Eternal Hope

Chapter 2

Emmersyn

Emmersyn was ready for this particular Monday to be over, and it was only 8:30 am. She had almost run out of gas on her way to meet with a source who was helping her write her next book. Joseph was a computer programmer who did covert work for the government as a civilian contractor. The owner of the parent company had sent his contact information after she had reached out to them asking for a face-to-face meet with a hacker and computer extraordinaire.

Now operating on only four hours of sleep since her little one had a rough night, keeping them both awake long past midnight, and running late due to the tardy nanny and this fuel stop, Emmersyn was ready to go back to bed and start all over again. 

Liam had come down with some kind of “flu like virus” according to the quack doctor at the clinic, the only place open on a Sunday. He said that it should pass but that Tylenol and sleep were basically all Emmersyn could do for her little man. Between the fever, lack of appetite, and a lack of overall energy her little one was miserable and intent on gluing himself to his momma. He had refused to sleep without her last night and screamed bloody murder when she attempted to leave this morning. With her nerves frayed and anxiety pushing her to get this initial meeting over with so that she could return to her story and sick toddler, Emmersyn sighed and attempted to curb her frustration and annoyance with the entire world.

Taking a deep breath, she attempted to ground herself and let go of the things she could not control. Em laughed softly as she heard her therapist’s voice talking her through another anxiety attack. She was nothing but a product of good therapy. 

Therapy had been a necessity when your mother was negligent at best, your father absent, your brother coddled because of a custody battle between your mother and her ex, while you are left to do any actual parenting and deal with a myriad of personal issues. Emmersyn was diagnosed with Autism at the age of 16. Which is early for a girl. The diagnosis was miraculous when you add in the fact that she was black, from a broken home, and basically fit the profile of “black delinquent teen” to a T. 

Since she was diagnosed and her high school had reported signs of abuse on her body, the state got involved, placing her with her grandmother and her brother with his father. And they appointed her a counselor to help her deal with the changes and cope with her tics. Em had learned from her counselor how to create and execute routine and goals like a marine drill sergeant.

Routine was how she helped her brain cope. She was always addicted to words and books were a necessary escape in her high school days. It was a no brainer to pursue a degree in English and try to become an author. The idea of a job where she could set her own hours, focus only on the things that interested her, and would allow her as little social interaction as she wanted sounded like a dream. And so, she had set out with a goal and a plan to make it happen. 

She had not counted on falling in love or becoming pregnant.

But that was ok. She had simply created holes in her routine to fit Liam and his needs. He was the best part of her life. On her dark days he was the reason she kept moving forward, and on the good days he was normally the reason she could even label the day as a success. His smiles, kisses, tantrums, and overall existence were the reason she was so successful. 

As a best-selling author she was constantly traveling, which made a routine hard. Unless you had a baby that needed food, naps, and playtime in a consistent and regulated manner. Having a baby alone in a new city was hard, raising a child was even harder. But Emmersyn was determined to make it work and give her son the best of everything. 

She sighed and tapped her hand rhythmically against her thigh as she waited for her tank to fill. She decided to check the GPS on her phone one more time, making sure that the address she had typed in matched the address given to her in Joseph’s most recent email. Then she double checked that she had the meeting time right. And just to make sure that all of her tampering hadn’t caused any catastrophic changes, Emmersyn checked over her GPS and information just one more time. Finally, the gas pump thunked at her, pulling her away from her obsessive checking, prompting her to finish her fuel routine. Pumping just a little more until the total cost was an even thirty-nine dollars. Once that was complete, she printed her receipt and double checked that everything matched between the pump and the piece of paper. Clutching the receipt, Emmersyn then meticulously replaced the gas cap, making sure to turn it until it clicked, and shut the little door making sure that it was once again flush to the body of the car. 

Satisfied, Emmersyn climbed into her vehicle, turned the key to start the vehicle, and pulled out her trusty pen and quickly calculated her gas mileage for tax purposes before carefully placing the receipt in her wallet along with similar receipts. She then cleared her mileage history. That necessary paperwork done, Emmersyn clicked on her seatbelt and made sure that her phone was properly connected to her vehicle’s Bluetooth system, before playing her favorite playlist and engaging her GPS. Satisfied that everything was in working order, Em pulled out of the gas station and headed towards her destination, ten minutes behind schedule, and attempting to calm the nerves she could never seem to shake when going to new places, meeting new people, or arriving late to an appoint. Pulling large calming breaths into her lungs Em pulled out onto the busy street, unaware of the old blue Ford Pickup truck and its owner, whose eyes are glued intently to her.

Emmersyn managed to make it to her destination with 5 minutes to spare. It was cutting it too close in Em’s mind since she had no time to calm her nerves or check that she had brought all of the things necessary for this interview. Forcing herself not to check for her pen, pad, recorder, ID, etc. Em hastily stepped out of her SUV and attempted to walk confidently into the imposing glass edifice that housed Clarke and Klein Computing’s Virginia Branch. The building was obviously new, since it was both 3 stories taller, and was comprised of seventy percent more glass that all of the squat brick commercial buildings around it. It screamed gentrification, even the grass and flowerbeds were new, you could still see the lines where the turf was laid down. This company had not been in this location long. 

Em tried not to get sidetracked wondering about the company’s relationship with the other business next door, or what businesses were bought out or torn down to build the ugly building that belonged in a more urban city like New York instead of small-town Virginia. Determined to keep her focus, Em walked into the building and found herself in a pickle. There was no receptionist. 

The building’s foyer was open and airy all the way through to the back entrance, where an identical set of doors stood waiting to confuse unwary visitors, and all the way up to the ceiling. Each floor had offices set back against the walls, creating a spiraling effect as you looked up. Offices swirled dizzyingly around and up with two or three businesses to each floor. Doing the mental math, Em realized that with four floors to search and a minimum of two businesses per floor, she had at least eight places to look for her destination. She was most definitely going to be late. 

Mentally cursing tardy nannies and slow gas pumps, Emmersyn turned slowly looking for an elevator or better yet a directory. She finally spotted both objects directly in front and to her left, easily missed due to the uniform modern grey and black color scheme, and because they were partially hidden in the shadow of the grand staircase that seemed to be the focal point of the building.

Em pulled out the printed copy of the email she had received from Joseph and proceeded to read through the contents to see if there was any indication of where she should go. Of course, there was not. Emmersyn knew that Joseph was not actually interested in speaking with her, and likely had been ordered to by someone higher up the chain of command. He had therefore given her only the most cursory of information. The date of the appointment, the time of their appointment, the building in which the appointment was to be held. Since the email was of no help, Em replaced the email carefully in her messenger bag and scrutinized the directory. It listed the businesses and their locations by floor starting at the fourth floor and working its way down to the first. Finally, she found the name she was looking for and smiled triumphantly: Clarke & Klein Computing—Third floor, Suite 8.

Em pressed the button to call the elevator and tapped her fingers impatiently against her bag, she needed this information for her character and plot development. She could not lose this chance to study and question a man whose information and expertise would make this story finally come to life.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened seeming to invite Emmersyn to take the next step towards her story’s conclusion.