Going Up

Besides the fluorescent light hum and the occasional paper rustle, Monday’s office was entirely silent as Wednesday meticulously examined every document on the desk. “What’s this?”

–Earlier that morning–

Sunday adjusted his tie and waited for the elevator. The lobby was empty besides the single security guard sleeping at the front desk.

“What are you doing here?” Saturday asked as the door opened.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Sunday replied.

“Isn’t it clear from what I’m wearing?”

“Coming back from space?”

“Rave,” she said waving her gloved hands past Sunday’s face causing him to flinch from the bright, flashing lights.

Sunday stepped in as Saturday stepped out. “Don’t mess this up for me,” he said.

“If you can’t roll, it’s not my fault.”

The door closed and he rode it up in silence for 98 floors till the door re-opened.

The Weekday’s foyer was undecorated, the only piece of furniture was a dull gray sofa that appeared unused. Sunday punched in the four-digit code his contact had given him; 1-8-9-4. With a click, the heavy wooden door unlocked.

He strolled past the cubicles to the end of the hall and cautiously opened the door. The office was dark, unlike the last time he’d been there. “New blinds. How drab,” he thought.

Sunday approached Monday, whose snoring hadn’t changed at all, and took the phone from the end-table. “You won’t be needing this,” he said quietly to himself.

It felt like a good moment to laugh maniacally, but Sunday wasn’t ready to wake his old friend; he still had a document he needed to find.