The late afternoon sun slanted through the office windows, making everything feel hotter and more humid than it actually was. It was one of those days where one wakes up with an already-formed headache which refuses to go away, and in fact intensifies, as the day progresses.
The young woman took a sip of her lukewarm coffee. She had read somewhere that caffeine consumption helped with headaches. Whether or not that assumption was true remained, in her experience, to be seen, but the lack of evidence didn't prevent her from testing it. Although maybe it was just a nascent caffeine addiction .
Maybe a fully-formed one.
Regardless, every time she felt the blood pulse in her temple she'd take a sip, often nursing the same cup of coffee for hours. She'd realized lately that she didn't enjoy the taste of the office coffee - simultaneously burnt and watery - but she maintained the afternoon habit. Sometimes it felt like the only thing that made the last few hours of work bearable.
It wasn't that she didn't like her job. She was treated well, compensated fairly, and had a boss who treated her with respect. Once in a while there would be an influx of work due to the owner's inability to say 'no' to a potential client, but other than that she didn't really have any complaints. She simply felt like it was much too easy for her to get distracted and lose focus.
Every night before bed, she'd tell herself that tomorrow would be Different. She'd wake up on time (without pressing snooze), get to work early, and knock out every item on her to-do list with time to spare. She'd stop feeling like she was constantly being evaluated for a lackluster job performance, because she'd finally be performing at the level she knew she was capable of. That momentum from a day of kicking ass at work would carry her home, where she'd go to the gym, organize her cluttered apartment, and spend time on her hobbies. Maybe she'd even have time for her nighttime skincare routine.
Every day, however, progressed in exactly the same manner. She'd wake up forty-five minutes late and have to rush out the door, barely arriving at work on time. She'd do her best to focus when she sat at her desk, but would constantly find her hands grabbing her phone and scrolling through one of several social media apps she rotated through. She'd feel guilty and put her phone down, but the momentum would already have broken and she'd feel like she had to start over whatever task she had been working on. And then in the afternoon, the glaring heat through her office's southwest-facing windows would simultaneously make her sleepy and give her a headache. After work, she'd plop down on the couch and order takeout, feeling both mentally exhausted and like a total fraud.
Today the heat seemed inordinately intense, almost as offensive as the bright glare reflecting off the surrounding windows. Her fingers felt restless, alternating between bringing the mug of cold coffee to her lips and scrolling through her "For You" page.
The thumbnail of a brightly colored post caught her eye. In bold letters it declared that twenty years had passed, to the day, since celebrity couple Alec and Amelia Greene had been mysteriously shot to death in Central Park. She tapped the post so she could check the timestamp. It had been posted two days before, on April 15th.
Strange. She was usually so good at remembering dates - it was weird that she had forgotten this one.
The caption under the post went on to detail that no leads had ever been uncovered regarding the motive for the crime, the perpetrator of the crime, or indeed the nature of the crime itself. The only known fact was that they had been shot to death early in the morning of April 15th after attending a theater performance, and that both had died from their gunshot wounds.
Clicking the linked article, she went on to read the most prevalent theories about their deaths - that they were either attacked by a crazed fan, or shot in a robbery gone wrong. It appeared that both had been running, and that the initial confrontation had occurred a quarter of a mile away. The heel of one of Amelia's shoes had broken off in the chase.
"Ari?"
Ignoring the ever-intensifying throbbing behind her eyes, the woman turned to address her coworker.
"I'm sorry, what?"