A story written for Aim to Engage 2022 - flashfic prompt - hosted by @Ambassadors

"I told you, I can't. We're in the middle of a move. Here, I've got to go. Bye." My eyes widen as I attempt to balance the tray of coffee from the local cafe.

I lick my lips while rushing up a flight of stairs, almost knocking clear into the pane of glass separating the break room from the office cubicles like a damned bird. I brush my hair away from my face, taking a deep breath.

"Late!" Fred exclaims like an umpire. What else would I expect from my boss? I just wish he had said "safe".

"Yep," I mutter. "Well?"

Fred continues his speech, not missing an opportunity to get a few jabs at me.

"It's like that new murderer on air," our HR head chimes in, receiving scornful looks from the majority.

"Exactly." Fred smiles, his features softening. "We're going to cut the cake on this new deal and watch TRF crumble in our rearview mirror. Be prepared. Break!"

In another hustle, I run to the copier, finally doing the work I should have done this morning. There's too little time. I hate time, work, and most recently, moving.

"I don't believe she follows that." I numbly nod at my co-worker.

"Hmm... what?"

"Helen, from HR. They haven't been caught yet. But it's fascinating."

Murder. Of course.

"You're always fascinated by murder." I snort, scooping up the copies.

"Oh, but this one leaves a cake, knife, and mirror at the scene. It's the tenth case. Interesting," She insists. I sigh. She knows I'm not into that. "And all these cases happen to women in their twenties."

"Well, all of this information was extremely valuable to my day," I sarcastically grumble.

"Absolutely." Her response is equally sarcastic.

I turn on my heels, leaving that conversation and starting another. I can't wait to get out.

With a long sigh, I fly down the stairs I ran up this morning, jogging to my bicycle. Going  through the street like a near maniac seems to come more naturally to me now. I think it's the only way I make it anywhere. Including my home, or soon to not be home.

Culter and boxes greet me in five-foot walls when I open the apartment door. I walk to the far back where our room is, only containing two sleeping bags now.

I freeze.

A cake sits in the middle of the floor. Along with a mirror and a slender knife wrapped in a bow.

Murder.

My first instinct is to run, but I can't seem to make my feet move.

"Surprise! Happy Birthday!"

My hand clasps over my heart, feeling it thump erratically in my chest.

I guess they didn't forget. I smile.