Arianna

Stacks of paper and file folders rose up around her like the walls of a castle.

Or a jail cell.

She didn’t want to be there. Not that day. Instead, she wished to be out following up the leads on this missing shifter case. But Dan, her boss, had said no rather emphatically several times now. He didn’t think there was anything to it, and that she was making it up. He said she needed to find something else, and that she should search the conspiracy forums and boards they knew about.

Looking around her at the dreary office, Arianna had a hard time believing that this was what her life had come to. A 4.0 GPA and an Honor’s Degree in Journalism had led her to this. Living in a shithole, working in a shithole, and going absolutely nowhere in life. She was going to be thirty next year. Thirty.

It wasn’t that she was unhappy with her lot in life. She enjoyed digging for leads and compiling stories. That was fun. She didn’t like the rundown apartment, falling asleep to gunshots, or the constant vehicular breakdowns. Those she could do without. Closing her eyes, she leaned back as far as the rickety desk chair would allow, careful not to put too much weight on the back of the seat, lest it break and send her tumbling to the floor. Again.

In the corner behind her an old fan whirred noisily, slowly moving the soupy air around in an attempt to keep her and her co-worker comfortable. It was unbearably hot that day, and they had no air conditioner of course. Not even a window to open. It was just the three of them: her, Dan the boss, and James, the IT and website guy. That was it. They were crammed into the little office space. There was a two-foot pathway from the door outside, down between their desks, and ending at the other door that led to Dan’s office.

Glancing up, she eyed the drooping ceiling tile above her desk, wondering if today would be the day that it fell out. They had an office bet going on to see when it would fall. After it did, they would be at an even amount of ceiling tiles versus empty spaces. She knew. She had counted it. Six times. That morning.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, pushing back her chair and forcing her way between her desk and the wall behind her until she could bang on Dan’s door.

“What the fuck do you want?” came the harried response from inside.

Dan always sounded like that. He was well into his fifties, and this was his life legacy. She knew he was tired and frustrated with life, but that he didn’t know what to do about it. He kept hoping they would break with the story of the century and make a killing from it. That was never going to happen, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him. He was an ass, but to her and James, he was their ass. Sort of.

“I want to talk,” she said as soon as she opened the door.

“Listen, Ari, dear, this had better not be about that damn shifter guy again,” he said. “I need you to find me something else. What about that alien spotted on the yacht in the harbor yesterday?”

“What?” she asked dully. That was a new one.

“What the hell do I pay you for?” he asked, slamming the phone down.

She hadn’t even realized he was on the phone. Had he just been holding it there?

“You pay me to find stories. I’m telling you, I’ve found you a story,” she persisted.

“You have nothing,” he told her. “You’ve been after me for a week now to do this, and you haven’t turned up a single fucking thing, besides the fact that this guy is missing. Missing people happen. It’s nothing.”

Arianna crossed her arms angrily. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, Arianna. That is ‘so.’ Now go find me something printable. I’m tired of this shifter nonsense. That was so ten years ago. These days people want more. Do you understand me?”

Squaring her shoulders, she stood her ground. “No, Dan. They don’t know what it’s about. Especially if there’s something to it.”

“But there isn’t a damn thing to it!” he yelled, his voice filling the tiny room, bouncing off the metal filing cabinets that filled the back wall.

“Can you two keep it down in there?” James said through the open door. “I’m trying to get some work done here.”

Dan snatched the paperweight off his desk and threw it through the door as close to James’s direction as he could.

His eyes narrowed immediately. “What? What did you do?”

“What if I told you that someone else from out of town had come looking for him?”

“That’s it?” he said, his expression of interest fading immediately as he sat upright in his chair, dismissing her with a wave.

“He’s another shifter.” She wasn’t budging. Not this time.

Her boss considered her for a moment. “You really think you’re on to something?”

She nodded firmly.

“Two days. You have two days, Ari. Bring me something, or you’re making up for the time on your own dime.”

“Done.” She didn’t even flinch at the deal. If there was any truth to this, she would make a good chunk of change from the revenue the story would bring her company. That was no small consideration. She had rent to pay.

“So what else do you have, besides this other guy showing up? Have you talked to him yet?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Apparently his friend, who was this missing guy’s friend, asked him to come take a look since he was on vacation to begin with.”

“That’s it?” Dan looked rather skeptical.

“Mostly. He gave him a list of places to check out. Most of them are dives, which is to be expected.”

“Most of them?”

She held back a smile. Dan was in it now; he’d taken the bait. She knew he was seeing what she was seeing. They were on to something.

“Yeah. All but one. Route Fifty.”

Dan whistled. “That is a little different. When are you going there?”

“Tonight,” she said. “Once anyone who’s anyone will be there.”

The bad toupee seated atop Dan’s head bobbed slightly as he nodded his head in agreement. “Good work. Very good work.” His eyes looked her up and down. “You do have something better than that to wear, don’t you, Ari?”

She gritted her teeth. She didn’t mind being called Ari, but he always did it like he was talking down to her, and it drove her nuts.

“Something wrong with my outfit?” she asked, looking at the clothes she was wearing.

“You don’t go to a place like Route Fifty wearing a rumpled T-shirt, pants with stains on them, and whatever those things are,” he said with a wave at her sneakers.

“Sure I do,” she said. “I’m not dressing up for anyone.”

Rolling her eyes as Dan began to go on a tirade of dressing the part, she turned and left the office.

“Goodbye, Dan,” she said loudly over his protests, and fled the office, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Route Fifty?” James said as she took a seat back at her dilapidated desk, her mood brightened by her approval to pursue the story she truly wanted. “That’s an upscale place. You’re really going to wear that?”

She glared at him. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? It’s just a club, James. I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m going to be dancing or anything. It’s for work.”

James looked skeptical at her claim, then shrugged his shoulders and resumed typing away on his keyboard.

It was just for work. They were going to go in, ask for Benjamin, and leave.

Weren’t they?