Satan's Vessel

*

The day was beautiful, the sky blue, the sun warm, though Kaitlyn hardly noticed as she wrenched open her car door and slid inside. She roared down the street, wincing as she drove too fast over a speed bump. It made her head throb. She should have brought more tablets with her.

As she waited at a set of traffic lights, she tapped her radio. It sometimes worked. Her rat shit car was on its last legs—or wheels. She tapped it again just as the light turned green.

No music. Just the news. 'Residents all over the city are wondering about the strange figures in the sky ...' Static replaced the report. With an annoyed grunt, Kaitlyn turned it off. She should be focused on her interview anyway.

Thankfully, the traffic wasn't too bad and she managed to reach her destination with a few minutes to spare.

She hurried into the main foyer of the building, her heels clacking loudly against the polished floor. Suited men and women turned their heads, then turned away again. A security guard watched her curiously as she hurried through the turnstiles towards the elevators.

As she stood waiting, she shouldered her handbag, her folder clutched tightly under her armpit as she tried to straighten out her blouse. She squinted at her reflection in the polished black wall, fixing her dark hair and smacking her lips so her lipstick was even. The man beside her was watching her. She ignored him.

With a ding, the doors opened and she entered. Two levels up, she marched across the carpeted floor, trying to appear confident as her heart pounded in her throat. She introduced herself to the lady at the desk who gestured for her to sit down with the others.

With the others.

There were three other young women vying for the same secretarial position. Feeling a little deflated, she sat down with her folder on her lap, her bag beside her. She studied them as best she could without making eye contact. Did they look smart? Did they look capable? What kind of chance did she have?

She really needed this job. She couldn't do the bar anymore. The thought of having to go there later that night made her stomach sink sickeningly.

They all looked over as a door to the right opened. A man stood in the doorway, looking down at a file. 'Ms Kaitlyn Seats?'

She stood up too quickly. She tried not to wince at the nagging throb which had now moved from behind her eyes to the back of her head. He smiled at her as he stood back to let her enter. He closed the door behind her.

Vaguely, she saw he was surprisingly attractive. Tall. Broad. Blonde-haired. Blue-eyed. With a kindly smile that lit up his face. He sat behind a large, polished mahogany desk. It was neat and clean with a stack of files on one side, a notepad in the middle and a laptop on the other side. There were several picture frames, no doubt of his family, but they were turned away from her. Behind him was a floor to ceiling bookshelf filled with reference books. She wondered if he'd read them all. Bright light poured through three large windows looking out onto the city.

Still maintaining that charming smile, he gestured for her to sit and the interview began. He introduced himself first, but she immediately forgot his name. He asked what she knew about the company. It was a law firm, Kaitlyn knew, but she'd had interviews for several lately and she managed to name the wrong company.

He wasn't impressed. He held his smile but it no longer reached his eyes.

What was wrong with her? If he asked her what her favourite colour was, would she get that wrong too? The questions continued as her heart hammered and her head pounded. Something was wrong. She had to be getting sick. Gripping the file containing her resume tightly in her lap, she crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, only to cross them again moments later. It wasn't because she was nervous. She was burning down there. Why was she burning? Did she have a bladder infection? Her stomach was in knots. There was something about the place. Something about him. His deep blue eyes. His golden hair. Something much too familiar.

She was wet down there. So wet. And she started to panic that she might be leaking. What if she was leaking blood in the middle of an interview? Oh my God! The chair was upholstered and probably more expensive than all the furniture in her Goddamn flat.

'Where's the bathroom?' she blurted.

He stopped talking mid-question.

Kaitlyn stood. 'I'm sorry. But I-I don't feel well.' And she wasn't lying. Dizzy, she gripped onto the desk. Her file fell from her grasp, spilling paper all over the place. Her bag slipped from her shoulder. She glimpsed the chair and saw that there was no blood stain, though it was hard to tell against the dark fabric.

He stood too, reaching out for her helplessly. He looked genuinely worried. There was a cute crease between his eyebrows, the sight of which made her hips ache with such desire that it made her tremble. What the hell was wrong with her?!

'I'm okay,' she said, taking a breath. And she didn't know whether she was trying to convince him or herself.

'It's just down the hall and to the left.'

'I'll be-I'll be right back.' Picking up her handbag, she hurried across the room and out the door.

The other potential secretaries watched as she approached the woman at her desk. 'Where's the bathroom?'

She pointed down the hall. Kaitlyn hurried away.

Thankfully, the room was empty. Racing into the nearest cubicle, she slammed the door shut and dropped her underwear as she sat down. To her relief there was no blood—her tampon was holding—but she was so sticky.

'What the hell?'

She shut her mouth as she heard the entry door open. Heels clacked against the floor. The door of the cubicle down the end opened and shut. Quickly and quietly, she wiped herself down.

Handfuls of toilet paper later, she managed to get herself back to normal. The anonymous woman had already finished and was leaving the bathroom with a bang of the door. Kaitlyn was so late! The man interviewing her, whatever his name was, had to be furious! Finding a pad down at the bottom of her bag, she ripped off the plastic and fixed it into position.

Once she was finished, Kaitlyn hurried to the bench. There was plenty of soap but she couldn't get the damn tap to work. It was sensor activated but she didn't know how it functioned. Why couldn't taps just be taps?! She dropped her forehead to the bench with a moan of defeat.

She couldn't go back now anyway. She couldn't be in the same room with that man again. Just couldn't. Not because he made her feel so ... peculiar, but more because there was something about him that made her feel sick. Amid all her hot and outrageous feelings, he somehow made her feel almost ... cold.

Was it simple anxiety? Was she suffering some kind of allergy? Had she eaten something bad yesterday? She couldn't think what.

Kaitlyn looked up at herself in the mirror. She was so pale and her hair had escaped her bun in a frizz. Her panting echoed around the room as she gripped onto the bench. Her arms were still trembling, though not so much. Her heart was slowing but it was still beating hard, as though she'd just run a race.

She should just go home and consider this a lost cause. There was no way he would hire her after this, even if she returned and the rest of the interview was flawless. He had at least three other prospective employees to consider. Women who wouldn't be sick at a thirty minute interview. Why would he bother giving her a second chance?

'Damn it.' She took several long deep breaths, then dug around in her bag to find a tissue. She patted down her face, then tossed it in the bin.

Her dark eyes were feverishly bright as she gazed at herself in the mirror. At twenty-five, she really needed to get her shit together. After a fruitless attempt at fixing her bun, she shouldered her handbag and left, marching down the hall back to the elevators.

He could keep her resume. He could keep his job.

Kaitlyn needed to get home.