Jeffrey Saunders had never met anyone like Joseph Howlam… at least not in real life anyway.

  Sure, hundreds of movies and television shows had presented a similar caricature to the world before: mean, impatient, and unforgiving. But before today, those were just abstracts splashed onto someone else’s misery.

  “How come he’s only signed up for six classes this semester?”

  The student assistant assigned to Elmira Community College’s Registrar’s office was at a loss for words. Standing a little over five feet tall, with dark red hair hanging down to her waist, the young girl presented the look of a devoutly religious woman. But her low-cut top and ample cleavage screamed that she just needed a haircut.

  Saunders, having witnessed this same heavy-handed act two times before, was content to stand back and watch the deputy assigned to show him around the college make a fool of himself… again.

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes darted nervously from Joseph to Saunders. “I mean… I know you’re a member of the sheriff’s department…”

  Joseph Howlam sensed the young woman’s hesitation and seized on it.

  “Page 74 of your poorly written handbook states: student records are subject to official review.” He tapped his silver badge. “And as you already surmised, I am with the sheriff’s department. But what’s more important is the man standing behind me.” Saunders attempted to slink away, but the student had already made eye contact with him. “That man is with the federal government. And he’s in a hurry.”

  “Why do you want his records anyway?” The girl rolled her eyes then looked back into the empty office. Typically, student records were marked private and confidential. No one outside the college admissions personnel have access to them. “What would the number of credit hours he’s taking matter to the police?”

  “Idle hands, miss.” Joseph narrowed his eyes. “Are the devil’s playthings.”

  For a second, she thought about calling her supervisor. Then, like most people, the uniform washed away any of her doubts.

  “Let me check something.” She sat down behind her computer, located the file, then with a couple of clicks prepared it for printing. “You know, 18 credit hours are a heavy workload for anyone. Most students only take 12.”

  “College kids,” Joseph rapped his knuckles against the faux wood countertop and exhaled loudly in disgust. “Even in a place like this, there’s no such thing as a forty-hour work week.”

  “Forty-hour work week?” The girl blinked in surprise. The idea of explaining how credit hours worked to this odd man crossed her mind, but other things needed her attention. “I guess it would be ok to print out his schedule. Besides, it’s almost lunchtime.”

  “Lunch?” the words slid out of Joseph’s mouth like they were covered in poison. “How long have you been on duty today?”

  “Duty?” The word seemed as foreign to the student as sleep did to brand new parents. “Two hours,” her voice was almost a whisper. “I came in around noon.”

  “Two hours… you’ve been at work for two hours, and you’re already taking a lunch.” Directly behind the college student were rows and rows of shelves stuffed with unattended paperwork. Even from fifteen feet away, Joseph could easily make out the words: adds, drops, transfers, graduation request forms. Each one practically begging to be processed and filed. “How much work have you gotten done since coming onto your shift?”

  Again, the young college student seemed to be thrown off by that strange word… work.

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  “My job is to answer the phone and print up schedules for incoming students, officer. I’m not responsible for anything else.” She paused before finishing her answer. “I’m a volunteer.”

  Joseph’s lip curled upward somewhat malevolently as he leaned through the sliding glass partition. This unusually creepy move meant that only she could hear what he was going to say next. “Well, that’s one piece of information that will help me sleep at night. The school doesn’t pay you to sit on your ass.”

  The frazzled student didn’t know how to respond. So instead of arguing her position further, she printed the student’s schedule then stuffed it into Joseph’s outstretched hand. “Here,” she fumed loudly. “I’m going to lunch.”

  Joseph happily watched her snatch up her purse then bolt out the office’s back door. “Come on,” he said with a smile to a thoroughly embarrassed Saunders. “It’s time for our ten-minute lunch.”

  Located on the north edge of town, Elmira Community College was surprisingly one of the larger colleges in the state. With an active and growing enrollment of over five thousand students, there wasn’t a day that went by that the campus wasn’t going full bore on some form of expansion. For example, the school’s latest construction project currently had dozens of workers crawling over its burgeoning edifice like ants.

  “Here,” Joseph pointed to a small picnic table close to the edge of a flattened worksite. Just beyond, previously dormant pieces of construction equipment were being resuscitated very loudly back to life. “This will do nicely.”

  All around him, massive diesel engines made horrible, guttural sounds as steel buckets tore into the frozen ground. Saunders couldn’t help but shudder each time the machines shifted into another gear.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little loud?” He pulled his coat tightly around his neck for warmth, “and a little cold?”

  “No,” Joseph stared at the construction site with a look of reverent appreciation. Then, he contently smiled while unwrapping a shabby looking homemade sandwich. He took a large bite, then said. “It’s comforting.”

  “Comforting?” The noise coming off the machine rattled his teeth with each lumbering maneuver, but Saunders decided to bite. “Why is that?”

  “Why?” Joseph never stopped chewing. “People working, building, functioning as a harmonious group to attain a goal. I find those things to be very comforting.”

  A large dump truck full of gravel careened onto the job site, and the driver easily navigated the huge machine near one of the low spots. Instantly, workers rushed in from all sides to help guide him back without saying a word. “To see that take shape,” Joseph sighed contentedly. “Is nothing short of magnificent.”

  Saunders checked his phone for any recent messages from Justine. Sadly, there was nothing new since this morning. That meant all he could do was watch the deputy attack his lunch like a hungry piranha. “Why are you eating your lunch so fast? Don’t you want to savor your sandwich?”

  “Why would I want to savor something that will soon be gone?”

  “Point taken. I guess.” Saunders watched a welder start tacking a girder in place near one of the upper floors. This time, Joseph sighed like a schoolgirl in love. “Did you used to be in construction?”

  “A long time ago.” Joseph took a swig from a can of coke which had been hiding inside of his jacket. “I miss it, though. These days people have little interest in making a difference, Agent Saunders. At least in anyone’s lives but their own. Isn’t that strange? There’s no drive, no goal other than buying their next big-screen television.” He pointed to somewhere over his shoulder. “Take that student volunteer. She would gladly cash a check for sitting on her ass all day long.”

  “That’s how people are. You give them an inch, and they will always try to take a mile.” Saunders saw something green dribble out of Joseph’s sandwich, and he was happy that he had already eaten lunch before beginning this little odyssey. “It’s just human nature.”

  Joseph laughed derisively. “That’s why humans, as a species, will ultimately perish.”

  “Really…” Saunders hadn’t expected a philosophical debate from such an aggravating slob. But something in the deputy’s voice compelled him to listen. “Is it because we’re too lazy to help ourselves?”

  “No,” he laughed. “As a species, that’s the only thing we’re really good at doing. No, the reason is humans are just too smart for their own good. We think all this knowledge will help us beat the truth.”

  “The truth?” Saunders asked, wondering how much longer this massaging of the locals would take. “What truth?”

  Joseph polished off the last bit of his sandwich, finished the rest of his drink in one long gulp, then tossed the useless vestiges of his hurried meal into a nearby trashcan. He stood up, took a long, last dreamy look at the hustle and bustle of faceless workers then turned back to a weary Saunders.

  “That life is more than a series of fleeting experiences.” His face was almost crestfallen. “It’s about the permanent things you leave behind… finished and unfinished.”