Chapter 29: Chapter 29

Chapter twenty seven.

Zack's pov.

Okay, so here is drill — James has changed ever since yesterday. I don't know why, neither do I think I will soon, but anyway, I'll keep watch on what's wrong with him.

In the car, he is driving, his eyes fixated onto the road. His ankles are bit pale due to his force on the steering. He looks pissed off at something. We hadn't talked since he drove me from house, and before I forget, Susan left before us though.

He pulls to a stop when we get to our destination. My overwhelming nerves calms at the sight before me, in front of me, is the tall, elegant building of Black Script.

Oh, God. It is even more handsome in sight, I mean, seeing it right before me wants me to bow before entering.

As I want to get down, James decided to speak, his hand grasping my forearm, stopping me, as well as hooking me. "Be careful."

I can't stop my sarcasm that settles in, "I'm going for an interview, not going to get myself killed."

"Appearance is a deceit sometimes."

"What?"

"Nothing, I'll be waiting here." And i can tell that is all he will like share. As a writer, i can tell he has something hidden he doesn't want to voice out.

I don't bother myself, get out, and walk to the front door. The doorman smiles at me, as he opens the double handle door, silvery-glassy made. It looks expensive, infact everything and everyone here looks expensive.

Squeaky clean floor does my legs walk on, myself having to look down, hoping my shoes doesn't dirty them. The walls are painted in brown, at least this side of the room. The lobby is wide, and incredibly spacious.

I allow myself to explore more before walking over to the registry. The blonde woman smiles professionally at me in a way that speaks she mean business, and also friendliness, well I doubt the latter.

"Hi, my name is Zack, one of the selectee, I was asked..."

"I know who you are." I give her a I-don't-get-you look, but she just smiles. "Remember submitting your details, and a picture."

Right!

I chuckle, "yeah."

"Please sign down here, just a tracer for us to know those who attended on their given date."

When she says so, i don't think much into it, and go ahead to it. She passes me the book I'm supposed to sign on, and I do so.

As soon as I'm done, the elevator behind me dings, and another blonde woman walks out in a very much exquisite manner, a gait so well constructed and trained.

She shares me a teeth-showing smile, "please come with me, Zack."

And without waiting for me, she leads the way back to the elevator. Then, in the elevator, I feel myself starting to warm up, like really bad warm up. I begin to sweat from the pressure I feel. Just the ladies I've seen so far are just more than I thought. Oh, now I wouldn't wonder why this very company is ranked one of the best.

In the new room we get to, my nerves once again cools when I see people, writers like myself, who are staffs here. We pass through some mass office, and man, the structures and organization is amazing, beautiful.

"Let me take your sweater." The new blonde says, smiling brightly at me, her tone calm and collected. She must have noticed my uneasiness.

"Thanks." I say back, and give it to her.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Oh, has the interview started from here? My mind tells me, raising questions of it own.

I blink, and try to pull myself together. "Thanks, maybe a glass of water."

She nods, and gesture for me to seat on one of the chairs nearby before she leaves. When she comes back, she's holding a glass cup of water in her hands, "here you go."

"Thanks." I whisper to her, and she smiles as a reply.

"I'll be back."

I check the fantastic room I'm in once again. The portraits alone is awing my orbs, causing to want to pop out. The artistic job to decorating everywhere is luxurious.

In a minute time, the new blonde woman is back, still wearing her smile. It is begining to creep me out, but I'll keep that in.

"You can go in now, the boss will be interviewing you himself." The way she'd said that creeps me out. Like the boss isn't the one who's supposed to interview me but another person, and now that it is him, that is such a slim chance I have at getting the job.

I stand and want to walk in the door her courtesy hands are pointing to when her next saying halts me. "Pass me the glass, please."

"Oh," my bad...I'd have add. I give it to her with shaky hands. Oh, she intimidates me, I wonder how I'll feel before the boss, himself.

Entering the room, I keep my gaze fixated on the man, sitting on a black leather chair, not caring to check out the amazement of the room.

"Come in, please." Wow, his tone is gentle, and thick.

I walk over, and take a seat on one of the two leather chairs of the same colour before him, the brown desk is the only thing between us. I can feel the aura of his authority on me.

Hitler Richard, a golden-skinned man, his melanin having been tanned during resort periods, I assume. He wears an ash coat, black shirt underneath, and...black trousers?

When he start to speak, I command my body to focus on just his mouth. "Zack," wow, he calls me by my name.

"Mr. Richard."

"Oh, call me Hitler, so, I've seen your files, and one of the mails you sent us where you included some of your works. The board and I think you are okay enough, but I have a question for you...being the boss, I mean." He chuckles at the end, and I have to smile, so I don't look so mean before him.

I am unnerved by his upcoming question. I need to grab myself. "Why do you chose writing?"

"I don't really know, well, maybe..." I close my mouth, and say out my mind. "I've mostly been alone, and the only way I could find resolution is through my characters. They make me feel like a human should, and keep me company when I feel utterly alone."

More questions follow in from him. "What do you mean by alone? You don't have parents?" Is he supposed to ask me this kind of question? "Sorry for asking that way." I guess it's settled then.

"No, I have. It's just that my dad wasn't that, I don't know how to explain it, he never gave me the chance..." I trail off, beginning to remember those things I don't want to.

Hitler's face is somber, "I think I understand." I frown at that. How does he understand? He has the kind of childhood I had?

"Maybe he has his reasons?" He is more of asking me, than declaring or defending.

I scoff. "What reason could he have? It will be only an excuse." I say, concerned into the discussion before my head ticks, and recollect my demeanor. This is an interview, remember that, Zack, I tell myself.

"Maybe not really. Maybe he was just pained then." And in his eyes, he looks pained, lost in a memory. I don't comment any further. When he regains himself, he gives me a teeth-on-the-outside smile.

"Thanks, Zack. You'll receive a mail through your lead, whatever it is will decide what your application has on this. See you later." Is the interview done then?

"We are done?"

"Of course, we are." Oh, God, what have I done? Maybe...I don't even know.

"Let me escort you out." Him, telling me that makes me want to reconsider my thoughts.

"Okay." I am fascinated by that. The boss of Black Script wants to escort me, big news.

When we walk outside, the blonde woman is behind the booth at the left side, opposite to chairs where I had seated earlier.

She is surprised to see Hitler outside his office, walking side by side with a selectee. Mind you woman, I am surprised too.

He exchanged more words with me, talking on topics that evolves around the offices, if I like them, and how the mass rooms are organized, if they are fancy enough. He said he wants to make more changes, and he sees me as someone who could help him with that. Why he'd say that, I don't know.

When I get to the elevator, I press the button, opening, I walk in, and turn to face him. He waves at me, and smiles.

"See you, Zack."

"Is that a promise?" I ask, because I desperately want to be sure if I got this job already.

But all he gives me is a smile.

When I get outside, I find my way to the car, and enter. I am relived, so relived, as if a load has been brought down my shoulders.

"Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?" He had asked finished, before giving me that face that says it slipped out.

I had only closed my eyes, whilst breathing out heavily, I didn't look like someone who had been hurt or anything. Why did he think that then?

"What is it?" I ask, not getting him anymore. "Why are you all so worked out? Why aren't you letting me know what is on your mind, James, for goodness sake? It's just annoying." I have to blurt out. Maybe he doesn't know what we share, and with him acting this way, hurts me.

"I'll be back." His tone is calm, and unstressed. Jesus christ of nazareth, he didn't just say that.

"And where are you going?" Because of my shock, I can't even shout at him for troubling my brain.

"Just stay in here." When he finishes saying, he goes silent, and gets out of the car. I am so shocked right now.