Meanwhile, Outside The Island...

Harry had spent the past few days preparing for this moment. He’d reached the mainland two days ago. He’d got himself checked into one of the fancier establishments that the city had to offer. Then he’d gone and visited Mazeratti’s, which he was informed was one of the finest tailoring establishments in the city. The man at the hotel reception described it as being so old and prestigious that it was an ‘institution’ unto itself. Harry had quite liked that. It had a weight to it. At Mazeratti’s he’d bought one of their finest three-piece suits with matching trousers and a pair of black leather Oxfords. Quite satisfied with himself he then returned to the hotel and spent the rest of the day going over his notes and preparing what he was going to say in his interview. For despite his many promises to the good people of Eaodochas, Harry wasn’t here to ‘get help’ for the island or the like, he was in fact here for a job interview. A nagging guilt crept into Harry’s mind for a moment but it was quickly pushed aside by the comforts of the soft linen sheets that he was sleeping on.

The Company’s building stood out among the countless tall glass and steel skyscrapers that dotted the business district of the city. Harry marvelled at the sheer sight of it. While the buildings around it were tall and reached the sky, the Company’s offices were wider and curved into a semi-circle nearly enveloping the visitor from all sides, as if it were slowly surrounding him like one of those protozoans and their feeding methods that Harry had learned back at school. Another thing that separated it from the other buildings was the fact that it was a stone structure, made with granite and mortar. Unlike the fickle uniformity of modernity that the structures around it inspired, the stone pillars and walls almost challenged the people who gazed upon them to outlast them. A challenge that was almost certainly an impossibility to complete. Harry was determined to, at the very least, chisel his name onto the impermeable stone that he was running his hand on.

The buildings surrounding it were big too, sure, but what separated the Company’s building was the profession it housed. All the other behemoths were banks, corporations, tech giants and the like, meanwhile, The Company was a media outlet. A news reporting firm. It had started as a humble newspaper and was now the leading print, digital, radio and television news services provider. As much as information was the thing that The Company was built around, the commodity that it bartered with, harnessed and used to yield unimaginable power, there was very little about it that was actually available to the public. But one thing was for sure—if one wanted success as a journalist, this was the place to be, and even if one wanted success in any other walk of life, this was still the organisation you had to have behind your back. Harry Mathews had always known that this was where he absolutely had to land up. This was the only plan there was, there had never been a different option.

Tugging at the collar of his new suit jacket, Harry entered the building through a revolving door. There were armed men in black standing stoically on the other side. The white-tiled, whitely lit room was filled with three big conveyer belt machines and baggage scanners along with three other state-of-the-art tubular body scanners. There were lines of people waiting to pass these extensive security measures, some dressed primly, with The Company’s blue employee badges pinned neatly on their chests, while others, fidgeting and worried, scanned the room with urgent vigilance. They had to be there for the interviews, Harry figured. But he wasn’t scared, he wasn’t worried at all, for he had gold on his hands. There would be no way that he would be refused a position there after the higher-ups found out about everything he had done to get there and everything he had to offer.

Harry was patient with the security checks but there was a growing sense of excitement in him as he crossed each one of them. He was practically buzzing in his skin by the time he reached the glass doors on the other side of the room and an expensively dressed employee handed him his green visitor badge to attach to his lapel. Said employee pushed a small red button on a panel near him and the glass doors finally parted to let Harry inside The Company. Harry looked around him in awe. As old-fashioned as the building was from the outside, from the inside, it was modern and sleek. Glass staircases ran upwards following the curve of the structure on either side of the entrance. In the centre was the reception desk, behind which a capsule-like elevator ran upward to the last floor. Framed newspaper articles of drug busts, political scandals, criminal investigations and others that were a part of The Company’s prestigious legacy were hung along the walls of the floor. Sophisticatedly dressed employees walked past him and around in, conversing in hushed tones. Harry thought that this could be his life. He looked up. There were approximately three additional floors to the building. Harry could see the elevator passing through the first two because the offices on these floors were situated on the circumference of the building, but then the elevator seemed to disappear when it passed the second floor, on what was presumably the last floor that was completely shut off from the rest of the building. That was where Harry had to go.

After a quick debate in his head, Harry decided to take the stairs. He wanted to see what was going on on the other floors too. Besides, he was quite early. His thoughts drifted back to the people on the island. They weren’t going to take this well. This time, he had to push these thoughts aside himself. They would be mad at first but they would soon all be thanking him when the stupid tiny island was finally put on the map by Harry. They would regret ever trying to stop him. Harry reached the first floor. The quiet buzz that filled the ground floor was immediately replaced by the loud whirring of the massive printers that filled the room. Stacks and stacks of freshly printed newspapers, magazines and leaflets lined the tables beside these monster machines. Every machine had one worker handling it, checking on the proper working of the technology, checking for proper printing and any mistakes and arranging the abundance of paper that was being printed on constantly into neat stacks. There was no conversation happening between the workers, they were hyper-focused on the work at hand. Harry was amazed by the visual. This sea of printers seemed endlessly stretching in all directions. One day, it would be his articles being published on scales like this. Harry moved onward.

The noise of the machines was now replaced with the chaos of people shouting, talking urgently on phones, telephones ringing, coffee machines buzzing, papers being flipped, files being opened, keyboards being hurriedly typed on and a television screen on the top left corner of yet another seemingly endless floor quietly showing the news. Harry felt goosebumps all over his body. He had never been among so much…life before. Back on the island, it was only him and a couple of others taking care of everything in the office. But everything was bigger here and more important too. Harry started moving to the last floor, his destination.

Instead of moving along the curve of the building now, the glass staircase disappeared into a passageway trapped between two stark white walls. On reaching the third and final floor of the building, the noise that had been constant on the last two floors immediately disappeared. Instead, there were soft notes of a piano tinkling through tiny speakers hidden in the corners of the room. The floor was covered with sub-divisions that made up luxurious conference rooms and waiting rooms. At the end of the room was a big oak door with Mr J. Mercurius written engraved in gold on it. That was it. That was the office of the one true inspiration of Harry’s life. Mr Mercurius (also known infamously as The King) was the head of The Company, an enigmatic businessman and an unbelievably witty journalist. He had single-handedly brought The Company to the heights that it had reached.

Harry was ushered politely into one of the big waiting rooms. Inside sat around thirty or more applicants, roughly of his own age nervously fidgeting with their clothes and going feverishly over their notes. Harry shook his head smugly at them. They didn’t know yet but they didn’t stand a chance at getting hired. The Company opened positions for three new young journalists every two years. It was a cutthroat competition to get these positions because there were prestigious, high-paying jobs that put the employee working directly under The King, which was something that seasoned journalists struggled for decades to achieve. The bi-annual youth recruitment programme was a golden one-way ticket to success and fame, and everything happening on the island was perfectly timed to help Harry Mathew be the one to win it. Harry knew he deserved it. He had, on his own, revived The Rotting Sun Daily. He had built one of the only working computers from scratch with his own two hands. He had hustled and worked and managed to get internet on the island for the paper—something that experienced technicians had tried to do before him but failed. And he was just twenty-three now. He knew he was smarter and brighter than anyone around and he was ready to go to lengths to get what he wanted more than anyone else.

Time ticked by and Harry was finally called into the office. This was the first time since he landed on the mainland that he was feeling actually nervous. He pushed the heavy wooden door open and walked in inside. Behind a polished wooden desk covered with neatly placed diaries, expensive pens, a telephone and a globe sat a burly, bald man wearing a custom-fitted black suit and a watch that looked as if it cost more than Harry’s entire life. Mr J. Mercurius.

Harry extended his hand to shake the magnate’s hand. The man gave him a curt nod and asked him to take a seat. Harry sat on the swivelling chair gingerly. Immediately, Mr Mercurius asked for Harry’s portfolio, which Harry handed to him with lightning-fast reactiveness. Harry watched The King go through his portfolio with a heart beating loudly in his chest. He was so close to everything he ever wanted.

On reaching the end of the document, Mr Mercurius sighed. He looked up at Harry and finally asked, “Why are you even here?”

Harry was stunned. “What?” he asked. Immediately covering up for himself, he continued, “I’ve always loved this work, Sir, and I think that I truly de-”

“You think you truly deserve this? Tell me one thing on your portfolio that makes you stand out among the rest.”

Harry couldnt believe this was happening. He could feel his heart sink in his chest. “I run the newspaper on my island, sir,” he said with a lump in his throat. Mr Mercurious barked a laugh. “No one even knows that newspaper. Hell, no one knows that bloody island! What have you done that is of actual value? You have nothing to offer, Harry Mathews,” he replied with unwavering directness.

Harry started, getting desperate now, “That’s not true, sir. I have a lot of technical knowledge. Besides, there is a ghastly murder spree going on on my island right now. A case of serial killings. The wounds of the victims are so peculiar and the developments in the case are so mind-boggling—Sir, I’m sure I can make a showstopping series on it if you just gave me a cha-”

“Oh stop it with that whining,” the man in front of him said, clearly getting irritated now, “First of all you speak of technical knowledge? There are applicants out there who have run 100-employee companies of their own already. You are nowhere near as qualified as them. And about the murder thing—This is not the first time I’m hearing of a murder spree on your island. In 1998, I think, one of our journalists tried to feature your story in our paper and it was a complete loss for us. There was no readership for it. The truth is, nobody cares about what happens on that tiny island of yours. Murders happen everywhere, all the time. That is nothing special. If you had a scoop about something happening here, on the mainland, then that would be something I could at least consider. I think it’s time you go home, Harry Mathews.”

The King watched Harry Mathews crumble in front of his eyes. He couldn’t deny that the boy was talented. Maybe he had been too harsh.

After a moment, when Harry started gathering his things and got up, Mr Mercurius started, “If you really want something good, I suggest you stop looking at the murders. If there is anything special about your island, it's the people on it, people that the public on the mainland will be very interested in. And me too. I had given this assignment to someone else from your island too, a photographer I think, but he never came back with information about it. Maybe you will be successful and then we can rethink some things depending on that. I’ll give you two names…”

Harry’s ears perked up. He dropped the bag in his hand and took a seat again. He meant it every time he said that he would do anything for this opportunity, and it seemed like it was time he proved himself.

28.02.2018