ALMOST EVER AFTER

CHAPTER 3

"Forty minutes. It’s been forty minutes since I asked for those copies, Sam! What the hell have you been doing? Building the damn Pyramids with those documents?" Chandler barked into the phone.

He shoved his hand through his perfectly styled hair, now a mess from a day that was utterly ruined. He was the kind of man who viewed a thirty second delay as a personal offense, and today, the world seemed determined to offend him.

"Boss, the printer jammed– I’ll have them in five, I swear," Sam’s voice sounded small and breathless.

"You better. That is, if you’re still interested in having a career after today," Chandler snapped.

He slumped into his chair, the silence of the office that had become agitating. To an outsider, Chandler was the pinnacle of success. A man who moved through the corporate world with the grace and power. But today, everything was going wrong.

It had started with the alarm. It rang ten minutes late. Then the shower stopped mid bath. He had to call the maintenance to get it fixed. That took another twnety minutes. His toast had charred to a blackened crisp. He had reached the office thirty minutes late.

Then there was Daisy. Usually, his assistant moved theough the office with the grace of a gazelle. But today, Daisy had tripped over her own feet, sending a steaming cup of coffee into Chandler's desk and also had managed to break a bone. Now Daisy was in the hospital and Chandler was without a competant assistant. That was why he had to trust the intern, Sam, with the copies.

"Perfection is a lonely road, Chandler," his father used to say. That voice still lived in the back of his mind.

By evening, Chandler could feel the tightness in his jaw migraing to his head. He just needed to get home, pour a glass of bourbon, and pretend this day never happened.

He eased his luxury sedan into the late afternoon traffic, the engine’s purr the only thing soothing his nerves.

Ten minutes down the road, the brake lights ahead flared red.

A construction worker stood in the center of the asphalt, holding a neon sign that felt like a slap in the face. Diversion, it said.

"What now?" Chandler muttered, rolling down his window.

"Sir, you’ll have to take the mud road down there," the worker said, leaning against the door. "A pipe burst about a mile down. We're digging it out now."

"The mud road?" Chandler looked toward the narrow, unpaved path that looked more like a hiking trail.

"Doesn't that lead out toward the woods?"

The worker shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. "Nah. Go straight, you’ll hit an old stone well. Veer right and it will get you back on the road. Five minutes drive, tops."

Chandler looked at the hood of his car, imagining the grime that was about to coat it. "How long if I wait here?"

"Hour. Maybe more." The worker raised an eyebrow. "Unless you’ve got a flying donkey in the trunk, that road is your only shot, pal."

With a groan that started in his chest, Chandler jerked the wheel.

The car groaned as it dipped into mud. The trees grew thicker and thicker blocking what little light there was in the evening sun. It was congested, quiet, and very eerie.

"Ridiculous," he hissed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Utterly ridiculous."

He was focused on a particularly deep pothole when it happened

A sudden, blinding flash of white light erupted from the woods to his left. It wasn't the sun. It was sharp, like someone had flashed a giant flashlight right at his face

And there was a girl with wide frightened eyes staring right at him. Chandler slammed on the brakes and swiveled the wheel abeuptly to avoid whatever, or whoever, was in front of him.

Then came a scream that ended in sharp silence.

The car rocked to a halt, the engine stalling out. Chandler sat there for a heartbeat, his pulse thundering in his ears, his vision swimming with purple spots from the flash.

"Oh god," he whispered, his voice cracking.

He scrambled out of the car, his expensive shoes sinking into the dirt.

Had he killed someone?

His heart was in his throat as he ran toward the front of the vehicle, expecting to find a broken body sprawled in the mud.

There was nothing.

The road was empty. The woods were still.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice sounding thin. "Is someone there? Are you hurt?"

No answer. Only the distant chirp of a bird and the settling of the cold winter air.

He looked under the car, just to make sure there was no one. There were no footprints other than his own. No blood. No sign that anyone had been standing there at all.

"I’m losing my mind," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. The stress from the day might have caught up to him.

He had to be hallucinating.

He stood there for a long time, trying to make sense of the situation.

Chandler was exhausted. He climbed back into the driver's seat, his hands shaking as he gripped the wheel. And then he just drove straight and didn't look back.