What Hides Within Read Online Free PDF Page B

called out sternly behind him. A wave of stale coffee breath lapped against the back of his neck, forcibly curving itself around Clive's face like a wet fog and imposing its fetid stench into Clive's nostrils. A sagging boob rested against his shoulder blade.
    Clive slowly moved his mouse to close out of his conversation with Derek, as if his minimal speed would make his action go undetected. The Instant Messenger box now closed, all that remained on-screen was a thrilling game of Spider Solitaire already in progress. He closed his eyes momentarily, a peaceful repose before the onslaught to come. Judge Judy stood behind him.
    "Turn that crap off," she barked.
    Reluctantly, Clive complied. I had a chance to beat it this time, too , he thought. But the Judge had made her ruling, and her rulings were final.
    Judge Judy was actually Judith Schenkland. She earned her nickname for her resemblance both in name and personality to the famous tele-legalist and megabitch, Judge Judy Sheindlin. But if the real Judge Judy were a megabitch, Clive's boss was a gigabitch, a crotchety, cantankerous, miserable sort, unliked by everybody.
    Judith was the Assistant Vice President of Marketing, and somehow, in the fucked-up hierarchy that was the Harcourt management scheme, she was direct supervisor to the data entry department, a.k.a. Clive Menard. Judith's wretchedness as a person was outdone by her wretchedness as a boss. She went out of her way to make her subordinates hate both her and their jobs. Perhaps it was her one failed marriage or her seventeen failed diets, but Judith's personality rivaled that of the most detestable shock jock or reality television star, thus earning her the nickname. Nevertheless, neither Clive nor anyone else at Harcourt had the cajones to call her Judge Judy to her ill-begotten, four-chinned face.
    She grabbed Clive by his upper arm and twirled him around in his chair. She then grabbed both of Clive's shoulders, placing a considerable amount of weight on him and a strain on his cheap roller chair. Fortunately for both Clive and Judith, the chair rolled backward an inch into Clive's desk, allowing the desk to support the surplus weight. Not unlike countless prior occasions, Clive wished his desk wasn't situated so that he sat with his back facing the opening to his cubbyhole cubicle.
    Clive stared into the eyes of a nemesis. Judith's breath came on more strongly, corroding him to the point of nausea. He gazed up at the sweaty beast like a rabbit too scared to run from an approaching predator. And like a predator, Judith went in for the kill.
    "So, were you winning?" she asked, pointing to Clive's now-blank computer screen.
    Actually, I think I was. Clive held back his smartass remark. He invoked his right to remain silent. He knew anything he said at that moment, no matter how innocent, could and would be used against him in Judge Judy's court.
    "Did you get any work done yet?"
    "I'm sorry, Judith. I had a long weekend. Plus, my ear is messed up. I can't hear a thing out of it. But that's no excuse. I'll get started immediately and work through lunch."
    Judith huffed, her sagging breasts rising and falling with each difficult breath. "That won't be necessary. Just get to work. And if your ear is messed up, you should get it checked."
    What? That's it? Clive was dumbfounded. As Judith trotted off, probably to torture some other unfortunate soul, he sighed in relief. That went much better than expected. Maybe she got laid last night. The combination of the horrid mental image Clive conjured and the psychologically tormenting memory of Judith's coffee breath caused a little chunk of vomit to rise in Clive's throat. He swallowed it back down, wincing from its vile taste.
    Whatever it was, I'd be a fool to question her leniency. I got lucky, but I'd better get some work done.
    Clive worked a total of fifteen minutes before being bombarded with instant messages and revitalizing his itch to play solitaire. Every now and