Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound Annual 3

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  Dr. Theresa Tatum sat stiffly in the chair on one side of the desk, and she waited for the lecture she knew she would receive from the director on the other side of the desk. The room was dark except for a desk lamp on the dimmest setting that rested at the near corner of her side of the desk. It was an interestingly ugly lamp stick of dark exotic wood in the shape of an upside-down octopus, and it had a bamboo shade that was woven in a patchwork consisting of a tan background with dark mahogany lines, which served to absorb more light than it let through. Dr. Tatum’s hands were entwined in her fingers and resting on her knees as she waited for the out-of-cycle review to take place. The dust motes floated by the ebony eyes of the octopus, and she could have sworn that she saw the irises twitch as they followed the dust particle. In the shadows, the man on the other side of the desk placed his hand on the side of his face, and he tilted his head to the side as if he were resting it on the open palm while he took in a deep sigh of what Dr. Tatum detected as regret. He was rarely quick with his words, and he was rarely forgiving of his assessments. He leaned forward into the dim light, positioning the fingertips of his hands together in a steeple beneath his chin, as if the points of his fingers were holding up a very delicate egg, and Dr. Tatum braced for the discussion.