Drained: The Lucid (7 page)

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Los Angeles, July 2012

Riley walked across the Trusics parking lot for the second time in the span of a couple weeks. It was an unusual circumstance for the succubus and she didn’t care for it much. The beauty of being a “Customer Satisfaction Account Executive” was the ability to work from home. Having to go to the office reminded her of going to school.

When she made her way inside the building, she reflexively removed the sunglasses perched on her nose. The sting she had forgotten about shot a sharp pain through her sinus area. She pulled out her compact mirror and inspected her nose. The swelling had gone down since morning, but it was beginning to change color. She could see the faint purple bruising under the fluorescent lighting.

Luckily for Riley’s face and her reputation, the second trip into work landed her in the slums of the building, the nickname that some of the succubi and incubi had dubbed the single-digit floors. On this trip, she only had to trek up to level five and seven, which allowed her to avoid many of her peers.

She hadn’t been on the fifth floor since her introductory tour of the LA office. The layout was relatively open compared to the other levels, but it still held the same aesthetics as the rest of the building. Glass offices were scattered throughout the open layout and desks were pushed into clusters without cubicle walls to divide them. Computer monitors sat on every desk and in every corner. Almost everyone in sight had on a security uniform or black slacks and a button up. On their hips were guns and walkie-talkies.

Riley approached the front desk and was greeted by a perky receptionist. His toothy smile and loud welcome was bordering on manic. But in a building that was heavily guarded, visitors weren’t a frequent occurrence, and internal guests were a welcome sight for many, but not all, employees.

“How can I help you today?” His eyes lit up in excitement and in an instant, several binders were laid out on the high counter top. “Real-life security requests, report forms on threats, dream realm incidences …”

“I need a form for a realm-related incident.”

“Do you need a form for user evaluation, too?” he pressed, leaning forward into the counter. “So, did you get someone that was extra handsie, maybe a creep that’s into ungodly things?”

Riley’s brow furrowed; she didn’t know how to respond. She couldn’t decipher if his line of questioning would lead to the proper forms or if the man was simply being a gossip.

“Maybe you could give me the stack of paperwork.” Riley looked at the binder he had referenced to as being realm related. “I could go through and fill out what I need as I go along. The rest I’ll keep on hand for future use.”

The receptionist’s perkiness deflated when he didn’t get any more details. Stories from the dream realm were the fuel that burned the fire for some of the employees at the office. They lived for the scandalous adventures of some of their co-workers. And if information landed in the hands of the wrong person, any incident, trash talk, or hook-up would be known throughout the entire building within three to four business days.

Word spread in a timely manner within the establishment, and the same could be said about any of the other global branches. When Heather and James had become an official couple, the entire Sydney branch had found out within three hours by way of pager. Granted, the office count had been smaller a decade ago, and Seven’s big mouth was partially to blame for the speed at which that particular piece of gossip had spread.

The light dimmed from the receptionist’s eyes. A few official forms were slid across the counter, and the binders were returned to an area out of sight.

“I’m going to fill this out at home.” Riley backed her way out of the uncomfortable stare. “Thank you for your help.”

His interest in her was gone, and he waved her off. The warm welcome she had received upon entering was nowhere in sight.

Riley climbed up two more levels. She needed to make one last stop at Human Resources, and then she would be home free. Unlike the security department, Riley had been to the seventh level on a few occasions. The Human Resources floor reminded her of a cross between a teacher’s lounge and a dank doctor’s office. It was eerily quiet and sun eluded the floor because every window blind was shut. If it had been her home, Riley would have done the same, but in a public setting, and especially on a floor dedicated to human resources, the sun would have been appropriate to brighten things up. The entire floor was dedicated to a team of only around ten people. With so much space and so small a staff spread across the level, it felt like there wasn’t a single soul occupying the area. Riley approached the front desk and hoped that the noise from her feet would be enough to alert someone to her presence.

Behind her, the clang of the elevator doors sounded and a few people stepped off. Ophelia Blackwell was among that group. She wasn’t employed in HR; she was exactly what Riley was, only on a rival team. She had proven herself a cutthroat competitor, and if Riley could admit there was someone who could command the same attention as Heather, it would be Ophelia. When she walked into a room, heads turned and people gawked. She wore high-end power outfits—second skins that clung to the dips of each voluptuous curve—to every company function, formal and informal. Ophelia was ready to do business. Riley thought she owned a reasonable wardrobe for someone in their field, but she imagined her associate had a revolving closet in her own home. She envisioned entire rooms converted into clothing storage, each remote controlled and assigned to a specific type of attire. A home where entire walls would be dedicated to heels, none under two inches in height and each costing a few hundred dollars a pair. With shoes came mountains of purses and accessories, a specific room dedicated to each of those as well.

It took Ophelia a moment to notice Riley’s presence. She was busy talking to a few of the employees from the department.

“Hello, stranger,” Ophelia said with a low drawl. “Funny seeing you here. From the way your numbers keep climbing, I thought you
lived
in the realm.”

Riley ignored the bait. “Do you know where the front desk person is?” She looked around the open office which appeared empty aside from themselves.

A trim woman in a short-sleeved sweater and long skirt padded towards the receptionist area from a back room, tottering on kitten heels that looked still too steep for her comfort. If the crumbs attached to the bosom of her sweater were any indication, she’d just finished her lunch. Her appearance saved Riley the headache of continuing to converse with Ophelia. She knew better than to tangle with the imposing succubus, especially when she was on her own.

“Can I help you?”

Riley swept her arm to the side. “After you.” She smiled at Ophelia.  

The woman’s eyes narrowed momentarily before she stalked off to a nearby corner that looked like a waiting area in a doctor’s office.

“Guess not,” the woman from HR mumbled under her breath. “And how about you?” She turned to Riley. “What can I help you with today?”

A tight smile came to Riley’s lips. “I’m looking for the appropriate forms to report a dream-realm incident.” She rocked back on her heels, and hoped she wouldn’t have to explain the details out loud with Ophelia in earshot.

The woman pointed to the nearby corner where Ophelia sat. “You should find all the paperwork on that wall,” she noted. “If the form you’re looking for isn’t there, let me know and I can find you a copy.”

Riley bobbed her head gratefully. “Thanks so much.”

Across the room, a few vacant chairs lined the wall along with a literature rack filled with blank forms for employees. Riley scanned the array of papers for the form needed to report the unusual mark. She found the appropriate sheets and sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the sitting area as Ophelia. As advanced as Trusics was, it was as if half the building never got the memo to move away from pen and paper.

She propped her feet up on a small coffee table littered with outdated periodicals. There was a laminated table-tent printed with bulleted safety tips about the dream realm:
Never stay longer than an hour without sexual energy. If a mark doesn’t feel right, your safety comes first. Ere on the side of caution.

Riley scanned the papers she had accumulated and began to work her way through them. She had to recount the incident to both Security and Human Resources. They wanted details—a lot of details. Riley pushed out a long breath, causing Ophelia to stir across the way.

“Who knew being a succubus would be so glamorous?” Ophelia joked. “I guess I should have read the fine print.”

“You said it,” Riley muttered.

By the end, there was so much paperwork that her pen ran out of ink. Riley looked in her bag for another one, but came up empty. She gathered up her papers and tapped them into a tidy pile. “See you later,” she said in parting to Ophelia, still scribbling on her own paperwork.

Riley approached the front desk area, which again was deserted. All she needed was another pen, but calling out for help seemed foolish. The clock ticked in the quiet room as she waited for the receptionist to reappear. She looked back at Ophelia whose head was still bent as she completed her own paperwork. Riley couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She was a succubus, and a damn good one at that. All of the paperwork was ridiculous, and she decided it could wait a day. A surge of defiant independence tickled down her spine. When no one came back to the front desk, Riley shoved the forms into her purse and exited the department.

For the first time in weeks, Riley was on time for brunch. She had an inkless pen to thank for that. If she had stayed in Human Resources to finish filling out the appropriate paperwork, she would have been late again. She saw the usual suspects seated at their table on the front patio of the café. Among the regulars she recognized the form of a rarely seen friend.

She tapped the man on the shoulder, garnering his attention. “Hey, nice to see you. You’ve been MIA all week.”

Aaron twisted in his seat to greet Riley. “I know. Sorry. I was going to call, but I’ve been …” He hesitated on the word. “Tired.”

Riley took the vacant seat beside him. “How’s the wife?”

Aaron took a drink from his orange juice and set it back on the table. “Good.” He bobbed his head. “She’s been busy with work and all.”

“And how are you?” She lightly nudged his ribs. “Aside from tired.”

A weak smile crossed his rigid features. “Happy. And I’ll be even happier once I’m done with the social meet of anguish. I have to do one tonight.” Riley laughed at his honesty.

The ‘social meet’ he was referencing was a mandatory group affair held by their employer to allow a random mix of cubare and non-cubare employees to interact. It was a team-building exercise to promote bonding that had turned into an AA confessional over the years. Each employee was required to attend at least one social meet annually. During that hour, each person stood and said whatever was on their mind. Because of the free format, ‘social meets’ could run much longer than the intended hour. It wasn’t a secret that the meetings were simply a large therapy session poorly disguised as a company mixer.  

“I just did mine last month,” Riley said with a proud smile. “That’s another eleven months I don’t have to worry about it.”

“Lucky girl.” Aaron hummed into his glass cup. “Do you think people would believe you if you said you were me at the meeting?” The playful tease earned him a slap to the arm. “I’m sure my wife would prefer it if I spent that time with her.”

Despite being older than all of them, Aaron had recently married a human. Riley couldn’t fathom how he was able to keep his true self a secret from the one person to whom he was supposed to be closest, but Aaron seemed to have it under control. She didn’t press her friend what he planned to do as the years went on and he continued to look untouched by time. She was happy for Aaron and didn’t need to remind him of how imperfect this romance might be.

Seven eyeballed Riley suspiciously. “You do something with your hair, Riles?  There’s something different about you today.”

Riley could feel the eyes of her well-meaning friends hone in on her. Heather’s stare in particular seemed to penetrate through the sunglasses that she hid behind.

Heather reached across the table and removed Riley’s oversized aviators. “Oh my God. Your nose!” There was a dark, ugly bruise across the bridge of Riley’s nose. The swelling had further dwindled, but the purple coloring had set in, and a hint of sickly yellow spiderwebbed across her features. “What the hell did you do?”

Riley slid her sunglasses back into place to hide the swollen bruise. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

Aaron held up his hands. “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

Heather swatted Riley with the magazine in her hands. “Sweetheart, it’s staring me in the face.” She gave the rest of the group a disbelieving look. “Is everyone honestly telling me that they were going to ignore the elephant on Riley’s face?”  

“Don’t worry about it. I was just in a rush,” Riley tried to reassure her friend. “It should heal soon. In the meantime, I’ll cover it so you won’t have to stare at my elephant.” She waved a hand in front of her face.

Heather frowned, unconvinced by her friend’s words.

“I promise I’ll try to be more careful.” Riley patted at Heather’s hand before cracking a jovial smile. “Now, let’s get some breakfast. I’m feeling like pancakes today.”

Moments later their waitress arrived tableside to take their order. While they waited for their breakfast to appear, Riley dug around for the makeup compact she was sure she’d seen floating around at the bottom of her purse. Her hand knocked into her phone, which seemed to buzz nonstop ever since Josh had set it up to access both her work and personal e-mails. He had reasoned it was necessary so she wouldn’t miss any more company messages, and with hesitance, Riley had agreed. She wasn’t opposed to technology, but she hated all of the interconnectivity.

She removed a folder that contained the paperwork that needed to be returned to the office and set it on the table to gain purchase of the elusive makeup.