I looked up from my screen. My office door was closed. I hadn’t closed it.
The recording ended.
I played it again. And again.
The memo landed on my desk at 8:47 AM, folded into a sharp, accusatory triangle. Cd SS Nita 03 This Is On My -woops Slip- File...
The “woops slips,” we called them. Segments where Nita would forget to stop recording. You’d hear her breathing, a chair creak, then a whisper that wasn’t meant for anyone’s ears. Once, on a tape labeled “Cd MX Chihuahua 02,” she muttered: “They’re not ghosts. Ghosts don’t bleed static.” She never explained. I looked up from my screen
I reached for the CD tray. But the drive was already empty. The recording ended
I turned the disc over. The plastic was warm, as if it had just been burned. My office was empty. The janitor had left at 6 AM.