See all pertinent information in Part 1.

Several days later...it dawned on a fearful Senior Staff that, Toby, strong or otherwise was never coming back.

He hadn't slept in days. What for, when he was living a nightmare 24/7 anyway? Food and drink, except for Scotch, hadn't appealed to him much either. And when the Scotch had run out on that first day, he hadn't the energy to drive to the liquor store for more. He tried at least to keep up his appearance, because *they* were hovering. At first they thought he was only more rumpled than usual. But then they realized his suits were hanging from his body. He was losing weight at an alarming pace.

Sam seemed to have appointed himself as Toby's guardian angel. Every time Sam came into his boss' office, Toby would find a sandwich, cup of coffee or piece of fruit on his desk. Not that he ever ate them. He simply hid them away until he had a chance to go by the staff refrigerator or find Ainsley. A couple of nights earlier Sam nonchalantly walked past the Communications Director's door making a big show of checking his watch. A minute later Sam popped in. Searching around he found the familiar pink rubber ball and began to toss it against the window between their offices. Toby had stopped throwing it a couple of days earlier and now the steady thump...thump was oddly comforting.

"Hey, don't you think it's time to go home."

"Sam, I've got this "thing" to finish."

"Toby, you've got this life to live."

Sam looked at Toby intently...waiting. Toby sighed and returned Sam's gaze while tapping his fingers. "Your right Sam its time to go." Not bothering to pack up Toby stood and moved around the desk past Sam. "Good bye, Sam."

Sam whipped around to face Toby, "What did you just say!?"

"Good Night, Sam. I'll see you in the morning." Toby quickly strode off without looking back.

A couple of hours later, after he was sure Sam had left, Toby pulled back into the staff parking lot. Once back in his office he looked around for a moment and began to systematically clear away the piles of paper.

Crack of the Whip - 3

 

 

 

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