Level B2
1033 Words
*9pm: Parking garage. Level B2.*
Elma’s hands stuck to the strap of her PM bag.
Old leather. Scuffed edges.
It had survived more than she had this month.
She wiped her palm on her jeans.
Still trembling.
The elevator groaned open.
The sound scraped her spine.
She could step back.
Let the doors close.
Pretend the email never came.
But it had her name.
Her schedule.
Floor 12. Late nights.
If they wanted her gone, she needed to see their face first.
Cold hit her.
Oil. Concrete. Metal.
Something like old blood.
It clung to her skin.
Raised every hair on her arms.
Linda would’ve called it stupid.
Ten calls. Pepper spray. A lecture.
_“Stranger danger, Elma. You’re better than this.”_
Even Nathan would’ve said don’t.
Nathan with his doctor’s calm.
The way he looked at her like she’d break.
But the email had no sender.
No number.
Just: _Meet me at the parking garage. Level B2. Come alone._
Ignore it, and they’d come to her.
Next time wouldn’t be an email.
Fluorescents flickered.
Once. Twice.
Weak yellow glow.
The buzz sat behind her teeth.
Shadows stretched long. Warped.
Thrown by pillars every twenty feet.
Three cars.
Two dust-covered. Dead for weeks.
One silver sedan. Flat tire.
Her footsteps echoed.
Louder coming back than going out.
Each one a warning.
Twenty-three steps to center.
She counted.
Running looked like fear.
Fear was what they wanted.
_Meet me at the parking garage. Level B2. Come alone._
No name. No number. Just an order.
Her hand stayed near her bag.
Phone. Photo of her parents.
Creased corners. Soft edges.
Proof she came from somewhere.
That she wasn’t just the fired girl.
The kicked-out girl.
The thief.
She stopped at center.
Air felt heavier here.
Stale. Unmoved.
A figure stepped from behind concrete.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Suit expensive enough to catch light without a wrinkle.
No hurry.
Like he’d waited twenty minutes and didn’t care.
Joseph.
Cold hit Elma’s chest.
Not shiver-cold.
Suffocating cold.
Lungs too small.
Air wouldn’t come.
Of course it was him.
Who else chased her to B2 at night?
Who else had her schedule?
Who else could stand here unquestioned?
Joseph stopped ten feet out.
Shoes polished. Dust-free.
Not angry.
Worse.
Amused.
Like she was the last move in a game he’d already won.
“I told you to stay away,” he said.
Low. Smooth.
Talking to a dog that wouldn’t stop barking.
Each word clipped. Controlled.
Elma locked her knees.
Lifted her chin.
If she looked down, it was over.
“What do you want, Joseph?”
“What I always wanted.” Step. Deliberate.
Shoe on concrete like a countdown.
“You gone. Out of this city. Out of Hayes Corp. Out of my life.”
“You sent that email.” Steadier than she felt.
“You’ve been ruining me since you lied to Aunt Marian.”
Joseph smiled.
Not real.
The kind before a strike.
_I know something you don’t._
“Lies work, Elma.”
“Look at you. Homeless. Jobless. Corner of _my_ company.”
The words slapped.
She didn’t flinch.
She’d heard worse this week.
_You’re not family. Get your things. Don’t call again._
“I’m not quitting,” she said.
“You will.” Now he was close.
Eyes flat. Empty.
No anger. Just calculation.
“Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure everyone knows what you are.
A thief. A seductress. A girl who ruins families.”
Nails bit her palms.
She thought of his hand on her wrist.
Too tight.
Him in her room without knocking.
The lie that tore her life in one afternoon.
“You’re the one who tried to touch me that night,” she said.
Shaking. Clear.
Let the walls hold it.
“I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Joseph laughed.
It bounced wrong off concrete.
Air went thinner.
“And who’s going to believe you?” Step. Six feet now.
“The orphan against the department head?
The girl with no family against the man who signs checks?”
Elma’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Because he was right.
His name was on the directory.
Hers was a rumor.
Throat tight.
Swallowing glass.
All her words stuck behind the fact no one would listen.
Headlights cut through.
Bright. Sharp. Blinding.
Both of them turned.
Nathan’s black SUV stopped feet away.
Silent tires.
Engine cut.
Quiet louder than the motor.
Driver’s door opened.
Nathan stepped out.
White coat against dark.
Face hard.
Not calm. Not professional.
Stone.
“Joseph.” Flat voice. Edge underneath.
“Step away from her. Now.”
Joseph straightened.
Surprised, not scared.
Entertained.
Cat watching prey fight back.
“Nathan.” Hands spread. Old friends.
“Didn’t know you were into charity cases.”
“I’m into the truth.” Nathan didn’t move.
Didn’t need to.
He changed the air.
“And I know what you did.”
Joseph’s smile slipped.
Fast. Almost invisible.
Elma saw it.
Mask cracked.
“Watch your mouth, boy. I can bury you too.”
“Try it.” Flat. Final.
No room for games.
“Elma, get in the car.”
Elma hesitated.
Eyes flicking between them.
Run to Nathan = needing saving.
Stay = Joseph does something stupid.
She was tired of being the reason men acted like this.
Nathan opened the passenger door.
Held it.
Coat shifted.
Edge of something hard in his pocket.
“Get in, Elma.” Not a command.
A request with no refusal in it.
“Now.”
Something in his tone moved her.
Maybe he showed up at all.
Maybe Joseph’s eyes narrowing.
She walked past Joseph.
Didn’t look.
Heart in her throat.
Bag bumping her hip.
Leather seat cold on her legs.
Door shut.
Solid thud.
Like closing on the last ten minutes of her life.
Through the window, Joseph watched.
No smile now.
Then Nathan slid into the driver’s seat.
Didn’t start the engine.
Didn’t look at her.
Just stared at Joseph through the windshield.
Hand tightening on the wheel until his knuckles went white.
And said, low enough only she could hear:
“You have no idea who you just threatened.”
- Writer
