Day 1

Death was no stranger to Topeka, Kansas. He was, however, new to the Plexicore Marketing office building. Rounding a corner, he came to a masking-tape barrier and rocked to a halt. There was a small paper sign with the handwritten message, "Parden Our Dust." Taking a pen from his chest pocket, he corrected the spelling. He peered through at the thick tarp, then turned around and swore as he nearly collided with the shiny end of a construction worker in desperate need of a good leather belt.

Hearing the curse, the worker straightened up, hitching his pants up a few inches.

"Crapper's closed down this way," grumbled the man.

Death grunted disapprovingly. "Is there a map somewhere around here?"

The worker grinned ear to ear. "What's this, then? Can't find your own way back to your cubicle? Heh!" He stuck his thumbs in his belt loops and leaned back on his heels. "-'s why I don't take too well to these types o' work myself. Office boxes, I call 'em. D'you know that if you put a goldfish in-"

"I don't work here," Death interrupted. "I'm just meeting a friend for lunch. I don't know the building that well. Is there a map or directory nearby?"

"Oh, sure thing. Should be a map of the whole floor over by the elevators, where you came up. Didn't you see it?"

"I took the steps," said Death, and started down the hallway. "Thanks."


"Hey there."

"Hello."

"Are you Michael?"

"Yes, that's me. Are you the new guy from accounting?"

"No, I'm just visiting. I've got an appointment here in a couple minutes."

"Oh. Are you management?"

"No. Just here for an appointment."

"Oh." Michael blew on his glass of water, even though it was already cold. The water cooler behind them glubbed a few times. Death leaned against the wall, casually adjusted his tie, took a long sip.

"What'd you say your name was?"

"I didn't," said _______.

"Oh." The cooler glubbed again. "What is it?"

Death examined his fingernails. "Ted."

"Well, good to meet you, Ted."

"Likewise," said Ted.

"Want a butterscotch?"

"Not particularly."

Michael shuffled his feet a bit, unwrapping the candy noisily. The water cooler glubbed. Ted the Reaper picked some dirt out from under a fingernail.

"So, who are you here to meet, Ted?" asked Michael, a little more loudly than he'd expected to. A pretty young temp named Julie looked up at him from across the copy machine, and his ears turned a delicate shade of pink. He took a gulp of water and inhaled the butterscotch. He coughed; water flew everywhere. Across the room, Julie giggled and ducked her head a few inches, behind the copier. Paper cup in hand, Michael continued to splutter, feet in place, one hand contorted by the side of his mouth. He spewed spittle and mucus around the floor until a few people left their cubicles to investigate. Short of breath, the splutterer took a deep gasp, lodging the butterscotch firmly in his windpipe.

Death pulled a stopwatch out of the pocket of his trousers, standing calmly by as Michael's coworkers argued about the method and validity of the Heimlich Maneuver. After the struggling had lasted six minutes and forty-eight seconds, Death wound up his left arm and gave Michael a hearty smack on the back. The butterscotch dislodged, and Michael took a deep breath.

"Thanks!" Michael gasped. "I think you just saved my life."

Death smiled grimly, as only a Grim Reaper can. "Think again," he muttered as he turned around.

From a few feet behind him, he heard Michael's confused voice ask, "What's that man doing on the floor over there? Hey! He looks just like me!"