To You and Back

Chapter 1: The Reunion

Skyscrapers rose from the Island of Manhattan to stretch into the light, raising out of the shadows at their base like hundreds of hands reaching for the heavens. Below, the streets bustled with pedestrians, bumper to bumper traffic, street vendors, and the eternal construction on a city that refused to be complete. Above, in one of the architectural marvels in the financial district, sunlight glinted off the glass of the other high rises through the windows, blinding and dazzling a pair of dark eyes that gazed out at them. Thin dark brows furrowed as the eyes squinted but did not look away, staring as if it were some kind of penance. Perhaps it was.

The gaze dropped from sparkling glass to the crowded city streets below, shrouded in the deep shadows of the buildings around them. Thin lips parted, and murmured, "Beware of tall buildings, for they cast the deepest ."

It was something his mother had always told him, usually with a secretive side glance at his father. It had taken him a long time to realize what it was she was saying to him, but by then it was too late. Now, he feared, he was already one of those buildings.

**

In another room on another floor of the building, pale yellow brows furrowed in irritation, and concern, as clear blue eyes glanced down at a watch. The brows furrowed even more at the time: ten-thirty. With a sharp exhale, Charlie Hill sat back in his chair. He was twenty-six years old, just shy of six feet tall—though he would never admit it—dressed in a navy suit, powder blue shirt, and blue and white checkered tie. His blond hair was parted on the right and combed back with a slight curve, and light blue eyes looked out of a slender face with slightly rounded cheeks. He sat as calmly as he could, resisting the urge to bounce his knee, or tap his fingers, or fidget with his tie.

His final interview had been scheduled for nine-thirty, and he had been told that the person who was supposed to interview him had been changed, but to whom and why, the receptionist was annoyingly vague. Everyone else had already been called and Charlie waited, alone. The room was closed off from the outside, decorated in black and white metal and glass, smelling of air conditioning and cedar. Charlie sat in one of a line of chairs against the wall, with the receptionist's desk opposite, and a carpeted hallway to the left that led off to several closed doors.

At any other company he would have left—and indeed he had walked out on multiple interviews which he thought was less than professional—but this was a job he really wanted. Pembroke Dynamics had their hand in every pie, so to speak, and the doors it could open for him were countless. The position he was interviewing for—sales rep—was also a very competitive field, and to be held back like this seemed like a bad omen.

Getting up from his chair he went to the reception desk. It was one of those high, counter type structures, which put the receptionist almost at eye level with the person on the other side. "Excuse me," he said, smoothing his tie. "I just wanted to know that I wasn't forgotten."

The receptionist, a woman of indeterminate age, with slicked back black hair and frameless spectacles on her nose, looked at him. She had the ability to appear to be smiling without actually moving her lips. "We haven't forgotten about you, Mr. Hills," she said with professional politeness. "In fact," she added, her gaze shifting to a point behind him, "I think he's ready for you."

"Oh, you can say that," came a deep, amused voice from behind.

Charlie gave a short, quick inhale and held it, then closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He let his breath out with a word: "Peter."

"That's Mr. Townsend to you."

Turning around Charlie, came face to face with a man who stood a few inches taller than himself, dressed in a beautiful tailored black suit and tie. Peter Townsend was twenty-eight years old, with wavy mahogany colored hair, a strong, narrow jaw, and dark eyes currently twinkling with the same mischief that crooked his thin lips into a smile.