The receptionist smiled when she read her boss's email. Walter wanted her to bring him a box of colored paperclips from the supply room. Typical. Ever since he’d become a grandfather, he’d been inventing excuses to get her into his office to watch the videos of his grandbabies.

She almost didn’t bother stopping in the supply room. She’d worked for Walter long enough to get away with ignoring him. Still, there was an outside chance that he actually wanted the paperclips, so she forwarded the phones and admired the view from the 48thfloor as she walked toward the closet.

From this high, the city streets seemed distant and safe, despite the subway bomber. The receptionist knew that cable news was hyperventilating and people were terrified … and thrilling to a danger that would never threaten them personally.

She smiled indulgently and reached for the supply closet knob--then paused. She’d stepped in something wet. A dark liquid soaked into the carpet, like someone had spilled a full pot of coffee. Except that didn’t smell like coffee.

The receptionist wrinkled her nose and opened the door and Walter pulled her inside, swinging the fire axe.

Walter stepped from the supply closet.

Behind him, the flames caught in the heap of crumpled paper that covered the bodies. Seven of them. There wasn't room for any more, so he stopped at seven.

Smoke billowed into the hallway and he pulled the fire alarm. He stepped into the executive washroom to scrub his hands, and noticed the blood-splatter on his neck. Dozens of freckles, and a few smears. A voice from the intercom confirmed the fire and asked people to evacuate via the ‘fire tower’ stairwell.

Walter wetted a towel and dabbed at the blood.

In the hallway, two of the partners bustled past. One of them spoke to him, but he didn't bother trying to decypher the words. Words didn't matter, not since PJ explained everything.

Walter stepped into his office and removed his stained suit jacket, which bunched uncomfortably around the vest. He pulled a trenchcoat from the closet and buttoned the top and bottom, but kept the middle open, for access to the trigger.

Downstairs, he crossed to the plaza where employees were told to assemble. A pretty, plump girl adjusted the strap of her shoe. A scruffy guy helped a tourist couple decipher their map. An IP attorney he knew barked questions into his bluetooth over the sound of sirens.

The pedestrian traffic ebbed and flowed and gathered.

When the crowd thickened, Walter detonated the bomb and ripped the day into a thousand bloody pieces.