Queens 8

“Hello again.” Imile had hints of dark circles under her eyes, but her smile was sincere.

Brianna blinked, looking around the room as she entered. Imile had come earlier than usual- she could tell, because she had spread out papers and set up a table in a way that implied they were about to get down to serious work. She pulled out a chair and sat at the short table. “Hiya. It looks like we are talking numbers before we go to sing?”

Imile tugged her hair out of a ponytail and sat at the other chair. She left the ponytail holder on her wrist. “I don't think we will get to a new song today. I want to get your signoff on your contract, discuss advertising, and get this paperwork down to the office before they start so we can get moving.”

She was glad that she was sitting. “I like contracts.” Brianna flexed her fingers. “That sweet, sweet promise of future employment.”

“...Right.” Imile eyed her sideways and then shook her head. “That is a common reaction.” She said it blandly. “Well, I suppose we can start there. Please read this over and give me your thoughts.” Imile passed over a 3 page document and leaned back to wait on her.

Brianna picked up a pencil and twirled it, ready to make notes. “Do you have spare paper?” She picked up the contract with her left hand.

“Spare- of course.” Imile shuffled around to find a yellow notepad and laid it down.  

“Thanks.” Brianna leaned an elbow on the table and settled in to read. When she was finished she wrote up a general summary of the contract on the notepad.  

Imile leaned forward. “Let's discuss it, then.”

Brianna shook her head. “I'm not ready yet.” She went through the document again, copying down particularly striking details and writing comments by them. At the end, she made a couple of notes about her general impression of the contract, and then what was missing. She barely resisted the urge to chew on the end of the pencil while she read it all over one last time to see if she had missed anything. It was a lot like the version she'd had sent to her room earlier, which was great. Because she'd had to look up a lot of words on her phone.  

“Alright, now I am ready.  Generally, I like it. I think the payscale is appropriate, and the basic conditions of employment are appropriate. I like that I am free to leave at the end of any season with no reason as long as I give appropriate notice and train an understudy, and it's fair that I can be fired if I engage in misconduct. But I want to see that misconduct more clearly defined, so that I don't find myself in possible trouble if I wind up in personality conflict with management down the line.”

“That seems fair.” Imile blinked. She had braided her hair at some point while Brianna had been preparing. It fell over her shoulder as she leaned into the table. “Misconduct would include any criminal actions, public criticism of workplace or coworkers- and by public I mean in a way that is likely to negatively impact our business and reputation, not grousing to your friends. Ah, of course I would also define refusal or inability to perform work requirements as misconduct.”

“Inability?” Brianna asked sharply. “I'm going to have a sore throat at some point, it's inevitable. I'll have a cold, maybe I'll get hit by a car and wind up in the hospital for a month.”

“Illness and injury excepted,” Imile agreed. She made her own note. “Ah- inability due to scheduling conflicts, such as a family emergency, or a performance being changed to a date that you have already taken off of work.”

“Good point, I want to see that in there,” Brianna agreed. “Maybe I need- how about I have to approve of all dates 2 weeks in advance? And other scheduling conflicts will have to be mediated with management as we go, I think.”

They went down the contract like that, talking over details. The basic working conditions were hammered out, and then Imile leaned back. “Alright- the contract duration is for 5 years, at that point we will need to sign it again and-”

Brianna shook her head. “I don't like that,” she argued. Her heart was tripping over itself in nerves. “Female performers have a short window for their career. I'll be nearly 30 after 5 years, at which point it would be much more difficult for me to find alternate employment. What if whoever is doing this in 5 years decides they want to find another 22 year old and I'm just out of a job, despite being perfectly capable? I want life employment with you.”

Imile stared at her. “You want me to guarantee you a job for life,” she said. “As long as you want to work for us.”

Her hands were shaking. She stuck her chin out a little bit. “Yes. As long as I am performing up to your expectations, there is no reason to fire me. And as soon as I am unable to achieve the job requirements, you will have the ability to let me go.”

“Right.” Imile ran a hand over her face and frowned, thinking it over.

“I've seen the prospective advertisements,” Brianna reminded her. “They have my face on them. And you've invested a lot of hours into training me. It would be hard to replace me before the program starts, at this rate.”

Imile made a waving motion. “Yes, it would.” She screwed up her forehead and looked at Brianna for a long moment.  

The scrutiny made her feel even more nervous. God. She was trying to look serious and composed but if Imile said no, she was probably going to start to cry. That would not be a good negotiation tactic.  

“As of now, I can't think of any specific objections. I'll run it past legal and see if there's any additional conditions you'll have to agree to to make that happen.” Imile sighed. “Do you have any other comments? Demands?”

She thought it over.

'I am actually really surprised it has gone this well. Should I ask for more? Make them have to provide me more vacation?'

“I think that's all,” Brianna said. She folded her hands together and hoped she was not about to have a heart attack. “But I will want to see details about my permanent accomodation before I sign. I'm not going to agree to live in a room without an attached kitchen or shower for the rest of my working life.”

“Fair enough.” Imile put her copy of the contract in a folder and let it hit the table. “Let's look at the advertising proofs.”

“I like them,” Brianna said. She pulled the top paper over closest, marveling a bit that the lighting and costuming actually made her look kind of cool. “I'm not sure that I like that the ads strongly imply that I am an actual ghost.”

“That's non-negotiable,” Imile said flatly. “We aren't selling this on the basis of your reputation and  fanbase, we are creating a product to enhance the museum's brand.”

Ouch. Ouch, but fair.  

“Yes, but it would...” Brianna trailed off, feeling a bit sick about seeing a future path laid out so solidly. “I mean, assuming I do stay at this job until retirement, the anonymity won't matter. But if I decide to leave to pursue other options, not having had my name attached to the advertising could hurt me in negotiations and in reputation.”

“If you decide to leave,” Imile started, “I can only assume that it is because you have already arranged suitable employment and thusly the anonymity would not have harmed your career. If you leave because you renege on your contract or are in prison, that seems like your fault and your problem.” Her chin was up, her hand were folded in front- she looked immovable.

Brianna eyed Imile. She considered her options.

Imile remained perfectly still.

'It doesn't look like I'm going to get anywhere on this battle.'

It was just kind of scary to think that if she signed this, her future was essentially decided. She'd have security, yes, but it also felt unnervingly like other doors would be closing.

'I can only go through one door at a time,' Brianna reminded herself. 'I can't halfway commit to a career. This is a guaranteed option. It isn't as great as the absolute best scenario of becoming wildly famous, but that scenario is a one in a million chance. This is here, in front of me.'

“Alright.” Brianna rubbed at the joint between her shoulder and neck. “I'll agree to that condition. I'll sign that version of the contract when you have it printed out.”

“Lovely.” Imile let her pen hit the table and looked around the room. Brianna followed her eyes, surveying the stage and dance floor and dining area. “This is going to be excellent. I can sense it.”

Brianna made a noise. She didn't know what it meant. She really hoped things would go well but she didn't feel that confident.

Imile huffed and ran a hand over her braid. “It must go well,” she confessed. Her voice went up a little in pitch, sounding frayed and stressed. “We have creditors at our door, wanting to be sure that our income is enough to justify their investments. And...” She gave Brianna an odd, guilty little look. “The board of directors has talked about trying to keep costs down through eliminating paid positions.”

'Miho should tell fortunes for a living.'

“I heard that,” Brianna agreed.

Imile looked shocked. “What?” Her face turned thunderous. “Where- who did you hear that from?” she demanded.

'Oh, shit,' Brianna realized. 'I don't want to screw over Miho.'

She gave Imile an awkward smile. “I didn't actually hear that the board was considering it,” Brianna said. “Just, uh. People talk. Worried about the fact that so many people get hired at once because it implied a high turnover rate.”

Imile gave her the hardest look she'd ever seen. Brianna didn't budge.

After a long moment, Imile narrowed her eyes and brought her hand up, put out two fingers, and made the 'I'm watching you' gesture by holding them to her eyes and pointing toward Brianna.

She let out a snort. Brianna covered her mouth an instant later, embarrassed by the sound.

Imile cracked a smile and looked away. “Yes. Well.” She twitched her nose.

Brianna very nearly opened her mouth and let out the words, “You're adorable,” but that was just- just not a good thing to say to your boss. No matter how well you were getting on. Just. Nope. “I'm planning to talk to Red about the four main schools of current ballet technique,” she said. “I think she'll be interested.”

Imile's forehead crinkled. “Are there only four schools?”

She looked down at her notes, but didn't immediately see where she'd written about it. “I thought so.” Brianna cleared her throat. “I'll, uh. I'll check again before I tell her about it.”

“Hmm.” The look Imile gave her was unnecessarily doubtful. “I'm not certain you're entirely qualified to teach her about a field that you have never studied, since the developments and cultural shifts will have altered it drastically in the hundreds of years since her death.”

She could have felt defensive, but- “You're totally correct,” Brianna admitted. She showed her palms. “But I am slightly better than nothing. And I think she's bored.”

“Bored?” Imile's tone was sharp. “That seems unlikely. There's no evidence for a ghost being able to truly perceive the passing of time.”

“But they also usually don't see the living, either,” Brianna pointed out.

Imile looked unhappy, but didn't seem to have a counterargument. She frowned. “I see. Well.” She stood, brushing off the front of her jeans. She cast one last look around the grand ballroom. The paneling had all been replaced over the new wiring system, the new furniture had been arranged, and the decorations had become decidedly more glamorous. “I suppose things are all on schedule.” She shook her head. “I will see you tomorrow. Actually- please come to my office at 11am. Hopefully we will be able to sign the contract at that time.”

Brianna popped up to her feet and grinned. “I would love to- I definitely will see you then.”

Imile gave her a fond look and leaned over to gather all the papers and folders off the table. Brianna moved to help, putting writing utensils in a pleated white pouch with a zip. Then she walked Imile to the entrance, and gave a theatrical good-night bow.

Imile huffed out a laugh and waved idly with one hand. “I hope your conversation goes well.”  

She had one last glance of Imile in profile before the door shut.

The light behind her drastically increased. She was looking at her own shadow on the closed door, a black outline against the red light. Brianna laughed and turned around. “You're impatient,” she accused.

Red shook off the accusation with a hair toss and a flick of her wrist. She reached out for Brianna's hand and pulled her along. Brianna went easily, feeling her smile grow so strong that it became a little uncomfortable in her cheeks.  

They talked. Brianna splayed out her notes and Red poured over them with a line of concentration between her eyebrows- well, they weren't in her first language.  

Red paced a few times after reading something in particular- she did not like the note about the dancer who the internet claimed was the first to dance en pointe. Through accusative hand gestures presumably at Marie Taglioni, pointing at herself, and counting on her fingers, Red claimed that she had danced en pointe years before – in 1815. She followed that up with strongly indicating the blobby Russia on the map Brianna had made, but they couldn't manage to talk around what she was trying to say there.  

She did enjoy reading about the schools of ballet theory and where they were practiced.  

Brianna knew nothing about dance, but it was fairly clear when Red backed into the open  space and tried certain movements, using more or less arm movements, experimenting with dancing off-balance, and effortless rising en pointe probably because she was, uh, weightless. Red did seem delighted by how easy that was. Her clothes changed again, ruffling out into a skirt that did have the iconic shape and stopped at about her knees.  

Brianna swallowed. Wow. Legs. That's a… lot of legs.

Red gave her a sly look and did something athletic that involved lifting one leg in a long, straight line, ridiculously high.

================

She had very good dreams that night.  

She was laying on her back, on the floor of what she knew was the ballroom. Her eyes were closed, but she knew that her head was resting in someone's lap. They were running fingers through her head.

A familiar voice was talking in a thick accent she didn't know. The words were nice, but hearing them was the special part.

Brianna let out a content sigh and burrowed her head a little deeper.

Red cut herself off with a laugh- oh, it was not a graceful laugh at all. It went nasal and whistled a little bit and it was so human it made Brianna feel tears well up.

“You are always so sleepy. Why is this?”  

She made a sound that didn't really mean anything in answer. Brianna relaxed into the fingers heading down her head, a little behind her ears. The movement sent pleasant shivers down her back.

“As I was saying. After me, my sister Constance was the favorite to join Opera de Paris, but she decided to become engaged.”  

Soft, warm fingertips touched Brianna's lips.

Red's voice was low and quiet. “I thought it was such a sorry thing to do at such a young age- my career began very early as I said, but it is more usual to debut at about 23 or 24, and so she was having babies before she was even becoming a true dancer. It is- sad, don't you say?” Red sighed. “Louis was more sensible by far. She-”

“Your name?” Brianna was rousing a bit and surprised by her own question. Something was registering to her mind as important, as interesting. She didn't know what, but she had the sense that she needed to pay attention.

“My name?” Red sounded surprised. “Genevieve, of course. Brianna?”

Her name broke the world with a crack. The force rocked the chandelier to the side, away from the hole in the sky. The sound rocked through her chest like the boom of bass from a speaker. The chandelier's glass was refracting pins of light around the room that swayed violently.  

She sat up and her head split.

Brianna felt the sound come out her mouth- surprise, disorientation, and what was definitely unhappiness. She was sitting up in bed- she was perched on the boudoir- she was blinking at the crack of sunlight through the homely brown curtains- she was watching her own face drop into open-mouthed confusion and it hurt, her head had too much person inside of it-

She blinked.

And the double vision was gone. There was no one on top of the dresser under her window.

For a long moment, Brianna looked around wildly. The room was empty except for the sound of her own panicked breathing.

“That was… it had to be just a dream, right?” She said it to herself, trying to make sense of what she had just experienced. “You never- a ghost is not hanging around in the morning sun. So she's not here. You're not here, right?”  

She didn't get any answer, which did and didn't reassure.

“Right.” Brianna leaned over to check the time and then squinted at the clock in disbelief. “I woke up two minutes before my alarm?”  

She felt vaguely betrayed. Two more minutes of sleep might have made that dream a lot less unsettling. Either way, she had to start getting ready because she'd set her alarm unreasonably late to allow herself to sleep in. Brianna hurried down the hall for a shower, put her hair in a braid, and then blow-dried it while she tried to get dressed with one hand. She was left with 7 minutes to make it to Imile's office, which she took at a run.

At 11:02, she knocked on the door and poked her red face in. Jalil glanced up, raised his left eyebrow in what felt like reproach for her tardiness, and gestured for her to go in. She crept past him with an apologetic smile and went in to see Imile.

“I was wondering when you would join me,” Imile said. She seemed amused, but Brianna still cringed a little.

'I didn't account to give myself enough time to get here. That's embarrassing and irresponsible. I'm way too old to be staying up at all hours to spend time with a pretty girl and let it affect my responsibilities. That's so high school.'

“I'm sorry,” she said. It came out as a little bit of a mumble.

Imile waved it off and gestured for her to have a seat. “I'm glad you didn't let the coffee get cold. I took the liberty of bringing a slice of quiche, as I assumed this appointment would make it impossible for you to access the breakfast hours in the dining hall.”

Brianna felt her mouth open. She nodded. Then she cut off a bite's worth of spinach and egg and put it in her mouth just so that she had something to do with herself.

'I had not even realized that yet. Wow. Imile is better about keeping track of my eating schedule than I am. Everything about that is so sad.'

“Do you like it?” Imile sounded half-interested. “I thought the crust was thin, but that the taste was acceptable.”

'Did she make this? When did she find the time?'

Her mouth was still full, so she made a thumbs-up gesture and a personal vow to be more on top of things in the future.

After Brianna ate her slice and Imile nibbled on a tiny portion, they got down to the contract. Brianna read through the final version one last time- apparently Legal had approved her adjustment to the contract length, provided she agreed to their stipulations. She didn't 100% understand them but she thought she knew what she was agreeing to, and she trusted Imile not to screw her over. So she signed.

It was like a weight lifted off of Imile's shoulders. She didn't breathe until the contract had been put away into a protective clear file. “Jalil,” she called.

The door popped open improbably fast.

Imile held out the folder and stepped to meet him. “Please make three copies of this- one to be stored here, one to HR, and one to Legal. Scan the original and then put it with the other original documents.”

Jalil flashed Brianna a smile. “Of course.” He slipped out of the room as silently as he had entered, but this time she heard a machine starting up a couple seconds after the door shut.

“I'm glad that's done,” Brianna admitted. She smiled and ran her hands down the back of her hair before letting them settle on her shoulders. “Well. That's probably the most exciting part of my day, and it isn't noon yet.”

Imile barked out a laugh and went to sit, elegant and feline, on the fluffiest chair in the room. She shook her hair out of a loose ponytail and separated it into two parts over her shoulders. “It gets me a lot closer to presenting a convincing package to investors about how seriously we are taking this project, so I'm pleased. It's hard to say that you have everything under control when planning a dinner and music event without any music officially on-board.”

It was nice to see Imile like this. Just like yesterday, she was unusually dressed down. It must be Imile's habit to wear more casual clothes to the office and change before her afternoon appointments. She must not have even have any teleconferences this morning, because she was in a green sundress that would never pass for formal the way her outfit had from the waist-up yesterday.

Brianna pulled her legs up onto her chair, shucking her shoes to keep them off the cushion. She held her ankles and watched as Imile absentmindedly began braiding the two long tails she had portioned her hair into. “It's a good morning,” she said. Her voice had gone soft and quiet. It felt right in the relaxed air. “I had a rough wake-up, though.”

“Oh?” Imile glanced up. Her fingers kept going on the first braid, spinning the tips of her long hair.

She nodded. “I was just listening to someone talk,” Brianna confessed. She gave an embarrassed little laugh. “I guess my mind made up a voice and personality and history for the Red Lady. She was talking to me. It felt really real, you know?”

Imile outright laughed. The sound fell like sunshine. She left the first braid and her fingers started on the left side of her head. “That's understandable. Your mind is just trying to process your daily events.”

Brianna ducked her head and looked at her knees. Her hair fell around her face, which made her feel a bit less embarrassed to talk about her apparent fantasies. “When I woke up, for a second I thought I was Genevieve.”

“Genevieve?”

She nodded and then looked up through her bangs. “That's apparently what my subconscious has named the Red Lady.” She let out a deprecating laugh. “It was really… overwhelming, actually.”

Imile's fingers had stopped. She was staring directly at Brianna for a long second. “I… I see.” She blinked quickly and then finished the braid. It wasn't as neat as the first one, but she flipped it behind her back. “I've never heard of this,” she said, in an undertone so quiet it was like she didn't expect Brianna to hear it. Then she raised her voice to a normal level. “That is- I have definitely not experienced a ghost being able to contact a living person in their dreams.” Doubt crept into her voice.

Brianna shrugged, but Imile's tone was putting her on edge. “You don't- it was just a dream, don't you think?” The way Imile reacted made her wonder if it really had happened. She turned the thought over.

It gave her a nervous little thrill.

Imile stood up and shook her head. “Of course. It can only be a dream.” She pulled her hands through her hair to undo the braiding she had done and then pulled it all up as she drifted back behind her desk. “Forgive me, Brianna. I would like to talk more about this, but actually I have something else that I need to finish before the lunch break as I have a meeting soon after, and it is already 11:40. So...”

“Of course,” Brianna agreed. She put her shoes back on and backed out of the room. “I'll see you tonight?”

“For certain.” Imile seemed flustered, already thinking about something else as she pulled open her desk. Then she blinked twice and looked directly at Brianna again. “Actually, let's move practice up an hour. I'll see you at 8pm. Is that alright?”

Brianna let out a little salute. “Can do.”

It probably would have been a good idea to distract herself instead of spending all day wondering about her dream and itching to ask Red if her name really was Genevieve. To Brianna's credit, she tried. She went looking for Brendan in the kitchen, the health center, and asked around until she found his room. She knocked on the door and got no answer.  

She tried Miho next- ah, she was working. Brianna managed to catch her for a few minutes during her lunch break and found out that Miho was actually leaving tomorrow morning. Brianna promised to wake up early enough to help Miho carry her things out and say goodbye, and then she finished picking at her food alone as the dining hall emptied.  

With those social avenues explored and found to be dead-ends, Brianna gave it up as a sign that she should probably spend all day obsessing over her dream and trying to find anything online that was similar. There were a couple of stories where someone living in a haunted home thought they were being contacted in their dreams, and one creepy blogpost about someone's personal desire to marry a ghost that they swore they talked to at nights.

Brianna leaned back on the couch, closed her eyes, and held up her hands in a momentary prayer pose.

'Please let me not sound that crazy and creepy. I hope I am not losing my mind.'

She was bored and anxious when she went to work, and after she finished a half-shift singing for tours she pretty much went straight-away to mull around the ballroom. She glanced around, trying to pinpoint where she had been in her dream based off a combination of how comfortable the rug would be and what part of the ceiling was overhead.

It was only an hour and a half, but it was somehow an eternity to wait.

When she came in for their practice session, Imile's hair was tied back tight. Brianna tried not to gawk at the especially sharp grey pencil skirt and fully buttoned jacket. It really wasn't Imile's style at all. There was no color or trace of her playful personality to be seen, not even in the hairclip.

'Someone looks severe today. I'm guessing her meeting did not go well, and that she didn't expect it to in the first place.'

“Hello.” Brianna waved a little bit, but she didn't feel as sure of herself as she usually did with Imile.

Imile dipped her chin. “Good evening.” She unlocked the door and bee-lined to the piano bench. She sat her purse down and settled next to it without fuss. And- that was the same purse she had carried yesterday to match her purple statement jewelry. Whatever was going on, Imile hadn't chosen to coordinate her bag with her outfit.

Wow. Imile must have had a rough day.  

Her eyebrows were rising up her face and she probably looked too incredulous to be polite. Brianna put her face back to something presentable and settled her belongings with a little more ceremony.

The lid to the piano keys hit the back. “Warmups.”

Brianna blinked. “Ah- of course.” Imile struck a chord. Practice continued that way- unusually brusque and professional in a way that they hadn't been in quite a while. When they were finished, Imile slapped the music shut. She breathed in deeply, leaning back a bit.  

Brianna held her breath and gave Imile a wary look over the water bottle she was uncapping. Whatever Imile had been sitting on for the last two hours had her awful sour. Brianna didn't know if she wanted to hear it.

The tone was odd from the first sentence. “You said that you- sing for the ghost. And talk with it.” Imile's face twitched, staring determinedly at the shut music folder. “There's no doubt- it definitely hears you?”

“She,” Brianna corrected. She gave Imile a bewildered look. “Yes, sometimes. Why?”

“You're here after hours almost every night. That's really not necessary.” Imile cut her a smile with no amusement. “You should get some more sleep. Especially if you're having strange dreams. I think you're too tired, Brianna.”

'Something is really off. Is she mad at me? Does she regret being so friendly lately? Maybe she was only being nice to me until I signed the contract- no. That just doesn't seem like her. Something is wrong.'

She wound some hair around her hand and managed a bewildered smile. “I'm fine.” And then she amended - “I sleep enough. I like being here at night because it's relaxing and I don't have much else to do while everyone else is sleeping.”

“Not everyone.” Imile folded her hands on her lap. “Your friend from the kitchens is often up late, the bars are open for several hours after we finish here, you may watch movies and contact anyone off the ship from the employee lounge. There is plenty for you to do that does not involve obsessing over a dead girl.”

'Not true. I can't find Brendan and we hadn't really hung out for at least a week prior, Miho is leaving soon, and I don't really know anyone else. My social calendar is not so busy that I want to strike anyone off of it.'

“I'm not obsessing,” Brianna rejected. She crossed her arms, tucking the water bottle against her ribs. “I have a perfectly normal level of interest. You know they're interesting- they're the whole focus of the museum. Your life's work. And the Red Lady is more interesting than the rest. I'm going to confirm that it really was her last night, in my dreams-”

“I don't really want to talk about the ghosts. Any of them.” Imile shut the piano lid. It sounded terribly final. She looked at Brianna for just and instant and then away. She ducked her head and brought one hand up to rub at her left temple. “I'm not interested in the specific time period our museum shows, or the particular individuals preserved here. My work is the present, and facilitating the unique experience of stasis and experience that we provide to visitors.”

Brianna took two steps closer, unwilling to let this topic die. “Why- aren't you curious?” Brianna shook her head. “This is- you know enough about this to know that Red doesn't fit the patterns. Isn't that fascinating? Don't you want to know why?”

“No,” Imile said crisply. “I'm not.” But she didn't make eye contact. She leaned over and opened her purse, effectively ending the conversation.

She uncrossed her arms, trying to wrap her mind around that. It didn't make any sense- it outright was not true. Imile knew way too much about the topic to think it unimportant, and it was in her living space. And she'd already had theories about the Lady-about Genevieve- before Brianna had asked.

Why would she lie?

'Does she think I'm going crazy?'

“Brianna, I'd like your employee card.” Imile snapped open her wallet and held out a hand. “I need to adjust your clearance.”

Her heart was a rock in her chest. She swallowed.

Imile was still holding her hand out. Her pretty blue eyes were cold.

There was going to be no arguing her out of it.

Brianna didn't have any words. She dug her employee pass card out of her pocket and handed it over. She followed Imile out. The halls blurred. Just- the sounds of their shoes on carpet was the only thing and she wanted to say something, she needed to say something. But she just couldn't. She couldn't break the silence.

The security door was loud when it shut behind them. Of course it was- it was metal encased in decorative wood.

She took in one shaky breath. It was hard because her throat was tight.

“Go to bed,” Imile said, not unkindly. She let out a sigh, but Brianna couldn't see what was on her face. A hand started to lift up towards her head, and then drifted back to her side. “Just… spend some time with the living. Rest, have a drink, find something in the library. I'll see you in two days. I'm going on a business trip. Goodnight, Brianna.”

“Goodnight.” She stood there a moment watching Imile walk down the hall to the right.

She couldn't breathe. Her chest was heavy and shivers were running up and down the back of her arms.  

'What do I do now?'

Her feet were heavy. So it took a long time to start moving back, away from the rooms she couldn't access.