The Alley Man

The Promise

“Don’t forget your promise, Zaika. It is time to deliver.”

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again,” I respond truthfully.

He chuckles, “sure but I am still holding you to your promise Zaika.”

“My n-name isn’t Zaika,” I whisper.

He stands up and walks towards me, and with an unexpected gentleness he pushes a strand of my hair out of my face, “I know.”

I shift nervously. How does he know my name at all?

“Why do you call me that, then?” I ask partially from curiosity and also to prolong the amount of time I have before having this conversation.

“You are my little bunny, Zaika.” He says gently as though it answers my question. It just leaves me with more questions.

He makes direct eye contact with me.

“Stop avoiding the question, Zaika.” He demands.

“I um . . . I don’t.” I start.

“You don't know your own truth?” He asks curiously.

“It’s not that,” I whisper.

He leans in even closer, I can feel the warmth from his body, “You have become quite timid, Zaika. That will change, you will never fear anyone ever again.” His voice gets quieter just barely above a whisper, “I will make sure of that.”

For some reason I believe him, despite what I just witnessed him do to Ms. Antonova, I feel safe with him. As weird as it is, I trust the Alleyman.

“I um . . . I just don’t know what to say. I-I mean, I think that you already saw what happened this morning and I don’t know what else I can tell you about the situation. It seems like you already know everything.” I mumble out.

For some reason, the last part of what I say makes him chuckle, he moves back to his seat at the head of the table , while I feel the loss of his body heat. It makes me feel rather cold. What the hell is this Alleyman doing to me? I barely even know him but he already seems to have a great effect on my body. While I know nothing about him. . . though he seems to know everything about me.

“I do know everything,” he says, confirming my very thought. “I would like to hear it from you though.”

“W-why? If you already know?” I ask him.

“Because, I want to hear you tell me your story, I want you to keep your promise,” he answers.

“I . . . I, okay, fine.” I sigh as he looks somewhat pleased that I have stopped attempting to avoid the conversation by arguing with him.

I decide to start my story at the beginning. “I started working here 3 years ago, as my first job after graduating from college. One week after I was hired on, while I was still in training, Ms. Antonova became the district manager. At first, I wasn’t targeted specifically. Everyone was treated equally awful, which is why most of the staff that was hired on before me have since quit; as I am sure you know.”

He nods but doesn’t interrupt me.

“After a few months, I confronted her over some . . . um work product concerns and that was when it felt like she started targeting me. Everyone was subjected to early mornings and late nights. Ms. Antonova screeched like a hyena at all of her employees.” He smirks slightly at this comment.

Making us constantly redo assignments if we finished our tasks on time or early and giving us impossible workloads to complete. Everyone was struggling, still struggling, but after the um meeting, I mentioned earlier, She decided that I was a particular problem. My work was returned to me to be redone every time. She . . . um, she said that I was doing shoddy work. That I clearly wasn’t ready for the position I had in the company, she told everyone that listened including myself that she wasn’t sure how I managed to get hired on. She switched me from the creative marketing team where I was originally to her personal assistant, so she could better monitor my work.”

He listens intently, and stares at me. “That isn’t everything though is it?”

I looked down at the floor, “No, the harassment only got worse from there. She would pile a lot more on me than would be expected of an assistant. If I mentioned anything to her, it would cause her to become extremely angry. She would threaten to fire me, blacklist me, and sometimes even hit me.” I finish the last part barely above a whisper.

His fury is palpable. Even though his mask is well kept, I could feel his fury in his eyes and the way his body tensed up. He stays quiet for a second like he is trying to calm down before responding.

After a minute or so goes by he finally speaks, “you left a couple parts out of the story.”

“That is the whole story,” I start to say evading the worst part of the story, but it doesn’t seem like he will be accepting that as an answer. As he stands up and walks back over to me. His hand touches my chin pushing my face up to look him directly in the eyes.

“You left out the part where she stole your work. She told everyone your projects were hers and that she did them on her own. Then, after making you her secretary so nobody would notice, she gave you all of her work, while making you do all of the work of her assistant and even some of the marketing work when the team couldn’t come up with anything. So that it would look like she actually did manage to pull off the projects she stole from you originally. Which by the way, even if I didn’t know that it was you, she doesn’t have the ability to pull any of those projects off.” He states.