Page 32 of The Taskmaster
And now, here I was, outside her office, not exactly sure why I felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs and replaced with cement.
Her colleague said she looked pale, and Abigail told her she wasn’t sleeping. I knew that. I’d seen how restless she’d been. How nightmares were plaguing her and robbing her of sleep. Then she started asking about the photo that was sitting on my mantlepiece. A photo that meant so much to her. Officer Dan had been through a cancer battle, and that photo was taken the night he got the all clear. It was more than a photo; it was a symbol of hope and joy for her.
It was also a reminder that I could manipulate her emotions and feelings. I could steal her joy... or I could return it.
I prided myself on being the master. Master of my games, controller of destinies, but now, I was the master of her. And my domination went so much deeper than she’d ever realise. Or maybe she’d realise sooner than she thought.
I kept my back to her as she walked out of her office, hugging a folder in her arms. The nearness of her presence made my skin prickle and the hairs on my neck stand on end. As she headed down the corridor, I watched her walk away, her scent lingering in the hallway. I debated following her, but I didn’t want to waste my time being around other people who might talk to me, question what I was doing there, and ask for my help with their computers.
I didn’t want to see Adam Noble, Will, or any of the Brinton Manor crew, although taunting them would’ve been fun.
I wanted to stay here and wait for her.
To be in her office and see the things that she saw every day.
I wasn’t too keen about talking to the girl she shared an office with. I didn’t do people. But for her, I’d make an exception if I had to, because it seemed that her colleague wasn’t leaving the office anytime soon.
I was desperate to drown in all things Abigail Walters, rinsing the experience of her for every last drop I could get. It wasn’t often I saw her up close when she was lucid and awake.
So, I walked towards the open door to her office, knocked to alert her colleague to my presence, and when she looked up and smiled at me as I stood in the doorway waiting, she asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m here to carry out some IT maintenance.”
She didn’t question it, just nodded and replied, “No problem. Abi’s computer is free for a while, and mine will be soon too. I’m going on lunch in five minutes.”
Thank God for that. I could do what I wanted without anyone breathing down my neck.
“I’m Jess, by the way,” she said politely, then asked me if I wanted a drink. I declined, telling her I had my own water bottle, and she left me to set up my laptop and equipment in the corner. She didn’t speak or bother me. She was the perfect intruder onmy quest, and when she stood up and announced she’d be back in an hour, she became even more perfect. I hated having others around when I worked.
When she left, I checked the corridor to make sure she was gone, before closing the door to get some privacy. I went over to Abigail’s desk and sat on her chair, gazing around the room as I sat back. There was a faint smell of her perfume lingering in the air, and I closed my eyes and inhaled—the scent spiralled my senses, making me feel lightheaded. So, I opened my eyes and ran my fingers over her desk, keyboard and mouse, touching the things she touched every day. Her computer screen came to life when the mouse moved, but I wasn’t interested in going through her work files or emails. I could do that from my system at home. No, I wanted a more specialised experience today. I wanted to see what she kept in her drawers, and if I could find it, her handbag.
The jacket she’d worn on the first night I’d followed her home, the one with the tracker in the pocket, was hung up on a stand in the corner of the room. That, and the framed photograph of her parents on her desk, were the only indications that this was her workspace. Everything else, the walls, floors and decorations, were generic, mundane, boring.
I reached down and opened the bottom drawer of her desk. People always kept the most interesting stuff in the bottom. Abigail had a bag with her lunch in it; some fancy baguette I’d watched her buy this morning. There were also sachets of drinks and milk. It was all a bit sad really. Was that what she treasured and kept secret? Food and drink? No hidden bottle of whisky, like in the movies, or a loaded gun. If anything, it was as mundane as the office itself. It told me nothing about her.
I rifled through the other drawers, but they didn’t help. I was no closer to knowing who this girl was. There was just stationary and generic shit.
And then I found her diary.
I flicked through it, noticing that she’d listed dates for birthdays and doodled little flowers around the person’s name. She obviously cherished the people in her life, that much was clear. There were a few work dates, meetings, notes for deadlines. But when I reached the page for today, I saw a sentence written in another language.
Promissum meum servabo.
I had no idea what it meant, and I took a photo on my phone of the page, ready to Google it and search for the meaning. But I heard footsteps outside, so I pocketed my phone and went to my laptop to keep up the ruse that I was here to work. I’d Google the meaning later.
Abigail’s colleague, Jess, walked back in, returning from her lunch break, and she gave me a curt, “Hi,” before settling behind her desk.
I kept my back to her and took my phone out, placing it next to my laptop, and opening my camera roll to see the words Abigail had written in her diary. Then I opened a window on my laptop and typed in the words ‘Promissum meum servabo’. Google told me it was Latin, but when I saw the translation, I was none the wiser on what it meant.
‘I will keep my promise’.
What promise was she keeping?
And why did it piss me off to know Abigail Walters had more secrets?
Who did she owe the promise to?
And why had she written that today?
