Annie Knox
Stephanie woke up at 11:59 p.m.
This was a bit of a shock. Largely, the shock came from the fact that she hadn’t planned to wake up at all. As she blinked herself into the world, eyes crusted with make-up, she became aware of a dull, throbbing pain in her wrists. It was caused by the gashes in both, which she had torn open hours earlier with a box cutter from the warehouse.
She shifted upright. The box cutter sat on the floor in a puddle of cool blood. Her head was pounding. Her butt was numb. As she wiggled into a central position over the toilet bowl, both butt cheeks started to tingle as they came back to life.
Somewhere in the distance, bells chimed for midnight.
Her tights were clamped to her skin with dried blood. Her skirt was stiff. The space between the arch of her foot and the insole of her shoe was damp with it. As she pushed herself painfully up and off the toilet, her thighs unpeeled from the plastic seat.
Stephanie crept out of the stall, a criminal leaving a crime scene. Her reflection greeted her in the mirror above the sink; a white, expensive block that ran along one wall the entire way down the room to the entrance. No amount of gold tapwork, fancy air freshener or chime music could quite remove the sense of being a pig washing your hands in a trough.
She stared at herself in horror; she knew that a failed suicide would take a toll on anyone’s looks, but even by that standard she was looking pretty hideous. Pale, gaunt, dark circles under her eyes, panda make- up smeared down her face, smudges of blood across her cheeks from where she had clutched them and cried. She tried to tuck her hair neatly behind her ears, testing out a smile. It wasn’t great but it wasn’t worse. She gingerly pulled her phone out of her bra; it was long dead.
Pushing open the entrance to the loos, she peered out into the shopping centre. Beyond the sanctuary of the toilets was a gleaming world: sparkling black and white flooring, walls towering up three storeys high to where diamond chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. Even though it was closed and empty, eerie meditation music floated through the mall.
The shops were shut. Brands lined the walls, stores sat in darkness behind barred doors. Mannequins peered through the windows, barely visible, ghosts in the gloom.
Shoes squeaking, Stephanie stepped out. The door slid shut behind her with an expensive sounding puff of air. The scent of white rose and eucalyptus cleaner tickled her nostrils. To her left, the mall veered off towards the perfume halls. To her right the mall opened up into a larger chunk of space dominated by women’s lingerie. Beyond that it curved into a tunnel filled with overpriced coffee shops. Stephanie had the misfortune to have worked in most of the outlets as a temporary team member, hopping from place to place depending on where the agency sent her. Each tiny, dug-out designer hole was its own unique corner of Hell.
Stephanie headed to the right, marvelling at the emptiness now that the mall was deprived of customers. She hoped that one of the night security staff would have snuck out for a cigarette through the fire escape by the entrance to car park three and left the door unlocked. Being discovered wandering through the place after closing covered in her own blood was a sure way to a quick firing; and now that she had survived her impulsive wrist slashing, the problem of rent due still loomed large and real. Her next shift was at ten tomorrow morning. She needed to find her way home on the night bus, wash, try to eat something, then crawl into bed and sleep away the nightmare of her life for a few hours before getting ready to come back.
The exit for car park three was next to the store she had abandoned earlier that evening, Sous-Vêtements Fantaisie. As she passed by, her heart filled with rage; she despised the mall. But the truth was that she was aware that the real reason for her misery was herself. She was the one incapable of pulling together a proper life, she was the one who had chosen this lifestyle in order to pursue some money-less creative art bullshit. Although this place existed to suck cash from the depressed rich wandering it like zombies, and although it would always require desperate minimum-wage workers to keep it running, it was her own fault that she had become one of those workers.
Stephanie headed to the door tucked neatly into the space between Sous-Vêtements and Joli Soutien-Gorge. Her heart sank when she saw it was closed; the security box was lit red, which meant that it wouldn’t open without a level four security pass. Hers was level two. Irrationally she tapped her card and rattled at the handle anyway. Her wrist twinged with the action and she gritted her teeth against a fiery wave of pain that washed out from the cut. Sweat broke out on her back and underneath her bra. She rested her hot forehead against the cool door.
Somewhere off to the right, from the direction of the Gâteau et Café de Luxe corridor, a door slammed. Stephanie panicked as footsteps echoed around her – the full-footed tread of a security officer on patrol. Did they know she was there?
Abandoning car park three, Stephanie scurried back through lingerie towards jewellery. Scurrying past perfume, thousands of contrasting smells invaded her nose. Oud and sandalwood from one, floral fragrances from another. Ingredients so expensive that they filled the air from behind shutters. She glanced back and saw a shadow appearing around the curve of the hall behind her. Making a quick choice she sped into a run, dashed up the escalator by Beaucoup d’Odeur d’Argent, and ducked behind the pot plant at the top.
Catching her breath, her pulse beating in the cuts in her wrists, she watched with tight lungs. A solid figure appeared at the bend of the mall.
She frowned, sniffed in confusion, and squinted, trying to clear her vision. The figure stood tall, solid, muscles stacked on muscles beneath his uniform. Clearly he was in no hurry to catch up with anyone spotted on CCTV, but she was a little too distracted to be relieved, because the head on his muscly shoulders was that of a moose. Huge antlers erupted from his head. Shiny brown eyes watched the empty mall with disinterest. Glossy brown hair coated his skull. The hands poking out from the sleeves of his neat uniform were those of a sloth, long claws reaching down to his thighs. From the back of his uniform a hulking shape zigzagged through the air behind him as he walked, swaying from side to side with weight. As his measured steps brought him closer, she saw it was a huge, reptilian tail.
He came to a stop. She watched with bated breath, unable to believe her eyes – what kind of monster was this? Why was it in a security uniform? Why was it operating the night patrol shift?
“I’m a little early,” he called out, not looking in her direction. “Sorry about that.” His voice was remarkably young. She stayed where she was, crouched on shaky legs. He couldn’t possibly be talking to her. Maybe there was another monster security guard coming around the corner, and they were swapping from one monster night shift to another.
“I’m talking to you.”
No way.
“Stephanie.”
Maybe the other night shifter was called Stephanie?
“Yo. You. Up on the balcony. Behind the pot plant.”
Well. Okay.
Stephanie crawled out awkwardly, grabbing hold of the metal rail and pulling herself upright, blinking away the headrush.
“Me?”
“Do you see another Stephanie hiding behind the plant?”
“…No?”
“Then I’m talking to you, aren’t I? Jesus.”
Stephanie shuffled. Her shoes squeaked embarrassingly. They were the classic minimum-wage worker shoes, a two pound pair of rubber shit that held up for a month at the most. She burned through pair after pair. It was a point of ridicule no matter which store she worked in.
“Am I dead?”
“Not quite. You used a shit blade. Didn’t cut that deep.”
“It hurt a lot.”
“I’m not judging you.” He held up his sloth claws. “No judgement here. You panicked and did your best. I’m not criticising your technique. I’m just saying… it wasn’t a quick slash and dash for your soul. You’ve still got a little bleeding out and exhausting yourself to do. You’re only about eighty-five per cent there.”
“Right… eighty-five per cent?”
“Yeah.” The moose head nodded up and down, solemn. “Not a bad effort. I’m just saying. You got a few more minutes on the clock. Have a run around. Maybe trash a few things, you know. You hate this place.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But what?”
Stephanie looked away from his piercing gaze. She was itching uncomfortably where her crusty tights were rubbing at the skin on her inner thighs.
“I kind of… I was going to go home.”
“Go home? Now?”
“Yeah. I was just… looking for an open door. I was going to go have a bath. And maybe some food.”
“Have a bath? Maybe some food?” His voice was flat, but she got the impression that she was being mocked.
“…I’m hungry. I didn’t have lunch.”
“Fucking hell. Are you telling me you’ve changed your mind?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t mean to wake up but now I have… so I was just going to go and eat and stuff before work tomorrow. And maybe try again another day.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Hey!”
“You are! Look at yourself! You tried to kill yourself in the toilet at work – which, can I just say, I am judging – and now you’re trudging around here covered in your own blood, complaining about being hungry, and talking about going to have a bath? What was your plan? Bit of Radox? Cup of tea? Bit of Brooklyn Nine Nine on your phone? Come back tomorrow and act all surprised when people are gossiping about the mysterious bloody bathroom?”
“Something like that, yeah.” The bath was pretty spot on, actually.
“Well!” He threw his sloth claws in the air, ready to argue, then sighed and dropped them back to his sides, shoulders slumped. “Stephanie, you cut your wrists. And you did it deep. I’m only an hour or so early. I was just going to wait outside the toilet for you, to be honest. I didn’t think you’d be wandering around. I wanted to nab you before I head over to Westminster to catch the 2:00 a.m. drunk rush.”
“Drunk rush? Like you want to go to the pub?”
“No, you… I’m your reaper, woman. I’m here to guide you to the afterlife, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Right.” Stephanie blinked stupidly down at the moose/sloth/alligator. “But… you don’t look like the grim reaper.”
“There’s loads of us.” He started to sound annoyed. “I’m sorry I’m not some handsome skull in a fancy robe with a scythe. Do you want to die or not?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Oh my god.” He crossed his arms with a surprising lack of difficulty, claws folding neatly away. “I can’t hang around while you choose. People are dying left, right and centre. If you don’t want to die then I’ll fuck off. But you’ve only got…” He looked at his wrist-watch. “You’ve only got another hour, I reckon. If you don’t find a way out and get fixed up, I think you’ll collapse and be done for. I can nip out and come back for you later.”
Stephanie started to panic.
“Only an hour?”
“You’re dying.” He gestured at her wrists. “Don’t you feel all weak and dizzy? Blood loss will stop you from moving soon. If you don’t want to die you need to get to an ambulance. Either way. I’ll come back if I’m needed. There’s some kind of traffic accident happening down in Waterloo. Nasty. Lots of lost souls loose.”
He turned.
“Wait!” Stephanie started down the still escalator, lost her sense of balance, and half-fell, half-walked, slumping into a sitting position. “Wait!”
“What now?”
She desperately tried to blink away the fuzziness, toes and fingertips tingling. “I don’t know how to get out, my phone is dead.”
“How is that my problem?”
“You’re a guide!” She felt tears threatening. “Guide me!”
“That’s not how it works.”
Stephanie put both hands over her eyes. Her wrists burnt. She thought of her boyfriend, who always texted her goodnight, even if they were in the middle of a fight, as they currently were. Was his goodnight text sitting on her dead phone, never to be replied to? When would he even hear about her dying? He wasn’t her emergency contact, no one from the mall knew him… would he just think she was a petty bitch for days before he got worried and went looking? She never said goodbye.
“You’re so useless.”
She peered through her fingers. The moose/sloth/alligator was watching her cry with disdain. “You literally work here. Think, moron.”
“You’re not being very nice and guide-y.” She sniffed disgustingly. “You’re not very comforting.”
“That’s because you’re annoying.” He rolled his big eyes. “I can’t tell you directly. But you work here. Think. Think, dummy.”
She stared at him dumbly.
“Think! What’s next to the vending machine on the third floor? By the water station?”
Stephanie gasped. “The phone chargers!”
“Duh.” He waved his claws at her. “Go on, then.”
“Shouldn’t I just go to the security office? And get help?”
“Where is the security office?”
“On the other side of the mall.”
“Do you think you can make it?”
She started to stand up. Her ankle rolled and she nearly tumbled down the rest of the escalator. “Nope.”
“There you go then.”
Stephanie struggled up the steps, ignoring how weak her knees felt. When she reached the top, she turned round and saw the moose/sloth/alligator still watching her.
“Are you going to come?”
He stared, silent.
“I might die on the way.” She tried to tempt him. “It would save you a journey to just come with me.”
“You’ve got almost an hour, Stephanie. You can make it to the phone chargers.”
“All right.” She tried not to sound sad. “Bye, I guess.”
“Stephanie!”
She turned back.
He had taken a step closer. “The chargers are next to the water station.”
She waited.
“Water, Stephanie. The liquid of life. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“That I should hydrate?”
His big moose head nodded even as he rolled his eyes. Stephanie tried for a wobbly smile, and then turned and continued on her way, forcing her heavy feet to keep moving. Her eyes were wet as the magnitude of her situation set in. She wished she hadn’t woken up, because now she had to deal with the reality of what she had done.
Hospital would mean stitches and bandages. There was no way she could hide it from her boyfriend, if he ever wanted to see her again. Maybe the hospital would lock her up for being crazy. What if they called her mum?
Her head span and she dropped to one knee suddenly, bracing both hands against the floor, forcing air into her nostrils and out of her mouth, whimpering. Her hands left red smears on the tiles beneath her.
“Stephanie.” Moose/sloth/alligator grunted from somewhere behind her. “Get up.”
“You left.”
“Clearly not, woman. Get up. You have to get to the chargers.”
“I can’t.” Tears splashed onto the ground, accompanying the bloody fingerprints. “I wish I’d died on the toilet.”
“Fucking hell.” There was a loud sigh. “Even I feel sorry for you. Even for a reaper, this seems quite pathetic.”
A snotty laugh bubbled out of her. “I think I’ve gone crazy, Mister… Reaper?”
A long moment passed. Stephanie struggled to breathe through her stuffy nose.
“You’re supposed to tell me your name now.”
“I don’t have one. Not for humans.”
She sighed heavily. “Mister Reaper then.”
“Stephanie.”
She sighed heavily again. “It seems so far.” She squinted towards the end of the corridor. “Is someone coming? Maybe they can call the ambulance for me.”
Her vision was blurred by tears. Mister Reaper watched the approaching shadow with something akin to fear and anger on his moose face.
“What is it?”
“You really need to get up.”
The figure at the other end of the hall dropped gracefully from their back legs onto all fours. A feathered crow’s head with an unreasonably long beak and bright, beady yellow eyes poked out from a security uniform that weirdly didn’t seem to be stretched. The rest of the body appeared to be that of a hugely overgrown cat. The feet belonged to a bird, talons braced against the floor, whilst muscular furry limbs vanished into the sleeves of the blazer.
“Leave her alone.” Mister Reaper sounded pissed. CrowHead continued to approach gleefully.
“You’re meant to be in Waterloo,” it called back. Stephanie was stunned to hear a sweet, feminine voice coming from the crow’s beak. “You’re taking too long.”
“I can take as long as I want.” Mister Reaper sounded even more pissed. “You go to Waterloo, bitch. There’s plenty of miserable dead sods there for you to fuck with.”
“I want this one.” The crow turned her eyes back to Stephanie, who felt a chill in her gut. “This one looks tasty.”
“You’re not supposed to eat them.” Mister Reaper’s voice was between exasperated and angry. “You’re supposed to guide them.”
“Ma ma ma mah maaa mah,” the crow mimicked. “Whatever. This is why your numbers are so low. You got called out in the KPI meetings four months in a row, loser. You couldn’t afford to eat one even if you wanted to, you need all the souls you can get. You spend forever with them.”
“They’re dying! They’re scared. We’re meant to help. Some of them aren’t exactly going to a very nice place, are they?”
“Am I going to a nice place?” Stephanie piped up, trying to ignore how weak she was feeling.
“You’re not dying, Stephanie. You’re going to charge your phone, and call an ambulance.”
“Stop telling her what to do.” CrowHead began to stalk closer. “We aren’t meant to interfere. If I can’t eat them, then you can’t save them.”
“I’m not saving her, she made her own mind up.” Mister Reaper stepped slightly in front of Stephanie. “She isn’t dead, so you don’t need to be here. Go suck a dick down at the Westminster rush hour.”
“So rude.” CrowHead poked her beak around him and grinned at Stephanie. “Steph. Steffie. You cut your wrists, sweetheart. You want to die. You just made a mistake by cutting a little too shallow. It’s fixable. You can finish the job, or you can wait here for a bit and shake your arms around to bleed out the last bit of life in you. Don’t listen to this guy. He’s always getting all upset and boo-hoo-y over the suicides.”
“She isn’t suicidal. Get out of the way.”
“My hour is running out.” Stephanie tried to get up. “I need to charge my phone.”
CrowHead whooshed around Mister Reaper. Stephanie jerked back, falling and covering her head with a shriek as a beak came darting towards her head. A bunch of furious yelling and swearing erupted above her.
“Fuck off!”
“I didn’t touch her!”
“You’re messing with the process!”
“And you’re not? Mr. Get Up Stephanie! Save Yourself, Don’t Die! You were meant to wait for her to bleed out and then point her to heaven or hell, not sit around crying over the poor little wrist-slitter.”
“If she dies, then I’ll show her the way. She’s not dead yet. So nobody needs to be saying anything to her, do they?”
“Fine!”
Stephanie peeked from behind her hands and saw CrowHead was back on her hind legs, towered high and skinny over Mister Reaper. Both had their animal arms folded like children throwing tantrums. CrowHead saw her looking and put on a very fake grin.
“Fine. I’ll just wait for her to die. She won’t make it. I don’t think she even wants to.”
Mister Reaper turned to look down at Stephanie.
“Just to be clear…” Stephanie hated how pitiful her own voice was. “…neither of you can touch me? Right? Or… eat me?”
“No, Stephanie.” His voice was kind. His eyes were upset. “Just do your stuff. If you need me, I’ll be here for that.”
“Okay.” She struggled to all fours, to one knee, to her feet. The world didn’t feel solid, so she staggered to the closest wall and used it for strength, leaning her weight on it as she walked. Mister Reaper unfolded his arms and walked quietly alongside her. Behind, the clack-clack-clack of talons followed them.
Stephanie’s headache was making her nauseous. Her hands and feet were numb. Her wounds were wet and sticky. She could feel the life oozing out of her and she wasn’t sure if she was scared or relieved. Glancing at Mister Reaper, she saw frustration in his face and tried to distract him.
“How long have you been a… guide for?”
“Don’t talk. Focus on getting to the chargers.”
“They’re just around the corner.”
“Woman.”
“I just… I feel… not good.”
“That’s because you cut your fucking wrists.”
Stephanie went quiet. The talons went clack-clack-clack behind them.
Mister Reaper made a noise of unhappiness next to her.
“I’ve always been a guide. I was built to be one. Now stop looking so sad and focus.”
“Okay.”
She stopped to breathe deep for a second.
“Are you tired, Steffie?” CrowHead crowded closer. “Feel like giving up yet? It’s a long way to the chargers, you must be exhausted. It would be easier to sit here and wait for us to take you, you know.”
“It’s twenty metres to the chargers,” Mister Reaper said, voice flat. “Ignore her, Stephanie. Only stop if it’s what you really want, not because she made it sound good.”
Stephanie tried to ignore the wobble in her knees, leaning heavily on the wall. “Do you guys do other stuff? Like messages?”
The guides looked at each other. It wasn’t the first time they’d been asked.
“Who do you want to send a message to?” CrowHead tilted her head to the side, asking out of curiosity rather than a desire to help.
“My boyfriend.” Stephanie felt heat gather in her eyes. “Maybe my mum. Maybe not. Maybe she’s better without some sad last message to cry over.”
“What message?” Mister Reaper asked. “What would you want us to tell them?”
“My mum… just that I love her.” Tears started to slide down her face. Her words felt stuck in her throat. “My boyfriend… I love him too. But also for him… that I’m sorry. And he’s right. I should push myself more. Should have. But I’m also right. That he should eat healthier. But that doesn’t matter now. Now all that matters is he knows I don’t care about the fight, and I love him. And I died loving him, not mad at him.” She sobbed a tiny bit, tried to hide it, then decided dignity didn’t matter anymore and let the sounds of distress out.
CrowHead snorted. “Those are lame messages. What happened to revenge? What happened to See You On The Other Side, Fuckers?”
“Leave her alone.” Mister Reaper shook his head in disgust. “Have some fucking class. Stephanie. We don’t do messages.”
Stephanie sobbed harder. “Why did you let me say all that stuff then?”
“If it’s important to you that those people hear those words, there’s only one way to make sure that they do.”
Stephanie almost bent at the waist with her grief, but forced herself to look into Mister Reaper’s eyes. He stared at her with meaning. “Do you understand, Stephanie?”
She nodded. Looked in the direction of the phone charging booth. She could see the corner of it, poking out from behind the water refill station. She had to get to it. Even if just to ring her boyfriend and tell him. Even if just to text her mum one more time.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself back upright, closed her eyes and started to drag her feet blindly across the floor again, closer, closer, closer…
Her hands patted unfeelingly at the side of the unit. Slumping down to the ground in an ungraceful heap, she fumbled at the bottom locker, pulled out the iPhone cable, and plugged her phone in after several failed attempts. Then she sat back and closed her sore eyes.
There was a moment of quiet.
“She just isn’t dying, is she?” CrowHead sounded bored. “That soul is stuck in there.”
“iPhones take forever to charge,” Stephanie murmured. “Don’t give up. Although I’d prefer Mister Reaper as my guide. No offence.”
“Did you decide what you want to do?” Mister Reaper crouched in front of her. Stephanie shook her head, brain loose.
“It’s turned on.”
Stephanie opened her phone, tapping at the screen with bloody fingers. She pulled up the phone app. Leave a death message or call for help?
She looked up at Mister Reaper.
“Life doesn’t seem worth it sometimes.”
He shook his head, eyes sad. “I can’t tell you what to do.”
She looked at CrowHead.
“I spend so much time thinking that I want to die.”
“So die, sweetheart.”
Stephanie looked down at her phone.
“I don’t think I’ll ever make anything of myself. I don’t think I’ll ever get anywhere. I can’t stop crying. I cry all the time. At work, in bed, going to sleep, waking up. Hiding in the shower. I’m a loser. I’m a failure.”
Her phone buzzed as it connected to the mall Wi-Fi and a slew of messages pinged through. Her boyfriend, telling her he was unhappy but wanting to know if she had finished work. Another from him, asking when she finished and if they could talk. One from her brother, asking if she was going to their nan’s birthday. Spam emails. A couple of art gallery updates. A few bot comments on the last painting she had posted on Instagram. One nice comment, saying it was beautifully haunting. Another from her boyfriend, saying that the least she could do was text back that she was safe.
Even as she looked at her phone, one more came through from him, asking her to please just say if she was okay or not.
“He seems to care.”
“What happened to don’t interfere?” CrowHead hissed. Mister Reaper waved his sloth claw uncaringly.
“Report me at the monthly meeting.” He winked at Stephanie. “It was just a statement of fact.”
Stephanie looked down at her phone. Her fingers found the dial screen, and she found herself typing in 999 and pressing call. As she held the phone up to her ear with shaky fingers, she watched CrowHead roll her eyes, stick a middle talon up furiously at Mister Reaper, and prowl off out of sight, breaking into a run around the corner.
Stephanie finished explaining where she was and hung up on the emergency receiver, ignoring their requests for her to stay on the line. She smiled weakly at Mister Reaper.
“Thanks, Mister Reaper.”
“Call your boyfriend. Tell him all that romantic crap.”
She nodded gratefully, finding her boyfriend’s number and starting to dial. “Will you still be able to catch the drunk rush?”
“Yes, Stephanie.” He fidgeted awkwardly. “I’ll be in trouble for this, you know. I hope you don’t make me regret it by making me come back anytime soon.”
“I’ll try my best.” She looked him in his moose eyes. “I think you’re a really good guide.”
“I’ll remember that when they publicly mock my KPIs.” He nodded, seemingly uncomfortable with the amount of friendliness between them. “See you.”
Stephanie watched him turn his back and break into a jog, alligator tail swinging wildly behind him, vanishing around the corner. Then she held her phone to her ear and listened to a furious but very lovable voice come onto the line.
“You! You’re in big trouble! You know you’re supposed to let me know when you get home. I’ve sat here like an idiot all evening, worrying, while you’ve been doing whatever—”
“I’m not home.”
“What?”
“I’m at the mall.” She shifted, listened to sirens in the distance, hoped that they were for her.
“What? Why do you sound so weird? Are you okay?”
“Listen.” She smiled helplessly. “I love you. Even when you eat junk all the time. I’m right about that, but I still love you. And you’re right that I don’t push myself enough, and I’m sorry. I got mad because I don’t like talking about it, because I don’t believe in myself. But none of that matters right now. What matters is I love you.”
“You’re scaring me.” He sounded stern, but the fear was there. “I’m coming to the mall to get you. Why the hell are you still there?”
“I’ll explain later.” Tears of tiredness lined her eyes, she was dreading the oncoming conversations. “But everything will be okay. And I love you. That’s the most important thing. Do you know that? That I love you?”
“Yes.” Now he sounded uncertain. “You’re really worrying me. I love you too, Stephanie, you know that. It was just a dumb fight… are there sirens near you?”
“Yes. Come to the mall and get me quickly, please.”
“Okay. I’m coming. I love you.”
“I love you.”
The sirens stopped outside, and red and blue lit up one of the walls, light filtering in from the outside world.
Maybe everything really would be okay.
She was definitely calling in sick tomorrow, though.