A New Chapter

An excerpt from a short story I've been working on called A New Chapter.

A NEW CHAPTER
I love my job for one simple reason. It makes me happy. I’ve had so many disappointments in life – tanking at law school, splitting up with my wife Angela, the woman who was supposed to be my one and only true love, but who let me down in the end, the endless parade of pointless grunt jobs in down scale offices, telemarketing boiler rooms and hamburger joints, each new position more absurd and meaningless than the ones that came before; all of this wormwood of disappointment left me bitter as though I had eaten ashes, which in some ways I guess I had, figuratively anyway.
But three years ago, I could say the misery had ended. After a long stint as a shift manager at a hamburger franchise, and just as my divorce from Angela was finalized, I ended up at the chain’s head office as a human resources manager, recruiting new staff. They downsized the company a year ago and set me free. Now, I am self employed. Now, I no longer suffer disappointments. Now, I offer fresh beginnings, new chapters transforming and renewing thwarted careers and stagnant lives.
My job is to help people begin new careers, to start again after being re-deployed by their employers. I open new chapters for them. That’s why I call my human resources consulting company New Chapters Unlimited. I really do offer people a new beginning, a new way of living life. It’s not a lie. I’ve learned to move beyond cynicism. It’s the most spiritually and psychologically corrosive mindset at large in our society today. I explain to people how cynicism rots and stifles hope and ambition and motivation. And I know the people I collaborate with listen to me and take what I say to heart as they strive to re-map their lives and career paths.
Yes, things are tough out there. Our corporate culture is changing forever as it adjusts to new global economic realities. There is no turning back. People should not fear this, however, but welcome it as an opportunity for growth and achieving one’s full potential.
My last client today understood this. Scott Tyson was his name, I think. Or was it Tyson Scott? No matter. He seemed so interested and curious and nodded while I explained the terms of his separation agreement from Consilium Amalgamated, a once great manufacturing powerhouse that is now being, well, amalgamated with a new tech and financial services based company, thus opening a new chapter for itself and for the people who now are being re-deployed; loyal and dedicated and industrious people like Tyson Scott.
He smiled when I finished my presentation. In the soft light of the hotel conference room – I always meet clients in the innocuous, charming neutrality of a bland hotel conference room – his eyes burned bright with excitement.
“Thank you very much,” he said as he signed the last of the release forms, “you’ve been very kind and helpful and informative.”
Sometimes the opening of a new chapter is rough for people. It means more than leaving a job; it’s leaving a life, a world of habits and routines and not everyone welcomes it. But Scott Tyson seemed genuinely happy as I walked him to the door. He said, “I’ve been stuck in the same groove for too long. I really need something new. This package really will help me open a new chapter, like you say.”
He shook my hand firmly, smiled a serene smile and disappeared down the hall.

I watched him leave then I started to pack up.
It only took me a few minutes to seal all the signed discharge papers from the twenty Consilium people I had met with into two big bubble envelopes. I locked up the conference room, settled out with the hotel manager and returned the room key. Parcel Direct had a big depot only a few minute’s drive from the hotel, so I was able to courier the discharge stuff from there to Consilium and didn’t have to carry it around with me.
At last, the day was over. I was free.
A new chapter had opened for a new evening.
As I drove along Ambassador Road, I pondered what I should do with the free time that now stretched before me in all of its inviting emptiness. My first appointment tomorrow wasn’t until the afternoon, so I could afford to stay out a little later than normal.
Perhaps this would be a good night to make my return to The Caboose. I hadn’t been there in a while and it wasn’t that far away.
I took a turn down Manufacturer’s Crescent, a largely deserted street that serviced a few tiny business malls and factory outlet places. Even on a sunny and warm August evening like this, there wouldn’t be much traffic on it, now that most of the businesses along there had been shuttered by the recession. It would be just a quick hop to drive along there direct to the Caboose which was at the corner of Manufacturer’s and Weatherbee Street.
I wasn’t on the road long when I saw something strange in a vacant parking lot in front of what looked like a boarded up furniture store.
A car had slammed into the front entrance.
I pulled over to take a look, thinking I could be of help. My heart raced as I hurried to the wreckage and I broke into a sweat.
I admit I was afraid of what I would see and my worst fears were realized as I peered inside the shattered driver’s window.
Scott Tyson was slumped over the wheel, his face smashed. Blood was all over what was left of his face, his shirt, the front seat and the dashboard.
That was awful enough, but what was even worse was that a handgun rested on the empty passenger seat.
My stomach churned and I wanted to throw up, but I held it down and forced myself to come around to the passenger side. In spite of the blood everywhere else on the front seat, the gun was clean. Had somebody planted it there? Why?
Sometimes in life, we do things that we can’t explain and perhaps even regret later. For some reason, I was compelled to reach through the shattered glass of the passenger window, and pick up the gun. It was .38 caliber hand gun – I took shooting lessons years ago. I opened the cartridge and it was full and there was a bullet in the chamber.
Why would Tyson crash his car when he had a loaded gun?
I made sure the safety catch was on and then I ran back to my car and hid the gun in the glove compartment. Before I could take off, my nausea got the better of me and I unleashed the remains of the ham sandwich I’d had for lunch on the asphalt.
As I sped away, I tapped my shirt pocket. I had my cell phone with me, as I knew I did.
No, I didn’t call the police.
How could I? I was fleeing the scene of my crime.
I was responsible for Tyson Scott’s death, wasn’t I?