed a pattern, only ones who need their life together are allowed in this building, if not the jobs on our floor," he said, winking.
I never told him that I needed my life together.
I didn’t tell the interviewers either.
‘How does he know?’, I thought.
‘Just a coincidence, maybe?’, I thought.
“By the way, what’s your name? I get everyone confused," the boss said, filling in the gap of silence. “My name’s Amelia, what’s yours?" I asked, entering a little “cubical” with my name on it. “Perceval. It’s old-fashioned but my mum and pop always liked old things," he said.
“So, Perceval, how many others are there?" I asked, setting up my little “cubical”. “At least fifteen others? I don’t quite keep count," he said. “This is like a small position that only the best will get?" I asked. “Eh, something like that. Oh look! One of your co-workers is here. Amelia, say hi to Martha," he said.
I turned my head. A stout young lady walked in. “Hello Perceval. Hi Amelia, I’m guessing it’s your first day here, right?" she asked. “Um, yes-”, I started. Martha talked faster. “Well, I’m Martha. You are welcome to ask me any question you’d like," she said. “Oh, thanks. That’s reassuring," I said, genuinely shocked by the kindness of people here. They are much better than the people in my first job.
And then a crowd of people rushed in. Few had headphones on, others talked, gossiped, whatever. There were at least thirteen coming in. One yelled, “HEY LOOK, THERE’S A NEW PERSON!" after they saw me. I blinked. They stared for a second. Like hungry wolves, they (almost) pounced on me. Que the flood of questions!
After answering all of the questions, they all laughed and said, “Good to have you on board!" and headed to their places. Perceval placed at least 2-3 files on my table. “It’s your first day, I’m giving you less work than the others," he said. Felix, one of the co-workers sighed dramatically and said, “I wish it was my first day too," to which Ria responded, “I mean you could quit and re-apply. Then it would, technically, be your first day,”.
“But not your first time," Perceval said, rolling his eyes, but laughing all the same. “You guys are getting creative," Martha said. “Thank you dear, but I must type up this document before I get in trouble,” Ria said. “It’s due tomorrow,” Martha said, starting to type up something in a Google doc. “That’s why I need to finish it today,” Ria said, turning to look at the back of Martha’s head.
“Why do you think the cubicles are this short?” I asked, turning on the PC. “Perceval is all about team bonding and stuff. That’s why he keeps these really, really short cubicles. So we can look at each other and talk, if we want, that is," Martha said. “That makes sense," I said, already starting to type in Google docs.
While typing, everyone filled me in with the inside jokes and a further explanation of where things were. I nodded, listening intently. They seemed to be nice people.
A few days down the line, we had some festival where we’d cook things in the kitchen of the building and serve them to the bosses, who will be the judges. I decided to bake my mother’s special recipe, frosting and all. I was about to cut a few slices of the cake so that they would be serveable, Ria said, “Be careful guys, you know what she can do with a knife!” and everyone laughed.
I was confused. I never told them about it. How do they know? Even if the interviewers saw my background, it would’ve stayed confidential, not the “gossip of the town”. Plus, there’s no chance that they were my interviewers, I remember every face I see.
I took it as a joke, remembering the time I accidentally cut my finger while cutting apples for the building attendant’s five year old. I laughed it off, despite my nervousness.
The judges loved the cake, complimenting my cooking skills. But I overheard one of the judges whispering in the other’s ear, “I heard human flesh is addictive, maybe that’s how this is tasty?” and they laughed a bit.
I went home early that day, feeling sick to my gut. “How do they know?” I whispered over and over, pacing back and forth. I eyed my laptop on the table. I opened it. I searched for my name in Google. ‘If they knew, then it must’ve been a news article, right?’ I thought.
Just news about my arrest. Not stating the reason why. Nothing. I combed through every article I found. Still nothing. My stomach churned with uneasiness.
The next day, the winners were announced. I came third. They called my name as, “The third place is secured by a cannibal- I mean, by Amelia,"
I walked up, still uneasy and weary of everything. I watched the doors, probably for my escape, probably for their escape, or just paranoia took over me. I claimed the prize, a golden knife. They have a sick sense of humor.
A few days later, the slight jabs of my past turned to full on punches to the face. I wanted to yell, to scream, to do anything, but I stayed silent and smiled.
I walked up to the boss’ office. “Amelia, so good to see you! You look a bit sick, do you want to go home early?” Perceval asked. “I wanted to ask you a question," I said, heart throbbing with panic and excitement.
“What do you want to know?”, he asked casually as he took a bit out of a sandwich. “How do you… or anyone for the matter… know about my past? You said the interviewers never did a background check, and I know if they did a background check, it would be confidential. Why is it the ‘talk of the town’? And there’s nothing written in articles about it. How do you guys know?” I asked, not a breath in between.
He stared at me for a few seconds. He started laughing.
“Oh dear, you never pay attention do you? We know everything about you. We know the year, the month, the day, the time down to the second of when you were born, the twenty-third second at 12:35 P.M. on a Monday afternoon on the 3rd, the first week of January in the year 2000. We know the reason you got arrested, brutally murdered a person in your cult that you never knew were in, but when you realized, they tried getting rid of you. Twenty-six stab marks in the body, made by a cheap knife bought in the nearby store. You murdered Steve Cliffans on the 10th of January, a week after your 18th birthday. Your cult fed you human flesh ever since you were 5. You suffered no injuries except a few bruises on your wrist. Despite it being for self-defence, the victim of homicide was the judge’s son, so you received at least two years in prison," he said, as if he was talking to a Flat-Earther on how the Earth is round.
“How- how do you know?” I stuttered. “Oh, you should’ve done your research. Our company is called Omnisciens for a reason! Omnisciens is omniscient in Latin! We know everything, Amelia Von Dehart," he said.
My throat dried. I changed my last name to Davidson. I ran out of the room, probably relapsing into trauma survivor twenty year old me, not talking unless prompted. My therapist would be disappointed.
That day, I resigned.
I planned to do college all over again, to become a teacher this time. I’ve been receiving messages from my old coworkers, threatening me, or even pleading with me to come back. Some of them came up to me to do just that, threaten or plead.
“I’d really like some silence," I sighed.
A girl walked up to me. She wrote something in a book.
“I know how you could get some peace and silence”
____________
By Drishti Dattatreya Rao
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