Fallacy

Today is the day I find out my life is a lie.

Of course, I had no idea of this to begin with. For me, it was just another day at the office; filing claims, processing cheques, replying to emails. Eight hours of tedium, made bearable only by the presence of Cynthia.

As far as I was concerned, Cynthia was the reason I existed. The sole purpose I had arrived on this planet was to make her smile, which I did with surprising ease. Whether it was the clown tie I occasionally wore, the silly quips I often made or my unique impression of Elvis, she was always quick to laugh along. Her eyes sparkled when she did and the sweet giggle she released melted my heart.

Yes, there was no doubt in my mind that Cynthia was the centre of my life. If only I could summon the courage to tell her. And perhaps tonight I would.

Today was Cynthia’s birthday. I won’t say which, for a gentleman never reveals a lady’s age, but it was one that demanded a bigger celebration than most. The whole office had been invited and, at five o’clock, we downed tools en masse and made our way to the elevator. The thirty of us crammed into the small cab and I was lucky enough to be next to Cynthia. She pressed against me, the scent of her coconut hair oil making my head swim.

After a short ride up, the lift doors opened onto Tito’s. Cynthia’s favourite club was packed with people, music thrumming through the floor. A young Tom Cruise lookalike stepped forward and guided us to a private bar where two other men, both also surprisingly Cruise-esque, spun and flipped bottles as they mixed drinks. All the while they flashed that charming Hollywood smile.

The DJ changed the music and Blondie’s Dreaming blared through the speakers.

‘I love this song,’ Cynthia shouted. Forgetting the drinks, she grabbed my hand and led me to the dancefloor. Lost in the crowd of moving figures, she placed her arms around my neck and gyrated to the music. She threw her hand back and sang along.

Cynthia did not have a good singing voice, but I did not care. As we moved together, I knew I was as happy as I could ever be. And I was determined to let her know how she made me feel.

‘I need to talk to you,’ I said.

‘I know,’ she answered with a smile. ‘Come with me.’

Pushing past even more Tom Cruise wannabes, we made our way to the fire exit, opened the door and climbed the metal steps to the rooftop. Moonlight washed her face with silver, glinted from the sheen of her nails. She ran to the edge of the roof and looked down at the ocean below. In the distance, liners cut through the sea as they carried passengers to destinations of their dreams.

I took her hand in mine and willed my racing heart to slow.

‘Cynthia,’ I mumbled. ‘You need to know…’

‘I do know,’ she shouted. ‘And I have to tell you-’

Her next words were lost under the blare of a liner’s horn. Unlike other foghorns I had heard, this was not one long dull tone but series of beats that sounded more like an alarm.

‘What did you say?’ I asked.

Leaning close, she pressed her mouth to my ear. I delighted at the touch of her warm breath on my cheek, but her voice raised the hairs on the back of my neck. No longer did she sound like the exuberant woman I had fallen for; instead, she spoke with the stilted voice of a robot.

‘It’s seven forty-five a.m. Time to rise and shine.’

The ocean liner continued its strange siren call, but the sea had disappeared in a whirling darkness which drew ever close. Soon nothing but the rooftop existed. I felt Cynthia being pulled away, lifted from the ground as the black vortex advanced toward us.

‘No,’ I cried. ‘Don’t leave me.’

I reached out my hands but Cynthia was swallowed by the maelstrom and

*

Cynthia grabbed her phone and silenced the alarm. Yawning, she rubbed sleep from her eyes.

‘Dancing on a rooftop with Tom Cruise?’ she slurred, only half-awake. ‘What a weird dream.’