He Looked Back

by Hollandaise, Melissa

  “Well, Ethan, what do you propose we do? If Crane doesn’t believe us and tells Alec, we’re as good as dead,” Dylan spits.

  Dead?

  “Dead?” I ask. “Alec...Alec would—”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him.” Oliver avoids my eye contact.

  My fear of Alec is multiplied by one hundred.

  “I think it’s just a risk we have to take,” William says. “We have to count on Crane not telling, and believing us.”“Wait.” Dylan stops pacing and looks at me. “Katie. Katie is how he’s going to believe us.”I furrow my brow. “Me?”

  “That time, when I was in Crane’s office to argue about the budget cuts,” Dylan says. “You convinced him to side with me, he listened to you.”The memory slowly returns to my brain.

  “You’re the key,” he says. “Crane may not listen to me, or even Oliver, but he’ll listen to you.”“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “That was over budget cuts, this is over something much more serious.”“You’ve got to, Katie, you’re our only hope,” Dylan says.

  I sigh. If I mess this up, we could all me in gigantic trouble. But I have to, if we want this alliance to go anywhere.

  “Okay,” I say, nodding. “I’ll do it.”

  A sigh of relief echoes through the apartment, from everyone but myself. I’m terrified Crane won’t believe me, or I’ll say something I shouldn’t.

  Everyone leaves shortly after, Oliver, Dylan and I agreeing we’ll talk to Crane during lunch hour tomorrow.

  I’m the last to walk out of Dylan’s apartment.

  “Hey,” he says behind me and I turn.

  “You alright?” Dylan asks.

  I nod. “I guess I’m just...a little nervous for tomorrow.”“It’ll be fine, I know he’ll listen to you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  I nod, chewing on my lip. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  I swallow. “I don’t know, maybe a little.”

  “Why?”

  “Knowing Alec would kill—”

  “He wouldn’t, he’s a coward.”

  “Still, Dylan. You can never know what people are capable of.”“That’s true.”

  I look down.

  “Katie, Oliver and I will be there the whole time, alright?” He’s closer to me than before, his fingers tilting my chin up to look at him.

  “Okay,” I say, stepping back, away from his touch. “I’d better go.”“See you tomorrow.”

  I return to my apartment, shutting the door and sighing. I decide on taking a hot shower when my eye catches on something.

  A small black object sits next to one of the picture frames on my shelf by the couch. I squint at it, walking over and picking it up.

  I stifle a gasp.

  It’s a microphone.

  I drop it on the floor, turning on my heel and crossing the hall back to Dylan’s place.

  I know the door was left unlocked and I knock quickly before turning the knob, shutting the door behind me.

  Dylan sits at the kitchen counter, looking up from his leather journal, shutting it.

  “I found something,” I say breathlessly.

  “What?” He furrows his brow.

  “A microphone, someone bugged my apartment.” I widen my eyes as the realization hits me. I cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh my God.”Dylan stands up, walking over to me. “What’s wrong?”

  “James, it was James,” I rush out. “When he got into my apartment, he was waiting for me—he must have planted it before I got home—”“Whoa, hold on,” Dylan says. “When did James get into your apartment?”Oh, shit. I didn’t tell Dylan.

  “W-when we weren’t talking, I came home one day and he jimmied the lock on my door and got in.”“Why didn’t you tell me?” His tone is controlled, and I can tell he’s trying not to lose it.

  “I...I’m sorry, I forgot about it—”

  “Fuck, Katherine!” Dylan knocks a stack of books from the coffee table, the covers flying open as they hit the floor. He begins to pace, tugging at his hair.

  I stay silent, not wanting to anger him further. I take a step back hesitantly.

  He grips onto the side of the couch, his jaw clenched tight. “Before I burst a fucking blood vessel, is there anything else you haven’t told me?”I shake my head.

  “Are you sure?” He asks through gritted teeth.

  I nod.

  I’ve never seen him so mad, and I can tell he’s containing his fury for my sake. His cheeks are flushed red with rage.

  “Is there anything that microphone might have heard that could potentially hurt our alliance?” Dylan asks after he takes a few deep breaths.

  “I-I don’t know,” I say.

  “That’s real helpful,” he snaps sarcastically.

  “Look, I’m sorry I don’t have a perfect memory, Dylan,” I spit, beginning to get mad as well.

  “You’re just lucky we haven’t held any meetings at your place,” he retorts.

  “I’m lucky? Dylan, how could I have known there was a damn microphone in my apartment?”“You could have told me that James fucking broke into your place, and I would have scouted it out, because it’s just fucking like him to plant a bug!”“I said I was sorry, can we just deal with the problem now?” I snap.

  “There is no dealing with you,” he huffs, walking past me out into the hall.

  I cross my arms over my chest, clenching my jaw as I follow him.

  He stops in front of my door, turning to face me.

  “Where in the apartment is it?” He asks in a hushed tone.

  “I dropped it on the floor, by the couch near the shelf.”

  Dylan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before pushing the door open and walking inside.

  I watch as he carefully picks up the device, looking it over. He presses something on the back of it and sets it on the counter.

  “Pen and paper,” he mouths.

  I nod and reach into a drawer, handing him a stack of post-it notes and a pen.

  He scribbles something on the pad, sliding it toward me.

  I think I disabled it, but we need to dispose of it just in case.

  I nod and take the pen from him, scrawling my response.

  Where do we dispose of it?

  Dylan reads my note and writes a quick response.

  Garbage chute.

  I nod and follow him out into the hall, where the garbage chute is, next to the elevator. He opens the door and drops the microphone down the long chute, hearing it hit the bottom with a clink.

  Dylan and I go back to my apartment, Dylan shutting the door.

  “What if there are more?” I whisper to him.

  “I’ll look,” he whispers back.

  I watch as he scours the place, looking under books and inside drawers. He checks under my bed and inside my bathroom cabinet, looking into every crevice of my apartment.

  “Alright, I think you’re clear,” he says.

  I chew on my lip.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he says softly.

  “No, it’s fine,” I sigh. “I should have told you that James broke in.”“You need to tell me these things in the future, Katherine,” he says seriously. “Even if we’re not talking, I need to make sure you’re safe.”I nod. “I know.”

  Truthfully, I’m a bit on edge—what if there are still devices hidden in the apartment that Dylan didn’t catch? What if there are hidden cameras?

  “Are you alright?” He asks, catching my expression.

  “I’m a little violated, I guess,” I say. “This has never happened before.”“It’s alright now, there’s nothing else here.”

  “What if you missed something?”

  Dylan cracks a grin. “I didn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  He crosses his arms over his chest. “When I first began working for Lyone Enterprises, I had to go through a type of training program. They taught us all the places
they hide devices, they’re always the same in case they need to go back to retrieve them.”This relieves me and I exhale. “Okay, good.”

  “You’re safe, Katie.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  Dylan leaves shortly after, telling me he’ll drive me to work tomorrow to go over what I should say to Crane.

  I go to bed early, my nerves beginning to build for tomorrow. There’s so many things that could go wrong, and knowing me, they all will.

  I fall asleep soon, pulling the comforter tight around me.

  “Katie.”

  My eyes fly open and I look around. I’m at the same ball, the faceless people walking around in formal attire. I stand next to a tall pillar, Dylan next to me, his hand on the small of my back.

  I look at him, responding to my name.

  He bends down to say something in my ear, but the words are lost among the classical music playing and the sound of other voices in the large banquet room.

  “What?” I ask him to repeat what he said, but he’s not looking at me anymore.

  Through the faceless crowd steps a blonde girl, her eyes blue as the Caribbean Sea and lips red as cherries. She smirks seductively, stopping in front of us.

  “Abigail,” Dylan breathes

  She blinks slowly, her smirk widening. “Remember me, Dylan?” Her voice sounds like honey.

  Dylan’s hand drops from my back, stepping toward her as if in a trance. I reach for him, but he shrugs me off, drawn to Abigail in her red dress.

  “Dylan!” I shout as she takes his hand and leads him back through the crowd, her crimson lips twisting into a wide smile. “Dylan!”I look up then, to see Alec on one of the upper levels of the large room that look over the main area, reaching into his jacket and removing the same silver pistol as before.

  This time, he aims at me.

  I jolt up in bed, my chest rising rapidly. I’m drenched in cold sweat, and my sheets are tangled around me. Tears fall from my eyes as the dream consumes my mind, every detail clear as a photograph.

  The thing that scares me about these dreams is that they’re so real, so vivid in my mind.

  I get out of bed, walking to the kitchen to get some water.

  The clock says it’s past three in the morning, and I try to force my heart to slow down from its rapid pace.

  What do these dreams mean? Why do they take place at the same party? Why does it end with Alec always pointing a gun at one of us?

  My chest aches as I finish my water, placing the cup in the sink.

  The door suddenly opens to my apartment, and Dylan steps through.

  “What—”

  “Something’s wrong,” he says. “Something felt wrong.” He catches sight of my face and walks toward me. “Have you been crying?”“I had another dream,” I say shakily.

  “Dream?”

  I nod.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I-I guess so.”

  “Tell me the dream.”

  I relay every detail to him, still struggling to slow my breathing.

  “I’ve seen that gun,” Dylan says when I finish. “Alec keeps it in his office at Ivory.”My breath hitches in my throat. “What could it mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Dylan says, shaking his head.

  I swallow, looking down. “I’m afraid,” I say quietly.

  “Me too,” Dylan admits.

  “You are?”

  He nods. “The fact that in the first dream it was me he was aiming at, and in this one it was you is...a little unnerving.”“Yeah,” I agree. “But...it’s either both of us or neither of us, right?” I smile slightly.

  Dylan cracks a smile. “Right.”

  Dylan leaves soon after, and I go back to bed, waking up on and off for the rest of the night until it’s time to get up for work.

  “Remember what we told you,” Oliver says as everyone files into the break room for lunch.

  I nod, taking a breath.

  “We’ll be behind you the whole time,” Dylan reminds me as the three of us step onto the elevator.

  The combination of visions from my dream and the pressure of this visit to Crane almost makes me want to pass out, but I know this needs to be done.

  Oliver tells the receptionist we’re here for Crane when we walk into his office complex a few floors up. She purses her lips and nods.

  “Go on in, he’s expecting you,” she says, her voice high pitched and nasal.

  Dylan opens the door to the office for me, nodding.

  The three of us step inside, Crane rising from his seat to greet us.

  “Dylan, Katie, Oliver,” he says, nodding to us. “How nice to see you all.”“You too, Mr. Crane,” Oliver says politely.

  “Sit, sit,” Crane says, gesturing to the chairs positioned in front of his desk.

  We take our seats, me in the middle, Dylan to my left and Oliver to my right. My hands rest in my lap, clasped together tightly.

  “So,” Crane says, sitting back down. “How can I help you?”I exchange brief eye contact with Dylan, then Oliver before sitting up slightly. “We...we actually came to talk to you about a certain corporation this company is involved with.”“And what corporation might that be, Miss Harris?”

  I take a breath. “Lyone Enterprises.”

  Crane visibly stiffens, folding his hands in his lap.

  “Do you know a man by the name of Alec Lyone?” I ask him.

  “I do.”

  “Do you trust him, sir?”

  Crane contemplates this. “He’s a good man,” he finally says. “Throws lots of parties.”“You didn’t answer my question.” I pause. “Sir.”

  Crane nods. “I suppose I trust him.”

  I cross my legs. “I’d like you to consider some statistics, Mr. Crane,” I say. “Of the money that you trust with Lyone, how much of it do you actually get back?”“All of it, and more.”

  I chew on my lip. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Crane.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “You get forty percent, Mr. Crane.”