Delilah was positive she wouldn’t be meeting Death today. But maybe Death simply has other plans for her. There’s still a little under two hours left until midnight. In this time, she’ll be able to see if it’s been coincidence or a doomed fate pushing her back and forth all day, like wave after wave.
Delilah is at Althea, a diner named for the park across the street, where she first met Victor, and she’s nearly done writing the obituary for the man she’s mostly only ever known from afar, instead of confronting the man she loves in what could possibly be her final hours.
She pushes aside her notebook to make room so she can spin the engagement ring Victor refused to take back last night. Delilah decides on a game. If the emerald is facing her, she’ll give in and call him. If the band is facing her, she’ll simply finish the obituary, go home, get a good night’s rest, and figure out next steps tomorrow.
Delilah spins the ring and the emerald points directly at her; not even the slightest bit favoring her shoulder or other patrons.
Delilah whips out her phone and calls Victor, desperately hoping he’s screwing with her. Maybe one of the many secrets regarding Death-Cast is they decide who dies, like some lottery no one wants to win. Maybe Victor went in to work, slid her name across Mr. Executive Executor’s table, and said, “Take her.”
Maybe heartbreak kills.
VICTOR GALLAHER
10:13 p.m.
Death-Cast did not call Victor Gallaher last night because he isn’t dying today. Protocol for telling an employee about their End Day involves an administrator calling the Decker into their office “for a meeting.” It’s never obvious to the outside employees whether the person is dying or being terminated—they simply never return to their desk. But this is of little concern for Victor since he’s not dying today.
Victor has been pretty depressed, more so than usual. His fiancée—he’s still calling Delilah his fiancée because she still has his grandmother’s ring—tried breaking up with him last night. Even though she claims it’s because she’s not in the same headspace he is, he knows it’s because he hasn’t been himself lately. Ever since starting at D-C three months ago, he’s been in—for lack of a stronger word—a funk. He’s on his way to the in-house therapist for all D-C employees, because on top of Delilah trying to end things with him, the weight of the job is killing him: the pleading he can’t do anything about, the questions he has zero answers for—all of it is crushing. But the money is damn good and the health insurance is damn good and he’d really like things to be damn good with his fiancée again.
Victor walks into the building—undisclosed location, of course—with Andrea Donahue, a coworker who doesn’t stop to admire the portraits of smiling Victorians and past presidents on the yellow walls. Death-Cast’s aesthetic is not what you’d imagine it to be. No doom and gloom in here. It was decided the open floor plan should be less professional, and bright, like a day care, so the heralds wouldn’t drive themselves crazy as they delivered End Day alerts in cramped cubicles.
“Hey, Andrea,” Victor says, pushing the elevator button.
Andrea has been working at D-C since the beginning, at a job Victor knows she desperately needs, even though she hates it, because of the damn good pay for her kid’s rocket-high tuition and damn good health insurance since her leg is busted. “Hi,” she says.
“How’s the kitty?” Small talk before and after shifts is encouraged by the D-C administrators; mini-opportunities to connect with those in possession of tomorrows.
“Still a kitty,” Andrea says.
“Cool.”
The elevator arrives. Victor and Andrea get on and Victor quickly presses Close so he doesn’t have to share the elevator with some of his coworkers who do nothing but ramble on about things that don’t matter, like celebrity gossip and bad TV, on their way to basically ruin someone’s life. Victor and Delilah call them “Switches” and they both hate that people like them exist.
His phone buzzes inside his pocket. He tries not psyching himself into thinking Delilah is calling and his heart races when he reads her name. “It’s her,” Victor tells Andrea, turning to her as if she’s in the know. She’s as interested in his life as he is in her new kitty. He answers the phone: “Delilah! Hi.” A little desperate, sure, but this is love we’re talking about.
“Did you do it, Victor?”
“Do what?”