by Nova Rain
My refuge. The place I felt welcome in, whenever things in life didn’t go my way.
The next three days showed me that this wasn’t the case anymore. Coding, fixing known or unknown glitches just didn’t move me. I would go to my office, turn on the computers and catch myself staring at the start page of my software. A wide, white frame, taking up half the screen, along with the picture of a cherry-colored desk in the upper right corner. My mind kept roaming back to that fateful night in at the Ritz-Carlton.
My entrance. Eye contact with that angelic creature called Rosanna Harrison. Those tiny little seas effectively kicked out the businessman and put the man in his stead. A guy so desperate for that gorgeous blonde, who would do just about anything to conquer her. That grand piano was my instrument of seduction, or so I thought. She didn’t budge, but she had managed to sneak into my brain. After that, it was just a matter of patience. I just had to play my cards right.
Going home didn’t make me feel any better. Looking at my kitchen table, I recalled that sumptuous figure lying there, with me on top of her. Most of all though, the entire house had been imbued with her sweet scent. And it was this that tortured me more than anything else. I could block out any sexual thoughts. I couldn’t stop breathing, and the air in my home was still carrying that wonderful, feminine scent. Standing in her favorite spot behind the glass façade, I would look out at the same view that used to mesmerize her. The pain was tearing me apart, bringing me to my knees, tears pouring out of my eyes. In those hours, a single thought haunted my mind.
This is what you get for trying to be helpful.
Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to get her a job. Perhaps the best way to proceed with her was to sit back and do nothing. Besides, she didn’t seem unhappy with her life. She did look drained and under pressure, but this wasn’t new to her. She could handle it. Still, the kind spirit within me could not be at peace with her lifestyle. It was a shame for a biologist to be stuck between two jobs below her standards.
Wednesday dawned over a snowy New York, beckoning me to stay put and watch the snowfall. However, sitting idle in my apartment wasn’t an option. I would just do the same things I used to do at night and shed some more tears for Rosanna. So, I got dressed and left for work. At least there I could find something with which to distract myself.
Striding across the lobby, the building layout board on the wall suggested my first destination. With everything that had happened between me and Rosanna, I had forgotten all about David Evans and the task I had given him. Straightaway, I realized that the head of my IT department wasn’t as good as I thought he was. It had been five days since my request, and he had failed to come up with anything useful. David hadn’t just met his match. He had been facing someone better than him.
Upon reaching the 28th floor, I headed straight for the IT room, anger starting to build up inside. Evans used to make forty percent more than his colleagues, but that money wasn’t well-spent. If he couldn’t do his job, I would find someone else who could. But, I had yet to clear the entryway, when I saw him exit the hall in haste. Hurrying in my direction, he had focused on a piece of paper while he scratched the back of his head.
“Where are you going in such a hurry, Evans?” I assumed a businesslike tone, slowing my pace.
“Sir!” He spoke out loud and then looked back, before returning his attention to me. “I was actually coming to find you. I’d been trying to track that cell number, but the encryption was unlike anything I’d ever encountered. It all changed this morning, though. I thought I was going to fail again, but out of the blue, that rotten encryption wasn’t there anymore. You’re not going to believe this. Its signal is coming from the 35th floor. I was just checking to see what’s up there.” He said, flipping the piece of paper around.
I stopped listening after he uttered the words “35th floor.” Just like mine, it was reserved for one person and his PA. Sam Rockwell and Gina Baines. Shockwaves coursed through my system, stripping me of the ability and the will to speak. What could I say? What should I say about my right-hand man, my publicist, someone I considered my best friend? That he had betrayed me in the worst possible way?
“Sir?” Evans waved his hand inches from my eyes. “Are you still with me?”
“Sammy, you son of a bitch…” I growled, gazing down at the blueprint David had been reading. “Come with me.”
I spun around, my blood burning in my veins. I glanced at the elevator, the notion of using it not even entering my mind. Spurred on by this wretched act of betrayal, I hurtled over to the stairs. I could feel every muscle in my body flexing with each stride. I climbed over three or even four steps at a time, aching with the desire to punish Sam first, before the police got their hands on him. They could have what was left of him. Now, he was going to deal with me, the guy he had been playing all along.
Predictably, the 35th floor was empty. I could hear the faint sound of typing as I got closer to his office. Running past his secretary, I gripped the handle and stormed in.
“Sir!” Gina shouted as I scanned the interior. A desk, an executive chair, and a computer were all that filled my line of sight. No Sam. In fact, the absence of any papers on his desk indicated that he hadn’t been there all morning.
“Where the fuck is he?” I grumbled, moving towards the desk.
“Mr. Fullerton, Mr. Rockwell called in sick about an hour ago.” Gina informed me, joining me and David.
“Sick my ass,” I groaned, pulling the bottom drawer open. A cell phone in a plastic wrapper bumped into the wooden surface, bringing my search to an end. “Evans, you said you tracked this thing this morning, right?”
“Yes.”
“Sammy’s a smart guy. He wanted me to find the phone. Which means he knew I was looking for it. He had to have inside help,” I concluded, easing up the plastic wrap.
“I think I know who it is,” Gina interjected. “Mr. Dawson from IT came up here yesterday afternoon, looking for Mr. Rockwell, because—and I quote—he had a package for him. He wouldn’t tell me what it was. He just said that it was for Mr. Rockwell’s eyes only, and he’d be very upset if Dawson showed it to me.”
“Dawson called in sick this morning, too.” Evans informed me, an expression of disgust written across his face.
I parted my lips, eager to instruct David what to do, but before I could do so, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from Sam.
“Hey, Chris,” A somewhat thin voice was on the other end of the line, one that didn’t resemble Sam’s baritone. “Say ‘hi’ to the camera.”
“What camera?!” I yelled, sweeping the wall across from me.
“On the bottom edge of the computer screen.”
He wasn’t lying. There was a tiny, black device on the screen on my right, not thicker than my pinky nail. A red beam flashed within it, telling me that it was active.
“Who the hell are you? Where’s Sam?” I asked, tension speeding up my tone.
“We’re having a little chat at his place. You’re welcome to join us if you like. Oh, I should probably tell you that if you don’t, your hotshot publicist will be dead within the hour. Call the cops and I’ll slit his throat.”
“Fuck!” I barked out, cocking my head in a spasm of rage. I had no time to waste. I burst off past the desk, at the same time wondering who that voice belonged to. It did sound familiar. I was sure I had heard it before. During moments like these, I wished I had a photographic memory. I wished it was triggered by certain traits like looks and voices. If I did, I would have called that sick bastard on the night I beat the crap out of Tanner. I would have found out his identity, and he would be in jail.
My silver Porsche roared through the streets of New York, heading for Sam’s house in SoHo. Oh, Sam… I had misjudged you. I was ready to knock your head off, because I thought you had stabbed me in the back. The evidence against you was overwhelming, or so it seemed. Little had I known that you were a victim in this situation. There wasn’t much you could have done to
protect yourself, let alone me. To make matters worse, that psycho’s last words had tied my hands. If he as much as smelled a cop, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you. No. Using the police was out of the question.
The front end of my car missed the rear bumper of a white Mercedes by a hair as I turned right and into Sam’s neighborhood. Nearing my destination, I checked both sides of the road for any vehicles I couldn’t recognize. It didn’t take me long to find one. There was a red pickup across from my friend’s residence. Tires skidding along the wet road, I brought my car to an abrupt halt. I jumped out and ran past the elm tree on the curb, my gaze traveling from the kitchen window to the living room window and vice versa. Both of them were dark. I hopped up the three steps that led to the front door, my chest rising and falling. The door clicked open, right before a large hand crept through the narrow gap.
“Get your ass in here,” the same, thin voice commanded, gripping the collar of my coat. My ears picked up the sound of a key turning in a lock.
“Who…?”
“Move!” He commanded once more, pressing the cold barrel of a gun against the back of my neck. My heart was jumping in my throat, adrenaline messing with my head. Boy, would I love to knock that weapon off and pounce on him. Once he led me to the living room though, any impulses were silenced. Sam and Paul Dawson were tied to chairs, next to one another.
“Shit…” Sam whispered, dragging his gaze away from me. “You shouldn’t have come here, man.”
“Get over there,” the stranger ordered, pushing me forward. Stopping between those two, I turned around. I was right… The man I was looking at was no stranger to me. That stocky build, his 6’3” height and that very short, black hair belonged to someone I met many years ago. Kyle Rockwell, Sam’s older brother…
“Kyle?” I squinted at him. “What the hell is this, man?”
“I’d watch my tone if I were you,” Sam advised, his voice a bit louder.
“Shut up! Both of you!” Kyle shouted, pointing his gun at me first and then his brother. “I’ll tell you, Chris. There’s no point hiding it now. I’d had enough of my piece-of-shit brother. Some of us had to go to Iraq to protect this country. He had it easy. He stuck with his buddy, and he made a fortune. I couldn’t have that.”
“Whoa, hold on a second,” I requested, raising my hand to chest height. “The military man, the decorated marine, has a grudge against his flesh and blood because he’s successful?”
I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say; yet, his reaction to my question was a growl and a punch into the wall on his left.
“He’s suffering from PTSD, Chris,” Sam assumed a low voice, not taking his eyes off Kyle. “He’s not been the same since he retired from the Corps. I found him in my bedroom yesterday, trying to plant that phone. We wrestled around; he overpowered me. Then, he called the genius here. Dawson came over and took the phone to plant it in my office, so you could find it and accuse me for everything.”
“You paid Tanner to kill that girl,” I concluded, my tone deepening. “Why? Because you wanted to frame Sam for her murder? You wanted to put your own brother in prison?”
“Oh, no,” Kyle smirked, shaking his head sideways. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s this great app, called ‘Lurker watch.’ I used that to find anyone who’d been visiting your online media profiles. Ms. Dixon used to visit them more than fifteen times a day. Each. She was obsessed with you. So, I paid Tanner to date her. Once she’d quit her creepy habit, I told him to take her out. He would later commit suicide.” He drew quotation marks in the air. “I had the same plan for Sammy. He’d slit his wrists out of guilt for betraying you. Of course, he’d explain everything in his suicide letter. Then, his broken buddy would hire me as his publicist. That’s why I killed that Rosenstein piece of shit. I didn’t want him to expose my future employer’s dirty laundry.”
“What the fuck makes you think I’d hire you?” I growled, the urge of pouncing on him returning with a vengeance.
“Oh, you would, boy,” Kyle stated, his eyes widening as he cocked his gun. “Because if you wouldn’t, I’d make sure your hot little waitress took her own life, too.”
A loud thump from outside, followed by the sound of metal smashing into a hard surface drew his attention. Sam’s brother sped off to the left, settling his gaze on the window.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Sam whispered. “You’re big, but he’s trained in hand-to-hand combat. He’ll…”
My friend didn’t have time to complete this phrase. A bullet crackled through the air, penetrating the window. In a split second, Kyle’s body was swaying backwards. The back of his head smashed into the small coffee table, flipping it over. My stomach twisted into knots as I noticed the entry hole of the bullet in the middle of his forehead. I shifted my gaze down to Sam. Lips parted, he stared at his dead brother, his breath coming out faster. I had every intention of comforting him, but first, I needed to check where that gunshot had come from.
The banging noise of the door being kick in prevented me from moving a muscle. Numerous footsteps were heard, indicating who had saved our skins.
“Clear!” A deep voice called out. Seconds afterwards, Detective Richards and two of his men walked into the living room, guns in their grasps.
“Are you boys alright?” He asked, one of the officers checking Kyle for a pulse.
“Yeah,” I gasped. “How did you know about this?”
“You all got lucky.” Richards claimed, shoving his gun back into its holster. “After I brought you in the other day, I had my men patrol your neighborhood and Rockwell’s. They spotted the red Transit outside and ran its plates through the system. It was reported stolen, two days ago.”
“He’s gone,” the officer announced, looking up at his boss, my gaze on Sam.
“I’m really sorry, man,” I spoke in a mellow tone, bending towards him.
“Don’t be,” he requested, his eyes looking into the void. “The last time I saw my brother was the night before he left for Iraq. The guy that came back wasn’t my brother. He was someone else. He was…” Sam paused, “Something else.”
“Dawson, you little prick,” I growled, clenching my fists. “You’d been helping that maniac all along.”
“He threatened to kill my family!” He cried out as the cops released him from his bounds. “He’d kill my wife and daughter!”
“Save that for later,” Richards urged, helping Sam up. “I’m sorry for your loss, Rockwell. I know you’re hurting right now, but I’m going to need a statement.”
“We’ll be right behind you,” I assured the detective, patting my friend on the wrist. I led him away from the sight of his dead brother and out of his house, knowing in my heart that whatever I did wouldn’t heal that wound. I could be with him twenty-four seven, cracking jokes, talking about his favorite pastimes—women and cars—and all I could do would be to provide temporary distractions. I wasn’t a wizard; I couldn’t erase that memory. I was just a man, unable to delete the scene that would follow him for the rest of his life.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chris
Luckily for me and Sam, what I believed would last until nightfall, took less than two hours. Detective Richards and his partner took our statements and sent us both on our way.
Leaving the police station, my initial thought was to drive my friend to a hotel. He used to love those, because he liked to flirt with women in the bar. Nevertheless, this hadn’t been a typical day in Sam’s life. His brother had been gunned down right in front of him. He probably wouldn’t get out of the room. What he was likely to do was order a few bottles of alcohol and drink himself to sleep. And it was that scenario that helped me decide to take him to my apartment. If I let him spend the night in a hotel room, there was a good chance he would wind up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. It sounded somewhat extreme, but I couldn’t take any chances. Sam was traumatized. He was bound to take out his frustration on something.
S
ure enough, once we were in my apartment, he did. Surprise of surprises, alcohol was his victim. I ordered takeout and joined him. He did most of the talking, narrating stories about his brother. Being a good friend, I didn’t interrupt him. Naturally, drinking four bottles of wine and a bottle of whiskey wasn’t my cup of tea. To me though, this was an ideal way to keep him in check. I could see what he was drinking and make sure that he was fed in order to push away the extreme scenario of alcohol poisoning. By 2:30am, he had dozed off on my couch. I left him a bowl on the table in case he needed to throw up and went up to my bedroom.
In the morning, I woke up with a bleeding heart and a throbbing headache. I had more to deal with than just the pain of my breakup with Rosanna. A friend needed my help to get back on his feet. On top of all this, I had to focus my energy on my company as well. I had neglected it. Without a doubt, my personal life had affected it. I hadn’t seen those repercussions yet, but it was only a matter of time before I did.
I strolled down the stairs, wondering if that bowl I’d left for Sam had been enough. All the same, the view of my living room sent waves of tension washing over me. Three empty bottles of wine were on the table. Another one was lying under it, while the whiskey bottle lay next to my armchair. The bowl was right where I’d left it. Sam, on the other hand, was not. Behind the empty bottles, I located a piece of paper.
“Dear Chris,
Thanks a lot for tonight. I really needed to vent. Who better than my best friend for that, right?
The first thing you should know is that this isn’t the alcohol talking. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.
I failed you, man. Three times. As a publicist and a friend, I screwed up. Big time. When you started dating Rosanna, I offered her a hundred grand to break up with you. She turned it down. I didn’t tell you, because you’d get mad at me.
You should also know that I’d found another pharmaceutical company ready to start a new research project. This one’s called “Cura Med.” They’re based in Brooklyn. They’ve leased an entire tower in the downtown area, they’d have no problem hiring your ex, and their project is similar to Phoenix Pharma’s. I kept my mouth shut about this, because I wanted to ruin your relationship with Rosanna. I believed you wouldn’t last if she moved to Vermont. I also thought “Once a stripper? Always a stripper.” That’s what the press would say anyway.