by Ava Kendrick
Julia’s apartment was tiny. Shoebox tiny. It was really just an L-shaped room with the bedroom part around the corner, separated from the rest by three ornate Japanese paper screens. It was absolutely fine for one person; not so much for two.
She shook her head. “Don’t be stupid, Cleo. Stay as long as you need. I want you to.”
It was great spending so much time with her, but I didn’t want to be a burden on my best friend. She’d already spent most lunch breaks and evenings visiting me in the hospital. As she stood up and went to shower in the tiny bathroom, I resolved to find a new apartment as soon as I could. I felt like a fool: Ben had insisted on us moving into the penthouse. He’d paid the rent in advance, but I’d paid what I could, including half of the security deposit.
As I’d cooked the night before, Julia had told me more about my living situation. It turned out that my landlord had refused to repay our deposit because of the damage to the apartment from the night of the attack. I had my paycheck from the week of the break-in. That was it. Julia had called the super of my old building—unsurprisingly, my cozy studio had already been let.
As Julia showered, I grabbed a pen and paper from the old trunk that served as a coffee table. On it, I started writing a list of things I needed to do. Number one was getting my ass to work. It wouldn’t be hard. Sure, people assumed I was a giant nerd when I told them I was an accountant, but the truth was, I loved the work. And it was interesting: I worked for a small accounting partnership. I got to work with a huge variety of clients in everything from small businesses to charitable foundations.
Julia opened the door and a blast of steam followed her out of the bathroom. I scribbled apartment and new cell phone beside numbers 2 and 3 and folded the list into my favorite purse to finish later, thankful that the thieves hadn’t touched most of my possessions. I’d had that purse since I first moved to the city—it meant a hell of a lot more to me than a laptop or cell phone.
I rubbed my head as I stood and shuffled to the bathroom. Now that the hangover had receded, I could feel the tenderness from where I’d been struck. The doctors had told me it would be tender until the staples came out, and they hadn’t been lying. I was due back into the hospital in a couple days to get them removed. I closed the door quickly as I felt tears spring to my eyes. I knew I should have felt lucky to be alive, but those thieves hadn’t just stolen my laptop. They’d taken my memory. My boyfriend. My apartment. They’d taken my life.
By the time I stepped off the train, I’d calmed myself down. Because there was no way I wanted my coworkers to see me like that. It was going to be enough of a shock for them to see me at all. Julia had tried to coax me into calling them and telling them I’d be back the week after, but I felt guilty. I reasoned that I’d rock up to the office, and if they’d arranged temporary cover I’d just go back to Julia’s and rest. I doubted that would be the case, though: it was the busiest time of the year for our business.
I walked along the platform in a swell of commuters. It was my first time out in public alone since the break-in. And even though I was surrounded by people, I still didn’t feel safe. None of these people knew me. None of them cared about me. What if something happened? Would anyone come to my rescue or would they just walk on by?
My breaths were shallow and fast; tears were forming in my eyes by the time I reached the steps to the street. I reached the top and grabbed on to the handrail, leaning against it as I tried to fight the feeling of panic that rose inside me. I barely registered the frustrated sighs as people fought their way around me in the morning rush. I was trapped in my head; my heart hammering as if it was working up to burst out of my body. I glanced around wildly. There was nowhere to sit to catch my breath and I was still five blocks from the office. I felt a whimper escape my lips. I clung on as tightly as I could to that railing, even though somewhere within me I knew I must have looked crazy. I didn’t care—the panic was stronger.
It wasn’t like I remembered the break in. That whole evening was a hazy blur. Not only that, but I struggled to even recall much from the weeks before it.
Fuck.
My vision was swimming now; my head throbbing. I looked around again, mouth dry. It had hit me from nowhere—I’d come out of my coma a full week ago. Why was I only just realizing the extent of my memory loss? The doctors had asked me how much I recalled. And I’d told them that it was only the attack I couldn’t remember. But it was much more than that. I frowned.
Someone bumped against me and muttered something. It was enough to jolt me back to reality. I was clinging to a handrail in a subway entrance with tears streaming down my face. I cleared my throat, embarrassed. I was also late for work. I dusted off my suit jacket and walked up the rest of the stairs, cheeks burning.
By the time the elevator doors opened on my floor, the feeling of panic had been replaced with excitement about getting back to work. I didn’t even care how nerdy that made me—my job was just about the only thing left in my life, and I intended to throw myself into it.
But when I rounded the corner to our section my heart started to race. There was something wrong. The atmosphere in the office was usually hectic. It was like a wall of silence fell over everyone as soon as they saw me. Not only that, but they all stared at me like I was something out of a horror movie.
I swallowed my apprehension as best I could and marched to Steve’s office, trying not to dwell on the strange reception.
Maybe they don’t know what to say to me after the attack.
They weren’t exactly the most sensitive bunch of guys on the planet, after all.
Before I even reached his corner office, Steve came out and took my elbow, leading me inside. I frowned at him, but I couldn’t get the words out.
My heart pounded as he closed the door behind us and gestured for me to sit on one of the guest chairs in front of his desk. Before, I’d never felt apprehensive about going in there to catch up. Now there was a ball of dread in my stomach—it felt like I was just waiting for him to drop the bad news I had a strange feeling was coming.
“Cleo,” he said, his voice falling.
“Steve.”
He shook his head with a sad smile. “I’ve loved working with you, Cleo. I really have.”
“Um, that’s good…” I realized with a sinking feeling that I’d been too optimistic. I’d assumed that they’d found a temp to cover me and I wouldn’t be able to come back for a couple months.
“I’m sorry. I really am. We weren’t sure if you’d pull through, and this is a small company, and it’s reporting season, and…”
I could tell he was really bothered. Steve was usually calm and reserved. Now he was babbling like a child. But I didn’t feel sorry for him this time, much as I wanted to. I just needed him to get to the point; I felt like I knew what was coming next.
“Go on, Steve.”
He looked up at me. I could tell it was a struggle for him to meet my eyes. “We can’t take you back on, Cleo. I’ve already hired a replacement.”
My mouth fell open. Then I laughed. It started as a snort, but turned into an almost maniacal cackle. I’ve always reacted weirdly to bad news. Steve smiled uneasily, obviously not sure what the hell was going on in my mind.
“You’d written me off as dead, Steve?” I said, struggling to catch my breath after my laughter subsided.
He shook his head and glanced down at the scrawl-filled notepad on his desk. “I’m sorry. I had to think of the company. It’s nothing personal. We’re just not like the big guns. We need every man on deck.”
I looked at him with nothing left to say.
“If it makes any difference, know that I’ll give you a stellar reference.”
I shrugged. “I can’t pay rent with a reference, can I?”
I stood and walked out without saying another word. I was determined not to show emotion in front of my colleagues—my former colleagues. I never had. No matter how bad a day I’d had there, I’d refused to let the pressure show.
That thought snagged in my brain. It wasn’t true, was it? I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall beside the elevators. I glanced behind me to make sure no one had followed me out of the office. I was safe. There was something; something I couldn’t identify. Wildly, I traced back the mental steps I’d made. Something had triggered that feeling. It was a flash. It wasn’t a memory as such; a mental photograph. It was more a wisp of emotion. A flash. Sitting at my desk, not exactly hysterical, but still unable to hold back tears. Willing them to stop. I shook my head trying to make sense of it. It wasn’t my imagination. I was sure of it. But it must have been? How else could I picture something that had never happened? Unless…
I leaned my head against the cold marble and tried to recall the emotion. It had vanished. I squeezed my eyes closed. My mind was racing now.
“What’s happening to me?” I murmured.
My heart raced too, terrified I was going crazy. Those flashes I’d been having since I’d woken up. They made no sense. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pull up a meaningful memory. I exhaled, struggling to steady my breath. Because I damn well wasn’t passing out in my old workplace and giving Steve a justification for giving my job away.
I pressed the call button repeatedly, stabbing it until the elevator car arrived. I needed to get out of there. My cheap new cellphone was in my hands before the doors even opened on the first floor. Julia’s number was the only one in there so far. Good. It was the only one I needed right then.
“Jules,” I said, as soon as she answered.
“Cleo?”
I smiled. I didn’t want her to hear the fear in my voice. She’d already worried about me enough for one lifetime. “What time do you get off tonight?”
She paused. “Why?”
“Remember last night? I dragged you home early so I could get an early night before going back to work?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Well, tonight’s not going to be an early night.”
She laughed. “Are you sure? I know the doctors released you, but you had a pretty serious injury.”
“I’ve never been surer.”
Because I’d been the good girl all my life; I’d studied hard and always done the responsible thing. And where had that gotten me? It was time to explore my wild side.
Four
Roman
I closed the front door behind me and shuffled to the refrigerator without bothering to turn on the light. I didn’t need to. I was used to working in gloomy light; hell, I saw it as professional development.
“Roman.”
I twisted around to where the voice had come from. In the dim light from the window, I saw a figure sitting on the couch. I didn’t need to see him, though; I recognized his voice. I’d recognize it anywhere: the cold, gravelly monotone with just the slightest hint of a foreign accent even though he’d lived here for all but four years of his life.
“Dmitri. Couldn’t you have called?” I said, pulling out two beers.
I slammed the refrigerator door closed and walked toward him, switching on the overhead light as I did so.
He shook his head. “You don’t seem pleased to see me.”
I sat in the chair opposite and appraised him. Dmitri hadn’t changed much since the last time I saw him. He was more filled out, even though I was willing to bet that most of his bulk was solid muscle. He wasn’t the kind of guy who reached the top and then sat back on his throne. No, he still got his hands dirty.
“It’s been a while.”
He nodded. “I’ve had some other projects that kept me busy. How you been? Working much?”
“Here and there,” I said, running my hands through my hair. “Did anyone see you come in here?”
He snorted. “I don’t remember you being this paranoid.”
“I’m not paranoid. Usually. But you’re not exactly low-key. I’d prefer to keep my name out of the papers and my ass out of jail.”
“Oh come on, man. What about that brother of yours? He’d never let them arrest you.”
I bristled at the mention of Ivan. I wasn’t like those guys you saw on the TV shows; this wasn’t a family affair. “We haven’t spoken in years. As you well know.”
He sighed. “I wasn’t thinking.”
I shrugged. “Mind if I put on the game?”
His eyes narrowed. “I need to talk to you about something.”
I sighed and threw my head back. “And I’d like to watch the game. It’s been a long day.”
“Roman.”
I dropped the remote back onto the side table beside me. I’d known him for almost my whole life; that made it easy to forget who he was and what he was capable of.
“I have a job for you.”
I shook my head. It had been almost a year since I’d last worked for Dmitri. Things had changed since then—I’d… specialized. I was the guy they called in when no one else could be trusted with the job.
Dmitri frowned. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry, Dmitri. I’ve moved on. Unless it’s a special case—”
“I need you, Roman. You’re the best.”
“Dmitri, you’ve got dozens of guys.”
“Sure,” he said, with a shrug. “But none of them are as good as you are.”
“None of them are as expensive either.”
He glanced around my apartment, his eyebrow raised. “Oh? I kinda figured you’d gotten out.”
“I don’t like to draw unnecessary attention to my business.”
He shook his head, looking at me with something like pity in his eyes.
I narrowed my eyes in warning.
“Roman, I—”
I glared at him. “You came here to ask me to do a job. I told you I’m too expensive. Specialist jobs only. Now, you can drink a beer with me in silence, or you can—”
“Money’s not an issue,” he interrupted.
I rolled my eyes. “Dmitri, you don’t under—”
“Triple your usual rate per.”
I looked from the blank TV to him, not sure if I’d heard him right. “What the fuck do you want me to do?” I asked. “Take out a football team?”
He shook his head. “No. Simple. Three former associates of my client.”
“There has to be something you’re not telling me.”
He shook his head.
“Dmitri,” I said, taking another mouthful of beer. “Explain this to me. No one drops cash like that unless there are serious risks involved.”
“Well,” he said, eyes twinkling like he was in on a secret that nobody else had heard yet. “Maybe not in the minor leagues.”
“You’ve never been minor league, Dmitri.”
“True. Well let’s just say, my new client has money to burn and enough thirst for blood to make both of us very rich.”
“I don’t care about money.”
He tsked like I’d just insulted his mother. “What do you care about, Roman? Huh?”
“Dmitri,” I said, my voice full of warning.
He sighed. “When’s the last time you had a woman?”
I shrugged. “I’ve had plenty of women.”
“I don’t mean whores and drunken co-eds.” He pulled an envelope from the concealed pocket of his cashmere coat and threw it on the table before standing up.
I rolled my eyes. “Please. You’re trying to sell me marriage and suburbia now? Really? The guy who’s barely thirty-five and been through two divorces already?”
He shrugged, a slight smile appearing on his lips. “I’m just saying. There’s a lot to be said for having someone to come home to every night. It can’t be healthy, you being alone like this all the time.”
I set my jaw. “I’m only alone when I want to be.”
He looked at me strangely for a couple moments, not saying anything. I was sure he was going to keep nagging me, but he didn’t. He pointed at the envelope on the table.
“Call me when it’s done.”
“Hey, Dmitri,” I said, as h
e reached the door.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t come around here no more. Okay? I mean that.”
He nodded. “We’ll talk.”
I frowned. There was something about him; a nervousness I’d never seen in him before. He left and slammed the door behind him before I could put my finger on what was off about him.
I pulled the envelope across the table toward me, peeled back the flap and slid out the paper from inside. I glanced at the picture and the half-page of printed text underneath. I sighed. The rate had excited me, but Dmitri was right. There was nothing exciting about this job. Just some guys who’d pissed off the wrong people.
I stood and went to the kitchen, pulling a lighter from the utensil drawer. I glanced over the text and memorized the face once more. Then I clicked the lighter and held it to the corner of the paper, watching as orange flame licked over the page. It burned bright and quickly died, leaving a delicate slate-gray sheet that fell apart when I touched it. I turned on the faucet and waited until the water had washed away all traces of my assignment.
Five
Roman
I’d never admit it to anyone, but Dmitri’s appearance in my apartment had rattled me. I didn’t know why. The pay was higher than my current rate. And the guys were nobodies. It was easy money for me.
But there was something bugging me; something I couldn’t identify.
Our conversation played over and over in my mind after he left, until I needed to get out.
I settled on Tully’s, telling myself it was convenience and not the girl that was bringing me back there. After all, she could have been an out-of-towner—it would explain why I’d never seen her in there before.
I pushed the door open and sighed with relief when I saw that it was half-empty. It was one of those neighborhood dives that was never really full. It had its fair share of hipster transplants, but the area was still too run-down for them to come in huge numbers.