The Office Across the Street is Stuck in a Time loop

I work for a public relations agency in Boston, Massachusetts. Don’t Google it, you wont be able to find it anyway. That’s kind of the whole point of public relations—we are doing our job correctly if you have no idea we exist. We handle brand management, media relations, crisis control, and social media campaigns for a whole butt load of companies.

Which means I’m usually too busy to glare out the window in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. But I just happened to glance over at 2:32 pm and boom, there it was—the perfect view of the office across the street. But I’ll get to that.

See, I was just promoted to Vice President. It was a title that came along with a nice little pay bump and an even nicer corner office. My company is located on the 13th floor so I have a sweeping view of the city; which also means that I have a view into the office across the street from us.

Like most Boston buildings, it’s pretty old from what I can tell. It’s made up of brick and steel with large, shiny windows stretched between aged brick. But the people...now that’s what caught my eye.

There I was, just minding my own business on a conference call, sipping a latte, when a flash of color spurted across my peripheral vision. I turned to look out the window just in time to see a mousy, middle-aged woman slap a tall woman across the face. I paused, my mouth hanging wide open, as I watched the tall coworker sob openly, her hand pressed against her swollen cheek. The red flower in her hair crumpled to the ground.

“Kate...are you still there?” the phone buzzed in my ear.

“Oh right, yes. Sorry,” I mumbled. “The analytics report suggests that we should push for more ad spend. We believe that would increase consumer engagement.”

“I’m not sure if the client will go for that,” my boss tsked in my ear.

“We can bring it up on our next call,” I said hesitantly, my eyes still trained on the office across the street. The mousy woman was now confronting another coworker, a man. He seemed to be in his late 30’s with peppered hair and tan skin. His hand was on the tall woman’s lower back, comforting her.

The mousy woman had her finger in his face, wriggling it out of anger. Was that a wedding ring? Yeah, yeah that has to be...is she married to the man? Then what is he doing comforting the tall girl?

“...and if we have it by Friday then we can beat the press release. Right, Kate?”

“Right,” I mumbled, still distracted. “I’ll take care of it.” I turned back to the office window but the three figures were gone, replaced by a darkened office. How did they get out of there so quickly?

“Great, Kate. Well then that’s your action item,” the phone chirped.

“Of course,” I agreed. I felt dazed, almost as if I was waking up from a dream. I hung up the phone and pressed my cool palm to my eyes. I blinked and took a sip of coffee, glancing back towards the office window. It was still dark, almost pitch black despite the midday sun. I willfully turned away and focused on the press release due on Friday. By the end of the day, I had forgotten all about the peculiar scene from the office across the street.

The only reminder was the strange, blooming red flower that appeared in my dreams that night. It blossomed and withered over and over, over and over. Over and over.

The next morning, I came in with a bagel and a double espresso, prepared to tackle the mountain of tasks I had at hand. But when I sat down at my desk I had the strangest notion that I was being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I shivered, unable to shake the gnawing feeling that something was wrong.

I turned to look at the office across the street, expecting to see some kind of fight or brawl or something. Instead, I saw only deep, unflinching darkness, which was weirdly worse than the slap I saw yesterday. But why was the office still dark? It was 9:00 am, people should be in the office by now. But whatever, not my problem if they were a lazy bunch.

A few hours ticked by until it was the midday slump. I yawned and stretched at my desk, swiveling my chair around to the window. The office across the street was now lit up and there were people moving. Well, two figures in particular.

The tall woman—the woman who was slapped the other day—was meeting with the man whose wife did the slapping. She was perched on the edge of his desk, her red dress riding up her thigh. He was leaning towards her, smiling and twirling a pen in-between his fingers. Immediately I moved closer to the window. It was pretty obvious what these two were up to and you could kiss my sweet ass if you think I’d miss what was about to go down.

The man was gently rubbing her thigh, all the while maintaining eye contact with the sheet of paper he had in front of him. The girl was playing coy too, leaning forward slightly to point out something on the paper. Her tits bounced near his flushed cheek. Even from this distance, I could make out the photo of him and his mousy wife on their wedding day propped on his desk. Figures.

I guess the man was done with being coy because he took his hand and slid it all the way up the girl’s tight dress, pulling her panties off in one quick motion. And the next thing I knew, I was basically watching a porno.

Jesus, how those two could fuck.

He took her right there on the desk. To hell with paperwork! Their passionate lovemaking sent his briefcase, coffee mug and papers flying to the floor. Even the photo of his doting wife was smacked to the ground by the girl’s right thigh as he pumped his way into her from behind. When they were done, they neatly picked up the paperwork and spilled office items and re-arranged them on the desk. The photo was the only causality; the glass had cracked on impact.

The girl was just pulling her dress down when the mousy woman knocked on the door. I was shook. This was the kind of drama people paid for and here I was receiving it for free! I practically had my face glued to the window.

From my viewpoint, I could see the corner office (his office) and the adjacent room next to his. The room was filled with a few desks and your typical office artwork. Nothing that stood out as exceptionally noteworthy. Though I’m sure the office must have been filled at this point, I could only make out these two rooms, separated by a thin brick wall. The mousy woman knocked again.

The girl and man quickly sat across from each other as if they didn’t just finish fucking each other’s brains out. The man straightened his tie and the girl combed her hair with her fingers. The man must have said something out loud because the mousy woman entered his office.

Her bright smile dissipated the second she saw that he wasn’t alone. I guess she could feel the sexual tension or something because she turned on her heel and slammed the door, the man pitifully called out to her....

“Kate, what on earth are you still doing here?”

I whipped my chair around to see my boss, Andrea, in the doorway of my office. She was clutching her workbag and had a look of concern splattered across her face.

“Wha—what do you mean?” I stammered.

“It’s 10:02 pm,” she shot back.

Sure enough, it was. The office was dark around me and the city was lulling itself to sleep beneath me. I noticed a searing pounding behind my eyes and my mouth felt uncomfortably dry. How long was I watching that office for?

“Is everything alright?” Andrea asked, shifting her tone to one of worry. “I only came back this late because I forgot my cell phone.”

“Oh,” I stammered. “Yeah, everything is fine. I’m sorry, I guess I just lost track of time...” my feeble excuse died slowly on my lips.

“Well, uh, alright then,” she said hesitantly, turning away. “We have a week off next week, you know. You’ll have plenty of time to rest while we renovate the office.”

“Of course,” I mumbled.

“Just uh, holler if you need me, ok?” She said as she turned to leave.

The aching in my head was almost debilitating. I rubbed my eyes and took a sip of my nearly empty latte. I could have sworn that I didn’t even look over at the office until 2:30 or so. And the scene I saw couldn’t have lasted longer than twenty minutes. So how on earth did I lose nearly 8 hours?

I packed my bag quickly and shut down my computer, keeping my eyes turned pointedly away from the office across the street. But as I turned off my office light I couldn’t help but sneak a look. I really, really wish I hadn’t.

They all stood there: the mousy woman, the tall girl and the man. They were facing the window and smiling, their lips curled in an unnaturally large grin. The corners of their mouths almost reached the tips of their eyelids, making it appear as if their faces were split in two. Their teeth looked jagged and yellow. They waved in unison as the lights in their office turned off, shoving them into darkness one by one. I swear I could still see the whites of their eyes gleam through the window, unblinking and unmoving.

I didn’t sleep well that night. I had feverish dreams of shifting shapes and bright lights that left my head pounding in-tune to my heartbeat. I woke up at various times imagining that someone was choking me, only to discover that my sweat-stained sheets had wrapped themselves around my neck during a fitful sleep. I drifted in and out of consciousness until my alarm blared me awake at 7:00 am, forcing me to rise on shaky feet.

I dreaded going into work. Part of me wanted to call out sick and claim I got the flu. But I had a mountain load of work that I never got to yesterday and an ever-intimidating press release that I had to finish before Friday. So I wearily got ready and headed into the office.

“Girl, you don’t look so good,” Gary commented the second I walked through the door. He was the office gossip, and he played the part well.

“I’m fine, Gary,” I said, brushing him off. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Please,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It looks like you haven’t slept well for weeks.”

Anger flared in my chest. “What does it matter to you what I look like? I’m not dressing up for your fucking sake,” I spat.

Gary’s eyes widened and I noticed that a few other coworkers had peaked their heads out from their cubicles, their faces blank and blurry. My face felt flushed and hot under their gaze.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Gary said quietly, as if to calm a rabid animal. “You’re never like this, are you ok?”

I adverted my gaze. “I’m sorry, I just, I guess I’m just really tired,” I stammered as I brushed past him.

I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I retreated to my office. I locked the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes to regain composure. I was just stressed, that’s all. That had to be it. The pressure of the promotion was getting to my head. Once the week is over, I’ll feel better.

I took a deep breath and sat down at my desk, keeping my eyes trained away from the window. The guilt sunk in: I was such a dick to Gary. He really didn’t deserve me yelling at him, especially over something so little. I quickly started drafting an apology email to him.

“Hey Gary, I’m really sorry about earlier. I guess I’ve just been feeling pretty run down this week. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

I paused, my fingers suspended over the keyboard. Gary had been here for ages; he was a constant figure in the office. Always hovering, always listening. If there was drama happening, Gary would know about it. Which means he may know about the office across the street. Or know someone who does.

“Hey Gary, I’m really sorry about earlier. I guess I’ve just been feeling pretty run down and distracted this week. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I feel like I just can’t get the office across the street out of my mind. Do you remember who used to sit in my office before me? I bet they were distracted by the drama happening in the office across from us. Lol maybe they can suggest a blinders or something. –Kate”

I sent the email and took a sip of water. I was cheery and yet apologetic. Hopefully Gary would accept my apology and move on. But just as I was getting up to head to the bathroom, a reply came in.

“Hey Kate, Yeah, totally fine I get the workday blues too. But...uh, I’m not sure if anyone told you but Mary used to sit in your office. Maybe you could ask HR for an office change? -Gary”

I froze, dread seeping into my veins. Mary used to sit in my chair. Mary used to type on my keyboard. Mary used to gaze out of the same window, into the same view across the street.

Mary killed herself three years ago.

The news had spread like wildfire across the office. I was an executive then, just starting to really get my foot in the door. I was still learning faces and names when the word came out that a vice president had gone up to the roof, stripped herself naked and flung herself across the concrete barrier, plummeting to her death stories below. Apparently, she had told a passing coworker that she “had to get to them.”

There was no explanation given, just a few closed-door meetings and an HR email that claimed we should always seek out help if we were suffering from depression or stress. We talked about it around the water cooler for a while until, like everyone else, we moved on. And now I sat at her desk. I had her view.

I turned hesitantly to the office across the street hoping, praying, that I would see only darkness. Instead, I saw them.

The man was at his desk, typing away. He seemed happier for some reason, almost jubilant. On his desk stood an uncracked photo of himself and his mousy wife. I was surprised that he was able to get the photo frame fixed so quickly after his sexy bout with the tall girl just yesterday.

On the other side of the wall stood his mousy wife. She looked younger than she had the day before—she looked happy. Just then the tall girl entered the frame. She was wearing a tight, white dress that flared at the bottom and black stiletto heels.

She was carrying a box full of papers and desk plants. She paused as she entered the room and then smiled at the mousy woman. The mousy woman shook the tall girl’s hand and showed her to a clean, pristine desk. It was as if it was her first day...

My heartbeat quickened. She couldn’t be new; she just fucked the boss yesterday. She was slapped the day before that! There’s no way she’s new. These people obviously knew her. They simply had to.

The boss came out of his office and walked right up to the tall girl, extending his hand. She shook it with a feeble shyness, smiling down at her heels. Even from this distance, I could see the blush creep up her neck.

My phone rung loudly in my ear, disrupting my train of thought. I felt nauseous now, as if I was coming down with something.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Kate,” Andrea’s voice clipped back at me. “You’re ten minutes late to the conference call. We are all waiting for you.”

A headache pounded beneath my eyeballs. The call was at 3:00 pm. It was 9:30-10:00am at the latest. I had only just sat down! But then I noticed the clock on my computer. Its black numbers were unmistakable: 3:10 pm.

“I’m so sorry, Andrea,” I murmured quickly. “I just lost the conference number. I’m dialing in now.”

“Ok, please do.”

I dialed in and pressed the phone to my ear, glancing quickly back at the window across the street. They were all still there, frozen in time. The boss had his hand outstretched, his fingers brushing the blushing tall woman. The mousy woman looked on, her neck stiff and her feet squared. Every few seconds they twitched slightly, as if they were in a videogame experiencing a never-ending glitch. Over and over and over again.

The nightmares were worse than the night before. This time they were filled with swirling dresses and red, blooming flowers that withered and died in rotting eyeballs. Blood clotted on lips, fluorescent lights flashed and shattered, spraying glass on threadbare carpet. I awoke in a pool of my own sweat, feeling feverish and weak.

But it was Friday. If I could just make it through today, it would all be better. At least, that’s what I told myself as I drove into the office white knuckled and shaking. The office was quiet when I arrived; or, rather, hushed. It was if someone had stuffed cotton balls into my ear canals. Everything seemed softer, muffled. Blurry, indistinguishable faces waved hello from shadowy cubicles.

I headed into my corner office and shut the door, immediately turning my attention to the office across the street. At first there was only deep, unflinching darkness. But then, as if they knew I was watching, the lights turned on.

It was apparent that much time had past. The man was seated in his office, his hands drumming along his keyboard. I noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. His hair was a bit greyer and he had a slight frown on his face. The photo of him and his wife was cracked once more, shoved off in the corner of his desk—forgotten and dusty. He appeared to be under stress, looking up at the clock above the doorway and then visibly biting his lip.

“Not yet, not yet, not yet,” I could almost hear him speak. “Not yet, notyetnot yet, notyet, notyet,notyet.”

The mousy woman was in the attached room, gently tapping her pen on her bottom lip. It left dark, blue smudges. She didn’t wear her wedding ring either. She kept glancing at her watch around her pudgy wrist, sighing with each peek.

“Almost, almost, almost,” I could almost hear her whisper. “Almost,almostalmostalmost, almost.”

The tall girl entered the office just then, putting her bag down lightly on her desk chair. It was only when she took off her jacket that my breath caught in my throat. She was pregnant.....she was at least eight months pregnant.

She placed one hand gently on her swollen stomach, nodding politely at the mousy woman. The tall girl was wearing a black dress with a vibrant red scarf. It matched her lip color. Mesmerized, I moved closer to the window. The mousy woman moved closer to her.

“It’s time, it’s time, it’stime, it’stimeit’stime,it’s time.”

The mousy woman lunged at the tall girl, completely taking her by surprise. In her hand was a large, shining knife that she had grabbed from under her keyboard. The mousy woman plunged it into the girl’s stomach repeatedly, each stab making a sickening “plop.”

The tall girl shrieked, her hands moving down to protect her bleeding abdomen. But it was no use. The mousy girl kept stabbing and stabbing and stabbing, her hands painted a violent red. The man must have heard the commotion because he had entered the room in a heartbeat, his eyes scanning the damage.

The tall girl had now sunken to the floor, her dress ripped and raw. One hand clutched her swollen and bleeding stomach, the other reached out for the man. The mousy woman just stared, her feet square.

“Please, help this time,” I could almost hear her beg. “This time, this time, thistimethistime, thistime, this time.”

He stepped over the pooling blood, his hands outstretched to her. She smiled weakly, reaching back out to him. But he didn’t grab her hand. No, he grabbed her scarf.

With both hands, he yanked the scarf until it was tight around her throat. Her eyes were first painted with shock, then despair. He pulled tighter and tighter as she feebly tried to loosen the scarf that was now her noose. And then, then she was still.

Her body slumped onto the office carpet, her head rolling onto her shoulder. Her eyes watched me, blank and still. The man and the mousy woman stared at her body for a while until they were staring at me, their smiles creeping larger across their blood-splattered cheeks.

I pounced for the phone, my fingers typing out 9-1-1 in jerky, frantic motions.

“911, what’s your emergency,” a smooth voice answered.

“I uh, I want to report a murder at 535 Boylston street. A pregnant woman was just stabbed uh, I don’t uh, I don’t think she’s alive anymore.”

“Oh Kate,” the operator cooed. “Of course she’s not alive anymore. No human could survive 37 stab wounds to the abdomen.”

My blood ran cold. “You don’t...I didn’t tell you my name,” I answered back stupidly.

“Oh poor little Kate,” the voice hissed in my ear. “You never had to. You always call on Fridays.”

I tore the phone from my ear and threw it across my desk. It crashed limply to the floor, the dial tone ringing and ringing in my ear. My heart was pumping so furiously I thought it would explode right out of my chest. I looked back at the office across the street, terror boiling in my veins.

The tall girl was perched on the man’s desk, her red dress riding up her thigh. He was leaning towards her, smiling and twirling a pen in-between his fingers.

No, no, no, she was dead! I just saw her die!

I watched the tall coworker sob openly, her hand pressed against her swollen cheek. The red flower in her hair crumpled to the ground...blooming and withering, blooming and withering.

That happened before. That happened days before.

On the other side of the wall stood the man’s mousy wife. She looked younger than she had the day before—she looked happy. Just then the tall girl entered the frame. She was wearing a tight, white dress that flared at the bottom and black stiletto heels. She was carrying a box full of papers and desk plants. The plants were coated in blood.

No that’s not right. That’s not how it happened. None of this was how it happened!

The boss came out of his office and walked right up to the tall girl, extending his hand. She shook it with a feeble shyness, smiling down at her heels. He placed his hands on her slender neck and squeezed. The mousy woman laughed, the picture frame cracked.

“You always call on Fridays.”

I screamed and rushed over to my desk, tearing out pieces of notebook paper in my wake. I threw them on the ground and took out a pen, uncapping it with my mouth. I spit the cap out across the floor and took off my heels, falling to my knees.

“You always call on Fridays. You always call on Fridays.”

Friday. Today was Friday. Today was the day the tall girl died.

The man was done with being coy because he took his hand and slid it all the way up the girl’s tight dress, pulling her panties off in one quick motion. He wound them around her neck. The mousy woman laughed, the picture frame wobbled on the desk.

“You always call on Fridays.”

Tuesday was when I first noticed them. Yes, it was Tuesday. But that wasn’t the day they met...no. That was the day the tall girl was slapped.

The mousy woman was now confronting another coworker, a man. He seemed to be in his late 30’s with peppered hair and tan skin. His hand was on the tall woman’s lower back, comforting her. They mousy woman took a knife and stabbed the tall girl’s stomach. The knife’s edge went through her back. Blood spurted between the man’s fingers.

I closed my eyes and tried to block out the office across the street. Thursday was when the mousy woman and man met the tall girl. She was wearing a white dress. Her first day. Then what? The seduction?

The man was gently rubbing her thigh, all the while maintaining eye contact with the sheet of paper he had in front of him. The girl was playing coy too, leaning forward slightly to point out something on the paper. Her tits bounced near his flushed cheek. The picture frame fell. The mousy woman sobbed.

Yes. White dress was the first time they met. The seduction, the red dress, had to be the second event. The third?

The tall girl sob openly, her hand pressed against her swollen cheek. The red flower in her hair crumpled to the ground. Blooming, blooming, blooming.

Yes, yes that’s right. The timeline is coming together. But what about the fourth? That was the day she died. That was when she was pregnant. The events must have happened months before each other.

The mousy woman lunged at the tall girl. In her hand was a large, shining knife that she had grabbed from under her keyboard. Plop, plop, plop.

“Oh poor little Kate. Don’t you know you always call on Fridays?”

I dialed 9-1-1 feverishly, the office coming in and out of focus.

“911, what’s your emergency,” a smooth voice answered.

“I uh, I want to report a murder at 535 Boylston street. A pregnant woman was just stabbed uh, I don’t uh, I don’t think she’s alive anymore.”

“Oh Kate,” the operator cooed. “Of course she’s not alive anymore. But how will you know for certain unless you check? You know you want to. You know you have to.”

“Of course I have to.”

“You always call on Fridays.”

I stumbled out of my office door, the dial tone still ringing in my ear. My office was dark and the carpet had been torn up. Wasn’t the renovation supposed to happen next week? How long had I been in there? But it didn’t matter. Down the elevator I went. Down, down, down.

The streetlights looked like stars. I wanted to climb up them. Up, up, up to the tippity top. But I couldn’t. I had to see the office across the street.

I had to get to them.

The door wasn’t locked to the 13th floor. I stepped across its threshold half expecting something to happen. But nothing did. The office looked like mine. The carpets were torn up like mine. But there was something different—the red flower on the floor. Blooming and withering, blooming and withering.

I walked closer to the light at the end of the office, the box heavy in my arms.

“Hi, it’s so great to meet you,” a mousy woman greeted me. “My name is Karen.”

“Hi Karen, I’m Kate, the new receptionist!” I smiled back, shifting the box in my arms. We shook hands awkwardly.

“Oh here darling, you can put that here,” Karen gestured to an empty desk.

Relieved, I unloaded my box and straightened my white dress. Just then, a man in his mid 30’s entered the room. He had tan skin and peppered hair. My heart leapt to my throat. He was much more handsome than I thought he would be.

“Why now you must be Kate,” he cooed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Our hands touched and I looked down shyly at my feet. I could tell I was blushing. Karen could tell too.

“My husband is a great boss,” she said between tight lips.

“I’m sure you’ll be happy here,” he smiled, his fingers twitching in mine.

“I’m sure I’ll never want to leave,” I answered.