New York, 1984

Off the coast of Long Island (closer to Queens), a nice, well to do, apartment building was quaintly shoved into the city between several other buildings. From the small living room, the entire city was spread out before you from the windowsill, and a long street jutted out beneath it.

Workers hustled and bustled to their respected jobs closer inland on Wall Street, and Henry Dogwood (Henry who used to live in Italy and own a large estate there) faked his death every eighty or so years and changed his name.

Early one June morning, Henry walked to his job in editorials alongside the Wall Street workers on his way to meet his new boss. (He wasn't burned by the sun due to the doctor's treatment of his condition). He worked as an analyst for a relatively small company, and the person he usually reports to left last night.

He hoped it wasn't some young fellow that had enough spunk to turn this company around, for if he was, Henry would be in for a real treat.

He sighed as he entered the building and got into the elevator. It had taken quite a skill to evade the government. Most of the time, Henry took a person's place in life that he killed, stealing their information, SSN, birth certificates, house, etcetera and then legally changed his name back to Henry.

It had been eight years since he took up this person's life from New York, earning a job as an editor after several years of schooling under that person he killed, let's name him John Doe, or, rather John Dogwood since that was the surname he had taken up, who apparently went to Berkeley. How'd he end up on the east coast? No one would ever know.

On the seventieth floor, people who worked in grey cubicles, who wore grey clothing, and worked with grey paper, hummed away at their grey and faded desks. Henry, with his office, smiled unperturbedly, but still giddy with pleasure until...He saw the very man he'd thought he'd never see again.

He stood there in a nice suit and tie and in a deep and troubling conversation with Angela. It was his fluffy blonde hair and small stature that gave him away, or rather, just who he was gave him away.

Henry froze in place, feeling his heart pick up with fear and temptation as he watched his new boss walk up to him confidently.

"Hello, you must be Henry," they shook hands; Henry took note of the man's firm handshake, "I'm Earl Edward Jones." So imposing, so, sophisticated, so, so not like the Edward he once knew.

"Yes. Yes, I am," Henry was still left in a daze, seeing a ghost from his past. "What! Where are you from? How'd you end up here?"

Edward smiled, "I'm afraid that's a long story, but we could discuss it over lunch sometime...maybe." He patted Henry's shoulder which sent a zapping sensation down his spine.

"I would like to start you off on a project of mine:" Edward pulled out today's newspaper, "You see this company? This company is going IPO in three days, and I would like you to look into it for me. Nothing much but understand that it's just a side project." He smiled.

Damn, why is my heart racing? Henry reached to his chest feeling nothing at all. What was that feeling if my heart isn't even beating?

"Don't get too bogged down in the details, or do, I don't care what you do with your time, just write me a story is all I care about..."

Edward droned on about the new company he was looking into, and all that he's found so far on it, but all Henry could think about was if Edward remembered him and the night they spent together under the bridge.

He talked to Henry as if they were old buddies, but he supposed that was just a feeling and not an actual memory. Then again, Edward would not have introduced himself if he didn't already know him.

Henry had never seen reincarnation before, well, only once before, but not as developed as this: this was a direct copy-paste.

"You got all that?" Edward raised his eyebrows.

Henry nodded, taking the newspaper from Edward and putting it under his arm.

"I think I can manage." As someone who's lived for a long time and with a lot of experience, Henry didn't need to pay so close attention to understand everything. Yet, his confidence had plummeted ever since he lost over half his equity.

Despite being the eighties, Henry had invested more than half of his worth into a couple companies, but those companies were tied together in some scandal, plummeting their stocks.

After reading the news, Henry rushed to the open window where around ten of his coworkers had managed to pull him from the ledge.

"It wouldn't matter anyways!" Henry called out after, "Jumping wouldn't do a damn thing." Everyone agreed that it wasn't the answer, but they failed to realize that Henry meant that jumping couldn't kill him.

"I'll have a rough draft to you by the end of the day, sir." He turned to his office, feeling Edward's eyes on the back of his head. They burned hotter than the sun without his sunblock. Turning back, Henry watched as Edward, with elegance and poise of a rich and well to do man, strut down the expansive hallway to his roomy office.

Henry sat down heavy in his chair, powering up his IBM computer. It flickered to life; the cursor blinking with a steady motion.

Angela knocked on the open doorframe, "Henry? Earl wants to see you in his office."

Well, that was fast, Henry thought. Why would he want to see me again? 

On his walk over, Henry passed a woman carrying a box of her things, crying. "I hope you're happy about your new job, Henry! Now I'll never get married!" His old boss' assistant ran away crying.

Henry said nothing.

The hallway led to a room where an empty desk for his receptionist silently stood and a door that ached and called for Henry.

It was silent compared to the buzz of writers sweating over their pieces in the main office, and Henry admired it.

Edward's office was a large room with big windows overlooking Wall Street. He had a large bookcase stacked with various papers, books, snow globes, and other fanciful nick-knacks.

"Wow!" Henry marveled, "I see you're already unpacked."

"Yes, well. . ." Edward motioned for Henry to stand with him by the window. He lit a butt and took a long and thought provoking drag. Before he began again, he blew smoke on the window, "Early bird gets the worm, you know."

"Mm...I see." Henry raised his eyebrows in a sardonic manner, pinning his nose against the window.

Edward held back a smile, "You and I are going to get along very well." He jabbed his knuckle that held his cigarette into Henry's shoulder. "I want you to be my senior editor. I want you to update me with everything and anything you find twenty-four-seven." He stepped back, facing Henry and became more animated. "I want you to indulge me in the ins and outs of your field."

Edward bent at the hips, leaning into Henry's face. He got real soft, "I want you to make me your editor."

Woah, Henry thought. He felt the warm sultry breath of Edward on his cheek. "If that's the case, then why didn't you become one?" He muttered, twitching his nose.

"Because I'm head of editorials. Don't you understand, Henry? We could bring this newspaper back from the grave!"

There it was. There was the spunk Henry was dreading. Henry tilted his head away, briefly and unwillingly escaping Edward's imposing smile.   

"What about Todd? The current senior editor?" Henry rubbed his face to hide him blushing.

"That's the brilliant part, he'll be moved!" Edward smiled.

Henry took a step back. "Sorry," He saw the disappointment shatter Edward, "I can't take it knowing that people will be fired for that position."

"But he won't be. In a few months he's moving anyways. So what's the difference between now and later?"

Henry, with a stiff neck, shook his head. He couldn't, not even if Edward begged on his hands and knees—wait—he blushed, feeling his face get even hotter—the sight popped into his mind.

"Okay." Edward turned, taking in the answer, "I see. But if you ever change your mind, the promotion will still be on the table."

"Yes, thank you." Edward took another drag, looking Henry up and down. He began to feel self-conscious. "May I go now? I'll get you that report by the end of the day, and if I'm to do so, I should get to work—"

"Yes, yes!"  Edward waved. He stuck his cigarette back in his mouth before picking up the newspaper. "See to it that you do."