(2014) Deep Inside

by Jack Parker

  Lia bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "You know I understand, so quit tormenting me about it. Where is he? I want to apologize."

  Jude shook his head. "He told me to call you and come to the base. It's about the mission. You can apologize then."

  Lia nodded and Jude slipped out of his seat. "Go down and get Rita to give you a drink. I'm going to ring you once I'm dressed."

  Lia made her way out of the room. She didn't bother asking for a drink. She wasn't thirsty. She merely stood at the bottom of the stairs and waited for Jude to descend. After a few minutes he appeared, clad in a jacket over his tank top. How long did it take to put a jacket on? But now was not the time for her to moan. She had messed up enough as it was.

  He led her outside and they entered his car. It was posh, like everything else they owned. She sat next to the driver's seat and waited for him to drive. He turned the key, pushed the accelerator and they were off.

  She fumbled with the radio channels until she found a song that she liked. It was a rock, a heavy rock. Jude was frowning, she could tell. He preferred rap. She didn't mind rap, but she wasn't in the mood for it.

  Lia leaned back in her seat and watched the windscreen wipers as they continued to clear the rain from the front of the car. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  "Why aren't you wearing your seat belt?"

  "I never wear my seatbelt," she replied. "It's tradition."

  He shrugged. "If you die, it's your loss."

  "More like my gain." He didn't hear that. She had not intended for him to. Anyway, the music was far too loud.

  * * *

  A day in his new job, and he had already been called into a television interview. Not that there was any point in one. Who was actually sad enough to watch this? Unless they had nothing better to do. After all, nothing decent ever came on daytime TV.

  "So, like, Jack. That is your name, right?"

  Jack nodded. "Yeah." How many times did he have to make that clear to her?

  "Wow, like, do you, like, ever consider the comparison. Like, compare yourself to Jack and the Beanstalk, in the way that he climbed his way to the top, like you did?"

  That had to be the stupidest and weirdest question he had ever been asked in his life. This woman was creepy.

  "Um. No."

  She nodded. "Wow. You should, you know."

  Was he meant to reply to that? Who had hired this woman, and what had they been on when they did?

  "I don't recall having to sell any cows for the beans to get myself here."

  That was the lamest joke he had ever made in his life. She looked at him quizzically for a moment, before finally getting it and screeching with laughter. It hadn't been that funny. No. Wait. It hadn't been funny at all. Now he was certain this woman was on drugs.

  She pulled out a tissue and began to dab her eyes with it. How much foundation was this woman wearing? He could see big splotches of yellow over the before white tissue.

  "So, like, Jack. How did you feel when you first discovered you got the job?"

  "Um, happy," he supplied, feebly.

  She made a big show of lifting her hands and sighing. "Well, duh. Of course you felt happy. But, like, how did it make you feel inside? Like in depth."

  What was she, his shrink or something? It would be best to just answer the questions properly. That way he could get out of here at a much faster rate.

  "I was really glad, I guess. And surprised that I got the job, seeing as I was expecting a promotion, but not one this big."

  She nodded, acting as if she understood exactly what he meant.

  "Wow, so, how does it feel to know you're the youngest sector leader in the history of LAFFAT?"

  LAFFAT had only officially been around for about fifteen years, at most twenty five. That wasn't exactly what he'd call a history and what was with her and asking how he felt. Wasn't it obvious? She was just rephrasing her questions. This woman really did have a limited brain span.

  "It feels like a great achievement." That would satisfy her, hopefully.

  Her eyes flicked over to the clock behind him.

  "Oh, my, god! Like, time is nearly up!" She flipped back her hair and let out an exaggerated sigh. "How time flies. It was nice talking to you, Jack, and I hope you will join us again."

  "Yeah," he replied, uneasily. More like Yeah, right. He was NEVER coming here again. That had been way too embarrassing, although he doubted anyone was actually sad enough to watch this, so he wouldn't have any problems.

  "Bye, everyone!" she squealed, waving at the camera. "Say bye, Jack!"

  What was he, five? "Bye."

  "Wave!" He was so not going to wave. He decided to ignore her last comment as the camera man switched off the recording.

  He was glad that was finally over. It seemed to drag on forever.

  Jack made his way outside, where the car was waiting for him. He couldn't wait to get back. He was worried. What if anyone had actually seen that? No, as he had thought before, no one would be sad enough to watch something like that, right?

  The car stopped and he stepped out. Damian was waiting for him, his arms folded.

  He was smirking.

  "Brought any beans, Jack?"

  Okay, maybe he had been wrong. He would never live this down.

  * * *

  They reached the base and Jude helped her out of the car. Why he was acting so gentlemanly, she had no idea. He had his times.

  The sky was a pale orange color now, orange tinged with red and thin lines of violet accentuated by an even darker orange. The sun was a small, whitish, yellow, blur in the distance, emitting a blinding white light. She sighed as they made their way inside. Even the sun looked cold.

  After finding the right room and running through the correct procedures, they entered the long, dark tunnel, leading to the lift. They went from the floor for this time, not two. That's where Carmon would be.

  They arrived and Lia watched the lift doors gently slide open.

  There was no carpet in this room, she noticed that straight away. There were only floorboards, one on top of the other, secured by rusty nails that stuck out from the edges. It was warm, though, warmer than the rest of the building and the room was bathed in a pale amber light.

  Carmon was sat at a table in the middle of the room, the folder on the table. His elbow was propped on its surface and his eyes were scouring the contents. Cal and Michael were leaning against the side. Michael's gaze was focused on Carmon but upon their entrance, his eyes flicked over to them for a brief moment, then back to Carmon again. Lia's gaze flitted over them for a moment. Cal had a bruise beneath his left eye. She suppressed a laugh, and instead smirked at him. He glared.

  "Carmon's figured out the contents of the folder," began Michael. "So I decided to call all of you, so that we could discuss the mi…"

  "Shut up, Michael," interrupted Lia, cutting him off. "Be patient."

  She then made her way to where Carmon was sat and hugged him. "I'm so sorry." He looked at her, his gaze still cold. "I know it's a pathetic apology, but it's the best I can do. I know I'm a shit best mate, I should have remembered that it wasn't your best day. Forgive me?"

  Carmon sighed. "Fine, I'll forgive you. Just don't do it again, 'kay?"

  She nodded. Carmon was never one to hold a grudge. It was one of his many good traits. She was just about to say something in reply when Michael interrupted.

  "If you're quite done, I would like to discuss why I called you all here." His tone was icy, demanding. Once again, she had succeeded in irking him. How fun.

  Lia rolled her eyes and slumped down on a chair beside Carmon.

  "Get a life, Michael." He chose to ignore her comment, instead he sent her a quick glare before continuing.

  She couldn't care less, really. She had done what she came here to do. Lia leaned back in her chair. Michael's voice began to drone on in the background, but her mind was otherwise occupied. Three years. It had been three years and two days, but it seemed like on
ly yesterday.

  It seemed like only yesterday when herself and Carmon had entered his house and found a police officer standing in the doorway.

  It seemed like only yesterday when the police officer had told them that Carmon's dad had committed suicide.

  CHAPTER 6

  The room was shadowed, the light dimmed by the thick curtains shrouding the window. The carpet was blue, a light sea blue like the sea on a holiday postcard. Shadows danced over it like fish beneath a smooth surface and the air tasted warm and dry. The incessant sound of buttons being pressed filled the room, accompanied by gun shots radiating from a large television stretching across the wall.

  Dan yawned as he leaned against the headboard of Carmon's bed, his head hitting the wall from above. He rubbed it absently. He leaned forward so that his chin touched the foot of the bed. The sound of a gunshot followed by a scream echoed through the room.

  "Carmon, you pussy, kill the girl already. You'll never get that bitch's gold at the rate you're going."

  Carmon nodded absently, his eyes glued to the television before him. "Die, bitch, die," he muttered above the heavy pressing of his fingers against the controller.

  Dan wanted to laugh out loud. He looked so weird. He sighed and propped his elbows on the side of the bed. "Carmon, can I ask you something?"

  Carmon nodded once again, his eyes still focused on the television screen as he beat at the controllers furiously.

  "What do you think of Lia?"

  "Stupid whore!"

  Dan raised his eyebrows. That guy seriously had the attention span of a fish. "Carmon, I'm talking to you here. I would appreciate it if you listened."

  Carmon nodded again. "Yeah."

  Dan rolled his eyes and slipped off the bed, seating himself beside Carmon. His eyes scoured over the game console and, upon locating the lead, he wrenched it out, causing the screen to black out.

  Carmon's eyes widened. "Why you son of a -"

  "Tsk, tsk. Mind your language, Maitfield. Your mum's in the room next to us. You wouldn't want her to hear."

  Carmon rolled his eyes and crawled over to a pile of clothes stacked haphazardly against the cream colored walls of his bedroom. He leaned back against the wall and propped his legs atop an empty clothes basket painted a vivid green.

  "What?" his voice sounded quick, bored and uninterested.

  "I have till six, Carmon. Don't be a prick."

  Carmon sighed. "Fine. What did you want to talk about?"

  Dan lifted up one of the controllers and began to swing it lightly from the thick, rubber-coated wire. "Lia, what do you think of her?" His voice sounded casual, curious, unconcerned.

  Carmon arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean, what do I think of her?"

  Dan shrugged. "I mean exactly what I said."

  Carmon ran his fingers through his dark hair, then let his hand rest on the pile of clothes beside him. "She's cool, I guess. A bit quiet, though. But she can write good songs and her melodies aren't bad."

  Dan rolled his eyes. "Don't be thick, Car." He dropped the controller. It thudded to the ground, rumpling the gentle carpet, sending ripples across the sea."I mean, what do you really think of her?"

  Carmon dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. He took one from the pack and propped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. "Cut to the chase, Dan. I still don't get what you're asking me."

  "Do you fancy her?"

  Carmon began to cough violently. He leaned forward and took in a few deep breaths. He turned his gaze back to Dan, who was waiting expectantly, his expression tense.

  "Me and Lia? Nah, that's just scary. Why? Do you?"

  Dan shrugged. "I don't know," he replied, vaguely.

  Carmon grinned. "So that's a code for yes."

  Dan shrugged again and leaned back against the foot of the bed. "As I said, I don't really know. I was planning on asking her out by the end of this week or something, probably on Friday when you guys come over for band practice. I just wanted to know your opinion."

  "Why my opinion?"

  "You, Jude, and Pete are my best mates. I need to at least know what you guys think. Jude'll probably shrug and say 'whatever' and Pete'll…"

  "Pete will say ask Carmon," supplied Carmon, the corners of his lips tugging into a grin.

  "Yeah, something like that."

  Carmon nodded. "Conversation over then?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  Carmon smirked and turned on the game console.

  "I thought you lost the game when I pulled it out," commented Dan.

  Carmon shook his head. "A rule of life, my friend." He rummaged through a box beside the television and pulled out a grey memory card. "Always have back up."

  * * *

  Jack scuffed the thick, red carpet with the sole of his trainer and hesitantly reached for the knob. He took in a deep breath and clutched the thick folder to his chest, his eyes running over the tall, arched doorway.

  It was his first proper meeting with the Sector heads. Last time he had been given a quick briefing from Thomas Stanton and a wad of paperwork to get through to change Daniel Clifford's accounts around. Now was the actual meeting. He sighed. He so did not want to go in there. No doubt he would be the only Cadlian on board, but he knew why he had taken this job in the first place. He was here to make a difference. He was Jack Harlton, leader of Sector 4, LAFFAT. He was confident and sociable. He would do just fine.

  You keep telling yourself that, Harlton. Maybe one day you'll believe it.

  He turned the knob and slid open the door, hearing the crack as it resounded through the corridor. The door got jammed on the carpet for a moment, picking up a corner and turning it over so that it got stuck beneath the door. He bent down and fished it out, then slid open the remainder of the entrance.

  He entered the large room. The carpet was a dark shade of cream, he noticed; perfect save for a small coffee stain stretching diagonally from one of the corners. The room was rectangular with a large oval table situated in the middle. Surrounding the table were fifteen chairs, all of which were occupied save for two: the one at the head of the table and one of the side chairs. The side chair would be his.

  All eyes turned to face him as he entered, watching his every move. He caught Seb's eye. Seb smiled at him. Jack instantly relaxed. If Seb had survived this long, then he could too.

  Jack sat down and fingered the cocktail stick protruding from his liquid filled glass. It looked like water but it could have been something else. His eyes ran over the other occupants of the table. Many of them were talking to whoever was sat beside them whilst a few were staring at him. Could they be any more obvious? He could put names to a few of the faces, but not many: David Bremingway, Paul Bell, Sebastian Carlyle, and Thomas Stanton – the head of his old sector-.

  He cast his gaze over the empty seat. That had to be who they were all waiting for. But who was it? Who was the head of LAFFAT? The question had never crossed his mind until now, and his mind was embedded by a sudden deepening curiosity. His gaze flickered to the clock, hanging smugly above double-glazed windows shrouded with elegant white shutters. They were fluttering slightly as the wind beat against them from the outside, thin shafts of light cascading through from the gaps and dancing over the dull, cream walls. It was five past twelve. Whoever he was, he was late.

  Jack's hand strayed over the edge of the chair as he absently swung his feet beneath the table. The glass brimming with water lay untouched and, as he glanced around the table, he noticed that his glass was not the only one which was full. Actually, now that he thought about it, they all looked nervous. The conversation sounded strained and far too fake, as if they were all trying to fill up the awkwardness with their unappealing jokes and comments on the weather. The laughter was dry, rigid, and it echoed to the deepest corners of the room leaving an awkward silence.

  They were all on the verge of wetting themselves.

  The head guy couldn't be that scary, could he?

  Suddenly, the
door creaked open. The room was basked in a pregnant silence as all heads snapped to the figure in the doorway. It was a woman. Her elegant, white-blonde hair was secured in a bun, a few tendrils snaking over her young, pale face. She looked like she was in her late or mid twenties, thirty at the most. A long white coat concealed her tall, slender form and her face was perfect, flawless, as if all of her features were etched in stone. She was beautiful, but her beauty was striking, cold. She looked like an ice queen. In unison, all of the Sector heads stood up. Jack followed hastily.