He's Back

by Aria Ford

  I think they won't just ignore this.

  I tried to forget about the worry but it lurked on the back edge of my mind, an uneasy presence that made me feel nervous no matter how much I tried to forget. I felt incredible, though – my whole body feeling like I'd been flattened and then put back together without any memory of tension. That helped.

  I opened my eyes as she came in. With her long hair wet around her shoulders, she looked somehow younger. I guess she looked like she was on a summer holiday, wet and sandy and carefree.

  She laughed when I said as much.

  “It's a while till summer,” she commented, reaching for a towel to dry her hair.

  “It is,” I agreed. I tried not to think about that. In summer, I had no idea where I might be.

  I slid out of bed, refusing to indulge that worried thought, and headed to the bathroom. Under the water and with the flower-scented steam rising round me, I felt even more relaxed. It was only as we sat down to breakfast that the doubts returned anew.

  “Ainsley?”

  “Mm?”

  “You don't mind that I'm...uh...jobless?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Drake?”

  “Mm?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you this? I don't. Not a bit of it. In fact, if you were a millionaire or if you were on a park bench, I'd love you just the same.”

  I smiled at her. “Truly?”

  “Drake, if you can even ask such a question, you don't know much about love, do you?” she said crossly. “Of course I don't. Whatever happens, I'll love you. And whatever happens, you know what?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Trust me.”

  I looked into her eyes. I sighed and looked down at the table breaking the gaze. “Yes,” I murmured. “I know. I trust you.”

  “Good.”

  We finished breakfast twenty minutes before nine and she turned and kissed me fondly.

  “Right,” she said, leaving the dishes in the sink and lifting her handbag from the hat-rack by the door, “I'm off.”

  “Okay,” I said uneasily. “Should I uh...go?”

  She giggled. “I suppose we'll have to think about the key, right?” She scratched her head. “I do have a spare set... I think they're in the drawer in living-room... Ah.” She came back a moment later and handed me some keys.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Right,” she smiled at me. “Now. Much as I'd love to keep you here, I shall have to tell you that this one,” she held up one with a flat end, “is the front door key. The next one from the left is the outside door. This one is the mailbox,” she added mischievously, pointing to the smallest one. “I trust you not to take my mail.”

  I laughed. “I wouldn't dream of it. So. I'm all set.”

  “Uh huh,” she said. “Feel free to come and go as you please.”

  I smiled at the grand turn of phrase. “Thanks,” I said.

  “No problem,” she said lightly. “Now, I have to run.”

  I nodded. “See you later.”

  “See you.”

  When she had gone I leaned back against the cupboard in the kitchen and sighed. It was weird. This was the first time in ages that I was in a house with nothing to do. It felt weird. I wanted to work. To get my hands on something to do.

  First, I messaged my sister.

  Sorry. Something urgent has come up. I won't be coming down this weekend. I hope that's okay?

  I went through to the kitchen and rinsed out our cereal-bowls, then opened the dishwasher and started unpacking it and re-packing the dirty dishes from the night before and from this morning. When it was all set I headed through to the sitting-room.

  My phone rang just as I got there and I answered.

  “Harper?”

  “Hey! What's happening. Are you okay? I saw the news about Steelcore. That doesn't affect you though, right?”

  I sighed. “It kind of does. I'm sorry I won't be able to make it today but I can't. I'll miss you, though. I hope it's okay?”

  “Sure,” she said. She sounded concerned. “Listen, stay safe, hey?”

  I sighed. “I'll do my best.”

  “Good. And if you need anything, just call, okay? We're just a few hours away.”

  I was touched. “Thanks, Harper,” I said sincerely. “I appreciate it.”

  “It's the least I can do,” she said kindly.

  I hung up.

  After she'd gone, I felt a brief peace and then the restlessness returned in full force.

  It's only a matter of time before they get onto this.

  I didn't want to keep still. I knew some kind of call was going to come. At least, I had this sinking and awful feeling about it. And there was no good to be had from sitting around tormenting myself with the possibilities.

  I need to go out.

  I headed downstairs to my car. My plan was to go home and go jogging, get some things at the store, fetch clothes and come back.

  I could fix dinner for Ainsley, I decided cheerfully. Something nice to surprise her. I planned a foray into Thai cooking that would make the judges of Masterchef stand back in amazement. Then I laughed. They probably would be amazed. But not for the reasons I had hoped, when they saw my result.

  I was still chuckling when I headed out for my jog.

  With exercising, cleaning up my own flat – I fully-anticipated having to leave it soon – and packing a few clothes and things – soap, razor, toothbrush – to take to Ainsley's home again, I filled my morning. I took the car back to work – I owed it to them to return it within the week – and then I caught the bus back home. I shopped and then came back to my place laden with exotic-smelling grocery-bags.

  I had managed to pack it all into a suitcase and was just ready to head off to the bus when I heard something.

  Someone was ringing the doorbell.

  Ainsley? It would be odd if she was here, but maybe she needed me for something. I ran through to the sitting-room and quickly pressed the knob.

  It was only after I heard the door close three floors down that I started to wonder who it was.

  My apartment doorbell rang.

  I peered through the lens and saw a man standing out there. He was wearing a uniform. I felt my blood go cold and I desperately wanted to just walk away. But if I did, it was only going to stay there in the background. I might as well get it off my chest.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Mr. Leblanc?”

  “Yes. That's me,” I replied with a sickly grin.

  “Urgent mail, sir.”

  I sighed. “Thanks.”

  I knew what it was before I opened it. A court subpoena. I thanked the courier and headed into the sitting-room, feeling like I was carrying a death-warrant. Slid my finger under the flap and opened it, scanning rapidly through it.

  It wasn't. It was a letter from the company.

  “Subject: Unlawful conduct prior to resignation. Urgent meeting.”

  I read through the letter with my whole body trembling.

  Mr. Drake Lance Leblanc. You face being charged with defamation and publication of private facts. In light of these offenses you will be facing the strength of the law. In addition, you are required to report to company HQ within forty-eight hours of the reception of this letter, or you will face additional charges.

  I felt my heart start to thump in my chest. Of all the crazy things, what were they going to do to me?

  You face being charged with publication of private facts and defamation.

  Great. Now I at least had something to fight.

  I thought about what I could remember about such cases. If the publication of the facts is within the public interest, then the aforementioned publication can be justified. For a defamation case, the plaintiff needs four things: a lie having been told, publication of the lie, me to be at fault and to have caused damages.

  I hadn't lied. That one wouldn't stick. Good.

  I knew how they were planning to gang up on me, and I could fight it.
I was feeling surprisingly confident about legalities. But what about the rest... The “additional charges”? And why the meeting?

  Images of being beaten up to make me reveal what I knew, flashed through my mind. I thought I was being paranoid, but all the same; I wouldn't put it past this company. I had probably already seriously dented their profits, and they would want me not to get away with that. And if they were okay with sending ten-year-olds snorkeling through slurry, what the hell was going to stop them from torturing a thirty-four-year-old man? Nothing.

  I have forty-eight hours.

  I considered my options. Either I could go now, or I could wait forty-eight hours and then go and face it. On the balance, I knew what I would prefer.

  I put on a good suit, brushed my hair carefully, and put my briefcase by the door. It all had this weird quality to it, as if it might be the last time I ever did this. I shook my head.

  They're not going to kill you.

  I wasn't sure about that, actually. I wouldn't put that past them. I sat down at the kitchen table and wrote an email to Ainsley.

  Dear Ainsley. I might be late – some unexpected things come up at work. I should be back soon. I just wanted to say that I love you. Drake.

  I pressed send. When it had gone, I felt a bit silly. I was being so melodramatic! I'm not going to die!

  All the same, the future could hold anything. I was shaking as I went through to the bathroom and considered taking a tranquilizer. I hadn't used them since the bar exam.

  I left the box where it was on the shelf and headed out.

  At the headquarters I stood outside and tried to still my beating heart. It was my workplace until recently but now it seemed so sinister. I still had that terrible feeling that I was about to face my own doom.

  “This is silly,” I said aloud. I marched in through the automatic doors and went up.

  “Mrs. Slate?”

  “Hello,” she said. Her attitude was different. She used to flirt with me. Now she barely looked at me. I wondered what had been said to her. I felt weirdly guilty, as if I'd sinned against everyone here.

  “I uh...I got a report from...the CEO, I guess,” I said. I produced the letter to show her, wincing with embarrassment as her brows raised and eyes widened as she read the charges. Then she turned to me.

  “Yes. It'll be Mr. Rowell you want to see. He's in a meeting right now, but if you go up and wait outside he'll want to see you as soon as he's through.”

  “Um, yeah,” I said, swallowing. “Okay. Thanks.”

  I went up in the lift, feeling as if I was ascending into some topsy-turvy hell as the floors flashed past. By the time I reached the top floor, my mouth was dry and my heart was fluttering like aspen leaves in my chest.

  I stood outside the smart half-silvered glass doors and waited. Walked from one side of the hallway to the other. Sat down. Stood up again.

  The doors opened. Mr. Rowell saw me and patted the man he'd been talking to on the back-

  “Um, see you tomorrow, Clark. I just have to handle something.”

  The way he said that made me feel as if I was some sort of irritation. My heart sank even further into my boots and I felt ashamed of myself. I clenched my fists so my fingers dug into my palms. I didn't have to feel ashamed of anything.

  The man disappeared into the lift I'd just vacated and then I was alone on the top floor with a massive plate-glass window over a gray cityscape. And Frank Rowell.

  “Uh, sir,” I said. “I... I received this notice...” I waved the paper at him and he raised a hand, dismissing whatever I was about to say.

  “I know why you're here,” he said thinly. “Come inside.”

  I nodded and followed him in. I sat down opposite his desk as he took a seat.

  “Right. Now I think you know how grave these accusations are,” he said.

  “Um, actually...” I was about to say that they weren't that grave, that as a lawyer I knew the charges were unlikely to stick, but he interrupted me.

  “You are aware that, if you fail to comply with my demands that you can expect to face other charges. Both the legal and non-legal consequences of your actions?”

  “Other charges.”

  “Theft is a crime. Entering the archives under false pretenses is a crime. Hacking is a crime.”

  “Theft?”

  “Theft of data,” he said airily. “You're facing enough charges to keep you in court for the rest of your life. And you'd end up beggared or in jail. Have you any idea of the revenue this company draws? You can't fight us. We can't afford to lose.”

  I swallowed. “What demands must I comply with?” I asked.

  “Well, you have to first claim responsibility for these claims you've made. Then you have to rescind them and publicly apologize You have to state that they are false and sign a document declaring that you know them to be false.”

  “And if I don't?” I was curious. If I did as they said, I'd ruin myself. I'd also make their first two charges stick. If I said I'd lied, that meant I had committed defamation.

  “I'm sure we don't need to inform you of the dangers involved in working undercover,” he said thinly. “If you choose to play under wraps, no-one knows what's going on under there.”

  “Are you threatening me?” I asked bluntly. I couldn't believe how directly he'd just said that.

  “No,” he said with a thin smile. “We're threatening everyone you care about.”

  “No,” I said. I was horrified. “No. You can't do that.”

  He shook his head. “On the contrary, Mr. Leblanc. We had you followed yesterday. We know where you live and where your girlfriend lives. If we want to, we can make her disappear. Would you risk that?”

  “You can't do that,” I said again. “That's murder.”

  “Oh, we wouldn't kill her,” he said with that disconcerting smile. “But she might wish we had.”

  I felt my stomach turn over. “You wouldn't.”

  He was leaning over the desk, slit-eyed. “Need I remind you of the revenue of this company? Of what we stand to lose, if your slander is accepted as fact?”

  I stared at him. “No,” I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say.

  “No. Exactly. Now do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I said dully. “I understand very well.”

  I understood I had no choice.

  I stood and looked down at him. He stood too.

  “Are you leaving?” he said quietly.

  “I think you have said all you need to say to me,” I said thinly. “I am very well informed of your position now.”

  “And you will sign this document?”

  I raised a brow. “I have to think about it,” I said calmly.

  He frowned at me. “What?”

  I managed to find the strength to smile. “I have to think about it,” I repeated. “Like I said. I'm a lawyer, remember?”

  He looked at me with fury in his dark eyes, but there was nothing he could say to that. “You have forty-eight hours,” he growled.

  I nodded and turned away.

  I walked down the stairs and through the door, up the sidewalk and to the bus-shelter. Out in the unseasonable cold, I stood rooted in place, breathing in the scents of exhaust-fumes and someone's cigarettes, the streetlamps on and haloed with the rain. I watched the people at the bus-stop and motor-cars on the roadway with a strange, detached clarity. It was like it was a movie.

  When I got home I sat down on the couch and didn't move. I don't think I even blinked. I was wooden, frozen. Frightened.

  I have two choices. Damn myself and everything I've worked for. Or risk that I send Ainsley to a terrible fate.

  “How am I supposed to choose?”

  I don't even know if he really tailed me, or if he really knows where Ainsley lives.

  The fact was, he could have had me followed. I was in the company car the night I visited. And it seemed like he knew. He knew enough to know I had a girlfriend and that we weren't sharing an apartment. Or,
that was what it sounded like - how else was I supposed to interpret that?

  I know where you live. I know where your girlfriend lives. As I sat there feeling sorry for myself, I suddenly got an idea.

  “I'll just disappear.”

  The more I thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. If I wasn't anywhere to be found, then they'd need to keep looking for me or they wouldn't be able to disprove what I'd said.

  But if they need to find me, the easiest way to do that is to go via Ainsley. If they tortured her to find me, I would rather be dead.

  “We'll run away together,” I decided.

  If we ran to the UK, then we wouldn't need a visa for six months. I had an aunt there, a relative on my mother's side. We could stay undercover there for a while until things blew over. Maybe by the time six months were past, we could have made a plan.

  “Right,” I said to myself. “That's what we're going to do.” I sat down and Googled flights. All I had to do next was to tell Ainsley. I prayed that she would understand. That she'd come with me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ainsley