Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

Sure, the bureaucracy of it all can be a little tiresome, and the monotony is
killer, but we need the rule of law so we know how to be, how to act.” The
smile slid from his face. “And yet, it’s always why. Why, why, why. I hate
that question above all others.” And then his voice changed, becoming a
frightened woman’s. “Why do I have to go?” His voice changed again,
becoming a man’s, old and frail. “Why can’t I have more time?” Again, this
time a child. “Why can’t I stay?”
“Stop,” Wallace said hoarsely. “Please stop.”
When the Manager spoke again, his voice returned to normal. “I’ve heard
it all.” He frowned. “I hate it. But never more so than I do right now, because
I find myself asking why. Why is Wallace Price still here? Why doesn’t he
move on?” He shook his head as if disappointed. “That leads to me asking
myself why I should care at all. You want to know what I realized?”
“No,” Wallace whispered.
“I realized that you’re an aberration. A flaw in the system that’s worked
so well. And what does one do with flaws as someone in charge, Wallace?
To keep the things running as they should?”
Fire them. Remove them from the equation. Replace the part so the
machine can run smoothly. Distantly, Wallace thought of Patricia Ryan, sitting
across from him in his office.
“Exactly,” the Manager said as if Wallace had spoken aloud. He tapped
his fingers against his knee. The bottoms of his feet were dirty. “Which is
why I’ve made an executive decision.” He grinned, the violet of his eyes
moving like liquid. “One week. I’ll give you one more week to put your
affairs in order. This isn’t meant to be forever, Wallace. A way station such
as this exists to allow you to regroup, to accept the inevitable. You’ve
changed in the weeks since your arrival. So different from the man I saw
fleeing in the dead of night.”
“But—”
The boy held up his hand. “I’m not finished. Please don’t interrupt me
again. I don’t like being interrupted.” When he saw Wallace snap his mouth
closed, he continued. “You’ve been given more than enough time to process
your life spent on this Earth. You were not a kind man, Wallace, or even a
just one. You were selfish and mean. Not quite as cruel as you claim I am, but
it was close. I don’t recognize that man in you. Not anymore. Death has