There was a line at the ladies restroom. Wasn't there always?

She looked around nervously. The small, tiled room was filled with people. All other businesswomen -of course, and all looking as agitated as she felt.

She glanced at her wristwatch. Maybe she could wait it out. There was probably enough time to-

Damn. The meeting was in ten minutes, and this was at least a fifteen minute long crowd.

With a grace and subtlety reserved for those used to maneuvering around corporate crowds, Melissa Lansbury expertly plucked herself from the line and made for the exit. She would just have to wait until after the meeting.

Theoretically, she could excuse herself during. After all, what would she miss? These Monday meetings were never anything but power points and rehashing what everyone said last Thursday. Unfortunately, office custom dictate that while, yes, it was theoretically possible to excuse yourself and return with no loss of face, it certainly wasn't going to actually happen.

She saw the door to the mens room on her way out. It was just across from the ladies room, taunting her- beguiling her. No line in here, it seemed to say.

She glanced around, making sure there were no witnesses. As casually as she could manage, she hurried to the door and- with only the slightest hesitation- opened it.

The first thing she noticed was how spartan the room was. There was no sofa in the corner, no lotion on the counter, none of the pink and red flower arrangements they'd put up for valentines. Even the walls were plain, save for the urinals lining them. The second thing she noticed was that she was not, in fact, alone.

He was tall. He was thin. He was wearing a thick black robe than hung off of him loosely. On his back was a harness looking thing with a scythe attached. He was standing at one of the urinals, head down, hands busy. He looked up when he heard her enter.

"Oh!" she said. She turned around quickly, her face burning red. "I-I'm so sorry." She darted for the door.

"Wait," he said. "Melissa Lansbury?" He raised one hand to check his watch. "You're early. By about thirty years. Or. . . not." he frowned as time shifted around, accounting for this new development.

"I'm sorry!" she said, hand on the door knob. She didn't hear a word he said. "Beg your pardon."

"Wait-" He said. She was halfway out the door. "Well, be careful going down the stairs!"

She was already gone. With an agitated groan, he finished up as quickly as he could manage. A few moments later, he heard the familiar thunking of a body going down a flight of stairs, head over heels. He sighed and went to the sink to wash his hands.

Nobody noticed him when he left the bathroom, despite the fact that he held the door open for a few of them. They didn't notice themselves being parted, though a few heard a passing "'scuse me." They didn't notice him when he was at the bottom of the stairs, standing over the body of the late Ms. Lansbury- most were too shocked and screaming for an ambulance.

The specter of Mellisa Lansbury looked at him expectantly, her arms crossed, her foot tapping. He shuffled. "Sorry about that," he said. "I really had to go, you know?"

She tried being mad, then found she couldn't quite muster up the energy to. "I suppose." A slow grin split her face. "So, no more Monday meetings?"

"Or Thursday ones. Or surprise peer reviews. Or stacks of papers nobody ever looks at anyways. Or sludgy office coffee, or those office parties they make you go to, even if you don't want-"

Before he could say another word, the specter of Melissa Lansbury threw herself at the manifestation of death and gave him a long hard kiss on the mouth. He was too shocked to do anything more than go with it.

Nobody had ever slipped him the tongue before.

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