by Danika Stone
She glanced at the man sitting on her right side: the banker was shovelling in mouthfuls of food, bits of it dripping onto a coat that cost more than a month's rent. Indigo turned to the left: Fiona’s husband sat next to her, seated between Indigo and his wife. He had longish blond hair and sad eyes. He was staring dully down at his plate, scraping the fork irritably on the tablecloth. When conversation veered toward him, he nodded but didn’t respond. He might tolerate Fiona’s high-pitched chatter, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. Sensing Indigo’s gaze, his eyes, brown like amber, flicked up, glaring at her. Indigo didn’t turn away.
‘Yes,’ she thought with a smile. ‘You’ll do perfectly.’
Indigo smiled in remembrance and Jude smiled back. He was still describing the challenge of the prerequisite system while she was back nearly two years before.
“So Irene called me,” Jude said, “but I honestly have no time for her shit. You’d think that she’d realize that every time the program crashes and she reloads it all, she needs to reload my patch too…”
Indigo had spent the evening focused on Cal, the two of them falling into conversation almost immediately. He was good-looking, of course, but that wasn’t what interested her. It was the thought of punishing his wife. By the time dinner had ended, Cal was touching her under the table, his hand roving over the soft flesh of her leg, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
“Come outside with me,” he growled.
She raised a brow.
“I don’t do things like this.”
Indigo sighed, and Jude leaned closer.
“…and Irene thought we could rewire it all, but we don’t have the time to do that either. She just doesn’t get that. She just thinks it’s a quick repair when really…”
Indigo nodded, murmuring her agreement.
Cal called Indigo the next day, the two of them meeting up at his university office. He fucked her on his desk, and her sense of satisfaction convinced Indigo she’d almost enjoyed it. She left feeling a rare contentment. Fiona Martel-Woodrow might have more money than she could count, but she had no idea how the real world worked.
“…the Tech Department is starting to make some staffing changes,” Jude explained, grinning impishly. “Might change a lot of things, actually…”
“Interesting,” she mumbled.
Indigo was surprised when Cal phoned a week later, begging to see her again. He swore he hadn’t slept since meeting her. That their connection had changed him. That he had tried to deny himself, but he couldn’t.
Cal was desperate and panicked. A man obsessed.
“… and so Lissa has decided to start using magical elves rather than technicians. It’s pretty cool actually, since you don’t have to pay them or give them health benefits…”
“Mm-hmmm?”
They met twice more that month, the one-night stand exploding into an outright affair. Cal was consumed by his need for her, his fixation growing by the day. Indigo found herself more focused on Cal than his wife. She didn’t WANT to be caught anymore. She wanted to have Cal for her own.
“…and it turns out the elves can climb into the mainframe servers, and pick out the innards with their bare hands.”
“Really,” Indigo sighed.
Jude’s explanation stopped, his smile fading. For several seconds he didn’t speak.
“Where are you, Indigo?” he finally asked. “’Cause it isn’t here.”
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled.
Jude frowned. Seeing it, Indigo sat up straighter. Cal’s smirking face was abruptly gone, replaced by Jude’s concern.
“Sorry,” Indigo said warily. “What were you saying?”
He slid closer, his fingers trailing up her arm, making her shiver. Close like this, Jude was the only thing she could see.
“I’m talking,” he said gently, “and you’re not listening to a word.” His fingers traced patterns over the flesh of her arm, her skin rising in goosebumps. “Are you okay today?”
“I um… I just have things on my mind.”
Jude’s his hand slid higher, brushing over her shoulder and combing through her hair.
“How’s your film project going?”
She glanced down at her lap, plucking at the frayed seam of her jeans.
“Okay, I guess,” she muttered. “Put in the footage from this weekend, but I’m still missing a bunch of time.” His hand moved deeper into her hair, massaging the muscles of her neck and scalp. She sighed, letting the motion of his fingers pull her closer, tension easing. “God,” she moaned, eyes closing, “that feels good.”
She felt rather than saw him move closer. Suddenly Jude’s mouth was against hers, his lips teasing her into responding. Indigo gasped at the feeling of kissing him again. She’d held back the last few days, but now the fire between them was alight. His fingers tightened in her hair, the other hand pulling her nearer, tongue plundering her mouth. The embrace grew, Indigo’s hands tugging at his clothes. Without warning, the door near the far end of the corridor opened. They broke apart, laughing. Indigo pulled back, straightening her shirt and brushing hasty fingers through her hair. Jude watched her with hooded eyes.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
She giggled, trying to think of a teasing retort and failing. She’d been waiting for it to happen too. When she glanced back up, Jude’s expression had altered. The desire was still there, but now it was tempered by worry.
“What…?”
Jude reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small plastic rectangle and holding it out to her.
“I um, I wasn’t sure I should give this to you or not.”
Indigo stared at the small jump drive in his fingers.
“What is this?” she asked in concern.
“It’s some answers,” he said, dropping it into her waiting palm. “Pictures from the public archives… names and things.” She stared at the drive in her hand, chest tight. This was another piece of her life, laid bare for him. He was still here. “I um, I found something else too,” he added. “An address.”
“For who?” she gasped, certainty gripping her before he’d even said the words.
“For your mom,” he answered. “She’s still in—”
“You what?” Indigo cried, stumbling to her feet. “Why?!? Why did you do that?!?”
“I don’t know,” he said, standing up beside her. “I just figured, you know, if you ever wanted it.”
“Fuck!” Indigo yelped. “What would I do if I saw her, Jude?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “but at least now you have the chance.”
Drive in hand, Indigo turned and ran.
: : : : : : : : : :
The apartment where Elliot lived had an aging, though effective, security system. Without a code or key, you couldn’t get in, and the front entrance was covered by three cameras. As long as you were in the building, you were fine. The main issue was that parking was on the street. This was no problem most of the year.
Lately, however, it’d been a nightmare.
When Elliot headed to work early in the morning and came home by five, he could always find a spot. But one week a month, he worked the late shift, getting home after ten. That meant circling the block, searching for a space.
Today was one of those days.
His bad mood had started even before he’d left work. He’d received two calls from Mrs. Henderson, asking him to change her account information, then calling back again, and doing the same thing. Elliot sighed, talking her through the process. She might have a terrible memory, but her generous investments more than made up for the nuisance. The next issue had been a photocopier jam. He’d spent twenty minutes on it before unplugging it and leaving a handwritten note. He’d been about to leave the office when the phone rang. He glanced at his watch – already late – then picked up the receiver.
“Elliot Baird,” he said tiredly.
No one answered.
Frowning, he hung up the phone, his eyes
moving through the empty office. This week had been screwing with his head, and a part of him regretted asking Jude to leave. Truth was, he didn’t like living alone, and the last few days, with the strange happenings, had made that even worse. Elliot hung up the phone, pulling on his coat and grabbing his car keys from his pocket.
“Get it together, man,” he muttered, heading to the parking garage.
He blasted the radio on the way home, trying to force his nerves away. Partway there, the eleven o’clock news update came on. Francesca Williams, the new police commissioner, had made another speech about getting tough on crime, asking the mayor to increase her budget in order to do it. Elliot’s gaze moved down the streets as he drove: the closed-up businesses and boarded-up buildings, the people sleeping in boxes in the alleys.
‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘it’s time for a change.’
Reaching his apartment building, he found that the parking spot he was hoping to use was already taken. A sedan with tinted windows was parked there tonight. He swore, driving a block further, temper rising. He parked under a street lamp, wishing he’d brought his gloves and hat. It was cold out, and as he climbed from the car, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets.
He began to walk.
The street was empty, leafless trees like skeletal hands overhead. With the temperature dropping, there was a sharpness to the air, the hint that snow would come before morning. Elliot turned up his collar, tucked his nose down. Nearing the alley, he heard someone walking behind him. He shifted to the side, giving them room to pass.
The footsteps grew nearer, heels clicking on sidewalk.
Elliot looked over his shoulder just as he reached the mouth of the alley, wondering if someone was pacing him. He frowned in recognition. The man was tall and broad, with a football player’s build. It was, he realized, one of the potential clients he had met with earlier this week. Someone who’d asked about placing an investment, but never called him back.
“Hey,” Elliot said in surprise. “Don’t I know you?”
The man lunged, his motion so inexplicably fast for his size, Elliot didn’t even think to shout. He was propelled into the shadows of the alley, his head slamming against the brick wall, leaving him stunned. He stumbled, and the man attacked again, a steely fist crashing into his jaw. Elliot landed on his back with a thud, breath gone.
The man became calm and businesslike, walking forward and crouching next to Elliot, as if about to help him upright. Elliot gulped like a fish, trying to catch his breath and failing. There was blood in his mouth and eyes, ears ringing. As he watched, the man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a blade.
“The King has ways of dealing with people who talk,” he said calmly. One hand grasped Elliot’s throat, the other, holding the knife, moving in.
Winded, Elliot tried to scream, but the blade was faster.
Chapter 15: The File of Francesca Williams
Jude poured himself a cup of coffee and yawned. He hated mornings almost as much as he hated working weekends, but in breaking his connections to King, he’d indentured himself to at least another year at the Tech Center. He took a sip, mentally filing through his options. App creation was still a choice, but the field was flooded with teenagers. Silicon Valley was booming, but Jude didn’t feel like packing up his entire life to move to the West Coast. That left either going back to school – out of the question given his financial situation – or finding another job. Jude sighed.
Neither interested him.
A door closed down the hallway and Marq came into the kitchen, phone in hand.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, eyes down on his cell phone. “You’re up early.” He lifted his phone to his ear, listening for a few seconds, then dropped it down again, tapping on the screen. “Gotta leave a message, asshole,” he muttered.
“Everything okay?” Jude asked.
“Some guy left me a bunch of messages about doing some tech work for him.” Marq said. “Didn’t leave me any name or call back number. Just a bunch of hints and heavy breathing.” He snorted with good humour. “People make me crazy.”
It was total Marq to laugh off a crank call. Jude envied the way he was able to just blow things off. The issues that worried most people were no concern to him; he lived for the day. According to Jude’s mother, Marq Lopez was ‘a slacker’, but it was one of the things Jude most liked about his friend. It made Jude feel a little less like one himself.
“Yeah, me too.” Jude sighed. Much as he liked Marq, he still needed to find a new apartment, like yesterday.
“If he ever gets hold of me,” Marq laughed. “I’m gonna quote him a price that’ll fucking bankrupt him.” He grinned. “I’m done with this small time shit.”
Jude nodded, taking another sip of coffee just as the phone in his pocket rang. The phone number was private.
“Hello?” he said cautiously. He wondered if this was the call he’d been dreading. The one where Luca told him why he wasn’t going to walk away.
“Jude?” a woman gasped. “Jude, is that you?”
Several things ran through his mind. First, that it wasn’t Indigo or his mother. The woman’s voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“Yeah, this is Jude. Who’s this?”
“Oh thank God it’s you,” she cried. “This is Carol Baird, Elliot’s mother. Jude, Elliot’s been—”
Her voice broke, the sound of muffled sobs filling his ear. Jude staggered sideways, head swimming. He knew this feeling. The moment between knowing something bad was about to happen, and seeing it unfold before your eyes. He’d had the same experience the day his father had died. That day it had been his mother, Elizabeth, on the phone in the school office.
“Mrs. Baird?” Jude said. “What’s going on?”
“Elliot was attacked,” she cried. “He’s in surgery right now.”
: : : : : : : : : :
Jude sat outside the intensive care unit, his eyes on the tiled floor. They only let two people in at a time, and Elliot’s sister and father were in with him now. Jude would go next, Elliot’s mother assured him. They’d give him time to talk alone. To say what he needed to say.
‘Just in case.’
That caveat was the worst thing about the attack. Though Elliot was getting the utmost in medical care, there was a very real possibility he wasn’t going to survive, and if he did, there’d be a long road to recovery. He hadn’t regained consciousness since the attack and what he’d remember when he woke was anyone’s guess.
For now, progress was being counted in minutes.
Jude ran a hand up the back of his neck, his eyes going to the clock on the wall. It was almost two, and he still hadn’t called work. Hopefully Marq would explain things to Lissa, though knowing him, you never knew. Next to him in the waiting room, Elliot’s mother kept talking, her words intruding into his private thoughts. She was mumbling, half-coherently, her eyes swollen from crying.
“…and they broke all his fingers. Held him down and smashed them one by one. Crushed his trachea too. And cut him up something awful. His tongue, Jude,” she gasped. “My God, his tongue was sliced down the center. He almost bled to death before —”
“Mrs. Baird,” Jude interrupted, stomach tensing. “You don’t have to tell me this.”
Jude’s face flushed, shadows darkening the side of his vision. He couldn’t handle hearing this. Not when it had to do with his best friend.
“Th-They repaired it,” Carol sniffled. “But he’ll have to learn to talk again.” She began to cry. “My poor baby.”
Jude reached out, absently patting her shoulder. He could feel himself sinking, the horror drowning him the way it had when his father had died.
“The police think it’s a warning,” Carol added. “That he did something to anger the mob that—”
“The mob?!?” Jude yelped, pulling his hand away.
“Yes,” she said, wiping her face with a tissue. “They think he got tangled up in some kind of deal that went bad. T
here were officers in today, interviewing Elliot’s friends.”
Jude bolted from the room before she finished, making it to a washroom down the hall.
“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” he groaned.
He leaned against the sink, breathing through his nose until the nausea passed. After a minute, he turned on the cold water, splashing his face. His mind kept replaying one unquestionable truth: he’d caused this.
By the time Jude made it back to the waiting room, Elliot’s mother and sister were sitting at the side, crying, his father nearby. He shook Jude’s hand before leading him back to the hospital room.
Jude stepped inside, eyes on the figure on the bed. Elliot was intubated, the hiss of a respirator filling the room with sound. His eyes were shut, innumerable wires and tubes emerging from various places on his body. Eyes prickling, Jude reached out, his fingers brushing over Elliot’s arm. Elliot’s skin felt waxy, unreal, and the urge to vomit rose again.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Elliot.”
There was no response.
After a few minutes, Jude stumbled out of the ward, taking the long way around so that he didn’t have to face Elliot’s family. Reaching the main floor of the hospital, he headed out the exit doors, his eyes on the grey afternoon sky. His footsteps crunched on the sidewalk. A thin layer of snow covered the ground; more was falling.
Unexpectedly a voice appeared next to his shoulder.
“You should choose your friends more carefully,” Patel growled.
Jude jumped, but the man had him by the arm, the muzzle of a gun jammed against his ribs. “Now let’s do this the nice way,” Patel snarled, the gun pushing harder. “I’d rather not have to start checking into your other friends.”
“Fuck you!” Jude barked.
He walked stiffly, panic sharpening the details around him. He could see that the shadows in the snow were blue, not grey, as the light from the hospital cut sharp bands down from the windowsills. His breath came in gulps, mind screaming in terror.