23. Leila
23
LEILA
Phillip is lying too still and pale on the floor at my feet.
Fear is a living entity inside my chest. I have no idea if he’s still alive or if he’s bled out on his office floor. I have even less idea whether Kyle understood my cryptic message and is coming to save us or not. I thought I understood the concept when the ship was hijacked, but now I realize that just scratched the surface of what real, true terror is.
It’s a person you know, who proves to be a raving lunatic, waving a gun in your face while raging on about people meddling in his affairs. Thinking they could interfere and derail all he’s worked for. I don’t understand what any of it means, all I do know is that he scares the ever-loving bejesus out of me. And I have no way of defending myself or Phillip.
All I can do is pray that Kyle figured out my obscure reference by using William Armatrout’s name — that he got that I was referring to the hostage situation they were sent in to resolve. Because him working it out is the only thing currently standing between Phillip and me and certain death. Without him, I honestly think Phillip and I are going to die in this office today.
Much as it distresses me, I’m also grateful when Edgar walks past Phillip and, mid-rant, kicks him. The man gives a weak grunt, curling into a tighter ball. Hallelujah and praise be, he’s still alive. For how much longer though, I couldn’t even begin to hazard a guess. But that’s the catalyst for me.
That sign of life, no matter how weak, gives me incentive to figure out a way to save us from Edgar fucking Mason. I refuse to die by his hand, and neither do I intend for Phillip to. Casting my eyes around the room, I hunt for anything that I might be able to use as a weapon. How I’ll reach it is still to be determined, but I’ll jump off that bridge when I get to it.
Edgar stops his pacing and turns to glare at me, as if he’s only just thought of something unpleasant.
“What do you know about all of this?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, know about what?” I’m mystified by his rather strange question.
“Any of it. How much of my business did Phillip tell you? And don’t lie to me. I will shoot you where you sit, bitch.”
I can’t help but jolt with fright as he screams at me, his voice loud in the quiet office.
“Edgar, please, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Phillip hasn’t been telling me anything about you. In fact, I didn’t even know until this morning, just a short while before you arrived, that the two of you had a meeting.”
“I told you not to lie to me. He tells you everything. There’s nothing that happens here at StanCorp that you don’t know about. So, I’ll ask you one last time, what did he tell you?”
I’ve heard it said before that fear can cause you to perspire. Today — right this second, in fact — I learn its one hundred percent true. Terror turns to panic as I imagine how painful being shot will be, and I have to bite my tongue not to beg Edgar. For what I’m not sure, but the urge is strong. It’s only the desire to not appear weak and spineless in the face of him terrorizing me that keeps me quiet.
“Despite what you believe, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. I neither knew about the meeting until shortly before you arrived, nor do I have any knowledge of what Phillip wanted to speak to you about. Whatever happened in this office earlier is a complete mystery to me.
“I’m going to assume from your reaction that it wasn’t a positive meeting, but I don’t know why or what it’s about. I can’t control whether you believe me or not, but it’s true. So, if you’re intending to shoot me because I’m not saying what you want me to, then that’s what you’re going to have to do. But that’s the God’s-honest truth.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace for the impact of a bullet.
When nothing happens, I pry my eyes open to find Edgar staring at me with a speculative look on his face — the kind of face my South African grandmother would have described as one “only a mother could love.”
“So you want me to believe that Phillip never said a word to you about the balance sheet not balancing?” I can’t put my finger on why, but something about the way he asks the question doesn’t sound authentic. Almost as if he’s testing me.
“Not a single word. As far as I’m aware, your accounting’s been impeccable, as always. And I’m sure he would have said something if that was the case.”
An emotion I can’t name flashes behind those insipid blue eyes, and Edgar lowers his gun. I sincerely doubt I’m out of the woods — if I’m being brutally honest, I don’t think he has any intention of us leaving this room alive — but my words have, for the moment, soothed the beast, so to speak.
He resumes his pacing, and I go back to searching the room for something, anything, that can be used as a weapon. That could give us a fighting chance of surviving Edgar Mason and whatever he’s done. Because he must have done something pretty bad for Phillip to have been shouting at him like that.
The man is probably the best boss I’ve ever worked for. He’s thoughtful, compassionate, and easy to work for. Yes, he expects everyone in his employ to pull their weight, to do what they’re paid to do, and in return he’s generous with time and incentives. He believes in rewarding his staff for a job well done. The cruise is a prime example of that.
For him to have been that mad at Edgar, it has to be something significant. I just don’t believe it was about the balance sheet. That’s not something Edgar would have tolerated from his own staff. There’s more to this than meets the eye, and whatever it is must be bad enough that he’s willing to kill for it. Either that, or he really is just a crazy ass fruitcake with a trigger-happy finger.
As I’m contemplating my choice of weapon from the random items strewn around Phillip’s office, I hear a knock on my office door, and my heart skips a beat. The last thing I want is for Edgar to hurt another, unsuspecting person. But for the briefest moment in time, I consider shouting for help. My rational brain tells me that if the other person were to attempt to help, they’d wind up in the same condition as Phillip. And I’m likely to as well.
As I watch for his reaction, Edgar walks into my office, leaving the two of us unattended for the moment. I can’t believe my luck. Even as I worry for the unknown person on the other side of my locked door, I struggle to my feet and attempt to awkwardly hop toward the letter opener I spotted on Phillip’s desk.
Maybe I can use that to saw through the tie that binds my wrists, and as a means of protecting us from Edgar. Irrationally, a nervous giggle bubbles to the surface as a line from a Nickelback song pops into my head. Along the lines of bringing a knife to a gun fight. At this point, though, I’ll take whatever I can get. Who knows what opportunity might present itself.
I hear another knock on my door and a voice asking if I’m inside. Another unbidden giggle breaks free. Surely, they must realize I would have answered if I were inside or able to answer. Currently, I am one, but not the other. Thankfully, it at least keeps Edgar otherwise occupied, giving me the chance to gracelessly get my bound hands on the letter opener and just as gracelessly shuffle back to my original spot.
Hopefully, I can get the chair roughly in the same spot, so that Edgar the Crazy doesn’t realize I moved. With everything in me clenched, I wait with bated breath for him to return. I run my concerned gaze over a very still Phillip, worrying about the amount of blood I can see on his shirt.
How much more can he lose before he dies of blood loss?
I notice that whoever was knocking earlier has gone quiet. And as the thought pops into my head, Edgar reappears. He’s now pale and sweating. For the first time since this nightmare began, he looks jumpy and worried. Not quite as in control as before. He’s also back to mumbling to himself.
The words he’s uttering are indistinct, and I can’t make any of them out to give me some clue of what’s going on in his head. The thought has barely had time to pop into my brain before another knock comes to the door.
Swearing a blue streak, this time, Edgar scurries back to my office.
“Mr. Stanton, sir, are you in there?”
A bit of a silly question, considering the office is all locked up, but then the voice filters into my brain. I know it, but it’s not one of the staff. Just as hope blooms in my chest and my heart rate spikes, all hell breaks loose.