He awakened several hours later and groggily rubbed his eyes. Peering through the slight fog shrouding the street below, he could see the iridescent blinking of the light at the end of the street…must be two or three in the morning, he thought. It wasn’t often in Scranton you could get away with sleeping outside in November and not wake up to a frozen limb or two, but Stamford winters were so much milder than the ones back home. He gathered his blanket and stepped back inside, shutting the door with a solid clack.

Immediately, he felt a sensation that he was not alone in the eerie darkness. He thought for a moment that maybe Karen had stopped in and stayed on the couch, but remembering their earlier conversation, he knew there was little hope for that. He was even more alarmed when he spied the soft glow of the street light poking through the slightly opened door. Shit…after all this, now a burglary? Exasperated, he grabbed a golf club he’d left in the corner and walked into the living room to survey the damage. Surprisingly, his new plasma TV, the DVD surround sound system, and even his Xbox 360 were all sitting just as he’d left them. Nonetheless, he figured he should call 911 to report it just in case. Besides, he’d been in every room in the apartment besides the kitchen and despite that, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was in here with him. He made his way to the kitchen and was reaching for the phone when he felt a pair of hands grip the back of his shoulders and heard a familiar, shrill voice cut through the still air.

“SURPRISE!!!”

His immediate reaction was to violently brush the arms off his shoulders and slam the smaller man who’d grabbed him backward into the counter. He had his hand drawn back and ready to connect with his face when he spotted the goofy grin he’d seen thousands of times. “Michael?!?!”

Michael, not even sensing the potentially dangerous situation he’d put himself in, immediately stepped forward and tightly embraced him. “Jimbo! Man, how I missed you!!”

Still numb from shock, Jim staggered back defensively. “Jesus Michael, what the hell are you doing here?!!? Don’t you realize that breaking into someone’s house can get you shot?”

“Jim, I knew you weren’t a gun freak like Dwight…besides, I had to come visit the guy who’s gonna be my new number two. Hang out a little, you know, some guy on guy action…”

“Michael, I don’t think you know how bad that sounds.” He couldn’t keep a slight smirk from his face.

“Ahhh…I see that little grin, Halpert. So, you in or not?”

“It’s three in the morning, Michael. You’re lucky I’m not going to have you arrested…now go home.” The look of dejection he saw forced him to soften his voice…he never did have the ability to resist the puppy dog look from anyone. “Listen, Michael, I know you drove a long ways to come see me, but I’m *really* not in the mood to go out tonight. I had a shitty day yesterday and I just want to sleep it off. You can stay here on the couch tonight but you have to go home tomorrow.”

Michael slipped down onto the couch and stared idly toward a photo of Jim, his mom and dad at his college graduation that was perched on the end table. “Karen dumped you, didn’t she?”

For the third time in the last 24 hours, Jim felt trapped. “Wh-Wh-How did you know that? You never even met her. You didn‘t even know we were going out!”

“Come on Jimmy. Dunder Mifflin is like a hotbed of gossip, and I am like my namesake in the bidness, Mike Ausiello…nothing gets past me. Everyone knew you were hittin’ that. I woulda been on it myself if not for my two other girlfriends…”

Trying not to cringe at the thought of his former boss “hitting” anything, he simply nodded and sat down in the chair facing Michael. “Yeah, she did,” he admitted despondently. “She didn’t like the idea of moving b-, I mean moving to Scranton.” He hoped he hadn’t noticed the little slip. “I mean, I really liked her, I guess. She was fun, and caring, and…”

“Sa-mokin hot!,” Michael interrupted as he reached his hand out for a knuckle bump. “Am I right?”

“Yeah, Michael,” he replied wryly, not bothering to stick his hand out. He was NOT going to play this game.

“You know what you need, Jim-bag? You need to spend some time at Hooters. You’re a young stud…no doubt one of those girls would go out with you.”

“Wow. That is definitely not what I would have thought of…”

“C’mon, buddy…it’ll be fun. Just you and me. It worked back when you had the problem with P-”

“No, Michael. I am not going to Hooters with you. Now, if you’re done rambling, I’m going back to sleep.” There. Crisis averted, he thought. He turned and began to walk toward the bedroom, sidestepping his now functionless cell phone lying on the floor.

“How about Chili’s?” Michael was relentless, and not going to give this up until he got what he wanted. He’s like a freakin’ 8 year old, Jim thought. “I mean, you always had fun at the Dundies, right?” Thoughts ran through his head. Ping. Bowling trophies. “Like second drink.” “ Smelliest bowel movement.” “Fine Work.” Drunken kisses. Questions not asked, not answered.

He smiled, then turned his focus back toward his former manager.  “Sometimes, I suppose. There aren’t even Chili’s restaurants open at this hour though.” He hoped that would cut off this idea that was somehow growing on him, despite its insanity.

“I know one that’s open 24/7...not too far from the N-Y-C either.” He said it with such conviction, Jim couldn’t help but believe him. The man’s zany attitude was winning him over, impossibly, like a slow drain of resistance from his body.

“OK, I guess a late night run wouldn’t hurt too much. At least traffic shouldn’t be too bad at this hour,” he said with a breathy laugh as he grabbed his jacket.

Michael jumped up, clearly elated. “Alright! You driving? Or you can ride with me…my Sebring is a corporate lease, you know.” The only man I know more proud of things given to him than things earned.

“Well, your idea, so you drive,” Jim replied, patting him lightly on the shoulder. Michael quickly gathered his coat and keys and within a few minutes, they were standing in front of Michael’s car.

“Aren’t you going to open it?,” Jim asked.

“You didn’t call shotgun. So not yet, in case anyone else comes…”

“Michael…we’re the only ones going. Why would I need to call shotgun? I’m not 10 years old.”

“Well, Dwight always does.”

“Dwight’s an idiot.”

“True. Alright…let’s do it then.” Jim let out a sigh as he slumped into his seat. John Mayer’s “Waiting on the World to Change” blared through Michael’s speakers as he turned the key in the ignition. He was probably singing this at the top of his lungs on the ride over, knowing him, he thought with a small grin. Michael quickly turned it down to the point where Jim couldn’t hear anything more than a gentle humming coming through the air. They backed out of the driveway as Jim fidgeted with the seatbelt to keep it from cutting into his neck and adjusted the seat backward in hopes to find any stitch of comfort in this too-small transport. He looked at his watch. 3:16. This is going to be an adventure.

This miserable way is taken by the sorry souls of those who lived without disgrace and without praise…The heavens, that their beauty not be lessened, have cast them out, nor will deep Hell receive them-even the wicked cannot glory in them.

~The Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto III

The open highway, traveled alone, can be a lonesome place. Jim never imagined it could ever be that way riding in a car with Michael Scott. But there they were, the two of them in Michael’s Sebring, silently passing the miles on the way to their destination. It was almost as if Michael sensed what he was going through and knowingly stayed silent. If his mind hadn’t been working so hard to digest everything that had transpired in the last day, he would have been touched.

The methodical whir of the tires on pavement and the blur of the painted line beside him felt like his only companions as he lost himself in his thoughts. He thought of Karen, and how he really was a jerk to her sometimes. As much as it hurt to lose her, he knew in his heart that she would be better off with someone who could really, truly commit himself entirely to her. He thought of his dad, and he prayed a silent prayer to God that the cancer was contained…he thought maybe he should take a few days off and spend some time back at home, whether he was returning for the job or not. Mostly, he thought of Pam, wondering if she’d heard the news of his possible return or not. Michael can’t keep a secret…I’m sure everyone in the entire office knows by now. If he came back, could they return to their old ways? Would she even want to go back? Would she want to be friends at all anymore? Her silence after calling off her wedding was perplexing. When he heard the news from Kevin during a call to set up their fantasy football league, he was beyond shocked. He’d spent the rest of the night…the rest of the month…truth be told, he’d probably spend the rest of his life…hoping she’d call. He checked his cell, he checked at work first thing every morning…yet still nothing. Best friend my ass, he remembered thinking as he tried to drown his worry in whiskey one night at home. His stance softened in the months after…maybe she was scared…maybe she didn’t know my number…maybe Roy threatened her. Whatever it was, he’d been rejected twice and there was no reason to think he’d want to walk back into that buzz saw again.

“Jimbo, check that out!” Michael was prodding his shoulder and pointing toward something beside the road. It looked like a regular office building to him, although he wondered why the lights were all on at 4 in the morning.

“Yeah, Michael. A building with some lights on. They do stay up past 10 in places other than Scranton, you know.”

“Nope, that’s not just any building…that’s Dunder Mifflin’s IT building. Well, they don’t actually work FOR us…they’re hired by corporate to come fix the messes that people like Toby make. Why don’t we stop in and say hi? I wanted to get some advice about how to set up my home network anyway. Don‘t want Jan or Carol finding anything on my computer I don‘t want them to see,” he said with a wink and a nudge. Before Jim even had a chance to respond (or vomit), Michael had caught the exit and was turning toward the parking lot. This night can’t get much stranger. Jim stepped out of the car and by the time he’d taken two steps, Michael was halfway to the front entrance. “Last one in is a rotten egg!,” he called out. He had to shake his head at Michael’s childishness, yet at the same time he envied his seemingly carefree spirit.

Once inside, Jim immediately realized that now was not the time to be visiting. The alarm above the entrance was buzzing loudly, and in the room to his left, he could see lights flashing on and off, as though controlled by a child flicking a switch back and forth. Women in heels were clacking loudly across the white tile floor between rooms down a long hallway, while men in white lab coats shuffled around, mumbled, huddled together in conferences and generally tried to ignore the cacophony surrounding them.

Jim was about to suggest that maybe they should come back at a better time when Michael firmly grabbed his wrist and pulled him down the hall. As they neared one room in particular, they noticed a blinding white light streaming out, rendering them unable to even look into it to see what was going on. Periodically, someone would go running by them, nearly in tears and itching some random body part, like there was a plague of sorts going on. They entered a large common area where there was some shelter from the bitter screeching of the alarms. It was hardly a better situation, though. A few moments after they walked in, the sprinkler system failed, sending a torrent of water splashing onto the crowd below. As the throng rushed for the exits, Jim and Michael were caught in the stampede and forced out of the room themselves.

As the IT professionals stormed past, Michael spotted Sadiq, the dedicated Scranton tech. “Sadiq! Sadiq!,” he bellowed over the crowd.

Sadiq heard the yelling and with an impatient look, waded his way across the crowd. “Michael, Jim. What are you doing here?” He looked like he’d just run a marathon…his speech was a bit ragged, his clothes worn and his eyes had large black circles under them. Jim guessed that whatever this problem in the building was, it had been going on for a while.

“Well, Michael wanted to get the guided tour of the factory…I think he thought you guys made chocolate here,” Jim quipped. Both of the younger men chuckled, while Michael simply snorted at Jim in defiance. Instinctively, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and toyed with the loose change to keep his hands calm in the chaos. “So, what’s going on here? It looks like World War III started or something.”

The young professional paused, unsure of how to continue. “Well, to start with, our main server went down, and then somehow the power line to the building was cut, so we’re running on a generator, which as you can see is shaky…” He gestured toward the flickering lights. “To top it all off, a shelf in the lab above us tipped over and released the mosquitoes they were experimenting on. We’ve been here for three days straight trying to get it fixed but every time we think we have it, another server crashes.”

“So, why don’t they just send you home?,” Jim asked.

“Well, we were behind to begin with and management says that if we can’t get caught up soon, we might lose some of our big accounts. The entire staff has been on duty here…I’m not sure how much more of this we can take.” He wiped the sweat from his brow as his cell phone rang. He gave a knowing nod and told he caller that he’d be right there. He turned and started to inch away from the two paper employees. “I’m really sorry guys, but I need to get going. We just lost our second to last server and I’m the guy who usually works on that one. I’ll see you later.”

Michael, quiet the entire conversation, began to call out, “But wait, I didn’t get a chance to ask you about my…”

“Michael, they kinda have more important things to do here,” Jim cut him off. “Now let’s get going before we get trampled by the herd.” Michael smiled and they made their way to the exit. Jim felt genuinely sorry for those guys, and a little better about his own situation. “Man, those guys are going through absolute hell in there,” he remarked as they strolled across the parking lot to the car.

“Not quite,” came the quick retort. Jim thought he saw a wink and a small grin tugging at the corner of Michael’s mouth, but passed it off as another of Michael’s oddities…his idea of the ultimate punishment would be no more Pretzel Day. As they re-entered the freeway, the older man turned to him and asked, “To the Chili’s, my young friend?”

“Sure thing, Michael.”

The miles ticked by like grains through an hourglass. Michael again remained silent as he drove, the few bars he’d hum at the beginning of every song he liked notwithstanding. The tranquil purring of the wheels as they touched asphalt combined with the effects of the long day and early morning were beginning to take hold of his consciousness, and before he knew it he was slipping into a peaceful rest. As he slept, he dreamt he was leaning over a ledge and extending his arm downward to something. Looking down, he realized it was Pam, dangling off a tree root. She’d scream “Jim!” and he reached toward her, grasping the warm tips of her fingers before she pulled her hand back and said, “I can‘t do it, Jim. Please go get help!” The anguish of his own inadequacy infuriated him and he wanted to walk away, but at the same time he couldn’t leave his love like that. He reached his hand down again and begged, “Please, Pam….just take my hand. I can save you!” Pam was unable to respond, paralyzed by the fear of falling...or of him. He couldn’t be sure. Disgusted, he turned around and began to walk away when he heard the branch break and Pam call out his name. He dashed back to the ledge but it was too late…she was already falling.

He woke up with a gasp, lurching forward in his seat. Michael turned his head and looked at him funnily. “You ok, Jimster?”

“Uhh, yeah. Strange dream. What time is it?” He wiped his hand across his face, hoping not to trigger one of Michael’s stories about his nightmares.

“It’s 3:16. Well, it’s a good thing you woke up now, because we’re almost there!”

He thought he remembered it being 3:16 when they left, but decided to ignore that for the time being. “Good, cause I’m starving.” He glanced out the window, noting the scenery that was more trees and grass than houses and buildings as he expected. It did look familiar, however. He turned back toward Michael. “Hey, where is this Chili’s at? Sure seems like we’ve gone a long ways.”

“It’s in Scranton,” Michael replied matter-of-factly.

“Scranton?!?,” Jim barely choked out. What the hell? That was the last place on earth he wanted to be tonight. Besides, they had to have driven for three hours now and it wasn’t even beginning to get light yet. “Michael, why did we need to come all this way to grab breakfast? Are you trying to kidnap me?” He was only half-joking.

“You sir, are going to visit the afterlife tonight.” He spoke in that slightly off British accent that he usually used when he was messing around. He’s probably going to take me to a haunted house like we had to visit three Halloweens ago.

“Sure Michael. And just why am I doing that?”

“Because you’re dead, Jim.” His tone turned severely serious and he wondered how Michael could keep a straight face right now…normally he’d have broken down and burst out laughing before they even started at the mere thought of his twisted joke.

“Oh, you got me. Real funny.” He tried his best to genuinely laugh, hoping Michael would drop the increasingly annoying routine.

Michael continued. “James Halpert. Parents Samuel and Larissa Halpert. Born July 7, 1979. Two siblings, an older brother Jonathan and a younger sister Tanya. Attended Dunmore Middle School and Scranton East High School. Majored in journalism with a minor in public speaking at Pennsylvania State University, graduated Magna Cum Laude in May 2001.”

“Ok, so you got my file from Toby. Cute.” He was trying not to encourage the lame gag, but he couldn’t resist a jab at Michael. “I didn’t realize you two had gotten so close since I left.” He grinned as the barb hit its mark.

“Ugh, Toby. He is the devil. Well, not literally, but I would have put him in hell if the big guy didn’t override me.” Repulsion was written across his features. Nevertheless, he went on. “Started walking at 11 months, first word was “doggy,” played Rudolph in the 2nd grade school play, first kiss Kelsi Jones, first date Jennifer Sanderson, biggest fear is rejection, has a guitar but never plays, secretly admires Dwight Schrute…”

“Umm, err, h-h-ow do you know all that? Did you talk to my mom?” He was beginning to get a little nervous.

“I told you…you’re dead, Jim. I know everything about you now.”

He snapped. “Bullshit, Michael! Now tell me what the hell we’re doing in a car going back toward Scranton and why you know all this crap about me!” He could see out of the corner of his eye a sign that said “Leaving New Jersey” as they rolled onto the Delaware River Gap Bridge. A thick cloud of smoke, or perhaps fog engulfed all but the ebony highway shining in the headlights in front of them.

Michael stared straight ahead and calmly said, “If you don’t believe me, just check the messages on your phone.”

“I smashed my phone earlier…it’s sitting on the floor in my apartment.”

“Look in your pocket.”

Jim slipped his hand into his jacket and in astonishment, removed an intact cell phone. He thought for a second that it was just a replacement, but the same worn Chiquita sticker was still there. He smiled…Pam had put that one on there last spring. It was the one place he hadn’t erased or removed whatever had reminded him of her…the last vestige of hope clinging to his psyche like a secluded snowflake under the cool pine boughs in the spring. Snapping back to reality, he flipped the phone open and noted 9 new messages.

Time 3:16 AM Nov. 16, 2006 From: Big Guy Subj: Welcome!

Time 3:16 AM Nov. 16, 2006 From: Big Guy Subj: Re: Jim (From-Tanya Halpert To-Pam Beesly)

Time 3:16 AM Nov. 16, 2006 From: Big Guy Subj: Re: Jim Halpert (From-DunMiff To-All Employees)

Time 3:16 AM Nov. 16, 2006 From: Big Guy Subj: Obituary

………………………………......................................................

Who was this Big Guy? He thought the better of asking Michael, but he could only shut the phone and stare out the window in dead silence. His throat tightened and sweat began to gather on his forehead at the thought that he might really be dead…and not only that, MICHAEL, of all people, was escorting him to Heaven…or maybe was it Hell? He hadn’t been to church in a few years…oh my God….why? He cringed at the thought of his friends in Scranton, and especially Pam, having to find out about his demise from a text message or an email. Despite their distance, they were still friends and he knew she cared about him.

His mind was racing as they neared the far end of the bridge, a mysterious blackness threatening to swallow the car whole on the opposite side. “Michael, please…turn around!, he begged. ” I’m too young to be dead…I’ve got so much left to do…I swear, God, just let me live and I’ll never take anything for granted again. Michael, numb to his pleading, simply continued on his seemingly programmed path into the night. He began to hyperventilate at the thought of the finality that seemed imminent; he thought he’d reached the breaking point when his boss turned and placed a hand on his forehead.

He tilted his head back at the touch and felt a jolt of electricity surge through his body. The last thing he recalled seeing before he blacked out was a large blue sign announcing “Welcome to Pennsylvania-You’ll Want to Stay Forever!”

O living being, gracious and benign, who through the darkened air have come to visit our souls that stained the world with blood, if He who rules the universe were friend to us then we should pray to Him to give you peace for you have pitied our atrocious state. Whatever pleases you to hear and speak will please us, too, to hear and speak with you, now while the wind is silent, in this place.

~The Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto V 

“So what was so bad about that? That hardly seemed like punishment in there,” Jim asked.

“Those people will never see what the ultimate paradise looks like, because they never believed in the Scranton branch to begin with, Jim.” Michael was looking at him like he’d just told him the sky was green. “The best part is,” he continued as he tried not to laugh, “is that they didn’t know how we rolled in Scranton, so they’ll never even know that Scranton exists.” He began to chuckle.

“So Scranton is Paradise?”

“Um, no, I didn’t say that.”

“You sound kind of defensive.”

“Well, I can’t tell you what Paradise is because I’ve never seen it. David Wallace made me swear…woah, Michael, you’ve said enough…”

Jim tried to press for more answers, but Michael wouldn’t budge. The elevator’s squeaking, lurching descent had reached yet another detour. It looked much the same as the last place, right down to the rock platform and the heavy iron door. Again, Michael removed the key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. With a slight grunt, he pushed the door open and motioned for Jim to step inside. “After you, sir.”

Jim took a step in and noticed immediately that this second room was much more severely decorated than the first one. It was also a large, open space, but rather than buildings and trees, it was populated by small wooden huts. The lighting was dim and the air was cold and damp, with a light, persistent rain falling from the sky, draining into puddles centered in the muddy streets. He could hear the hoot of an owl in a distant, hidden corner covered by dense, sagging spruce trees. He knew that this had to be some sort of step up in punishment…surely they weren’t living the good life here.

At the sound of the door slamming shut, he noticed that the residents of the huts came staggering out into the street, slipping and falling in the mud as they raced toward Michael and Jim. “Food! Food!.” they bellowed…all of them were skinny as poles, as though they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Rushing to beg at their feet, they pleaded for a scrap of food…anything, to sate their hunger. Michael turned toward Jim and whispered, “watch this” from behind his hand. He removed a Snickers bar from his pocket and tossed it into the throng. That incited a skirmish the likes of which Jim had never seen before…kicking and gouging and biting, until one man who was taller and bigger than the rest secured it. He jumped to his feet and hungrily devoured the chocolate bar. He was clearly a newer arrival, obviously stronger than the rest, and not sharing the same gaunt appearance. Jim thought he looked familiar, and as the crowd dissipated, man’s bald head and uncaring features came into clearer focus. This was….

“PACKER!” Michael shouted, running forward and bumping chests firmly with the much bigger man. He briefly staggered backward at the impact but caught his balance. “Me feeding you, just like always.” Michael was clearly delighted to renew his one-sided friendship here.

“Whatever, Scott. I can take care of myself. So who’s your queer buddy here? Oh, hey Halpert, didn’t recognize you when you weren’t dressed like a little girl.” He cackled. Jim felt that this was going to be an incredibly annoying experience.

“Oh! Oh! Packman in the house!” Michael turned and pushed his arms into the air, as though Jim would find it funny at his own expense.

Jim called out, interrupting the singular admiration party. “So, Michael, can we go now?”

“No, not yet. I’ve got to get something from Packer’s hut over there.” He motioned for Jim to follow him as he slogged through the mud and up the ramp into the hut. The thatched roof and bamboo walls belied a decent existence, save for the lack of food and the terrible weather. He could see into each hut as he passed by it…they had a small cot, a toilet, a sink and a tiny screen that appeared to be a television, broadcasting a faint picture across it. Also, each contained one piece of art…he couldn’t see closely but they looked similar to what he’d noticed in the Stamford office.

He made his way into the middle-aged sales rep’s abode and took the time to survey the surroundings. The tiny television was set to a channel that looked like a satellite feed of the earth. It was barely moving and Jim could see how watching something so methodical and inactive all day would nearly be enough to drive on insane.

Michael was picking up a magazine off the table, apology lacing his voice. “Sorry Packer, but this is illegal material. You know you can’t have Maxim in here. Reader’s Digest and Newsweek only. The Big Guy is making me confiscate it.” He looked as though he was on the verge of tears at the thought of punishing his friend, and he knew that Packer could easily talk him out of it. Surprisingly, he didn’t try, giving in and moping over to sit on his cot. Jim spotted the painting sitting above the head of the man he had no sympathy for. It was another watercolor…lacking a bit of the vividness of the ones he’d seen displayed at the Stamford office, but otherwise a fine portrait of an everyday item. The edges were a little smudged as though the artist’s hand had wiped across it before it had dried…still, the image of a basket of laundry filled with bright, showy shirts and pants sent his mind wandering again…He’d been standing in the local laundry mat…whenever he wasn’t dating anyone, he liked to come here on Saturday nights to avoid some of the rush. Everyone who had a life then was either out on a date or home with their families, leaving single loners like him to either hang around their apartments or go find something to do. He didn’t mind washing, drying and folding as much as he thought he would, the way his mother usually complained about it when he was a kid. Of course, he didn’t have to take care of three kids, feed a family and work a full time job on top of it, so he figured he should hold off on declaring his love for it too much. He silently laughed, then returned to his bitter reality.

Here he was on Saturday night, completely alone in the laundry mat, thinking about his disastrous date with Brenda from the night before. She probably blocked his number by the time she got in the front door of her apartment. Talk about nothing in common, he thought. He was only in that position because he’d dumped Katy in a knee-jerk reaction over Pam‘s engagement on the booze cruise. He sighed as he pulled the last fabric softener sheet from the box and put it in the dryer. This time it was for real, and as he slid the sheet between his fingers, he couldn’t help but feel the thinly veiled irony of the minute gesture in the grand scheme of his life. He closed the machine and sat down in a random chair, grabbing the Time magazine off the table to read over. He had just flipped open the table of contents page when he heard a familiar voice.“Jim?”

“Hey Pam,” he responded before he’d even looked up. It was as natural a reaction to her voice as breathing when he needed air. He turned his head upward and beheld Pam, a basket full of laundry under each arm and a bottle of Tide dangling from her weary fingers. He snapped out of his gazing mode and quickly jumped to her aide. “Here, let me help you with that.” He grabbed the bottle of detergent and one of the baskets, carrying them to the counter beside the machine next to his. He hoped it didn’t seem too presumptuous, and was relieved when she set hers beside it and opened the washer. “So what are you doing here tonight, Beesly?”

“Oh, the washer broke and Roy’s out at Poor Richards with his brother and some friends. We’re supposed to be at his step mom’s for dinner tomorrow night so I have to get this done tonight.” She gestured toward the laundry, her eyes begging him not to make a comment on Roy. When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “Sooo…one could ask the same of you. I thought you’d be out with Brenda again.” He thought he could hear a little bit of jealousy tinting her words, but he thought it best to ignore it.

“Yeah…we went out last night. Didn’t go so well…I accidentally knocked her wine glass into her lap, picked a dud of a movie and ended up running into a college girlfriend of mine who just wouldn’t leave me alone. Plus, she never laughed at any of my jokes. So I *don’t* think I’ll be seeing her again,” he chuckled a bit uncomfortably.

“Oh, too bad…so you traded a warm body for some warm clothes, eh?” Her bright smile melted the nervousness out of his expression.

“I guess so,” he shrugged as he let out a hearty laugh.

Quickly, they fell into their usual routine of joking and laughing, scanning the magazines on the table for ridiculous articles or funny captions; creating wild commentaries, news bulletin-style, for what the people who sauntered by on the street were doing.. When his laundry was finished drying, she helped him fold it…he felt a little uncomfortable at the thought of the woman of his dreams, whom he was barred from being with, helping him fold his boxers, but she didn’t miss a beat…in fact, everything looked a lot better than when he did it. He stayed around and gave her a hand with her laundry, she gently needling him that she would be blaming him for any wrinkles in her clothing and he telling her that with free help, you get what you pay for. He imagined that this could be their life….their Saturday nights spent doing the mundane tasks that he just couldn’t envision ever getting boring, so long as he had her in his life…if he would just take a chance…if she would just let him.

It was nearly midnight when they finished up…he’d taken his clothing out to his car some time before and then helped her carry what she had out to hers.. The laundry safe inside, he straightened his back out to face her and say goodnight. She caught him off guard when she quickly stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on the cheek. “You’re the greatest, you know?,” she said softly. “Some girl is gonna be lucky as hell to have you take care of her someday.” She smiled…he could hear his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

“Oh,” was all he could manage, feeling both ghostly white and beet red at the same time. Regaining his composure, he quickly opened her car door and she slipped inside. “Well, goodnight Beesly. See ya at work on Monday.”

“Night Jim,” she said as she closed the door and turned the key. As she was driving away, all he could do was stare into the darkness, smiling uncontrollably. Yeah, it was a good night.

Jim paused for a moment as Michael deftly cajoled the platform to a stop. This entire experience had been so surreal…and the people he knew and sort of liked were in it. He wondered if this was what the whole journey would be…a meeting with people from his past and present…to persuade or dissuade him to rejoin or rebuff the place he grew up in business as well as in life. In his heart, he knew that he only truly needed the approval of one…or the hint of approval of one…and the decision would be out of his hands.

A steady drip of water fell from above onto the floor, the droplets shattering into hundreds of pieces as they landed, running down the slate platform and cascading into the silent pit below. When they stepped off, it was slippery, even with his running shoes…he thought that he was glad the elevator didn’t swing far out or someone could lose their footing and fall right off. Michael made quick work of the key again and moved to push it open. It budged, albeit with a forceful grunt, revealing a dimly lit corridor behind. Michael snagged one of the lit torches off the wall, guiding the way as they came to a smaller door. It was unlocked, and the two men silently crept into the large cavern beyond.

The first thing Jim noticed was that it was cold…he wished he’d remembered to grab a sweater or something back at home. The low light made it tough to see anything in the distance, but he thought he could make out the outline of a low, flat-roofed building beside a pit or a lake of some sort. Otherwise, the entire space had a dry, sterile feeling…there were no trees, no plants, no birds or fauna of any kind, visible or audible. Jim idly stuffed his hands into his pockets as he and Michael slowly wandered down a dirt path toward the structure. Dust flew with each footstep, quickly churning a suffocating cloud into the impotent air.

They walked for minutes, or maybe hours, before they’d arrived at the building. Jim thought that it looked even more ragged from up close than it had at a distance…worn and weathered, the door was a collection of crudely hewn driftwood, one board clinging to existence by a single nail leaving a gap to reveal what lay within. Michael pushed the door open and Jim stepped into the tired structure, wary of the danger that he might find another weak spot with any misplaced step.

The inside of the shed was a mirror of its exterior. Jim looked to see some people huddled in corners, others lying on the ground, and others still standing and staring blankly into the distance. He glanced at one older man…he held his arms away from his body, his fingers splayed as though touching them together were painful. His skin was sere and red, small fissures tracing the ridges and valleys of his withered hands. The look in his eyes was intense, like he was determined not to give in to some hidden temptation, yet failing. Surveying the room, the same gaze sat across the face of everyone there. No one was speaking…no one was laughing, or joking, and he even wondered if anyone was breathing.

Suddenly, a shriek came from the back of the room...“I can’t take it anymore!” A woman flashed by the pair, running toward the door. Two of the others tried to corral her before she escaped, but she was too fast. Jim and Michael rushed to the door and stepped outside. The woman covered the dusty expanse between the building and the body of liquid in two steps and leapt headfirst into the murky concoction. The two who had been chasing her followed like lemmings, diving in on top of her. Within moments, all three were screaming in agony…Jim thought he might lose his breakfast if he’d had any. He thought he even heard Michael gasp and whisper, “Oh, God!”

“Leave ’em be!” A woman called out from behind them. Turning, Jim spotted yet another familiar face.

“Meredith…wow, I didn’t expect to see you here. WHAT is that?,” he asked, pointing toward the makeshift pond.

“That’s formalin…it’ll preserve them until it’s time to dig them out.” Jim felt his stomach churn as she continued, “bad thing is, it hurts like hell in all these cuts.” She pointed to her arm, displaying the marks and scrapes like the others.

“And the whole death experience is probably part of the bad thing, too…” He felt sort of lame for attempting to joke in this situation, but was heartened when Meredith laughed.

“Oh, they’re still alive…they’ll just be in a lot of pain until they come drag them out and bring them inside again.” She must be familiar with this procedure, he thought.

“Huh. So what is this supposed to teach anyone?” He wasn’t sure if she’d even know but he was curious.

Michael interrupted before she could open her mouth. “Well, Jim…the purpose…” He was trying to sound official, when in fact he just sounded silly. “…of this is to teach these folks that staying dry…is painful…but drowning in your own sorrows is much, much more painful.” He was pointing back and forth between Jim and Meredith as he smiled at his own clever explanation. “Am I right, Meredith?”

She could hear a catch in her voice as she said, “I guess so…I mean, I quit 6 months ago and haven’t touched a drink since.” She was avoiding eye contact with both men in an effort to hide her obvious lie.

“See, Jim! Another Michael Scott success story!,” Michael squealed. He was oblivious, as usual.

He needed to change the subject. “Can we go inside now, Michael? It’s kinda cold out.”

Once inside again, he noticed something he’d almost forgotten to look for in here…there was a small, nearly camouflaged photo frame placed on the far wall. He walked casually over and took a glance. The painting, in oil this time, was scratched up a bit in each corner, but the subject was still visible in the center. It was a plain white can of paint, with a smear of light green color streaking down the side, as though the painter had dripped some and tried to sop it up with a brush. He thought of the last time he’d seen that color….“So I was at Sherwin Williams last night and I found this awesome color of paint for my new bathroom.” She was looking at him, obviously giddy over her find. She and Roy were moving to a new apartment, so Pam had the opportunity to paint and decorate as she pleased. She looked radiant, and he marveled at how she could be so excited over something so simple.

“Really? That sounds exciting.” He couldn’t resist…when she smiled, he did. It was like shaking a person’s hand when they extended it…reciprocation came naturally. He thought that if they worked together long enough, they might end up looking like an old married couple…smile and frown lines matching each other in perfect symmetry. He shook his head slightly to dislodge that thought from his mind.

“Oh yeah. Totally, Halpert. I’ll bring in the sample to show you some time.”

“Deal.”

A few days later, he gathered his belongings at five and made his way to reception for the nightly walk out with Pam. As he grabbed her jacket and held it out for her to slip her arms into, she stopped him.

“Hold on a sec, Jim. I forgot that I brought that paint sample with me today.” She reached into her bag and slipped a small sheet of laminated paper into his hand.

He looked at it briefly, five subtly differing hues arranged vertically on a white background. “So which one is it?”

She leaned over his elbow and lightly touched her finger on the 2nd from the top. “Umm, it’s that one.”

He needed only to rest his eyes on it for a moment when he recognized the color. Her eyes. He smiled, tempted to point it out to her. After all, she always said she didn’t like the color of her eyes, wishing she could have been born with the vibrant blues that some lucky people got. Now, here she was praising the “awesomeness” of the hazel-green tint he was studying in her expectant eyes, and she didn’t even know it. She has no idea how beautiful she is right now, he thought. Just go for it, Halpert. “It’s perfect.” The wide smile on her face validated that section of the answer. Now for the tricky part…“In fact-”

“Pammy!,” came the masculine voice from behind them. It was Roy. He grabbed her hand possessively as she smiled warmly up at him. “Hey babe, you ready to go?”

“Umm, yeah. I was just showing Jim the color we’re going to paint our bathroom,” Pam replied. Jim handed the small tag of paper back to her as she slipped on her jacket.

Roy grabbed her bag and slipped his arm around her shoulder, turning toward the door. “You know what, babe? I just remembered what that color reminds me of.”

His vision came into focus as he emerged from the blurry confines of his dream world. He turned to Michael, who was simply watching him with an all-knowing look of concern on his face.

“You alright, Jimbo?”

“Never better, Michael,” he lied. “So, anything else to see here?”

“Nopers. Let us depart, then!”

After a quick goodbye to Meredith and one last glance around (was that Billy Joel in the chair over there?), they were walking slowly back across the dusty courtyard toward the entrance, doing their best to avoid choking on the suspended dirt.

“So, what do you think so far?,” Michael casually asked.

“Well, it’s a little weird…like for instance, what’s with the art? It’s kinda plain…I always thought there’d be gargoyles and huge murals of demons and such in Hell,” he joked.

“Well, we’re trying this new thing…no more demons. It’s an HCLU thing.”

“Don’t you mean ACLU?”

“No. HCLU. Hellenic Civil Liberties Union.”

“Doesn’t that have something to do with Greece, Michael?” Jim raised his eyebrow at his boss in jest.

“Would you quit asking so many questions, Jim? It’s just what it’s called, alright?” Michael appeared to be a little frustrated with at him over his pressure, so Jim backed off. Once inside the narrow corridor, they let the door snap shut behind them and exited the main gate. Safely back on the elevator, Jim worried silently whether this experience was only going to get worse before it got better.

Your knowledge cannot stand against her force; for she foresees and judges and maintains her kingdom as the other gods do theirs. The changes that she brings are without respite: it is necessity that makes her swift; and for this reason, men change state so often.

~The Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto VII

As the elevator rumbled its was further down the tunnel, Jim stood in silence, watching the rock walls slowly pass by into the dark. He’d never taken geology but he found it interesting that the walls got darker as they descended. He eyed a spot on the wall…it looked like someone had written on it in chalk, but the water trickling across it had erased it almost entirely from the face. About halfway (judging by the time it normally took) between the levels, he felt the pulley roll over a hard object on the wire, then strike the other side with a loud click.

“What was that, Michael?,” he asked.

“What was what?,” Michael replied as he tinkered with the control panel.

“That loud clicking sound! Did you not hear it?”

“Probably just the lock to keep this from going back up once it’s down.” Again, a perfectly straight face told Jim that he really wasn’t fibbing.

“That is just…great,” he replied under his breath, to no one in particular.

Their transport ground to a halt, settling next to the fourth identical platform Jim had set foot on thus far. Michael’s key once again fit the lock and he leaned into the door, not budging it. “A little help, Jim? This thing’s pretty heavy.” Jim aided his guide and pushed…the door swung open fairly easily with the two of them. They stepped forward onto a foot bridge spanning a narrow crevasse between the rocks…upon reaching the opposite site, Jim noticed a striking difference between this area and the last few. It was bright and warm, with no sign of any strange features that would indicate that it was a place of punishment. There were a few small buildings tucked into the right-hand hillside…they looked nice enough, yellow with grey trim, well kept shrubs and even a garden in one of the yards. The left side was dotted with fruit orchards, apples and plums dangling from the overflowing branches. Even the people bustling around the street looked healthy and well-fed…maybe even too much so, if he were to be honest. Michael motioned for him to follow him, and they walked down a winding, cemented path to the grassy field blanketing the area between the trees and houses.

Suddenly a booming voice split the air…”Jim! Look out!!” It was too late for Jim to react to the unseen threat though, as he felt a piercing blow sting his forearm. It was quickly followed by another on his chest and Jim cowered to the ground, unsure of what was happening. Michael grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet as he noticed a large figure moving quickly toward him. The man was dressed in all black with the exception of his face, which was dotted with welts and recognizable as the same source that had produced the warning he’d received….Kevin Malone. His portly coworker turned and shielded Jim from the onslaught as they all shimmied into one of the buildings.

Once inside, Jim cast an uncertain glare at Kevin’s attire. “Is that a paintball outfit?,” he asked.

“Y-Yes,” came the reply.

Michael looked on sternly. “Don’t you know, Kevin, that you are not allowed to wear anything but the standard uniform in here?” He swung his arm toward the window, and Jim noticed that everyone outside was wearing a thin, toga-like outfit with no head covering. Most of them had the same welts Kevin had on his face and plenty more on their arms and legs. “Now tell me who smuggled this in here so I can punish them. Was it Rosie? Al?”

Kevin smirked. “Creeeeed,” he giggled.

“Creed? He’s not even in here…how would he..”

“Creed is a man who knows how to get things…if you know what I mean.” Kevin continued to giggle.

“So where is Creed, if he’s not here?” Jim interjected.

Michael looked at him and sighed loud. “I’m not allowed to tell you that…how much crap is it that I can’t even tell my best friend about Creed’s whereabouts?”

Jim quickly cut him off. “We’re not best friends though.”

Michael looked as though he’d been kicked in the shin. “Well, I can’t tell you either, then,” he growled. He turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Jim started after him but decided to let him go, knowing that he’d have forgotten about the incident in twenty minutes…he’d probably get teary eyed, apologize profusely and try to hug him. He turned to say something to Kevin, but the chubby accountant was sprawled out on the floor, fast asleep. He wandered down the short hallway in search of the bathroom, his eye catching a small charcoal drawing tucked on the end wall. Coming closer, he could see that although the peripheral setting was blurred, it was a sketch of a salt shaker…spiral glass and small holes that he could nearly see glistening in spite of the time that’d passed since he’d seen that exact shaker….

It was funny how the mere thought of that moment made his stomach churn, but he suddenly needed to find that bathroom more badly than he had before. He exited and made his way to the living room where Kevin was watching the Victoria’s Secret fashion show and giggling loudly. He decided to leave him alone and go find Michael…anything to get the hell away from here, he thought.

Stepping outside, he didn’t need much time to find Michael. He was sitting Indian-style in the middle of the grassy expanse, being pelted periodically by flying candies in the exact same spot, just below his collar. He walked over to him, hands inside his pockets. “Michael, listen…I’m sorry about that, back there. You’re a good friend, and I should have treated you as such.”

Michael turned and looked him in the eyes…he could see that he’d been crying. “Oh, Jimbo, you have no idea how that makes me feel!” He stood up and tightly hugged him. “You can be like the son to me that Ryan never wanted to be!”

“Oh, I don‘t think I want to get into that kind of thing,” Jim replied. Changing the subject quickly, he asked “So, why were you being hit in the same place every time?”

“It was hitting me in my grief bone,” Michael responded as though a grief bone were a real chunk of calcified material somewhere within his body. “In here, the guns will hit you in the place that you hurt the most every time. The gluttons in here can’t come outside most of the time, and they can’t eat from that orchard over there until the lose enough weight to meet the standards.” He waved at the copse of trees lining the opposite wall.

“Weird,” Jim replied thoughtfully. “Can we go now…I’d rather not be pelted with tiny candies again.”

“Absofruitly, Jimster. Let’s go.”

The elevator ride was uneventful as any of the five that had preceded it, and within a few minutes, Jim and Michael had made their way to another rocky platform. Michael’s key fit the lock yet again, and with Jim’s help, they were able to jar the door loose and soon were standing in something that looked like a control center for a TV network. The scene before them was chaotic, with alarms blaring, papers flying and people running frantically from side to side adjusting sliders and writing things on slips of paper. Jim sensed a disconnect between this area and the others he’d seen before…he wasn’t sure what these people were doing here, but he thought maybe whatever was through the small door on the other side might give him a clue.

“Here, take these,” he heard Michael utter as he reached for the handle. He placed a pair of earplugs and sunglasses into his hand, opening the door to a flood of light and sound. Stepping through the archway, Jim took in the room…the walls and floor glittered with a pearlescent sheen, white from base to ceiling, and a single light shone fiercely from the center. He thought that had he not had sunglasses on, he wouldn’t have been able to see a thing, and judging by the group of people standing in front of him, his estimation was correct. The sound in the room was nearly unbearable…a dull roar not dissimilar from that of a football stadium’s. Mostly, it just felt hot and humid…stuffy, despite the relative dearth of souls in the wide spread of space. He thought that this felt more like the common vision of Hell…uncomfortable, abysmal, hopeless. The two of them waded through the sea of wandering, senseless bodies until Michael grabbed onto an outstretched arm, pulling both Jim and the mystery person toward the wall. He pushed a small panel, opening a hole in the wall that they practically burst into.

Once inside, the features and familiar figure of the mystery person came into clear view…Phyllis took a step toward him, rubbing her eyes even as she exclaimed, “Jim!” He looked at Michael, wondering what the sweet office matron could have done to deserve this punishment. Certainly she didn’t have it in her to cause anyone harm…well, except maybe Angela during the Party Planning Committee meetings, but he figured that one was a free pass for anyone. He still was unsure of who was running things here…was this some kind Michael-run playhouse…or was it bigger than that?

He was about to ask when Phyllis spoke up again…”Come on, Jim…I want to show you something.” She smiled as she motioned toward the far wall. He covered the distance in a few steps, stopping near a deteriorating canvas splashed with an oil facsimile of a small, furry creature, possibly a mouse or chipmunk. He couldn’t be certain, because the tattered canvas hung loose on the wall, necrotic shreds of its very being exposed to the harsh humidity of the room. He peered closer, noting that it was a South American map, he drifted off into the first thought in his mind when it came to South America….

He was shaken from his reverie by the smack of Michael’s hand on his shoulder. “Jimmy cracked corn! C’mon, we have to get going. No use staying here with Phyllis…she’s like 13th hottest in the office, so you know the sights have to improve, am I right?” He nudged Jim in the ribs with his elbow.

Jim glanced at Phyllis, who had her head down, before looking back at Michael and stepping toward the door on the opposite wall from the entrance. He said a quick “Bye Phyllis,” and with that, they were through the exit and into a long, constricted corridor. Alone in the dimly lit hallway, the click of Jim’s shoes and the steady flapping of Michael’s sandals on the brick floor echoed through the chamber, sounding the way to their next stop. .Jim started. “I wouldn’t have expected Phyllis in here. What was she in for?”

“Gossiping,” Michael answered quickly. “Everyone in there is a rabid gossip.”

“What? Then what’s the bright light and noise for? Why not just throw them in a muddy pit or something?” He felt guilty for grinning at others’ misfortune, but he did anyway,

“Well, gossips can’t get enough of seeing or hearing things that they want to believe….so in there, they are seeing and hearing everything. The light is made up of millions of paparazzi photos, and the noise is every episode of Entertainment Tonight ever being played simultaneously on top of each other. That’s what the room on the other side of the door was for.” He sounded almost like he knew what he was talking about…somehow, it calmed Jim’s nerves.

“Wow. So, I guess we’re going back to the elevator now?” he said, letting out a sigh.

“Nope, we’re going down another way….right….there.” Michael said, pointing down a flight of stairs in front of them. “That is, unless you want to stop now?”

Jim took one glance at the dark hole, surrounded by a thick cloud of yellowish vapor, swallowed hard, and stepped forward. “Might as well see where it takes us.”