by C. J. Lyons
Over the course of the day, she met the rest of the workers. Gavin somehow found a way to make them each sound fascinating in their own unique way. Along with Allen, there was Hope the holistic healer student, Toby who had been an engineer before he got down-sized, three giggling girls who were working during their summer college break from Clemson—Morgan couldn’t quite tell them apart, although Gavin could, reciting each of their majors and hometowns—along with an assortment of others, ending with Zoe.
Zoe seemed to stump Gavin’s efforts at classification, despite the fact that it was obvious she was the one everyone else turned to for guidance. She was young, maybe twenty, twenty-two, with curly blonde hair that she kept loose around her shoulders, probably to hide her one distinguishing feature: an irregular scar that crossed her left cheekbone, pulling the skin under her eye down and her lips up, making that side of her face appear warped. Whatever had caused the injury, her cheekbone had clearly been broken as well, so that her eyes appeared uneven.
She was on a call when Morgan and Gavin passed—Zoe was always on a call, and seemed to be the only worker who didn’t take a break other than lunch—so she simply nodded to Morgan. But as she turned back to her call, Morgan couldn’t help but notice Zoe’s voice.
“The voice of an angel,” Gavin said in a low tone, as they continued their tour. “She’s wasted here. She should be in radio or doing audiobooks or something. But she loves it here—even if we do have to drag her out to the pub.” He looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with Zoe. “You’re coming tonight, Zoe. You promised.”
Zoe rolled her eyes and nodded. She smiled—but only with the right side of her face. Then she waved them on.
“And you’re coming, too,” Gavin said, intertwining his arm with hers. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
Which is how, six hours and twenty-eight minutes later, Morgan found herself standing in a puddle of blood.
Chapter Five
Gavin had Morgan spend the rest of the afternoon observing Zoe. Thank goodness he’d chosen Zoe instead of Allen, who volunteered when Gavin got called upstairs to a meeting. She hated how Allen was always smiling and laughing—never in a joyous way like Gavin, more like in a snide, “I know something you don’t” way that made Morgan want to sharpen her favorite blade and slice the grin right off his face.
Morgan joined Zoe at her workstation at the far corner of the floor during a rare moment when Zoe wasn’t on a call.
“I saw you and Gavin hanging out together during lunch. Are you guys a thing?” Morgan asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Just girl talk, chit-chat—the absolute most difficult form of conversation to fake, at least for her. Maybe because until recently she’d never had any actual friends—or acquaintances either, for that matter.
Growing up with a serial killer dad always on the hunt for new prey had rather stunted her innate social skills. Thankfully her acting skills made up for it; at least they used to, pre-coma. Post-coma Morgan still struggled with simple social interactions.
To her surprise, Zoe looked away. Her expression—if Morgan were reading it properly—was one of shame. Shame? Because she was interested in Gavin? Maybe because he was twice her age? For an older man he was cute, funny; definitely not boring. But Norms had all these unwritten rules that Morgan had never understood, not even before the coma.
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said. “It’s none of my business. I was just trying—”
A call came through, and they both slid their headsets on. Morgan listened as Zoe first calmed down an irate caller and then walked him through the solution to his problem.
The guy was a raving idiot, obviously furious about something other than setting up his Wi-Fi router, constantly swearing and shouting, but Zoe never flinched, simply waiting until he ran out of profanities and then patiently starting over, step by step.
By the end of the call, Morgan swore she heard tears in the man’s voice as he apologized profusely and explained that his wife had just left him and taken his daughter with her and he was alone for the first time in twenty-three years and had no idea where his life was headed and he needed his Wi-Fi so he could Skype with his daughter who was now halfway across the country.
“Thank you,” he said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“My pleasure. Now that we have you all set up and ready to go, why don’t you call your daughter? I’ll bet you’ll feel better after seeing her smiling face.”
“Thanks, I will. Goodbye.”
He hung up. Zoe blew out her breath and stretched her arms above her head, cracking her knuckles. There was a deep scar running down her left forearm. From the same incident that had damaged her face? Morgan wondered. But Hildy was much too polite to ask.
Morgan took off her headset. “Wow. That was…intense. You were brilliant.”
“All I did was listen. Most of the time that’s all people really want: someone to listen.”
“Where’d you learn that? Did you go to college for counseling or something?”
Zoe blushed. “Never made it to school. Guess I just learned from watching.”
That kind of watching was exactly how Morgan had learned as well. Watching her father’s every muscle twitch, listening to the tone of his voice beyond the words he spoke, assessing the gleam in his eye. Learning how to appease him, keep him calm, had been her very first lesson in survival. She glanced at the scar on Zoe’s face, the way her cheekbone caved in like it had been broken but never healed properly. Zoe had grown up in a volatile environment, just like Morgan.
Maybe that was why Zoe liked Gavin. Maybe she was looking for a father figure worthy of love instead of fear. Morgan smiled. The thought reminded her of Nick and the way he’d use their counseling sessions to hold a mirror up to Morgan’s true self. He’d like Zoe. But he’d also caution Morgan against trying to fix someone as broken and damaged as she herself was.
Good thing Nick wasn’t here. “No wonder you and Gavin get along. You’re both so patient. I never went to college, only have my GED, so he had to help me a lot this morning when he was showing me the system. He was so nice about it.”
“You seemed to do okay. You caught on fast enough.”
“I hope so. I really need the job; I don’t want to screw it up.”
Zoe smiled at her. “From what I’ve seen, you’re a natural.”
Another call came in and they donned their headsets. Gavin had been right—they really did send Zoe the worst of the worst. In fact, the other operators often sent her emoji-filled texts as they were about to transfer a call, sometimes in sympathy, sometimes challenging her, as if it were a friendly competition to see who could find the caller that Zoe couldn’t handle.
Then came the inevitable sex call. Several of the other workers—including Allen, who had sent Zoe the call—stood to look over their cubicle walls as Zoe connected. He, of course, wore that smirk that made Morgan’s palms itch.
Morgan noticed that Zoe waited a beat, gathering herself before answering. “Siesta Mattress helpline, how can I be of service?”
“What’s your name?” The man’s voice was tight with need.
“Martha. How can I help?”
“You can’t hang up. You gotta stay and listen.” Followed by grunting noises.
Zoe muted her headset and rolled her eyes, then sat back and waited. She didn’t even appear disgusted, merely resigned.
“Do you get many of these?” Morgan asked.
“A few a shift. People know that we’re not allowed to hang up on them, which makes us a captive audience. This guy’s not as bad as the ones who keep you talking with a pretend customer service issue while they do it. They’re so needy—like they have to know someone’s there with them, even if it’s all fake.”
“How can you stand it?”
“It’s not so bad once you realize that the average guy is over in three minutes or less.” She rolled her chair back and addressed the cubicle two rows ahead of them. “Right, Allen?”
Allen pushed his chair back and stood to grin at both her and Morgan. “Wouldn’t know. Nothing average about me. Which you’d learn for yourself if you let me take you to dinner.”
Turning a pervert’s call into a dinner date? Allen either had a warped sense of humor or an inflated ego. But then Morgan remembered what Gavin said about him taking care of his dad. If it weren’t for quasi-mandatory company outings, Allen would have no life at all.
“Sorry,” Zoe said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “I’m busy washing my cat.”
“You don’t have a cat,” he protested, but then disappeared behind his cubicle to take a call of his own.
“Anyway,” Zoe continued, checking to make sure her caller was still on the line, “the thing to remember is, don’t take this personally.”
“That’s why you used a fake name with him.”
“Absolutely. Never give them any information that they could be putting into Google or searching for you on social media. One of the girls who used to work here got cyberstalked by a creep—she’d let it slip that her birthday was the same as his and used her real name, and he figured out enough from the rest of their conversation to find her.”
“Scary.”
“Thankfully he lived in Canada, so he didn’t find her in real life, but she was so freaked out that she left. I’m not sure where she went—but he probably could still find her online, knowing what he knows.”
“You know,” Morgan said as if considering it for the first time, “all the personal info customers have to give us, it wouldn’t be hard to do some digging on them. I mean, for some calls they give us access to all their account info. Are you ever tempted to troll someone like that Canadian creep or the guy on the line now?”
Zoe frowned, but the damaged side of her face remained frozen in what almost appeared to be a sly grin. “No. Of course not.”
For the first time since they’d met, Morgan knew Zoe was lying. Funny thing, she was almost as good at it as Morgan herself.
Chapter Six
After spending half a shift working with Zoe, Morgan realized there was no way she could get the info she needed while also fielding calls—they required too much attention. So she changed tactics and decided to use the All American pub night as cover to infiltrate the building while it would be empty of everyone except the overnight customer care staff. Even though the actual servers were too secure for her to access directly, she could sneak in and use one of the computers on the charity donation floor. Hopefully, with the software she’d brought, she could get past their firewalls, do a RAT attack, and gain access to the databases.
Unfortunately, her new co-workers weren’t about to let her beg off coming with them to the pub. It seemed that each call center group—customer care, sales, and charity—had their own darts team and competed not only against the other pub league teams but also each other.
“Sales stole our best player a few weeks ago,” Jose, the worker beside Zoe told her as he packed away his personal items, preparing for the next shift’s arrival. “They’ve been kicking our ass ever since, so we need all the help we can get.”
“Plus,” Allen added as he strolled up the aisle, “free booze and food. You have to come.” He gestured to both Zoe and Morgan.
Gavin joined them. “Absolutely, they’re both coming. Do either of you girls need a ride?” That seemed to remind him of something. Before Zoe or Morgan could reply, he clapped his hands loudly to get the room’s attention. “People, don’t forget to check in with your designated driver if you plan to drink. Remember the Ubers charge a fortune to come out here.” He turned to Morgan. “They make more money ferrying drunk tourists on the island. Anyway, I expect to see you both there. You need to at least make an appearance.” The last seemed more directed at Zoe than Morgan, but they both nodded.
Why not? Morgan thought. It made for a good alibi. Grab something to eat, laugh at a few bad jokes lost in the noise of the crowd, slip away, get the job done. Then she’d never need to see any of these people ever again.
Except. She kinda, sorta liked being here. As stressful as the work was—even observing—Gavin had created an atmosphere that made it as fun and carefree as possible. He’d curated a team that, despite their many quirks—like shoving burning candles up their ears—complemented each other and formed a cohesive whole that felt…good. Like a family.
A crazy, colorful, chaotic family to be certain. But a family.
Maybe the killer wasn’t here. Maybe he was downstairs with the sales crew? Zoe had mentioned that a few people preferred to rotate through all three units, and that some had started up here but transferred downstairs to either sales or charity.
Maybe there were other victims she hadn’t found who had been called by the sales or charity reps. Could it have been a coincidence that the victims she’d found had all called into customer care before they were killed?
The next shift arrived, and there was a bit of chaos as they turned over their work stations. Morgan ducked away to make her way down the staircase all the way to the ground level. As she suspected, there was a rear fire exit out the back of the stairwell.
Skirting the security cameras, hugging their blind spots, she quickly disarmed the alarm on the fire door and unlocked it in preparation for her return.
People began streaming down the steps above—she wasn’t the only one who preferred taking the stairs over the elevator. She glanced up through the open space at the center of the stairwell. She could see all the way to the top of the building but was more interested in the secure fourth floor.
Did the techs leave at the same time as everyone else? If so, maybe she could get inside—it would make her job so much easier if she had direct access to the servers. Pre-coma Morgan would have had no problem hacking the system from a regular terminal, but post-coma Morgan was still honing her computer skills.
The door to the fourth floor remained closed while people streamed past its landing as they circled down the flights of steps. Morgan smiled and waved at a few faces she recognized and then darted out the door leading to the main lobby and exit.
There was already a good crowd waiting when she entered the Lighthouse. The darts players were warming up, each wearing team shirts that resembled bowling shirts. All American’s were—of course—red, white, and blue, but the other teams weren’t as constrained by such traditional color combinations. She particularly liked the fluorescent green, pink, and orange of the China Buffet’s Parrotheads, although the Smokehouse BBQ’s team’s black with fiery red accents was eye-catching as well.
It didn’t take her long to figure out why Gavin had been so insistent that she attend—before she finished the buffet line, she’d already had six people offer her a bed or couch for the night. She was impressed by how they all made sure no one else heard the offer, striving to prevent her any embarrassment.
It almost made her feel bad that she actually had a roof over her head at the seven-bedroom mansion on the beach she’d appropriated for the next few days. Almost. If she really were Hildy, she would have felt bad. But Morgan wasn’t Hildy. Far from it.
It was a relief to sneak out as the tournament got started and head back to All American. She parked her car a few blocks away and exchanged her white blouse for a gray long-sleeved tee and a black windbreaker with numerous pockets. Morgan also ditched the wig—if anyone saw her short, dark curls, they’d never recognize purple-haired Hildy.
She crept back through the landscaped stretch of trees surrounding the strip mall, approaching the building by making her way behind the storage unit facility with its row upon row of garage-type rooms secured behind razor wire.
The storage unit saved most of its security for the front entrance, where there was a gate requiring an access pass. She didn’t even see any cameras back here. Sloppy. What was to prevent someone crawling under the fence, where storms had eroded the ground so that only drifts of pine straw filled the gaps between the chain link and the red clay? And those
locks on the roll up doors to each unit? They’d take her less time to open than it would to pull her hair back into a ponytail. Back when she actually had hair, that was.
Finally she reached All American. The building appeared so much quieter than it was during the day. The third floor was of course lit up, and there were a few lights visible on the fourth and fifth floors, but little movement that she could see—just people intent on getting work done, settled in for the long night shift.
She opened the fire door and waited a breath before committing to entry. No alarms; the security cameras didn’t move to track an intruder. Despite the fact that she knew that at least a dozen workers were manning the floors above her, no one was in the staircase.
Morgan crept toward the other door at the base of the stairs, the one that led to the now-empty charity call center with its computer terminals. As she passed through the open area at the center of the staircase, she heard voices overhead. She flattened herself against the inside wall, hoping that the shadows and extreme sight lines from overhead would be enough to conceal her.
“I don’t understand,” Gavin’s voice echoed down the stairwell. Morgan had noticed that he’d left the Lighthouse shortly before she did after taking a phone call. “I never—I had no idea—”
She looked up and spotted Gavin on the fifth floor landing, his back to the railing. She couldn’t see who he was speaking to, but he sounded frightened.
“No, wait!” His body toppled over the railing, somersaulting backwards down the sixty feet that separated them, and landed with a thud almost at her feet.
Chapter Seven
Morgan went into instant self-preservation mode. It was clear Gavin was dead; there was nothing she could do for him. He’d hit head first, and his blood was already seeping across the floor, gathering around her feet.