Signed off

Contemporary workplace horror short story. After a minor crisis, Helena has fixed all her issues and feels ready to jump right back into work. Only her colleagues don't seem to remember her...

When Finance Director Helena Kim had a breakdown mid Board presentation, everyone had been very kind. The HR director had been kind, guiding her to a private room and letting her freak out in peace. The CEO had been kind, telling Helena to log out of everything work-related and insisting she took as much time as she needed. The private GP had been kind, signing her off work with no fuss and directing her to the local counselling service. Her colleagues had been absolute angels, clubbing together to purchase the biggest goodie bag of wellness items Helena had ever seen.

Everyone had been kind. Absurdly kind. Relentlessly, unequivocably kind.

Everyone, that is, except for Helana Kim.

Helena was the sort of person who didn’t believe in bringing your full self to work. Be friendly, yes, ask people about their weekend, sure, but the idea of mixing the personal with the private brought her out in rabid, aggravating hives. In a very literal sense – some of the chemicals in that wellness bag had really set off her eczema.

The whole thing had been so utterly mortifying.

She didn’t know how it had happened. Yes, it had been a difficult time. The company was in the midst of a difficult merger, which had caused a lot of tension. John was being a penny-pinching, pedantic piece of the proverbial about the divorce, insisting on disputing every tiny detail within an inch of its life. And the night before, one of her hellish next-door neighbours had snuck into her garden and defecated in her shed. Not that she could prove it was them for certain. But she knew.

Any ordinary person might have cracked under such strain. But Helena didn’t consider herself an ordinary person. Where other people moaned into their oversized wine glasses that life was unfair, Helena was too busy grinding her problems to dust beneath sensible two-inch heels. She was a 5-foot 4 powerhouse. A paragon of a quiet and ruthless efficiency.

Or that’s what she used to think.

Even when she’d had the panic attack, a part of Helena was standing to one side. Arms folded, head cocked with that half-quizzical, half-exasperated expression her mother used to wear. The one that said: what are you doing that for?

Still, now a month had passed from the… incident… and Helena was feeling so much better. She’d powered through all the books at the library on stress management. She’d smashed her fitness targets with 5am jogging and bi-weekly Pilates (the local yoga class was too yummy mummy for her liking). She’d even forced herself to do an intensive silent meditation retreat, an experience that could be likened to having your brain scooped out by hot coals. Still, the agony of wellness had been worth it. Everything could now go back to normal.

She pushed through the glass double doors of her office lobby, which was exactly as she recalled – why would it have changed? Boxy grey sofas, far too spaced out stood on fake marble floors, accompanied by glass walls and oversized lampshades. And in the centre, a large reception desk, presided over by the asymmetrical bob and large, dark eyes of the receptionist. It was probably a very fashionable look, though why people couldn’t stick with visibly even haircuts was not in Helena’s gift to comprehend.

Nodding politely at the receptionist’s enquiring gaze, Helena marched smartly to the electronic gates and tapped her pass on the scanner.

The gate stayed resolutely shut.

Helena’s smart watch beeped a warning of an elevated heart rate, so she took a physician-recommended deep cleansing breath before trying again. After the fifth failure, she allowed herself a little outward grunt of frustration. Not a great omen to her first day back. But since when was she superstitious?

Switching her panicking smart watch to silent, she walked over to the large desk and offered the receptionist a brisk, polite smile.

‘Good morning. I seem to be having trouble with my pass.’

The woman looked at her a little oddly, as if Helena had grown a second head but it would be impolite to mention it.

‘Your name, please?’

‘Ms Helena Kim.’ She didn’t say, I’ve been working here for 15 years, though she was sorely tempted.

‘Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?’

‘Helena Kim. K I M.'

‘One moment, please.’ The receptionist picked up the phone, speaking in such a matchbox voice that Helena could only make out the odd word. ‘Uhuh. Yes. Fine. Thank you.’

She put down the phone. ‘Ms Kim? Please take a seat.’

Helena thought about arguing, then acquiesced. There was something about the receptionist’s small, quiet voice that commanded obedience – that and her relentless use of Helena’s surname. It was like being at the doctor’s office, minus the outdated women’s magazines.

She sat straight backed on the uncomfortably rigid sofa, watching the time tick by with interminable slowness as her smart watch relentlessly complained at her for not moving enough. She swiped the notifications away.

Why were they keeping her hanging around for so long?

To her great relief, the lift doors opened and two of her fellow directors emerged.

At last.

Her fellow directors were virtually the same as ever, though Sean was growing out his facial hair and Debbie had new oversized glasses in an ill-advised shocking pink. Helena had never been particularly close to either of them on a personal level, though they got on well professionally and were pleasant enough to work with.

They didn’t seem to notice her, heading straight to the reception desk. So Helena got up and went to greet them, smiling, hand outstretched.

‘Have you got an appointment?’ said Debbie, stretching her cheeks so wide she reminded Helena distinctly of a wigged gerbil.

Helena let her hand dangle in the air for a second, then dropped it by her side. For a moment she was too floored to speak.

But, ever the professional, she recovered herself.

‘It’s my first day back,’ she said. ‘It should be in the diary.’

There were no nods of understanding. No “how have you beens?” Only Sean giving Debbie the subtle side-eye. As if Helena was talking nonsense. As if they had no idea what she was talking about.

So much for that damn wellness basket.

‘Perhaps you’d prefer it if I spoke to Abdul,’ she said with deliberate coolness.

That will teach them to play silly games.

But neither of her colleagues seemed in the slightest bit worried about being on the receiving end of the CEO’s ire. In fact, they looked rather relieved.

‘Ah,’ said Sean. ‘You’re here about the vacancy, then.’

‘Vacancy?’ Helena’s tone was tundraesque. ‘What vacancy?’

Debbie smiled at Helena with a little too much rodent intensity. ‘Oh dear. I’m afraid there seems to be some kind of misunderstanding—'

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat, we can speak to Mr Hafiz and confirm your name is on our candidate list.’

Helena’s nail dug so sharply into her palm that it cut skin.

‘I’m not sure what this is all about,’ she said, with the chill politeness of a thousand ice ages. ‘But I have been under a period of considerable stress and I do not wish to be involved in whatever silly prank this is. Quite honestly, I thought such a stunt would be below the both of you. But be that as it may, I am still the finance director, and I would like to return to my office, as agreed. Now if you don’t mind—’

She felt the presence of the security guard before she saw them.

Without skipping a beat, Helena turned on her heel and walked calmly to the revolving doors. To all but the untrained eye, she made it seem as if this had been entirely her own intention, and the security guard simply happened to be standing very close behind her.

#

Helena’s mind was a nest of kicked ants, but her face was a still pool. Staring out the cafe window, she retained an upright, dignified posture, sipping every now and then at a black coffee with an untouched pastry in front of her.

She had to hand it to Debbie and Sean. It had been one hell of a cold shouldering.

Helena pressed her hands against the hot coffee mug. Fifteen years she’d worked there. Fifteen years of desk lunches and late nights and constant grind. Fifteen years working her way up the ladder, only to be knocked off the second she needed a helping hand.

It’s your own fault. You should have never taken that time off. If you’d just kept working. Kept trying. If you’d just pushed through…

‘Stop that,’ she said aloud. ‘You can’t think that way.’

The student at the table opposite gave her a weird look. She glared at him until he looked away.

Because while she might have experienced a minor blip in proceedings, she wasn’t some shrinking wallflower. She was Helena Kim, damn it. She’d worked hard for her position. And she wasn’t giving it up without a fight.

#

Dear Abdul,

Apologies for missing our keep in touch day yesterday. I tried to come in and experienced some issues with my security pass. Spoke to Sean and Debbie and they appeared unaware I was due to return. Mentioned something about a vacancy?

As I explained previously via email, the GP has signed me fit to work, I am fully re-energised and ready to get stuck in ASAP.

Hope to hear back soon.

Kind regards,

Helena

#

Dear Abdul,

Haven’t heard back from you – imagine it’s very busy with the Board.

If you or Katie could let me know when next to come in?

Many thanks

Helena

#

Dear Abdul,

I still have not heard back from you. If I do not hear back by Monday, I will be contacting my solicitor.

KR

Helena

#

Helena pressed her head against the headboard, phone heavy in her hand. The neighbour’s bass reverberated through her skull. For the first time, she welcomed it.

She hadn’t known what she’d expected to receive from her employer. A questioning of her competency, perhaps. A notification of her terminated contract. Perhaps, in her wildest fantasies, a grovelling apology and admission that this was such all a dreadful mistake.

But this.

She already had the email memorised. Yet she looked at her phone again all the same.

Dear Ms Kim,

Thank you for contacting Horizon Trading.

We can confirm that no employee of the name Ms Helena Eun-Kyung Kim is currently employed or has ever been employed by Horizon Trading or its subsidiaries.

The position of finance director is currently being advertised on our website. Our acting finance director is Melina Dimopoulos.

We hope that satisfies your queries.

Kind regards,

Abdul Hafiz

She thought about going back to the office and confronting them all, but the thought of being humiliated all over again was too appalling.

In a fit of desperation, she googled her name, followed by Horizon Trading.

Nothing.

She went on the company website and checked the About Us page.

Still nothing.

Gritting her teeth, she even went on LinkedIn and checked her employment history.

A mysterious, fifteen-year blank.

Helena’s phone dropped to the bed. The volume of the bass increased, threatening to swallow her.

She ought to be enraged. Yet all she could feel was a blank, absorbing despair.

Because Helena wasn’t a real person - not the world, anyway. To them, she merely an obstacle to be manoeuvred around. A solid space in the air. An inconvenience. Nothing more.

She lay there for several hours, then fell asleep, in a room throbbing with someone else’s music.

#

Ten hours later, Helena woke to a mouth tasting of musty breath and courage. She felt simmering, frantic and alive.

In short, like her old self.

She took a taxi to the office, where the morning rush was in full sway. Head down, Helena manoeuvred herself behind a man she didn’t recognise, with a large backpack.

She stayed in rucksack man’s orbit as they entered the double doors, filing towards the security gates. Risking a sideways glance at the reception desk, Helena spotted Abdul having a friendly chat with the receptionist. She had an urge to rush over, to demand an explanation for her mistreatment, but she didn’t want to make a scene.

Not yet, anyway.

She kept her head down, sticking close to backpack man. As he buzzed himself through, she darted through behind him and the gates shut just behind her. No alarms went off. She was just another employee.

She took the lift up, wedging herself into a corner. No one seemed to notice she was there at all.

On the seventh floor, Helena stepped into the familiar corridor and following the knot of people into the open plan office. She gazed across the shiny white desks, pine panelling and glass windows.

Nothing had changed.

As she walked across the office, she caught sight of one of the senior finance managers, and on a whim, stepped out in front of him.

The man stared at her, blinking cartoonishly. He seemed to be having trouble making out the obstacle that was preventing him from reaching his desk.

‘Good morning,’ said Helena. ‘I’m Helena Kim, the finance director. You might remember me?’

There was a pause. A slight mouth opening.

‘Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?’

The man stood there. There was no recognition in his eyes. Not even the polite blankness of the other directors. Only a vague, muddled facial expression, akin to a teenager’s around nine in the morning.

With a loud sigh, Helena moved aside. The man relaxed instantly, and continued to walk to his desk unhindered.

Helena watched him with a troubled frown. It was almost as if her physical presence didn’t really register in the man’s brain. Like he was forcing himself to see her.

She dismissed the thought. The confusion was simply an act, as it had been with the other directors. They were simply trying extremely hard to get rid of her, and she wasn’t about to let them get away with it.

Helena walked through the open office, glancing through the glass doors of each meeting room until she found what she was looking for.

The board room was already set up with glasses of water, a platter of fruit pieces and tiny pastries in the centre. Around the table sat a number of senior Board members, the firm’s directors and a space vacant, most likely for Abdul. The screen was set up, waiting for a PowerPoint. Everyone was chatting politely or scrolling on devices. In short, they were waiting for the show.

Helena slipped into the room, and sat down in the empty chair. No one noticed.

A few moments later, Abdul walked in, with his characteristic easy smile. He approached her chair, frowning slightly, then laughed.

‘Guess it’s musical chairs today.’

Awkward corporate laughter rippled round the room. Helena bristled.

This is getting beyond a joke.

Abdul moved to the back, leaning against the wall as a tiny woman with short dark hair stood up. This must be Melina. Her replacement.

Helena watched the woman deliver the quarterly finance report with increasing irritation. The woman’s analysis seemed competent, but her style of presentation was all wrong. She spoke too quickly and rushed through important points, then dwelt on minutiae that made no material difference.

Still, she kept still and quiet. Waiting for her moment.

At last, the presentation came to an end. Melina stood fiddling with a pen, looking nervous.

‘Any questions?’ she asked.

Helena’s hand shot in the air.

‘Think that was all clear, Mel,’ said Abdul, to further corporate nods and smiles all round.

‘Excuse me,’ said Helena, in a very loud and un-ignorable voice.

‘OK,’ said Chief Operating Officer. ‘If you turn to the next item on the agenda—'

Helena jumped onto the table. No one batted an eye.

‘I just wanted to inform you all that you’re all utterly boring bastards,’ she announced. And she picked up the nearest water bottle and threw it all over the CEO.

It worked. Water dripped down the man’s nose and chest, landing in an embarrassing stain around his crotch region. For a moment, he seemed to look at her.

And then it was gone.

With slow deliberateness, Helana began to walk around the table. One by one, she picked up a water glass and dumped its content over its owner’s head. Debbie’s pink glasses were water smeared, her hair spiralling with damp curls. Sean’s white shirt showed his nipples. The Chief Operating Officer’s mascara ran down her cheeks in a grey smudged trail.

And they were all completely oblivious.

Helena wobbled. With a sudden swoop of vertigo, she stumbled off the table, almost smacking her head into the wall. Sweat slicked her back, her arms, her hands. She could feel a biting in her mouth, an iron hardness and a distant thought of how stupid this must look, only no one was looking.

‘—and I’m delighted to confirm,’ said Abdul. ‘That the latest stage of the merger process is fully complete. Our company has been officially integrated.’

Helena leaned against the wall. Her breath grew tighter and tighter, her chest gripped by a turning of a screw, and she thought about he ex-husband and her mother and that time in Year 3 when she wet herself during assembly and the smell of ammonia and pinewood floors and being alone in a house flooded with someone else’s music.

#

‘Hey? You OK?’

A room, with white walls. A seascape painting with a seagull and cliff, teal and mauve and pink. A glass window view of the road below and the people and buses and cars.

The HR office.

‘Can you hear me? Do you need a cup of tea?’

She was being spoken to. Actually… spoken to.

‘You…’ Her voice was thick. ‘You… see me.’

Eyes opened wider. Thought floated over that foaming, corporate painting sea. A face. Ginger hair. Curls. Familiar. Smiling.

Helena became conscious suddenly of how she was sitting. Of the sweat around her hairline. Of the office chair she’d collapsed into.

She sat up straighter, folding her arms so the woman couldn’t try to take her hand again.

‘Who… who are…?’

She trailed off. The woman’s baby bump was mostly gone, but that round, cheery face looked the same as ever.

Diane. The old HR director. She looked deeply concerned.

‘Are you sure you don’t need a tea, Helena? I’ll get you one.’

Five minutes later, Diane came back with a huge mug of extremely milky and highly sugary tea. To Helena’s begrudging admission, it did help a bit.

‘There we go.’ Diane smiled a satisfied smile. ‘Tea always helps. Now, what’s been going on?’

Helena held the mug handle tightly. She didn’t want to put it down for some reason.

‘You look like you’ve had a shock.’

Helena tried to speak. Her tongue was laden, her mouth too large.

‘I understand you’ve been off sick.’

‘Uhuh.’ She swallowed. ‘I thought they were ignoring me. Freezing me out. But it’s like… like they can’t…’

‘See you?’

‘Exactly!’ Helena jerked forwards, slopping hot tea on her hand. She took Diane’s well-timed tissue. ‘I don’t understand.’

Diane smiled at her. A warm, caring smile, full of life and cheer. The smile she gave everyone in the office, as she handed out homemade biscuits, or asked about the weekend.

‘Oh Helena,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you get the email?’

A coldness in Helena’s stomach. ‘What email?’

Diane sighed. ‘It’s a new policy. You have to be phased in to the new reality.’

‘What?’

‘A new initiative for post-merger cohesion and effectiveness. Everything is linked into a new, performance-enhanced dimensional reality. It’s all in the email.’

Helana sat open mouthed, trying to comprehend this. ‘But I… I checked my email…’ was all she could say.

‘Must have landed in your spam.’

Helena’s mind raced. It was all so strange. And yet…

‘Diane… you’re in HR.’

‘Well, yes. It’s my first day back.’

‘So you can get me phased in, can’t you?’ She grabbed Diane’s hand. It was round, warm and dry. ‘You can make them see me again?’

Another sigh from Diane, accompanied by another kindly smile. ‘Oh love. I’m afraid the phasing period is time limited.’ She patted Helena on the shoulder. ‘It was all in the email.’

Diane tried to ease her hand away but Helena only held on tighter.

‘You’ve got to help me.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. You see, I got the email.’

‘What does that—?’

The door opened. Abdul stood there motionless for a few seconds, then suddenly seemed to remember he wasn’t alone.

‘You alright in here, Diane?’

Diane smiled back. ‘Quite alright, thank you.’

‘Good, good. Phase in OK?’

‘Nearly done.’

‘Excellent.’ He paused. ‘Say. Have you done something different in here?’

‘No. Just the same as ever.’

The door closed. Diane turned towards Helena.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘l must replace that chair.’