THE LONELY WALK: CHAPTER ELEVEN

By the time Jif had snapped out of his dream, it was pitch-black. He was still leaning against the car, his back aching at its base, his shoulder blade flattened under his weight like a pancake. He felt damp; he'd been sweating heavily under his suit jacket. His armpits, his forehead, and his underwear felt wet. Even though he'd been sleeping so long, his eyes still felt tired, a deep burning sensation under his eyelids.
He was facing one of the many office buildings along Federal Street: three-story, grey brick, big windows. It was too dark for him to read the company name, and he never paid attention anyway. He moved his hand to his back and felt the cold steel of the car's wheel rim.
The headlights of a passing car woke Jif up a little more, just as its engine hummed past. His hands scraped along the rough surface of the sidewalk as he tried to steady himself. Leaning forward with his knee bent, he slammed his palms down in front of him, and his weight on his shaky arms, pushed his legs up, and stood tall. He looked around. Iffy was gone, and he felt so alone. The fact that nobody had some time for him, stayed with him, left him feeling that nobody did care about him.
His eyes growing wet, he faced the direction of his building and made the lonely walk back to Lime.Inc. He felt his shoes slamming onto the sidewalk paving, crushing little bits of nothing under his feet. There was a slight breeze that night, and some newspaper pages blew onto the sidewalk; Jif simply walked onto them. There was little traffic, so two cars with headlights on blinded him a little. It wasn't until he got to a streetlight that his sensitivity to the light began to diminish.
He looked into the sky, no stars. It was terribly cloudy tonight and dark. Making him feel even more depressed. He tried to think about something else to feel less lonely. He wanted to get into bed and hold Yuzuyu and promise to change her diaper in the morning. He knew she'd be back from school by now and worried about him. But if she was, why she hadn't called him, he thought. He had his mobile with him, and he kept it on at all times!
He could hear yelling further down the sidewalk. Under the glare of a streetlight up ahead, he saw two men in jacket and jeans swaying about in zigzags. Jif didn't want to be next to drunkards, with two of them and one of him. He glanced behind to see the traffic and then back down again and ran across the street. On the other sidewalk, he found a rusty green Pacer. Ducking behind the driver's door, he glanced through the mud-splattered window. A glass bottle flew its way into his view from the opposite sidewalk, smashing into the concrete. The two men soon followed in front of him, staggering about, laughing and swearing at each other; he could make out a word they were saying. One was short and white and had a mop of curly black hair, like the interrogator he saw in his dream. The other was thickset, tall, and black; didn't mean anything to him.
"I hope he wakes up," yelped the white one. What was that one about? They wandered out of Jif's sight. He didn't move until their yelling had died down. Glancing, he gripped the car's wing mirror and pulled himself up. As he did, a white semi-truck thundered past. A hurricane of papers and sweet wrap slammed into his face. He wiped his eyes and dusted down his jacket. Repeating the Green Cross Code, he dashed across the street again.
After losing count of his steps, he made it to the tall black barricade of Lime.Inc. In the darkness, it looked more gothic and frightening. Jif located the gate and knew it was closed. He saw what looked like a piece of paper lodged in the bars but thought it was just trash shoved in by a drunk. He made a light fist with his right hand and chimed his knuckle against a black steel bar until it made a dull ringing noise.
"Panget!" he called, raising his head so it could be heard over the fence. He stopped rapping and waited patiently for the gate to open. It didn't. After a minute, he reached for a silver box on the right, with six horizontal holes, five inches long by half centimeter wide, and a small button down below. He pushed the intercom and expected a buzz, but that didn't happen. He leaned down anyway and spoke into the speaker.
"Panget, it's Jif. I know it's late, but . . . ," he pondered what to say. "I'm havin' a bad day." He panted and peered through the bars to look for any activity. Nothing. He pushed the button again. "Panget, come on!" Jif panted again before heaving off the intercom and sidestepped along the fence to look for Panget's shed. He found it, and his jaw dropped. Its door was open. It creaked eerily. Jif could see into the side of the shed, Panget's bed. It was empty.
Panget never deserted his post, and if he did, the building was insecure, so Vin Bird would send in the heavy security. But there was none of that. And the building itself appeared lifeless.
Jif glanced at his watch: 2120. Even at this time, a light would still be on in one of the rooms, even his bedroom. But not tonight. Then he thought about what Vin said. "You have forty-eight hours to pack your bags!" Jif's heart started to race. Had Vincent thrown Yuzuyu out early on purpose? Or had Jif been asleep for two days? Or was the building evacuated?
Jif sidestepped again and looked for the paper he saw earlier. He found it. It was in a plastic wallet and fixed to the iron bars with white plastic cuff. The letter was large and bold for even the partially blind or dyslexic to understand.
"Lime.Inc has moved to our new address in Washington. Please consult our Web site!"
Jif's eyes began to water again. They'd done something without telling him. He felt the whole world had turned against him, and all his strength had left. He knelt down and blubbered.
"Why?" he kept on saying. "Why?" He didn't care about the job. About money. All he cared about was his girl. But even then he felt ashamed. Yet she was the only thing good in his life, and the only thing he hadn't messed up. She'd stayed with him no matter what. And even when he said she could be free and leave him, she still wanted to be with him.
He wiped his eyes again and suddenly became aware of how cold the top of his head was. He stood up, put his back to the fence, and reached into his jacket pocket. Pulling out his mobile Nokia 3310, he knew the embassy would be closed and that Vin wouldn't want to talk this late at his home address, but Jif still had to try as there was no other way. He scrolled though the menu of contacts and reached "Vin home." He clicked the green button to make the call, and the screen went to calling mode. He put the earpiece to his ear and heard the rings chirp away.
The double beeps rang four times before there was a clunk on the other end of the line. Jif drew a breath; he knew what was coming.
"Hello. This is Vincent Bird. Leave your message at the tone, and I will get to you in the morning." And the message ended with an ear-piercing hum. Jif's eyes continued to burn.
"Vincent, by the time you get this . . . did you move the Lime offices?" He breathed heavily as he tried to think of more things to say. "Where's my wife?" He was no longer authoritative. He was now just whining. He felt dejected, and he knew full well the message wouldn't be listened to anyway.
And he realized there was no point in trying anymore. He had his chance, and he blew it. He thought it would never end, but it did. As Vin had told him, "Except it and move on!" He pulled the phone from his ear and hung up. Brushing his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket again, he took two shaky breaths, on the verge of crying, and looked across to the other side to the fence. Where Lime.Inc's fence ended, Babylon Zoo apartments began. He paced forward and looked into the vacant car park and the blue front door up ahead under the porch.
His mind was ticking. Oh! Why hadn't he thought before? He could go through the apartments and break through the fire exit in his office! The front door was shut and locked all over, but the windows weren't. He could try it. But his pride wouldn't let him. He didn't want to be under the same roof as the person he held responsible for Charlie's death.
His left foot was on its ball, waiting to move. After thirty seconds, he sat down flat again. He blinked several times and closed his mouth. His mind was made up. He had nothing left to lose now. He had a duty to serve. For his friend!
He spun his heel and pulled a serious face. Focused, he marched down Federal Street. He knew where he was heading now. But he was still thinking up the plan in his head. And he pondered on the reasons. And the alternatives. And Charlie!

At the end of Federal Street is a junction, where the road becomes High Street. Repeating the Green Cross Code again, he dashed to the other side of the street. He found himself on a small shopping precinct, full of 7-Elevens, late-night burger bars, and one gun shop.
It was called Hired Guns, its name embedded in red on a green canopy above the one-story shop. Separate from the rest of the shops, it was a yellow-walled building with two massive windows either side and a single blue door in the centre. The glass in windows and doors had internal white strips to keep the glass from shattering and avoid ram raids for the guns. The two windows would display mannequins in combat gear holding rifles, as well as banners claiming a "blow-out sale!" But tonight, that was obscured by the two steel grey shutters which locked to the floor.
Next to the door and under the right hand window lay an aging bench. Metal feet spiraling up to form the armrests on each end, painted green, holding eight or ten long strips of wood, its varnish peeling off like bent nails.
Jif rested his right arm on the green metal armrest and glanced at the door. A cardboard held to the door's window told the opening time: 0900 tomorrow. It was 2130 now. Jif clambered onto the bench, lay on his back, and hoisted his legs over the other armrest. He jammed his left arm under his head to act as a pillow and drew his right arm over his eyes to cover out the lights of passing cars, if they came by. And he was plunged into darkness.
It was uncomfortable, but he didn't care. He had to go through with this! And he started to dream. Oddly enough, about his childhood, and his fear of the dark.