When Coleen had been younger, she didn’t get along with Rebecca at all. Not even when they took dance classes together at her mom’s school.
Rebecca soon found she had a natural ability for dance, and determined to use dance as a means to get as far away from her grandmother as possible, she excelled in her classes. Coleen, on the other hand, was more like her dad than her mom. She didn’t have much artistic ability. Not in dance, art, or music. Her talents were some place else.
Unfortunately, she never found her calling. She was popular in school, but not very gifted. Her poor grades made her want to quit school early. If it hadn’t been for her dad’s insistence, Coleen wouldn’t have finished High School. Fortunately for her, she was the daughter of the Chief of Police, and he would not tolerate having her only daughter quit what he considered a minimum requirement to success.
When Rebecca was forced to return from New York City, crushed and broke, Mrs. Anderson quickly took that opportunity to offer her a job at the dance studio. Coleen had already taken over the administrative responsibilities there when her mother singled out Rebecca as her quick way to early retirement. The girls had been only nineteen.
When Rebecca first joined the studio staff, Mrs. Anderson continued teaching three days a week. The next year she only taught two classes a week. By the third year Rebecca had been back in town, she was teaching every single class and her employer was happily at home. It was just as well; she was paid by the hour, and the more classes she taught the more money she made. It was a win-win situation for everybody.
“Hi, Becca,” Coleen’s wide smile showed she was genuinely glad to see her. “I have missed you!”
They held each other tight in front of the coffee shop where they had agreed to meet. Together, they walked inside, ordered a drink, and sat down in a small table by the window.
“How was your trip?” Rebecca quickly asked. She was glad to be able to talk to her best friend even if she resented her for not calling her sooner. Besides, she had a lot to tell her.
“It was amazing!” Coleen’s loud voice could no doubt be heard outside the shop. “I have never seen sand so white. We had a great time. Most of it was inside the hotel room, but that’s what a honey moon is about, isn’t it?”
“Sounds great,” Rebecca blushed, understanding what Coleen had meant. “Tell me everything. Day by day. Hour by hour.”
Coleen did. For over an hour it became a monologue of adventures on a beach in Mexico. Rebecca laughed accordingly, asking the right questions to learn more. All the time, Dylan was on the back of her mind. It was great that her friend had had a great time, but she had had an interesting time, too, and for about a month she hadn’t been able to tell a soul.
Sure, people talked about the man who drove all the way from God knew where to be with Rebecca. They even predicted which of the seven restaurants in town they would visit next. When dance school started, she saw the girls from the teen classes whispering to each other while glancing her way. The adult class had been the worst. The ladies who came to her class twice each week had pestered her with questions the first day of class. Rebecca had acted bashful and had done her best to let them know they should mind their own business. She had used more delicate words, of course, until the women had understood she would reveal little or meant to remain ambiguous. After all, she had only known Dylan a month, and she didn’t know him well enough to say much about anything.
“And what have you been up to?” Coleen asked curiously. “I’ve heard some rumors.”
With a wink Coleen told her she had known about Dylan all along.
“Well, his name is Dylan Torrence, and I met him at your wedding.”
It was evident this had surprised Coleen. “My wedding? What do you mean? I don’t know anyone with that last name. “Tar-, Ter-, what was it?”
“Torrence.”
“Never heard of him.”
“I’d never seen him either, but it turns out he knows your dad.”
“My dad?” Her surprise could only mean the town had been unsuccessful in getting much information about him. “Even if he was there, I wrote all invitations by hand. I would have remembered someone with that last name.”
“Torrence.”
“Yes, that,” Coleen pointed with her long fingernail. “I don’t know, Becca.”
Coleen’s tone made her worry, but she had seen Mr. Anderson talking to him with her own eyes. Dylan wasn’t just any stranger, he was a Federal agent who knew the town’s Chief of Police.
“I swear your dad introduced us,” Rebecca said sternly. “He’s not a cop, he’s a Federal agent.”
“As in, the F.B.I.?”
“Yep, the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“I know what F.B.I. means.” Rebecca hadn’t meant it like that. Coleen said, “So, how old is he?”
Rebecca froze. She had no idea. “I-I haven’t asked him.”
“What? So, like, is he like thirty, forty?”
“No, no. He looks younger than that.”
“Younger?”
“Like we are, you know?” Rebecca shrugged. “Regardless, he’s very nice. And he likes me. I have never known anyone like him. Some of the things he says are a little weird, but he says he rarely speaks to anyone, which is why he’s rusty.”
Coleen snorted. “No one gets rusty of talking.”
Rebecca’s smile faded. She could see Bob’s influence already affecting her. Coleen knew Rebecca wasn’t a people person, either. She knew how awkward she was with others, like her friends from school. If anyone was rusty, it was her.
“Well, I like him. A lot. I count the days to when I get to see him again.”
Covering her mouth with her hand, Coleen became interested again. “Oh, don’t tell me you are falling for this guy.”
Rebecca tried to hide a smile. No, she wasn’t falling for him. Or, was she? She liked him. A lot. She felt butterflies in her stomach whenever she thought of him. She felt them whenever she remembered every conversation they’ve had, and she counted the hours until she got to talk to him again.
“Oh, my goodness,” Coleen blurted out, “you love him.”
Waving a hand in front of her, Rebecca dismissed the suggestion. “I doubt it. I’ve known him for, what, five weeks?”
“I don’t knooow,” Coleen chanted.
“It’s five weeks, Coleen. I think I need to know more about him before I can decide if I love him.”
“Love knows no time, Becca. Love knows no time.”
The elevator door opened and Rebecca followed Dylan inside. In the back of her mind, she thought she heard Dylan say a number, which ordered the elevator door to close in front of them. She should have paid more attention. The elevator moved, every sound and motion it made felt slightly different, not enough to create a real change, but still present. It was hard to describe what she felt. It was hard to describe what she could see and hear. It was like everything around her was starting to look in high definition and be heard in surround sound. Things were changing around her; if she was still, she could sense the air moving, the light diffracting, and the sound waves traveling. It was all very new, barely noticeable. Her senses would improve in the following days, making the differences broader.
His voice startled her because, even though it was familiar, sounded foreign. “This is our underground complex. Our haven,” Dylan was saying. “Humans aren’t allowed to use this elevator at all. This is only for us.”
With a sense of the forbidden, Rebecca tried to control the mixture of feelings inside her. There was a small chance she was dreaming it all, although everything looked too crisp for a dream.
When she had decided to stop being human, she had spent six months getting ready to become a different species; learning all about a new existence.
Rebecca said, “When you say humans, I feel like it’s still me. But, I’m not one of them… not anymore. I’m just like you now, aren’t I?”
Watching him suppress a smile, she yearne
d for a quick and straight answer. Dylan had told her he would be transparent once she became part of his world. He promised to stop all the mystery; at least when they were alone. He had also promised her to answer any question she had as long as he knew the answer. “You’re almost like me. I guess technically you are still a civilian. My hope is you’ll become an agent, soon,” he told her.
“Can I still be here? If I’m not an agent?“
She stopped when he turned to look at her, “You’ll still have to sign a contract to get clearance for a lot of things, but all you need to enter the complex is to be a vampire.”
Right. She knew about the rules and procedures that came with the job she had accepted to perform. “I still feel a lot like I’m human.”
“You are human enough,” Dylan stated.
“I still feel like myself,” she said, gladly.
The elevator doors opened presenting the fifteen floors of the complex waiting for her exploration. Taking a step out of the elevator, she realized she was now inside a lighted and metallic rectangular prism that descended into the ground below them. Carefully, she walked forward until she was leaning on the cold handrail. From where she stood, she could see the grandeur of the place she would call home, finding it exceeded her expectations. “This is… amazing!” she gasped.
“Welcome to N.A.V.S.A.”
“All this time and I still don’t know what you do for the FBI,” Rebecca protested as she pretended to look at the entrees on the menu.
The good-looking man sitting across from her practically ignored her as he himself browsed his options with interest. When the waiter approached their table Rebecca frowned in disapproval; the interruption wasn’t welcome.
“Are you ready to order?” the old man with a few black hairs keeping him from being bald, asked.
“Uhm, yes,” Dylan began. “I just have one question.”
“Yes, sir?”
“The Puttanesca that you have, is it made with real tomatoes?”
“Uhm… I could check with the kitchen, but I’m pretty sure the sauce is made from a can, unfortunately.” Rebecca noticed the man shift his weight. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Dylan pursed his lips, after a moment he began to shake his head slightly. “All right. I’ll assume everything is from a can, then?”
“Well, no.” The waiter cleared his throat, “If I remember correctly the only sauce we make with real tomatoes is the one we use for the Lasagna; it’s the chef’s specialty,” explained the man.
“Wonderful,” Rebecca’s date said immediately. “I’ll have an order of that and an order or your Oglio and the, uhm…,” his finger went down the menu as he searched for the right dish, “and the Lucia’s Special.”
Both the waiter and Rebecca turned to look at Dylan with interest after exchanging a quick look. It didn’t take him long to notice he was being watched in such a way as to make him doubt his behavior.
“Is that… too much?” Dylan asked both spectators, sounding unsure.
“Well, the dishes are well served, sir, almost enough for two,” the waiter informed.
“Ah, well… In that case,” clearing his throat, Dylan frowned turning to look at Rebecca for approval. “I’ll just have the, uhm, Lasagna, then. Thank you.”
Finally closing the menu, Dylan handed it over to the waiter without hesitation.
“And, for you, Ms. Sawyer?” the waiter turned to Rebecca pleasantly, knowing it should have been her who ordered first.
“I’ll have the Ziti, Mr. Voleri. Thank you.”
The waiter left them alone at last. Rebecca watched as Dylan took his napkin to place it on his lap.
“I apologize. I promise I will only ask for just one plate from now on,” he told her. “If it makes any sense at all, I have rediscovered the delights of food. It's no excuse, but it's an explanation.”
Narrowing her eyes with interest and noticing her date didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, Rebecca asked, “You were really going to eat all of that, weren’t you?”
It was clear Dylan was feeling uncomfortable – and with reason, “I don’t eat out much and this town has excellent cuisine.”
That had sounded like a big fat lie which she let slide.
“Well, don’t stop on my account. If you’re that hungry…”
“No. It’s all right,” Dylan pursed his lips again. “I don’t want to draw any more attention than I already have. I need to keep a low profile.”
Her own snorting caught Rebecca by surprise; she covered her mouth and tried to stop herself. “I think it’s too late for that.” Dylan frowned, not understanding what she meant. “Well, all the women in my adult class can’t stop asking questions about you.” She paused to let Dylan consider this reality. “Everybody I know, even if I don’t know them well, stops me wherever I go asking for your name.”
“And you tell them?”
“Sure,” she shrugged. “Why? I shouldn’t?”
Dylan thought about his answer for a moment. “No. I guess I don’t mind,” he began. “I’m not used to being a public figure. I usually work where I’m not noticed or seen.”
Public figure? Maybe he was right, at least in her town. Not having forgotten her initial question, Rebecca thought it was the perfect cue to get her answers, “You still haven’t told me what it is that you do, Dylan? What is your job for the Bureau? Are you some kind of spy or something?”
Shifting in his chair, he said: “It’s a special branch, actually,” was his answer. “I’m not sure I want to talk about it.” Then he added, “I don’t think you should discuss it with your adult class, either.”
Rebecca nodded in understanding. She didn’t want to cross any boundaries she couldn’t go back from so early in their relationship. Instead she thought of the next best thing, “But, you have a gun, right?”
“I do,” his eyes went to his chest by reflex, making her wonder if he had his weapon with him as they were about to have dinner.
“Have you… killed anyone?”
“Uhm,” Dylan was nervous again, she could tell; it was not an appropriate question to have asked, either, but she had asked it anyway and she wanted to hear the answer. “I’d rather not talk about all of this in this very public place, if you don’t mind.”
That made sense. “All right, I get it.” That didn’t mean she planned on dropping the subject. “Then, you get assigned cases and then you solve crimes?”
Before answering, he looked around the restaurant as if he wanted to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. “Something like that. Listen, Becca,” Dylan began now, “I like you. I like you a lot. And I want to tell you what I do… in detail. I do. It’s just that this isn’t the best place to talk about it, and it’s too soon. I wouldn’t want to scare you away.”
“Scare me away?” Rebecca chuckled. “Why would you scare me away? That just made me want to know even more about you. Come on, what do you do?”
Taking a deep breath, her date was thoughtful for a moment. “I do a very different job than you might guess.”
“You’re an FBI agent. I know the kinds of things FBI agents do.”
“All right,” his shoulders relaxed immediately. “What is it that FBI agents do, according to you?”
“Well, you know. I’ve watched them on TV. I’ve read books with FBI agents in them. I have a general idea of what the job is about.”
Dylan couldn’t help but smile. “TV and books,” he echoed. “Do you believe everything you read and see on TV?”
“Well, not all of it.” Had she sounded stupid just then? He’d made her feel like a woman who had no mind of her own, except for what fiction and television said was the truth. Wonderful.
“What I do is still a little different from what you’d find in those TV shows and books,” Dylan said.
“All right, and what is that?”
“Well…” Dragging his words, Rebecca knew he wouldn’t talk about it. He’d said he wouldn’t, and he wasn't about to chan
ge his mind.
“Forget I said anything,” she shrugged. “Besides, you’re right, this is a very public place and nobody in here has any clearance.”
“It is, and they don’t,” agreed Dylan. “Just know I will tell you everything once I’m sure I can trust you.”
“Oh, you can trust me. I’m very trustworthy.” She hadn’t meant it as a joke, but soon they were both laughing.
“We’ve seen each other only for a few days, Becca,” Dylan stated once he could quiet his amusement.
“I know,” she bit her lower lip. She was serious. “I still want you to know that you can trust me. And I trust you. Maybe I shouldn't, but I do.”
The way he laughed quietly made her feel a little shaky and nervous, emotions she couldn’t control. Coleen was right, there was still something about Dylan she was starting to fall in love with. He was secretive and strange and mysterious, but there was something – something that didn’t quite make sense about him. But, what? It drove her insane she couldn’t figure it out.
It shouldn’t matter.
One thing she knew for sure was she had never met someone like him. He was different and different was good. Good for her. It was right then that she made the decision to stick with him for as long as she could. To know someone like him wasn’t something that came around often.
The arrival of dinner silenced their conversation again. They both waited until Mr. Voleri placed their hot plates in front of them and then they waited for him to bring back a second glass of red wine.
Just before starting on his lasagna, Dylan stared at Rebecca. “Do you enjoy your job? Do you like teaching dance classes?” he asked her.
“Sure. It’s all right.”
“But, I mean,” he elaborated, “if you could do whatever you wanted, would you want to do that? Is teaching what you enjoy the most in life?”
“That’s an interesting question,” Rebecca pondered without dwelling on its origin. “You know I was trying to become a professional ballet dancer and got hurt. So I guess the answer would be no. If I could do anything I wanted, I would be a professional ballerina.”
The Recruit Page 4