Free Out of Reach by Jocelyn Stover Page B

jainitor? No, what about him?”
    “They’re saying he went bat shit crazy.
Started wearing garlic to work and seeing ghosts.”
    “Really? Creepy.”
    Intrigued, I collect my can and confront the
two men, smiling openly at them. “Do they know why?”
    “No one I’ve talked to seems to know why he
snapped.”
    “What’d the company do?” I ask.
    “Medical leave.”
    “Ahh,” I acknowledge. “Does he have any
history of mental illness?”
    Both men share a look before the one I’ve
been pumping for information replies. “Honestly, I have no
idea.”
    “Okay thanks, I hadn’t heard the news,” I
say, politely disengaging from the conversation. Those two were
feeding me rumors, nothing more. They didn’t really know what
happened. I know Mr. Johnson to be a caring, friendly, family man.
Not exactly the poster child for mental instability. Hitting the
elevator call button, I promise myself to look into the matter more
closely.
     
    * * *
     
    When Z arrives several hours later, I am
buried in paperwork at my desk. “You look to be in the middle of
something I don’t wanna be any part of. I’ll just collect my
package and be off.”
    The humor in his eyes is unmistakable: Z
thinks busy work is for suckers.
    “Step back, gigantor. I can barely breathe
with you in here. Lock the door while you’re at it.” Once Z has
complied, I rearrange my furniture and retrieve the lock box.
Despite having the area spelled so people can’t find it, I will
feel a lot more comfortable with the sphere out of my office.
Handing the brown paper bag to Z, I straighten up the office once
more and return to my desk.
    “Z, look at this,” I say, pointing to the
file in front of me.
    “What?”
    “One of our custodians was just put on
medical leave for what they’re calling a psychotic episode.”
    “So?”
    “There’s nothing in his personal file, no
history of this sort of thing.”
    Again Z replies, “So?”
    “So, I pulled his medical records and ran a
background check.”
    “I’m not following you, Kade. I fail to see
how this has anything to do with us,” Z replies. Looking up
exasperated I take a deep breath. I can’t fault Zafir—he doesn’t
know this guy
    from Adam
    “He’s a friend of sorts. I talked with his
crew members and found out he’s been carrying on about seeing
things around the facility at night. Then a week or so back he
started wearing garlic and crucifixes to work.”
    “Ok, go on.”
    “Well, there is nothing in his medical
history that would suggest such odd behavior, and he doesn’t have a
police record.”
    Brows furrowed, Z’s silent a moment before
responding. “So a work acquaintance of yours goes off the deep end
for no foreseeable reason and you’ve taken it upon yourself to find
out why. But the man isn’t a rock collector, or a Nephilim, or
under the influence of the Sylph as far as you can tell,” Z
summarizes for me.
    “Oh, well, when you put it that way, it does
seem like a waste of our resources.”
    Chuckling, his big frame
shakes with delight as he says, “ Our nothing. You wasted a whole
afternoon on this thing, I didn’t.” It’s unusual for Z to be the
more rational of the two of us and I can tell by his gloating he’s
savoring the moment.
    “He’s such a nice guy, with a family—it just
makes no sense to me.”
    “That’s life,” Z quotes the old human mantra
at me.
    Shaking my head, I concede. “Fine, go. I’m a
fool who’s wasted enough precious time today.”
    With a smirk Z saunters out of my office,
his usual arrogant swagger in full effect. Neatly stacking up the
paperwork I’ve been rummaging through, I place it in a file folder
and toss the whole lot into a desk drawer.
     
    * * *
     
    At ten to 5 p.m., I still can’t shake how
off the wall the whole ordeal with Mr. Johnson is, so I make it a
point to check out his office before I leave. Taking the stairs to
the basement, I inconspicuously enter the custodial crew’s area.
Much to my