Chaos, Desire & a Kick-Ass Cupcake

by Kyra Davis

  And then I heard it. Footsteps.

  Oh.

  I lifted my gun. Ms. Dogz was still out there. Why wasn’t she barking? What kind of dog would let someone slip inside her territory without going into a barking frenzy?

  Unless my stalker had just entered now and had done something to Ms. Dogz.

  The thought gave me the anger I needed to push me to action. I stepped out of the laundry room, gun outstretched in front of me. Slowly, carefully I walked toward the dining room.

  I saw the shadow of a man.

  “Freeze!” I screamed, my hand shaking now. But the shadow moved.

  I had killed before, I could kill again.

  But I really, really, really didn’t want to kill again.

  “I said freeze!” I screamed.

  And it was at that moment that the man stepped into the threshold of my kitchen. Anatoly.

  He looked from my gun to my face and then back to my gun which I was now lowering, my hand still trembling. “Jesus,” he said, in a quiet voice. “What happened?”

  I looked to his left to see that Ms. Dogz was standing a few feet behind him, seemingly relaxed now. No acknowledgment at all of the doggie messaging she had been sending me a few minutes ago. My eyes darted back up to Anatoly.

  “Sophie, what is it? Why do you have the gun?”

  Ms. Dogz trotted up to his side, once again responding to her name of choice.

  This dog and this man, these were my protectors. But over the last few days, only one had been my confidant, and it wasn’t the bipedal one.

  Anatoly was still staring at me, his concern seeming to intensify by the second.

  “I think,” I said, softly, pausing a second to place my gun on the kitchen island, “I think I may be in danger.”

  “Interesting how an ugly dress can be considered avant-garde if you price it high enough. Perspective can be bought.”

  --Dying To Laugh

  Anatoly sat across from me at the dining table, wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. The bottom of his shoes undoubtedly still damp from traipsing around our property in the misty night looking for signs of our intruder. He had found none. His shoulders were slumped like a man who was on the verge of falling asleep (which he probably was), his head bent as he read and re-read the card that was sitting before him. Be Careful, Sophie.

  I fidgeted in my seat. I had told him about the man in the black baseball cap, the second trip to London’s apartment, the trip to Nolan-Volz, everything. Now that someone was coming to our home I could no longer deny his right to know.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked, quietly.

  Anatoly used his finger to slowly rotate the card, looking at the words from every angle as if there was a clue hiding in the specific slant of the B, the careless curves of the S. “This,” he said, tapping the stiff, white piece of stationary against the table, “is serious.”

  I exhaled as I was hit with an unexpected wave of relief. He finally understood London’s death was not as simple as it first appeared.

  Again Anatoly rotated the card. Ms. Dogz was sleeping under the table and I ran the sole of my barefoot across her back.

  “The person who left this for you,” Anatoly said, finally looking up at me with eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, “it’s unlikely he or she has anything to do with Aaron London.”

  My mouth dropped open. Had I heard him correctly?

  “Have you had arguments or conflicts with anyone recently? Any that you haven’t told me about?”

  “Are you kidding me?” I finally managed to sputter. Mr. Katz, who had been sleeping in the corner, briefly lifted his head then quickly settled back down for more sleep.

  Anatoly’s shoulders straightened, stiffening. “Sophie--”

  “How much evidence can you ignore? This started happening right after London died! Of course they’re connected!”

  “This,” Anatoly said, lifting the card and gently waving it in the air, “didn’t start happening. It’s one incident. It happened.”

  “It’s one incident out of many!” I protested. “It’s probably the guy in the black baseball cap!”

  “That’s a strong possibility,” he admitted, putting the card down again. “But you need to remember, there are a lot of men who wear baseball caps. You don’t even know if it was the same man.”

  “What?”

  “The man you saw outside the salon may be different than the man you saw at Sutro Heights.”

  “I just told you, I saw him looking up into your office too! I’ve seen him three times!”

  “No one can look into my office from a standing position on the street. At best they can see a small section of the ceiling from that vantage point,” Anatoly leaned back in his chair, fixing me with those tired eyes. “I know that because I checked before I leased the space. I needed to ensure my clients would have all the anonymity they desired. If people could see into my office from the street, I would have the drapes drawn at all times. But they can’t.”

  That threw me for a second. “I hadn’t noticed that.” I linked my fingers together, resting my forearms on the table. “Your office has drapes? Not blinds, but drapes?”

  “Yes,” he said, cautiously.

  “That’s so cute!” I allowed myself the small spark of satisfaction that came from the sight of his jaw setting. “Listen to me, Anatoly,” I continued, making my tone serious again, “the man I saw at Sutro Heights, he was spying on me and he got spooked when he realized he had been spotted. I tried to approach and he just took off.”

  “From your description of events,” Anatoly said evenly, “you ran after him. Generally speaking, when a stranger starts to chase you, you run.”

  “If a woman ran in your direction you’d run away?” I asked, dryly.

  “No,” he admitted, “not if she looked like you.”

  The compliment fell flat. It was after four in the morning and I had come this close to accidentally shooting my boyfriend. Flirting was not in the cards. “I’m certain it was the same man wearing the same cap all three times,” I insisted. “I’m certain that Gundrun Volz is hiding something from me. I’m certain Anita is not exactly who she wants me to think she is. I’m certain London had reason to be afraid. And most of all,” I paused to take a deep breath, “I’m certain that the note left on our doorstep tonight was directly tied to all of that. It’s a threat. Someone is threatening me because I’m going around the city asking questions about Aaron London.”

  Anatoly shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “That scenario would seem more plausible if the questions you’ve been asking were any good.”

  I felt Ms. Dogz stir beneath my foot. She was undoubtedly as insulted as I was.

  “What have you discovered, exactly?” Anatoly challenged. “A bunch of blog posts London saw fit to print out and pin to his wall while in a manic state? That he was bitter after being fired from his last job? That his first marriage was on the rocks? That he didn’t make good use of his medicine cabinet? You think someone took a three am trip to leave you a written warning for that?” He tapped his fingers against the card, hard this time. “This appears to be a real threat. It’s directed at you. That’s what we have to deal with, not some John Grisham fantasy in which corporations try to assassinate their detractors. This is real.”

  “It’s not a fantasy,” I said, stubbornly.

  “Right now, we have to focus on keeping you safe,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

  “I’m meeting up with Mary Ann, why?”

  He nodded his approval. For some reason, the gesture irked me. “So you won’t be alone. Good. Try to stay in public, high traffic places. Keep your cell phone ready and your mace. The person who left you this,” he lifted the note again, “may be someone from your past with a grudge to bear. God knows you’ve pissed off enough people.”

  “The person who left me this is pissed because he thinks I’m getting closer to figuring out who and what killed Aar
on London!” I slammed my fist on the table, startling Ms. Dogz. “God, why can’t you see that! What is wrong with you?”

  “What is wrong with you?” he countered, raising his voice for the first time. There was virulence in his tone. It almost made me gasp.

  “Anatoly,” I whispered.

  He grimaced and got out of his chair. Without another word he walked out of the dining room and into the kitchen. If he had stormed out, I would have known how to react. But his calm silence threw me. After a moment I withdrew my foot from Ms. Dogz’s back and followed him. I found him at the sink, pouring himself a glass of water. “If you hadn’t found the note tonight,” he said, turning around to face me once more, “would you have told me about any of this?”

  “I…” I hesitated and bit down on my lip. “I should have,” I finally admitted. “It’s just…you were so against this whole thing.”

  “And why do you think that is?” he asked, with just the slightest trace of derision. “I took pains to make sure you were in good standing with the property manager of London’s apartment building. The more you go back, the more you use that key that you have no right to have, the harder it will be to protect you from the illegality of your own foolishness.”

  “I wasn’t being foolish,” I snapped.

  “You knew I wouldn’t want you to go back there,” he continued. “Even more than the whole meeting with Gundrun Volz, you must have known that going back into Aaron London’s apartment was one thing I absolutely would not have agreed to.”

  “I don’t have to ask your permission for…well, for anything,” I said, coolly. Mr. Katz strode into the room and took his place by my side, making it clear which parent he stood with.

  “No, you don’t,” Anatoly admitted. “What bothers me is not that you’re not deferring to me. It’s that you seem intent on antagonizing me. Knowing I don’t want you to take these risks not only doesn’t bother you, it pleases you. You’re looking for a fight.” He took a sip of his water and put it down on the counter. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged.

  I blanched and looked away. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. But that was one lie I couldn’t pull off. And the truth that he had just called me out on, was sort of awful.

  “I’m not…looking for a fight,” I attempted. “Not exactly. But Anatoly,” I turned back to him, confused, almost pleading, “when have you and I ever gone out of our way to avoid conflict? We have never been peacemakers. I thought we both understood that. I thought that was why we fit.”

  “It’s one thing not to avoid it, it’s another thing to covet it.” He stepped forward, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, staring straight into my eyes with an intensity that made me feel both vulnerable and teary. “What’s going on with you, Sophie?” Ms. Dogz rushed to his side, but for once, he ignored her. “What is it about your life, our life that has left you unsatisfied? What hole are you trying to patch up with far-fetched theories and dead-end investigations?”

  I stilled my trembling hand by crossing my arms in front of my chest. “First, let me say that I don’t think my theories are far fetched or that my investigation is a dead-end. That note on the door…the only way anyone could come to the conclusion that it isn’t connected to what’s going on is if they’re in severe denial.”

  Anatoly muttered something in Russian. I decided not to ask for the translation.

  “But you are right about one thing,” I continued. “I am trying to patch something up. Maybe I’m going about it the wrong way. Maybe I’m not being as communicative as I should be. But Anatoly, I think you know that things have been different with us lately. And I think…I hope, you’ve noticed that I haven’t been fully myself in quite some time. I hope you can see that despite our arguments and disagreements, the last few days I’ve been more…more me. And we’ve been more us. You do see, that, right? You do like that, don’t you?” Was I about to cry? God, how pathetic. I self-consciously swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. “Conflict, fights, passionate lovemaking, is that not what you want anymore? And if it’s not…” my voice faded off.

  If not what’s left of us? Where do we go from here? But those were questions I didn’t ask aloud. I simply didn’t have the emotional courage or the fortitude.

  Anatoly looked stricken. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then shook his head and looked down at Ms. Dogz who responded by looking up at him with a heartbreakingly forlorn stare. For a long time, we remained silent. From outside I could hear the faint sound of birds chirping, trying to beat the sun to the day. The only window here looked out into my tiny backyard. I couldn’t see the street at all. But I imagined it being filled with Zipcars.

  “You should go back to bed,” he said, quietly. “You must be exhausted.”

  “And you’re not?” I asked with a humorless laugh.

  “I’m fine,” he lied. “I’m going to search the property again.”

  “No one’s out there,” I protested, wiping away another tear. “He dropped a note and took off.”

  “Go to bed, Sophie.”

  “Or what?” I snapped as Ms. Dogz’s ears perked up.

  Anatoly finally looked up to meet my eyes and the look on his face…oh he was riled up again. We were going to have a real fight now. I rolled my shoulders back and tilted up my chin, my hands clenched into fists by my side.

  He studied me for what felt like a five-minute stretch but was probably mere seconds. And then he just shook his head and looked to the back door. “Go to bed,” he repeated, his voice softer this time, less a command than a surrender.

  And that surrender, somehow that hurt more than being hit with harsh or biting accusations and insults. It felt like he was surrendering on us. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, not immediately sure of what to do. But when he didn’t say more, I found myself also surrendering, stepping away from him, turning my back, heading up the stairs, Ms. Dogz at my heels, Mr. Katz staying exactly where he was. As I reached the top, I heard the front door open and close as Anatoly went out to search for a stalker that was no longer there.

  “The only thing about life that isn’t complicated is death. Death is very simple.”

  --Dying To Laugh

  A vague buzzing, like a really annoying bee. That’s the sound that woke me up. “Make it stop,” I grumbled, hoping whatever it was Anatoly could just kill it. But when I blinked my eyes open Anatoly’s side of the bed was empty and the buzzing wasn’t coming from a bee but from my phone, vibrating against my nightstand. There was a pit in my stomach that I couldn’t explain. Why was I waking up worried? Disoriented I reached for my phone. It was ten-fifty am and Jason was calling me.

  “Jason,” I said, sleepily into my cell. I looked over at Anatoly’s side of the bed again. Oh. The events of last night were seeping back into my consciousness. I now had an explanation for the pit.

  “Nolan-Volz is poisoning people,” Jason said in lieu of hello.

  “You mean someone at Nolan-Volz poisoned Aaron London,” I corrected. Mr. Katz wasn’t in the room, which meant Anatoly had probably already fed him. Were Anatoly and I having a fight? Was that how we left it the night before?

  “No, no,” Jason corrected. “They’re poisoning lots of people. I’m sure of it. That’s what London was trying to tell you. These articles we found in his apartment? They’re just story after story of how pharmaceutical companies screw up and poison people and then they do these huge cover-ups. This London dude understood the game.”

  “Uh-huh,” I propped myself up on one elbow. Ms. Dogz was relaxing on her bed, a little bit of drying dog food clinging to her nose. Anatoly’s shoes that he wore the day before were not on the floor. That could mean one of two things. One, he put them away in the closet (not likely). Or two, he had put them on and walked out the door. “Were there any articles about Nolan-Volz specifically?” I asked.

  “No. But have you seen today’s Chronicle?”

  “Um, no…it’s probably in my driveway�
��unless Anatoly took it with him.” I sat up and tried to do some math in my head. I had gotten two hours of sleep between the time I went to bed and woke up due to the ominous intruder…well, not intruder, ominous note-dropper. Then I had gotten back to sleep at…five? No, I had lain awake for at least…

  “There’s a whole article about Nolan-Volz and your friend Gun in today’s Chronicle.”

  “Oh…that’s the article he thought I was working on,” I exclaimed, my focus now back with Jason. “Was it critical? Complimentary?” I got to my feet and headed down to the living room, Ms. Dogz trotted after me. No sign of Anatoly.

  “The latter,” Jason said, sounding disgusted. “But check this out, Gundrun Volz used to be a top executive at Orvex. Sophie, this is some seriously sinister shit.”

  “Why?” I asked. I stopped in the center of the living room to rub away some sleep sand still in my eye. My yawn stretched my face until I felt a tightening around my cheekbones. Mornings before caffeine? That was sinister shit. But God bless Anatoly, I smelled coffee. “What’s Orv…oh, wait a minute.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. You know what Orvex was,” Jason said, sounding rather proud of himself.

  “They made Rispolex,” I whispered. “Gun was involved in a company that…that…”

  “That poisoned people,” Jason finished for me.

  That was, if not an oversimplification, certainly a poor framing of the facts. Orvex didn’t exactly poison people, not intentionally. But according to that Newsweek article, they did cut corners they weren’t legally allowed to cut and their product did cause serious health issues.

  “In the article, he claims to have learned a lot from the mistakes made at Orvex,” Jason scoffed. “He says he’s been very clear with his scientists about how important it is to follow all the protocols and eschew shortcuts. You see what he’s doing, right? He’s deflecting blame onto the scientists. Like he didn’t tell them to take those shortcuts. But I’m sure he did. And while the company did go out of business, did a single Orvex executive face criminal charges? No. No, they didn’t. And now he’s killing people over at Nolan-Volz. That’s how this bullshit works.”