Almost

Henry Collins was a busy man. So busy, in fact, that some days he had to schedule in bathroom breaks to prevent his bladder from exploding... for a second time. He never took vacation, nor sick days, and everywhere he went, he was in a hurry. His food he ate on the go, phone calls were made while multitasking, and his sleep was had in a multitude of micro-naps, rather than actual slumber. He couldn't exactly remember when his life had become this way, only that it had. As far as he could recall, perhaps it had always been like this.

His family and friends had long given up on him, calling him a workaholic. They weren't entirely wrong, though it wasn't for love of work that he pushed himself beyond his limits. It was for love of retirement. Even as a younger lad, he'd known he was not a man destined to be married or have kids. It was on this realization that he’d thrown himself at the idea of a languid, comfortable retirement. The math had checked out, and he'd soon allowed work to completely overtake his life, knowing it meant he'd be relishing in a paradise of his own making far earlier than his colleagues.

Henry was just finishing up his third conference call of that morning, when a tug on his sleeve had him almost leaping from his chair. He swiveled, surprised to see a small girl with long black hair standing beside him.

"Whose kid are you?" he asked gruffly as he looked over at the neighbouring cubicles, not liking the feeling of being thrown off.

The girl said nothing, merely held a small package wrapped in nondescript brown paper out to him. There was nothing written on it, and no indication of what could possibly be inside, nor who it was for.

"I ain't ordered anything," he clenched his teeth and whirled his chair away from the silent visitor.

She simply walked around him, package held out first.

"I don't have time for this shit," he growled, spinning his chair in a circle, the girl following along, unbothered.

He fired off a few texts as he spun, then came to a halt. He fixed a sneer on his face and leaned toward the girl, "I'm not acceptin' it, girlie, so you can bugger off."

She stared at him for a moment, the fathomless onyx colouring of her eyes instilling a sense of uneasiness within Henry. Then with one resolute nod, she was gone. It was so quick, he swore she'd simply disappeared. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if maybe he should try a more substantial sleep pattern. Then his phone started ringing again and the entire encounter was pushed completely from his mind.

Two days later, Henry was on site for the construction of a new condo building, performing a pop-up inspection. He neither particularly loved nor hated his work, but many people despised him for it. He was brutally honest and overlooked nothing, having caused large and expensive hold-ups for a plethora of companies over the years. He might not have enjoyed the job, but he was damn well going to do it right.

He finished his evaluation, leaning forward to peer into the base of the building-in-progress. Satisfied, he pivoted and then almost jumped backward off the ledge in surprise, wheeling his arms to catch himself in time. The dark-haired girl stood before him, still bearing the same brown paper package.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he wheezed, hand to his chest.

She reached further forward, her cargo coming within an inch of his knuckles. He eyed it, then her, warily before raising both palms in the air and stepping sideways, "I told you before, I ain't takin' it."

The girl followed him all the way out from the site, silent, and apparently invisible, as no one had questioned the presence of a child wandering amidst a construction zone. Henry tossed his protective helmet and vest into a bin by the entry fencing, leaning heavily against the chainlink and pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't need to look to know she was still there, still holding up the package, still staring unnervingly at him.

"What will it take for you to leave me alone?" he sighed.

She stood as she had been, seemingly frozen in time. He extended his hand toward the proffered parcel, fingers brushing the brown paper wrapping. A feeling of emptiness instantly descended over him, and he recoiled, tucking his hand against his chest.

"Stay away from me!" he yelled, dashing over to his car and diving in.

He peered in the rearview mirror and saw that she'd disappeared much like the last time. Henry let out a slow exhale before heading back to work. Mentally running through the process of filing his report didn't clear his mind like it normally would have, and instead the image of the girl filled his thoughts. And it continued to plague him for the rest of the day.

Through the subsequent weeks, his new small shadow kept cropping up. And never predictably so. Sometimes it was when he was in line for coffee, other times when he was faxing things or in meetings, and once when he was on the toilet - after which, she only appeared outside the stalls, the sight of her shoes below the door really no less disconcerting. Never once did she say a word, despite Henry's multiple attempts at engaging her in conversation. He also hadn't touched the brown paper parcel since that first time, not exactly keen to re-experience the feeling of creeping dread.

No one else made any indication of being able to see the girl, so Henry had come to the conclusion that she was a hallucination. Likely an exhaustion-fueled one, as he bore no other signs of ill health, but all the same, not real. Initially, he'd seen her as a nuisance; interfering with his productivity and concentration. He could let a lot of things roll off his shoulders, but not when they jeopardized his precious retirement plan, as this was doing. He was making mistakes more and more frequently, and not even little ones anymore.

So one day, when she'd materialized beside him in an unused corridor by the mailroom, he let her have it. He shouted, gesticulated, stamped his foot, and pointed his finger. But in the end, she'd simply stood and stared at him, holding out the damned package. Rather than take it, he instead took on an air of resignation.

As soon as it settled in, he found he was making less mistakes, causing less problems, finding himself a bit less stressed. He accepted that this girl, whatever she was, was destined to repeatedly dog him for the rest of his life. And as bleak as it seemed, at least he could still retire.

"Good thing I don't have to book a flight ticket for you too," he'd joked one afternoon while stapling packet after packet of inspection reports, the girl peering over his shoulder, "You'll just appear wherever I go."

He placed the booklets into a perfect pile at the corner of his desk, "Y'know, as weird and surreal as this is, I kinda can't picture my days withoutcha anymore."

The girl said nothing, nor did her face change, but somehow the air about the both of them shifted with his admission, "What does that say about me?" he asked quietly.

The following week, Henry actually found himself looking for the girl, feeling somewhat bereft when she wasn't there, and oddly comforted when she was. He figured this to be a progression in his hallucinations, but derived an odd sense of ease from it all the same. He talked to her more and more, ignoring the odd looks of his coworkers - and more than once wondering if anyone he'd ever seen talking to themselves had been experiencing the same thing. This continued for another few weeks, up until Henry spear-headed a huge contract with an obscenely lucrative construction company. The commission from it was enough to finally push him into retirement.

On his final day, he said his short goodbyes to the colleagues he'd shared more than several conversations with - they were quick and to the point, no cake, no cards, no heartfelt farewells - and headed home to pack up the last of his things. The girl had been with him since he'd woken up in the morning, following him everywhere, far more than any other day. He knew it meant something, and deep down had an inkling of what. A part of him had known all along, really, but he'd not been willing to acknowledge the truth. Once he zipped up his suitcase and placed it beside the rest of his luggage, he turned to face the girl.

"How are you on airplanes?" he asked, his voice weak with the pretense of humour.

She stepped up to him and, as every other time, held out the brown paper parcel. Henry sighed heavily then knelt on the floor in front of her, eyeing the small, plain package with a tiredness he felt in his bones.

"Well I can only deny it for so long, eh?" he chuckled dryly, "And I guess it's time then, isn't it?"

He grasped the box, and was surprised to find no traces of the emptiness he'd felt the last time he touched it, only a sense of warmth prevailed. He slowly unwrapped it, acutely aware of the girl's intense gaze on him the entire time. Beneath the paper lay a shimmering ebony box, tied with a delicate golden ribbon. He undid the bow and lifted the lid, overcome with a mixture of sadness, regret, and acceptance on seeing what was inside.

"Henry Jared Collins," he read aloud, plucking a small framed newspaper clipping from the tissue paper within, "Born March 16th, 1975," he paused, voice thick.

He felt a small tug on his sleeve and saw a new expression on the girl's face for the very first time: One of encouragement.

Henry cleared his throat, "Died August 27th, 2022."

He didn't need to check a calendar to be aware that it matched today's date. He'd known this was coming, knew it the moment the girl had first appeared to him, but had vehemently denied it with every fiber of his being... until he'd stopped seeing her as a threat and more as a friend.

"Funny, ain't it?" he voiced aloud.

She simply smiled and threaded her fingers through his. And in that moment, to the rest of the world, Henry Jared Collins was no more.