Escape Artist

Frazier Mascott bolted through the gap and ran down the hallway senses heightened. When he rounded the corner to the emergency exit, he realized he left the most important thing behind- his briefcase. Doubling back, he hid behind a corner and peered over it just long enough to see the crowds disappearing in their own cubicles; faces resuming their slack expressions revealing their overworked and underpayed condition. Making sure nobody was going to attack him, he ran in the room ready to grab the file and run for his life.

He sprinted to the chair where he left it, but it was gone. An invisible, crushing weight fell on his chest and his knees bent from the weight.

"No," he audibly whispered.

Too late now, he had to try and save himself. He ran out from his office not bothering to take anything with him. Running down the hallway, people ignored him, instead focusing on their computers. He ran to the same emergency exit as before, pushed it open, but was greeted by a team of officials wearing large smiles ready to take him away.

"We were hoping to see you in these parts, Frazier. Why don't you cooperate this time," the same authorative voice said with a sly smile visible in the deep corner of his mouth.

He didn't want to go with them, but they dangled his briefcase like it was waste material.

If they only knew what all was in there, he thought.

He hung his head down as they steered him out the exit, down the hall, past his office, and out the front doors where an unmarked black sedan was waiting for them, driver included.

Before he was shoved in the car, he looked back long enough to catch a glimpse of Catherine in the window.

It's all up to you now, he thought and sat down buckling his seat belt.

The End

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