Dead To Me sc-1

by Anton Strout

  As if in response, Jane’s face calmed and she said, “Yes, of course I’m responsible for what my people do, sir.”

  “Good,” he said, softening. Monochrome Jane relaxed even further. “That’s what I like to hear. Now when I said ‘I need you to find if one of them is talking to someone whoisn’t,’ I meant just that. It is tragic that the Department of Extraordinary Affairs knows about our existence now, but their bursting into our offices was not a total waste of my precious time. There was something one of them said that made me think. They implied they were working with someone I personally know to be out of the picture. Do you follow?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  “Excellent. You take care of this for me, Jane, and you’ll make me a very happy man. And if you find that thisperson who isn’t is still around, I expect you tocorrect the situation. Do you understand or should I use more monosyllabic words?”

  Jane sighed and began to search through a sock drawer. She pushed the socks aside and pulled a gun out from underneath them.

  “I’ll do my best, sir.” She held it by two fingers like it was a dead fish and then checked the safety before sliding the gun neatly into the back of her belt.

  “See that you do,” Faisal said. “I’ll expect a full report on my desk in the morning.”

  Jane threw the phone onto the bed and wrestled her way into the black top she had picked out. This time I watched unabashed. She pulled her blond hair back into a manageable ponytail, and I tried to figure out how a relatively sweet girl had come to toting a gun. She must have marveled at all the changes in her life over the past few months, the feeling of importance that came with newfound power and security. I was pretty sure that no temp job had ever let her have a gun before. She probably chalked up carrying a piece as part of her “benefits package.”

  She walked back into her living room and began looking through a stack of folders she had spread out on the coffee table earlier in the evening. I was startled when she picked one of them up and flipped it open to a photograph of me standing in the Sectarians’ reception area. I was a little flattered that I was the one whom she meant to spy on. And obviously Irene was the “someone whoisn’t ” that Faisal was looking for.

  Jane wasn’t a killer…was she? I knew she was after Irene, but would she kill me if I got in the way? I didn’t know her well enough after our two encounters, but it had felt like there was a tiny bit of chemistry between us the other night during dinner. Would that prevent her from sending me to the big dirt nap in the sky? Asinine questions-especially those regarding my attraction to a cultist-would have to wait. I had to get back to my place before she did.

  I hastily packed my equipment while watching Jane pack hers. I was thrilled to see that she wasn’t in possession of a parabolic mike, which meant she wouldn’t be able to listen in on my apartment the way I had on hers. That was some relief.

  I took one last look. Jane was so sinisterly cute, and everything felt more confusing than ever.

  I just prayed she wouldn’t have to use her “benefits package” on me.

  18

  I raced back to my apartment in record time. I had to be there to keep Irene safe. I knew Jane would be watching the two of us in much the same way I had been watching her, and while I felt the whole procedure was just as invasive, I had to admit the prospect was strangely exciting. Knowing ahead of time that someone was going to be watching me all stalkerlike was a godsend. It meant I stood a better chance of controlling the situation.

  Now Jane would be the voyeur and I would be the one on display. The possibility that she might attempt to shoot me or do something to Irene did take some of the intrigue out of the sitch, though. But I figured that if I could get the curtains drawn in the living room before Jane got to my apartment, Irene and I would be relatively safe.

  On the way home I made the decision not to tell Irene about our possible surveillance. Irene had enough on her plate without needing the added burden of worrying over someone who probably couldn’t do her harm anyway-and I needed Irene to be calm and relaxed. I couldn’t have her flickering in and out with nerves if I was going to keep her safe.

  When I got back home, Irene was in my living room marveling over the woodwork of a cabinet I had picked up in New Hampshire. Her gaze was so fixed on the piece that she barely registered I was in the room. She looked up as I shut the door behind me and locked it. I ran to the windows and hastily pulled the curtains over each of them. I started pushing crates and boxes out of the way and up against the bank of windows.

  “Hello,” said Irene. “Tough day at the office?”

  I forced a laugh and was thrilled to see how calm and content she was. Her body looked solid as a rock, not a hint of transparency. “Why don’t you have a seat?” I said, moving a stack of books from the couch to give her more room. “I’m just going to tidy up a bit.”

  “Now?” she said, with a giggle that gave way to uproarious laughter. The reaction was so cartoonish, so out of character, that I wondered if maybe she was beginning to degrade, as Connor had warned she would. “But it’s so late!”

  “Well, better late than never, right?” I said.

  I threw myself down on the couch, checking to make sure my bat was still hanging from my belt. Jane had to be outside spying by now, and God only knew what she might do. If she made a move on the apartment, I wanted to be ready. Irene sat at the far end of the couch staring at me. She seemed to have settled back to her normal, refined self.

  It was funny how small talk seemed hard to come by when I really needed it. There were so many topics I wanted to avoid right now to keep Irene in good spirits. The biggest elephant in the conversational room, of course, was her own case, which she naturally brought up.

  “Dare I ask if there are any new developments?”

  “Be patient,” I said, looking over toward the windows. I spun around and checked the door. “Something will come up. There’s nothing new.”

  Unless I counted the fact that I knew Faisal Bane was interested in her, but I didn’t think telling Irene that would be terribly calming. Instead, I did what I did best when I felt uncomfortable. I rambled.

  We had antiques as a common ground after all. I told her about all the wonderful pieces I had seen back at her apartment, leaving out the fact that most of them were smashed to bits. The mere mention of so many of her things kept her fascinated, and did the trick of making her seem all the more alive. A strong part of me wanted to forget that she was no longer living.

  The threat of Jane slowly faded from my thoughts as I became more and more immersed in my conversation with Irene. But just when I was lulled into a real sense of comfort, a commotion arose somewhere outside my wall of windows.

  “Wesker, no!” a male voice shouted from the rooftop across the way.

  The windows were shut, but the shout cut through them. The thunderous din of something or someonecrashing full force into the alleyway below rang out. I threw the sash up on the window and chanced a look outside. Lights throughout the building were coming on, and several others people were already poking their heads out. It was too dark to make out anything distinct in the alley below, and I gave up trying to see anything when a rapid knocking sounded at the door.

  “What’s going on?” Irene said nervously. I looked over at her and her body flickered briefly due to her sudden emotional state.

  “Keep it together, Irene,” I said, running for the door.

  When I opened it, two men stood there: Inspectre Argyle Quimbley and Thaddeus Wesker of Greater amp; Lesser Arcana. The old Brit looked positively winded, but Wesker just looked pissed off. He pushed his way into the apartment and Quimbley stumbled in behind him, clutching his side. I was stunned by their sudden appearance at my apartment, and in the middle of the night no less. No one from work had ever been here before. Well, unless you counted Irene. I shut the door and ran for the window, pulling the curtain down again now that Jane hadfour potential targets to choose from. Wesker was staring dark
ly at Irene.

  “What’sshe doing here?” he spat out.

  “Excuse me,” Irene said, heading angrily toward Wesker at a fast float. “Am I not in the room?”

  “What’s going on?” I asked, quickly stepping between her and Wesker. Irene stopped in her tracks. “What the hell was that? Inspectre, was that you I heard calling out?”

  Quimbley nodded in response, and gulped down a deep breath as he gathered his composure, starting with grooming his walruslike mustache.

  “Wesker intercepted some intel from the Sectarians,” the Inspectre said, “regarding both you and Connor showing up at their offices. He learned that even though they now have possession of the fish artifact, they were still particularly interested in Ms. Blatt. All we know is that someone was very keen on finding her and was sending someone after you. So rather than involving the Enchancellors at this point, I convinced Wesker to keep things quiet and we decided to investigate the situation ourselves. Neither of our divisions wanted the red tape and triplicate forms of openly declaring a joint venture. We tried getting you on your cell, but you didn’t answer. We feared the worst.”

  “I turned itoff because I was on a surveillance mission!” I said defensively. “One you sent me on!”

  The Inspectre was wheezing now.

  “Sir, are you okay?”

  He nodded. “Ripping good rooftops in SoHo. Took me a bit of effort to climb up to the top of the building next to you, though. That’s when we observed a woman in black moving into position near your apartment. Striking-looking young lady.”

  “That would be Jane,” I muttered quietly. The two of them stared at me blankly. I kept my voice low, hoping Irene couldn’t overhear. “Bane’s errand girl? The one you sent me to watch tonight? Look, Iknow Jane was watching me. I had everything under control here.”

  Wesker perked up at the mention of her. “On a first-name basis now, are you?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head perhaps just a bit too much. “She was just there when Connor and I first encountered the Sectarians. When I went a little bat happy in their reception area.”

  “You realize how bad that’s going to look for your future at the Department, don’t you?” Wesker said.

  I smiled weakly. “Sorry,” I added.

  “Nonsense,” Quimbley said, “happens to the best of us at times, my boy. Now, where was I?”

  Wesker’s face tightened and he looked like he wanted to strangle the Inspectre right there in my living room.

  “I believe you were moving in on Jane…” I offered.

  “Ah yes!” the Inspectre said, eyes lighting up. “Yes. Anyway,Jane had lowered herself over the edge of the building across from yours, and before I knew it, Wesker was sprinting across the rooftops like some damned fool superhero. Before I could catch up, he pulled a switchblade and flicked it through her tie-off line. I tried to call out, but alas, too late.”

  It was true that Jane was with the enemy here, had even brought a gun to deal with us if she had found Irene in my apartment. Still, it bothered me to think of her being harmed. That was a gut-wrencher I hadn’t expected. I couldn’t imagine Wesker killing her in cold blood. We had procedures and protocols in place for the handling of humans under the influence of dark forces. But then again, it wasWesker we were talking about.

  “He didn’t kill her, did he?” Irene asked suddenly.

  Quimbley shook his head. “I don’t think so. When I looked over the edge of the rooftop, I couldn’t tell.”

  Wesker stepped forward.

  “Enough of this concern for the enemy,” he said and glared at Irene over my shoulder. “What isshe doing here?”

  I tried to look past Wesker, seeking guidance from Quimbley, but all the old man could do was look at me sympathetically.

  “Don’t look at him,” Wesker shouted. “Answer me! What is she doing here?”

  I tried to compose myself, keeping my anger over his tone in check, but the best I could do was sarcasm.

  “I’m sorry, Director Wesker,” I said. “I didn’t realize that the Division of Greater and Lesser Arcana had generously provided accommodations for clients such as Miss Blatt. I suppose that’s why no onenoticed her orhelped her all day when she arrived. When I stopped by the office on my way home the other night, I found her pushed aside just like another stack of paperwork. The woman was practically beside herself. So tell me, where do you propose we have Ms. Blatt stay while the investigation is ongoing?”

  “We’re not in the practice of running a boardinghouse for wayward ghosts,” Wesker said testily.

  “You’re not in the practice of providing accommodations forany of the entities we deal with,” I said, shouting. “Unless you count containment, of course, but Irene’s not a prisoner.”

  “You want to watch your tone with me, Canderous,” Wesker said.

  “Or what?” I was losing what little patience I had. Connor had warned me several times before about my handling of superiors at the D.E.A., but Wesker was being openly hostile in the presence of the Inspectre, so I wasn’t afraid. Sure, the man was dangerously ambitious and everyone knew he had it in for the Inspectre, but Quimbley was respected throughout the entire organization-and a lifetime member of the Fraternal Order of Goodness to boot! Thaddeus Wesker knew he would never be as well liked as the Inspectre and that frosted his biscuit. His general mistreatment of me was just ineffectual lashing out.

  “What will you do to me?” I continued. “Last I checked, I answered directly to the Inspectre here, not to you. And since when does the Director of Greater and Lesser Arcana concern himself personally with the doings of a lesser spectral apparition like Ms. Blatt anyway?”

  The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think of how Irene would take being called “a lesser spectral apparition.” I felt like a heel for letting the words slip out. I turned to apologize, hoping she hadn’t taken offense. But whether she had taken offense or not wasn’t an issue.

  Irene Blatt had disappeared.

  Wesker finally backed off when he noticed Irene had vanished. The three of us took a quick look around my apartment (I handled the investigation of the White Room) but there was no sign of Irene. Quimbley suggested that he and Wesker leave, but not before giving me orders to report to his office first thing in the morning.

  I was sick to my stomach over Irene’s disappearance. I had taken her in when the rest of the Department couldn’t be bothered, made her my charge, and now I had lost her. But I couldn’t obsess over it now. There was someone else I had to check on. I headed down to the rear exit of my building and let myself out into the dark and trash bag-filled alley. The stink was powerful, but I fought back the urge to vomit and started picking my way through it.

  It didn’t take long to find Jane. All I had to do was follow the soft moans and grunts of pain from a pile of trash bags that had exploded when she had landed on them. She was completely out of it when I picked her up. Next to her on the ground was a small black notebook. I scooped it up and slid it into my jacket pocket with one of my gloved hands. The last thing I wanted was to be psychometrically sucked into her life. Right now, I needed to get Jane up to my apartment.

  As I carried her on to the elevator, I thought about my options. First I’d assess how badly hurt she was. Finding Irene would have to wait.

  As the elevator stopped on my floor, I slid the cast iron door aside. I hurried down the hall, hoping none of my neighbors would stick their noses out, and I was thrilled when we made it to my apartment safely. I laid Jane down on my couch. She was motionless except for the telltale signs of gentle respiration. The left arm of her spy gear top was peeled away, along with several layers of skin. A slow but steady trickle of blood dripped down the side of my couch and gathered in a small pool on the floor. Her face was bruised down the left side, but otherwise she looked peaceful.

  Blood was a funny thing in real life. I had seen much more gruesome sights thanks to television and the movies, never once feeling woozy. B
ut the smell of real blood mixed with garbage in my own apartment was something else. I was barely able to hold my stomach down.

  “Jane?”

  I tentatively touched her good arm, and she stirred, groaning in pain. Her eyes fluttered open, and after a moment, they focused and smiled.

  “Hello, Simon,” she said weakly. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping in.”

  I brushed golden strands of hair away from her face as I inspected her for damage. Her left arm hung uselessly at her side. She looked like shit, but even so, she was still cute. I felt slimy for thinking it, but as I checked her over, I couldn’t help noticing her body once again. It curved in all the right places, even battered like this.

  “Jesus, Jane,” I said. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded slowly, wincing and looking a little loopy. “Ow. As all right as someone who just plummeted off a roof can be, I guess. I had some painkillers with me, but I don’t know where they are anymore.”

  She raised her good arm and opened her hand. It was empty.

  I looked at her glazed, unfocused eyes. “Um, I think you already took them. You think you can move?” I asked. Jane couldn’t stay here. She was in danger for several reasons. I took a look around the apartment, and though I was worried sick about Irene, I was glad I saw no sign of her. It was odd, but I felt like I was somehow betraying Irene just by having Jane here. It was all in my head, I told myself. I didn’t owe either of these women anything, and here I was feeling guilty. The dead girl and the enemy. Great taste, Simon.

  My work was mixing terribly with the rest of my life, and I felt helplessly out of control. I had to take charge as best I could of this situation, though, not only for my sake but for Jane’s.

  “Is anything broken?” I asked.

  Jane slowly assessed herself, flexing muscles wherever she could.

  “My arm’s pretty beat-up,” she moaned, “and I don’t think I can make my Pilates class tomorrow with my ankle like this, but I think I can move.”