I never got to finish my coffee

Part 2

The client had, thankfully, arranged for transit fees (otherwise, the request for an in-person meeting would've been of great annoyance. It still is, just not as much). Having just arrived at the final destination, the woman bid goodbye to the man who decided she'd be a good person to ask for English lessons, and scanned the crowd for anyone who matched the casual description of who she'd be meeting. Someone with a grey coat, dark pants, a brown vest, and white shirt, supposedly.

Someone spoke up behind her. "Dr. Rivera?"

Turning around, Rivera found someone matching the description. A tall, middle-aged looking brunette, with sparkling, grey eyes, with a hand reached out in greeting. Rivera shook hands, albeit a little startled by the client's sudden appearance out of nowhere.

"Nice to meet you! I'm Nicky Monroe." her wide smile was a bit unsettling, but Rivera brushed it off.

"Dr. Rivera." she returned the smile.

The client was quite congenial, thankfully (nothing like that one time she had to deal with some Karen who debated every minute detail). The day went by quickly, but the project would have to be examined over the course of multiple days.

But...the same unsettling feeling never went away.

If anything, it got worse.

It would start up when Rivera got off the train in the morning. Monroe always made a sudden appearance, as if she could show up out of thin air. And while actually discussing the project, away in the office space of the company, it's as if the client was actively trying to make this take up as much time as possible. This could've three business days to complete, Rivera thought to herself. But here we are, a week later, musing over things irrelevant to anything. She pushed those thoughts out of her head and took a breath. This is her job. She's paid to do this. She can't afford to let her personal life's weird suspicions get a hold of her professional life. She can put up with an uncertain client for a few days, and everything will then be back to normal.

~

"It was a pleasure working with you," Monroe extended her hand, which Rivera briskly shook.

"Likewise," Very unlikewise, to be honest.

Rivera turned around to leave, and noticed Monroe stood up at the same moment. That's weird, she's visited this building enough times to know her way out, without needing to be escorted.

Passing by the conference rooms, she took a left, to head for the exit. The daylight would be a welcome break from the harsh, fluorescent lights, ubiquitously placed in the building. She looked forward to getting home, relishing in the fact that her days will be normal again for the next foreseeable while. The ride home was also starting to be a rather pleasant time (turns out that man from earlier who needed serious grammar assistance was a rather nice person to talk to, despite the noticeable language barrier, but he was a quick learner). She'd managed to suppress those weird feelings in her gut, and it's been rather convenient. No paranoid thoughts or anything of the like.

A pitch black room with an open door which she passed by on her way to the door seemed slightly odd (every other door was either locked, or had the lights on). But who was she to care much about it? She probably won't see this building again in her life.

Then something pushed her in.

...

Darkness engulfed Rivera.

There was a hand over her mouth. She could hear a door shut.

Someone's arms were around her. She couldn't move.

She was trapped.

Stabbing her heel into the shin of whoever was just behind her was useless. She tried to flail around, move, do something. Something to get her out. Away. Away from whatever this was. Far from its vicinity. Don't look back. Run as far as you can. But she couldn't. She couldn't run. She couldn't flail. There wasn't a thing to do. Any effort was futile.

Suddenly there came the sound of something moving through the air.

A blunt object bashed into her head was the last thing she felt.

...