Chapter 2: Into the Unknown
15 Hours Before Tragedy
Tuesday, April 21 – 6:00 a.m.
Rrring... rrring...
The phone vibrated violently, shaking me out of my slumber. I didn't even remember what I was dreaming about last night. People say if you forget your dream, it means you slept well. Maybe that's true , because I felt oddly energized, ready to face another day as a proud, underappreciated member of the workforce.
Or as I like to call it: a professional slave.
My morning ritual followed the sacred order, brush, wash, and, of course, dump. They say morning poop is a sign of healthy guts. That's what I read on the internet. And if it's on the internet, it must be true, right?
By 9:00 a.m. sharp, I was already at the office, feeling a bit smug about arriving on time for the 200th consecutive day without applause or promotion. But that moment of pride was instantly shattered.
"Alan," my boss called out with his loud voice, "you'll need to cover for Jeff today. Emergency leave."
No explanation. No warning, No backup. Just the corporate equivalent of, 'Congratulations, you've just been promoted to two employees for the price of one!'
Then my phone buzzed. A message from Jeff himself.
> Sorry, I take EL today. I accidentally ran over my dog while reversing the car.