Chase punched the number 3 repeatedly, impatiently waiting for the elevator doors to close. He saw his image reflected back as the shiny doors closed, pleased that he looked much less haggard than earlier before. His black and gray Henley looked good on him, and he finally felt comfortable and dry.
He wondered how far the Caelans' discussion progressed after he left to change clothes, knowing that they wouldn't wait for him. In fact, the more Chase thought about it, the more he realized that he was in no particular hurry to return.
He had hoped that the Caelans would talk about their home world and possibly explain how they had mastered anger in the first place, but instead they had drawn timelines on the whiteboard and highlighted specific incidents of anger flare-ups, which to Chase seemed like nothing. It began to feel like a group therapy session—some sharing stories of their breakdowns while the others offered support. He tried to stay as long as he could, but boredom, restlessness, and discomfort finally won out.
When the elevator opened on the third floor, he mumbled, "How about a little detour?"
Instead of heading toward the conference room to the right, he headed left, toward the west wing of the boomerang shaped building.
Nobody was working anywhere, giving Chase ample opportunity to explore. But to his disappointment there was nothing special on that side of the floor. In fact, it was a mirror image of the east wing, where he had already been. The hallway brought him along a large cube farm to his right, and to his left were glass offices—all unoccupied. The only sounds were that of running workstations randomly scattered throughout the area.
The outside facing windows beyond the array of cubicles were smattered with droplets of rain, but the storm had ended. Late afternoon sun could be seen peeking through beyond the clouds.
He found a white closet further down, past an array of formal conference rooms. His hopes were dashed though, upon opening the steel sliding door. A variety of snow-globes, a large ring of gold garland and a small Christmas tree were jammed into a plastic box. Other seasonal office decorations cluttered the floor and shelves, causing Chase to shake his head and slide the door closed.
The only other room that caught his attention had nothing more than standard office supplies. White-out tape, pens, markers, envelopes, binders, hole-punchers and staple removers.
"How disappointing," he said out loud.
But before he could fully process his discouragement, the sound of a bird chirping disrupted his thoughts. At first he thought it was his imagination, but the chirping repeated itself, causing Chase to freeze in place, trying to determine its source.
It was muffled, but not far, leading him to believe it was coming from one of the glass offices.
Heading that direction, he wrinkled his forehead in confusion, wondering what could be making that sound. As he approached the source though, his suspicions were confirmed—it was coming from a glass office.
Chase frowned, peeking his head in the open door.
Someone familiar rose from a chair behind a large desk, looking curiously at Chase. It was the assistant to the Regulus, the guy with the large upper body who looked like he worked out. Chase couldn't remember his name, but the familiar birdcage sat on the desk, making it easy to remember him from the party last night.
"Hey, how's it going?" Chase asked.
The man did a double take, as recognition flashed across his face, "What the hell are you doing here?"
