Someone Else's Shoes

Chapter One

Despite years of my life wasted attaining a masters degree in psychology, I work a nine-to-five desk job filing paperwork and blueprints for completed projects at a construction company in upstate New York. What can I say you need experience to get a job in your field and you need a job in your field to get experience. So here I am, at the ripe old age of 28 my life is a train wreck of student loans and unfulfilled potential, underwhelming to say the least.

My alarm clock screeched as I groped blindly for my glasses. I was hungover and I was exhausted from the night before. I could hear the shatter of glass and the unmistakable slosh of water onto the hardwood floor of my bedroom. "Great, just great!" I mumbled through a clenched jaw slamming my fist into the snooze button. I lay between the dirty sheets for a moment longer as I wait for the fog of sleep to lift from my brain. The buzz was still ringing in my head as I snatched my glasses off the nightstand and carefully got out of bed, avoiding the broken Glass. I let out a sigh as I dragged myself to the bathroom and retrieved a towel, I can't exactly clean up my mess of a life but the least I can do is keep this puddle from ruining the floor in my apartment.
   I stumbled through the rest of my morning in a fairly similar fashion. After stubbing my toe on the door frame as I searched for pain relievers to dull my headache I was left rummaging for a bandage to control the bleeding as well. And then there was the fact that I hadn't plugged my nearly dead phone in to charge last night and was now without contact to the outside world. It seems as though things are incapable of going my way.

The real cherry on top was that I had gotten home at midnight after a night of bar hopping. In my drunken state, I had also forgotten to iron my shirt. The lesson here is to do your chores before you get drunk or they won't get done. This wasn't the first time, and it probably wasn't the last time I'd be to drunk to function. Some would call me an alcoholic, but I like to think of it more as a bad habit, a coping mechanism really.

Though I was already running late and pressed for time the pain killers I had taken weren't exactly helping my throbbing headache. I figure a cup of coffee might do the trick, They say caffeine helps. The coffee shop I like is just a small detour on my way to work and won't take to long. Time shouldn't be that big of an issue today, my boss is fine if I'm a few minutes late to work. Or at least she hasn't mentioned it before.

I opend the door and was immediately engulfed in the familiar aroma of toasted coffee beans and fresh baked goods. The morning line was shorter than usual and when I got to the front I was greeted with a smiling face.
"The usual?" he asked and I nodded, fishing change from my pocket. "Three fifty." he stated before turning around to pour a large cup of light roast. I was surprised he remembered my order, though I suppose after coming in every morning for months I could be considered a regular.

No one really thought highly of me in the first place, but this might be a new low. I strolled into the office eight minutes late with an unpressed shirt, disheveled hair, and a coffee in hand. Avoiding the stares of my colleagues, I began to make my way to my desk. I was almost there, only a few more steps. "Peter Louis, please report to my office immediately!" my boss yelled into the intercom as I was pulling my chair out to take a seat. Damn it. This can't end well.
"I've given you chance after chance, time after time Peter. You continue to show up late, looking hungover and frankly completely, inappropriately, unprofessional." She nagged. "You're better than this, really Peter, you are." Her voice softened. "You've done good for this company in the past but I'm afraid in light of your recent behavior we will not be able to tolerate any more. I'm sorry but we're letting you go."

I sat in silence. I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do. I had never even received a warning and now I'm suddenly being fired? Really who am I kidding but myself, I can't deny that I've been on a downhill track for a while now. Its been a long time coming.

It wasn't even noon yet and I had been fired from my job, what am I supposed to do now? I slowly raised from my seat and walked back to my desk to gather my things. One of my coworkers, well ex-coworker now, approached me. "Is everything alright?" she asked shyly. I believe her name was Winnie, though I could be mistaken. I found it strange that she was concerned for me, I had never spoken to her before. "Peter?" she spoke again, I guess I hadn't replied fast enough. "Y-yes, everything is alright," I lied, snapping out of my trance, surprised she had known my name. "But thank you for your concern." I mumbled and she frowned. "Don't be afraid of change, it can be bad but it is always an opportunity for good." she spoke again softly. I was taken aback, why was she saying this? Was it obvious that I had just been fired? "I'm sorry," she said again breaking the silence. "Lets grab a drink, meet me at the bar around the corner at seven." she handed me a small slip of paper and walked away.

It was about 10 o'clock by the time I had finished packing my things and I couldn't help but wonder if It was to early for a drink, I mean sure I had plans later but one drink couldn't hurt. I decided I should head home, drop off my stuff and maybe clean up a bit first.

The elevator in my building opened on the third floor and a man who looked as though he would normally be well groomed but had neglected to comb his hair this morning stepped on, he was anxious but the moment he looked at me he was over taken by panic. My eyes met his as he raised his arm slowly and pointed his shaking finger at me. "I-ITS ME!" he yelled "I'M YOU!" The elevator door opened again to my floor and I tried to exit but he grabbed at me. "PETER!" I ripped my arm from his grasp and bolted towards my apartment. He didn't try to follow me.

How the hell did he know my name? I slammed the door behind me and dead-bolted it shut, I've had strange days but this really takes the cake. After setting my stuff down on the counter of my cramped kitchen, I grabbed a towel from the linen closet. Once I had showered and dried my hair, I pressed the wrinkly shirt I had been wearing before. By the time I had gotten dressed again It was around 1 o'clock, where did the time go? In an attempt to calm my nerves I poured myself a shot of vodka and swiftly drank it. I decided I wasn't ready to go back outside yet.

As I sat down on the couch I heard the soft crinkle of paper in my pocket. I had been so shaken after my encounter with that man in the elevator that I almost forgot about Winnie. My hand fished around in my pocket as I grasped for the slip of paper. It read, "Peter, I know things are scary but I advise you to trust me. The lives of many will soon be in your hands. -Winnie". What was that supposed to mean, 'the lives of many...in my hands.' did she expect me to talk her down from shooting a place up or something?

By the time 6:30 had rolled around I still wasn't sure if I wanted to meet with Winnie. What if she really was a murderer? Its always the quiet ones. I spent the next five minutes thinking of all the ways I could die tonight, whether It be an accident or foul play, I thought of it all. And it was 6:40 before I grabbed my coat and headed out the door, its not like I have anything left to lose.
I still don't know why I didn't turn back and just go home but here I am, I find myself at a bar yet another night this week planning to get drunk of my ass only this time I didn't have anywhere to be in the morning. Halfway through my first beer, Winnie came up and took a seat on the bar stool next to me. I waited for her to speak but it seemed as though she was the one waiting for me.

When the bartender came up to ask if she could get her anything she waved her off with a simple "No, thank you." Then continued looking at me. "What do you mean "the lives of many" in my hands?" I asked using air quotes and breaking the silence between us. "You'll find out soon enough." she simply stated as if her words mean nothing. "All I have to say to you Peter is that when you wake up tomorrow, that is not your life to screw up." her voice had suddenly become harsh and stern. "Keep that In mind, and I suggest you stay sober, tomorrow might be a big day, if It ever happens." she began to trail off as she spoke. And with that she stood and put on her coat. "Sleep well Peter." she said as she left. I quickly paid for my beer and tried to follow her, running out into the cold flurry of early February snow. I franticly stepped out into the street looking for any sign of her, looking for the answers I needed. Pain exploded throughout every nerve in my body as the world faded to black.