He began making more preparations, emptying the contents of his bag item by item as he needed them. He removed a two-piece telescoping pipe. It had round rubber feet on each end designed for expanding in doorways or other enclosures for doing chin-ups. He leveled the pipe across the chute and turned the concentric thumbscrew until the pipe gripped enough to hold him if he were standing on it. He placed it off perpendicular center to allow him enough room to maneuver past it if needed. He removed his black clothing down to a janitorial uniform then he tied the hoodie and sweat pants around the pipe in a loose knot. Next he placed the shoulder bag sideways on the platform of the pipe and removed two small sacks, one just big enough to hold the cylindrical objects within and the other mistaken for a bag of gravel. He tied the two small bags to the pole by their drawstrings.
He sat on the shoulder bag, making his best effort to focus but he worried about Poole and Jane. He couldn’t help but think of Olivia and Allison and he caught himself dwelling on the similarity in their faces. Maybe if he could keep a clear picture of Allison in his mind, he could predict an older version of his daughter. Maybe he could dampen the shock when he might finally see her and hold her again.
7:45am. Woody’s impending arrival found him anxious. The janitorial crew had already spent two hours on the place by the time the first waves staff began arriving in the building. Random expressions of amazement and shock amused him until he could make out the effeminate cadence of Woody Hightower’s voice. Hatchet snapped to attention. Just stay relaxed, Hatchet had told him, take a short series of deep breaths if something goes haywire or if you feel paranoid, got it? Yeah. Try some meditation or something. Okay, Hatchet, I will. We can't text each other. I don't want any communication between us during this thing, especially not phone communication. I got it.
Woody did take his advice and spent time meditating every night. However, it hadn’t done him any good and after giving up, he usually just did a lot of coke and watched Bill Hicks videos online until he had to go to work.
A horrific and savage civil war surged between every recalcitrant molecule of Woody’s being. It took a will power he never knew he possessed to remove himself from his apartment and drive to this building and perform his job knowing that Hatchet was a worm deep within a wall not fifty feet from his desk. Twice he had to pull over on the edge of the freeway to dry heave thin strings of bile into a Styrofoam cup. He cried and mumbled and snifted pinkie loads of powder into his face, trying to untangle his thoughts with the mantra, It’s gonna be cool, man, it’s gonna be cool. After restraining his hand from dialing hatchet's phone, he got the car started and navigated the psychedelic distance to the Calvary Fellowship Church where the great dome eclipsed the awakened sun stabbing through belts of gray clouds rising in the east.
He sat on the shoulder bag, making his best effort to focus but he worried about Poole and Jane. He couldn’t help but think of Olivia and Allison and he caught himself dwelling on the similarity in their faces. Maybe if he could keep a clear picture of Allison in his mind, he could predict an older version of his daughter. Maybe he could dampen the shock when he might finally see her and hold her again.
7:45am. Woody’s impending arrival found him anxious. The janitorial crew had already spent two hours on the place by the time the first waves staff began arriving in the building. Random expressions of amazement and shock amused him until he could make out the effeminate cadence of Woody Hightower’s voice. Hatchet snapped to attention. Just stay relaxed, Hatchet had told him, take a short series of deep breaths if something goes haywire or if you feel paranoid, got it? Yeah. Try some meditation or something. Okay, Hatchet, I will. We can't text each other. I don't want any communication between us during this thing, especially not phone communication. I got it.
Woody did take his advice and spent time meditating every night. However, it hadn’t done him any good and after giving up, he usually just did a lot of coke and watched Bill Hicks videos online until he had to go to work.
A horrific and savage civil war surged between every recalcitrant molecule of Woody’s being. It took a will power he never knew he possessed to remove himself from his apartment and drive to this building and perform his job knowing that Hatchet was a worm deep within a wall not fifty feet from his desk. Twice he had to pull over on the edge of the freeway to dry heave thin strings of bile into a Styrofoam cup. He cried and mumbled and snifted pinkie loads of powder into his face, trying to untangle his thoughts with the mantra, It’s gonna be cool, man, it’s gonna be cool. After restraining his hand from dialing hatchet's phone, he got the car started and navigated the psychedelic distance to the Calvary Fellowship Church where the great dome eclipsed the awakened sun stabbing through belts of gray clouds rising in the east.
Edit 11.10.2018