The Shadow of Wuthering Heights
D. Weber
The code book was gone. In its place sat a hardback copy of Wuthering Heights, open to a page underlined in red: Give in to Love.
Sitting in his new glass office, James stared back at everyone who could see his every move. It offered him no privacy.
His promotion was not going to be easy to settle into. Five employees had been fired at the same time that he was promoted and left behind resentment in the office. He’d wanted nothing more than to keep his head down, shuffle papers, and make it through the day. But his promotion to Training Manager had put him in the spotlight and stability was the one thing Elaine Manello had never offered.
Manello’s plan was simple: build him into a leader by forcing him to face the very people who socialized more than worked. But James wasn’t ready.
Pausing before he was seen, he stopped just around the corner of the break room where he couldn't be seen and caught fragments:
“Manello’s pet…”
“…never earned it…”
“…Bugs will love Wuthering Heights.”
The Bugs name needed some explanation. Although James had been there at Accurate LLC longer than any of them, he just hadn't stepped up and so hadn’t been seen. He was someone who lived purely for the job, with no social life. They called him Bugs, because he scurried to stay out of their way, just contenting himself with getting his work done. He'd been the guy who almost single handedly carried the office alone through his fast, accurate and long unheralded hours. Now he felt like he was in the spotlight.
Trevor, his new trainee, grew bolder by the minute. At first eager to learn, he now lingered with the others, laughing with those who resented James. He could feel them all watching him, as if each of his steps was as unsure as those in the spinning barrel of a funhouse.
Elaine summoned him frequently. Sometimes for reports, other times with no reason other than to ask if he was okay. He would find her behind half-drawn blinds, the air perfumed and warm. She praised him, asking him questions about whether those under him were starting to respect him. He was about to say no when she said: "Don't worry. I've scheduled a training session where you can face those who hate you. If you can just tell me their names, I'll put them on notice."
"You think of everything," he said, after a pause.
His boss next encouraged him to tell on anyone who’d been causing trouble and as he did, she entered their names into her computer.
"They'll all be getting invitations," she said, and leaned in too close.
“I’m sure it’s an offer they can’t refuse,” James said, with a smile.
“You’re saving this place, James. Don’t you see?” she said, her hand brushing his sleeve.
“How am I doing that?” James asked, surprised and wanting clarification.
“By your example of hard work,” she said.
“I don’t have anything else but that,” James said, voice small.
“What if you did?” she asked, a crafty expression coming to her face.
At the moment, he felt like he was stepping into a hall of mirrors with no exit: the narrow tunnel, the tilt of the room, the slide that spat out into applause. But this time, when the flashbulb burst, it wasn’t his coworkers cheering: it was Elaine, standing alone, clapping slowly, her face duplicated in endless mirrors.
"What are you offering?" James asked.
"Happiness before you address the hostiles," she said. "Regarding that firing. We’ve been getting a lot of mistakes: numbers swapped, forms rejected, as though errors were games to test how much patience the new manager had.”
“For their birthday surprise they said they'd help me,” James reminded her.
“Yes, but wasn't that a surprise,” she said.
When James tried to protest against any additional firings, Elaine Manello said: "Get some rest James. You'll need it in the morning."
"What will happen in the morning?"
"The meeting to address your haters," she said.
He recalled coworkers’ laughter echoing faintly in the hall, rising, falling, as if the whole building were another tilted room.
Then he noticed Elaine's office across the floor, her silhouette against the blinds, unmoving as she entertained visitors.
That evening, after the rest had gone home, Elaine Manello confronted him. She leaned against his desk, arms crossed.
“You’re fading into your old self,” she said. “You should be happy.”
James shook his head. “I’m working. That’s all I need.”
“No,” she replied, her eyes glinting. “You need a jolt to get you out of that corner. You need to come back with me to the funhouse.”
He stiffened. “Why?”
“Because if you fight through the fear, you’ll own it. And you’ll own them."
It wasn't something that James could understand with what he knew, which was very little about people but a lot about codes. When his face seemed to be a big question mark, Manello believed she was going to save him by promoting him. He was now a conspicuous figure in the office and the five fired employees had been circling him, blaming him and waiting for their chance. Like sharks smelling blood, they were waiting for him to stumble.
That Saturday night, under a sky streaked with carnival lights, James followed Ms. Manello back into the Over the Top Funhouse. The facade looked even more grotesque than before: fanged grins, twisted clowns, spinning devils painted in lurid colors. The Sons of Hades had made sure no detail was overlooked.
The carnival lights came again brighter than pain. He tried to insist he was still in the office, still sane, but his body disobeyed. Elaine’s whispers became a chorus, overlapping with the voices of coworkers who had bullied him for years, now grotesque cheerleaders with lightbulb eyes.
He slammed his fists against mirrored walls, but the glass only swallowed him deeper. His reflection smirked: The rules don’t work here.
Down the tilted room he tumbled, gravity his enemy, Elaine’s joyful cries, his compass. One moment, her breast grazed his cheek; the next, he was sliding into blackness, coworkers chanting his name in mockery.
When James woke, it was not relief but another layer of nightmare. Elaine’s cheek was against his, warm, intimate.
“Elaine!” he called, though his voice cracked with a child’s desperation.
“You’re doing fine, James,” her voice came back, infinite and echoing. “Don’t be afraid of the angles.”
He thought of his code book, all the things that once gave order to his world. They had no weight here. The only weight was Elaine’s hand, pressing him forward, urging him to step into the slide, into the impossible carnival that was his desire.
As they approached, he heard footsteps behind. The five of them - the five former employees, shadows from the past - their curses echoing. One crashed straight into a panel, dazed, sliding down like a puppet cut loose. Another swung his fist at a reflection, shattering glass that cut him across the cheek.
“Keep moving,” Manello urged, tugging James forward.
The tilted room came next, its floor lurching violently to the side. James barely kept his footing. Behind, the pursuers slipped like rag dolls. One lost balance and tumbled into the wall, head cracking with a hollow thud. Another screamed as he slid across the floor into a support beam.
The uneven walkway groaned underfoot, boards buckling, rails shaking. Manello moved with the calm of a fighter, steady and fierce, her hand always ready to steady James. The remaining enemies staggered, tripping, cursing, eyes wild with hatred.
Finally, the narrowing passage. James had to crouch, then crawl. Claustrophobia clawed at him since the walls seemed to close like jaws. Manello’s voice guided him forward: “Breathe. Own it. Keep going.”
Behind, the last two of the five shoved each other in panic. The walls pressed harder. Their shouts turned to wheezes, then to silence, one by one.
James shot down the final slide with Elaine Manello staying behind.
Seconds later, the five former employees tumbled after him, unconscious, falling in a twisted pile. Carnival lights flashed. Somewhere, music blared.
By the time Elaine Manello came out like a wizard from behind the curtain, having forgone the slide to take the stairs down, people had gathered at the exit, murmuring, pointing at the heap of bodies. No one could say what had happened, only that the five were down. Only James was keeping a straight face.
Ms. Manello brushed herself off, then leaned close, her lips near his ear. “You see now? You don’t run from the experience. You run through it. That’s why I wanted you here.”
Her hand rested against his chest, and her eyes smoldered with a promise. James’ heart pounded: not only from fear, but from the pull she exerted.
“I’ll fight,” he whispered, “but not by giving in.”
She smiled, a knowing smile, half challenge, half hunger. “That’s why you’re different. That’s why I want you.”
James pressed his palms to his temples, trying to block her out. When he opened his eyes, the code book was gone. In its place sat a hardback copy of Wuthering Heights, open to a page underlined in red: Give in to Love.
Elaine - seducer, teacher, tormentor - was the only one who seemed to know the way out. If there was a way out.