All the Whys of Delilah's Demise

by Neve Maslakovic

  Bonnie? Where?

  Nine feet directly to your south-east, Scott.

  For God’s sake, Cece, which way is south-east?

  To your right and then—

  Around the corner, got it.

  I dash into the storage area. And then I see it, in the shadows, blocked from my view before by the angle of the L. One of the heavy burlap sacks has tumbled off.

  Sprawled underneath it is Bonnie.

  23

  Monday, April 5

  No time for breakfast, as I’ve overslept—it’s past eight and I’m supposed to be at the theater, vacuuming. Dressing fast, I hurry downstairs and jump on the bike. I stayed awake a long time trying to forget the sight of Bonnie motionless on the cold concrete. Emergency personnel arrived within minutes and shuffled me up the stairs so they could work. Along with the rest of the tavern patrons, all of us deathly quiet, I watched Bonnie be carried out on a stretcher—gray-faced but alive.

  Someone calls out in my direction as I pedal fast, one hand on the vacuum to keep it from bouncing out, but they must have the wrong person as it’s a stranger. A block later a second person points at me. I let go of the vacuum to make sure I haven’t forgotten to comb my hair, then I remember. It’s Monday and I’ve hit the bottom.

  Cece is still on mute from last night. Cece, wake up—but don’t tell me my rank.

  It’s past eight, Scott. Your rank has been updated.

  I want to delay finding out as long as I can. It’s a human thing. Do this instead—check the Commons, see if Bonnie made it through the night.

  She’s in Medical One and awake, everyone is saying.

  Oh, I’m so relieved, I think back at Cece, taking a right into an alley, a shortcut to the theater. I was afraid this was going to be like Rick—that she’d slip away.

  Relief sounds like a pleasant emotion, Scott.

  Has anyone been arrested?

  I do not have that information. I must inform you of a different matter requiring your attention. McKinsey has sent an urgent thought. And you have in-thoughts waiting in a queue of length—

  What does McKinsey say?

  “Scott, come to the Agency.”

  I can’t hide—it’s time to face whatever awaits me. I pass the theater without stopping. I’m to be given the bad news by the head of the Agency, probably with Bodi standing by, after which I’ll be allowed to pack. And then I’ll be led to a train in the evening as Oliver was—or to a gate to be sent sledding. I wonder if they’ll let me say goodbye to Lu and Dax.

  Rolling to a stop in front of the Agency, I give the reflexive Monday morning glance up. My knees go weak. On the Tenner billboard, Renee is at ten and Blank Jack at nine. Going up from there are Poulsbo, Samm and Sue, Ben, Jada, Chase, Bonnie, and at number one…

  …me. The snapshot, taken by Lu when I purchased the bike right after graduation, had sunk all the way into the bog alongside me. And now? It’s staring down from the top of the billboard.

  24

  Exiting the elevator on the fourth floor, I duck into the bathroom to view my halo in the mirror and stare at the single digit: a tall, solid 1. Thousands of rubies have come in overnight, all variations of the same sentiment. “Scott broke the curse … Bonnie’s alive and well thanks to Scott the Curse Slayer! … Kindness plus Scott equals doom for the curse!”

  Then there are the in-thoughts awaiting my attention. Enthusiastic congrats from Lu, Dax, and Wayne. Insincere ones from Magda, Mia, and Audrey. Vicky and Evan, asking how I’ve been. Lucille reminding me to come to her salon now that I can afford it. Dax’s buddy Tacoma, wondering if I want to go out with him. Sample menus from upscale eateries. Offers for quality cloth in any color I want. Chocolate bars in three flavors. And on and on.

  Clearly there must be some mistake. I pinch myself. It hurts. Not a dream.

  I exit the bathroom to find people waiting in the hallway. Applause breaks out. On autopilot, I smile and accept handshakes and pats on the back. Bodi is on the premises and pulls me aside. “I don’t think you need to bother with vacuuming today, Scott. You’re what we might call an overnight success.”

  “Bodi, this must be a glitch, right?”

  An out-of-character flash of amusement crosses his face. “In Hugh’s algorithm? Never.”

  “All I did was go into the tavern basement and push a burlap sack off Bonnie.” I grab his arm. “What did she say? Who did it? Did she see the killer’s face?”

  Bodi’s reply is unhurried. “Well, now. There was not much to go on with the previous accidents— Yes, of course I’ve been looking into it. But Bonnie’s accident was different. We checked as soon as we got your emergency thought—rewound the map back.”

  I wait, but Bodi seems determined to make me ask. “Who was in there with her?”

  “Bonnie went downstairs at two minutes past seven, alone,” he informs me. “She stayed that way—alone—until you followed her down nineteen minutes later. The next thing that happened was your emergency thought.”

  I release his arm. “Followed her down…” Breaking off, I stare at Bodi. I can see how it all looks, worse than ever. I attacked Bonnie so I could make a show of saving her, knowing it would catapult me up…all the way to the top, apparently. But there’s a new element to my interaction with Bodi, as if an invisible shield now protects me, a novel sensation. Even if Bodi does suspect me, he can hardly drag the number one to the Security Office jail. He knows it and so do I.

  I straighten my back, which makes me eye level with Bodi’s shoulders. “I don’t know how Bonnie ended up under the burlap sack, but it wasn’t me.”

  “I know that.”

  “You do?”

  “Bonnie confirmed it. No one attacked her. It’s over, Scott. If you don’t believe me, go ask her yourself.”

  I find Bonnie in a Medical One bed, propped up with her head on a double pillow. Purple bruises bridge her nose and encircle her eyes—she narrowly escaped suffocation, the nurse at the station outside the room told me. Bonnie greets me with “How am I doing?”

  “You’re going to be fine,” I reassure her. Bonnie’s fists grip the blanket as if she’s holding on to it for safety.

  “I know I’ll be okay, the doctors said so. I’m asking about the top of the List. Can you read it to me? I hit the back of my head when I slipped and the headache is making my brain fuzzy. I had to mute my CC.”

  “Slipped?”

  She winces at the recollection. “I went to the basement to finish the inventory… No, that’s not quite honest. The inventory could have waited until morning. I wanted to escape the ghouls upstairs—the ghouls waiting to see what awful thing was going to befall me. And in the end I made it happen myself.” She closes her eyes and recounts what occurred. “I inventoried the beer bottles and then moved on to the apple barrel… I must have finished with that and started on the supplies in the back. It was a burlap sack with potatoes, they say. I must have reached up to check whether the potatoes had gone rotten. A can of cooking oil had leaked last week and left the floor slick… I slipped and hit my head, blacked out, and the bag tumbled onto me.” She opens her eyes. “And then you found me. Now, tell me about the top of the List.”

  “You’re… Well, you’re at two. There was a big wave of rubies overnight and it propelled me to number one.” I hurry to add, “But only because everyone’s thankful you’re safe.”

  Bonnie’s fists unclench and settle into the hospital blanket. “I was hoping for this.”

  I can’t see how this can be true, and assume her head injury is clouding her hearing or judgment. I try again. “Why don’t I read you the top in order. One—uh, me. Two, you. Three, Chase. Four, Jada—she’s moved up, or rather Sue and Samm have sunk down below Ben. It must have been the rumor that they’re splitting up. Eight, Poulsbo. And at nine and ten, Blank Jack and Renee.”

  “Blank Jack and Renee are in…” Again, she says, “I was hoping for this. Surely it means Gemma Bligh’s curse is broken for good. Here, come closer. S
it by the bed.”

  I move a chair over and she places her hand on mine. “I owe you my life, Scott.”

  “I was concerned about you. I just happened to see the open door, that’s all.”

  “With the tavern packed wall to wall, you’re the only one who did. And you got me breathing again.”

  “Bonnie… I ate one of your apples. I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it.”

  “Scott, you’re the number one now. You can take whatever you like.”

  A bit of cooking oil on the floor hardly seems the stuff of a murder attempt. Still, I ask, “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to kill you? Who wanted you gone from number one?”

  Bonnie tries to shake her head but the pain stops her. “It was the curse.”

  “Everyone has enemies,” I point out gently.

  “I suppose I do, of course… Jada is one. Rick was. But none of that matters. The thought you shared on the Commons about kindness and how we’ve treated Blank Jack… Now that he and Renee are in the Ten, and you’re number one for standing up for them, for showing us the way—we’ve righted the balance. Don’t you see? The fact that you were able to save me is proof. It’s over, Scott.”

  Bonnie’s head sinks deeper into the pillow and she sends a weak smile in my direction. “If I get some sleep, I’m hoping the doctors will let me attend tonight… You should go. You have to get ready.”

  I start at this. My new reality hasn’t sunk in yet. Tonight’s Tenner event is the monthly ballroom gala. I’ll be expected to attend.

  After tucking the blanket in around Bonnie, I stop by the nurses’ desk to instruct that the week’s dose of Eternal Life go to her instead of me, to help her heal. This merits murmurs of surprise, but the head nurse says, “Of course. We’ll see to it.”

  Outside the building, I ask Cece, Who’s in last place? It’s not Wayne, is it?

  But it is Wayne.

  I double back to the Agency. Wayne’s at his desk talking to the intern hired to replace me, Ty, who was a year behind me in the youth center. Wayne is making an effort to calm him down. “Just focus on one task at a time. There’s not much to it… Hey, Scottie. Ty, you can give Scottie her invite now.”

  “H—Here.” Ty’s eyes are wide above the smattering of moles on his cheekbones. The invite is a twin of the one Delilah gave to me along with a chocolate. It does nothing to convince me that what’s happening could possibly be real, and I resist the urge to pinch myself again.

  Scott—Guest of Honor

  Gala

  Grand Ballroom at eight o’clock

  Monday, the fifth of April

  On a cart next to Wayne’s desk, bins of goodies await to be carried to the ballroom. Ty is lingering by the desk, playing with one of its corners as if trying to smooth it into a curve. He’s running late—Jada’s not going to be happy. “I don’t know if you remember me, Scottie, we used to have gym class together. Just wanted to say congrats on being, you know, the Curse Slayer and all. If you should happen to have some free time… Well, it would mean a lot to have a gem from the number one.” He adds hastily, losing interest in the desk, “It doesn’t have to be a ruby—though that would be brill—just thought I’d ask…”

  He’s looking at me with barely hidden hope. My words sounding foolishly grandiose, I say, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  A grin breaks out on Ty’s face and he takes off, humming a tune, leaving me to consider that not long ago—yesterday!—I was in his position, every gem meaning so much.

  “Scottie, number one, that’s wonderful,” Wayne says.

  I put the invite away. “I came to say goodbye.”

  He shakes his head at me. “Not yet—I still have some time to show Ty the ropes. Bottomers get the week to wrap up their affairs.”

  This comes as a surprise. “But Oliver was escorted onto a train the Monday of the town party.”

  “There was some trouble with Oliver, I heard. He was scaring people. Me, I’m calm. I’ll be taking off on Sunday. I’m pleased to report that everything is going according to plan—no train for me. The greenhouses are full… Have you talked to McKinsey? She was not happy this morning.”

  Absorbed in my own change of fortune, I missed that McKinsey’s name is no longer in the Ten—nor is Franz’s.

  Down the hall, McKinsey is at her window in a suit of a muted brown. At my knock on the open door, she turns. “Scott. That was quite a blast up the ranks.”

  I get as far as saying “I didn’t mean for any of this—” before she interrupts. “It’s fine. That’s how the game is played. I wanted to tell you that you’re welcome to your old job. In fact, we’re promoting you from intern to a permanent employee. You can upgrade to Wayne’s about-to-be-vacated position—event organizing… Or I can train you personally as a social consultant, which, given all the interest that’s bound to come your way, is probably a better strategy. Your old desk is available, unless you want something nicer, with a window?”

  “My desk is fine,” I say as if that makes up for taking up McKinsey’s spot—and forestalling where I think she was going, about to offer Wayne’s office, or perhaps even her own. “All of this feels, well, undeserved.”

  The understatement lands clunkily. McKinsey settles into the chair of her desk. “People were scared and you’ve released them from that.”

  “But now I’m scared. Of the gala tonight.”

  My nervousness seems to thaw McKinsey somewhat. “It’ll be fine. You’ll learn soon enough what’s expected of the number one.” She eyes my faded clothing. “Take the rest of the day off and go to Ben’s tailor shop. They’ll hook you up for tonight… You do know that you can bring a plus one, don’t you?”

  “Can it be a PAL?” I ask.

  “It can be whoever you want. Just make sure it’s someone you can lean on. You’re going swimming with the sharks and they’ll smell blood.”

  No one knows if there are still sharks in the oceans or if the cold killed them all, but I know what they were supposed to be like. What have I gotten myself into?

  Though Ben himself didn’t attend to Dax when he stopped by the Fine Fabrics shop, I’m assuming he’ll make an appearance for the number one. I’m wrong. I’m ushered into the back room and into the hands of a designer who looks me up and down and pronounces, “With your lack of height and the time crunch—well, I’ll do my best.”

  She claps her hands, as if someone in the back is slow in following up on a sent thought, and an assistant arrives carrying a gown and invites me to change behind a screen. The gown is pearl-white and sleeveless, with fluffy folds from the waist to the ankle. After I don it, they get to work. Fabric is pulled, adjusted, and pinched into place. I stand there with nothing to do but stare at the walls. Wading through all of my new rubies and in-thoughts seems impossible. I send a thought to Dax. “Doing anything tonight? I need a plus one for the gala.”

  “There isn’t going to be dancing, is there?”

  “Possibly. Can’t guarantee it. Please say yes.”

  “Good thing I had a suit made.”

  After the gown is pinned up, I’m invited to look in the mirror. The crisp fabric has been rendered form-hugging above the waist and billowy to the knees, and lies softly on my skin, as if I’m wearing a fair-weather cloud. The designer steps back to take a look. She shakes her head and fiddles with the hem, then steps back again. “It will have to do. We’ll deliver it by four-thirty.”

  The price of the gown takes my breath away—but so did my new bank balance when I took a peek.

  My next stop, after I select a pair of strappy heels at the shop a door down, is the Oyster. I wait at the back door, having sent a thought to Lu saying I won’t leave until I talk to her. This time I ignore the birds—still as mysterious as ever—and stare at the part of the eatery that sticks out of Housing One. That’s where it happened, where Delilah landed. She’s been laid to rest and Rick will soon be too, his seeding scheduled for midweek. No one targeted them. No one attacked Bonnie. She wa
s so primed to expect the curse to strike she made it happen herself. Accidents in a crumbling, aging town, everyone caught up in the delicious frenzy of it all—including me. I talked myself into believing there was a killer to help myself. To build a brand, Sherlock Scottie. And the worst part is, quite undeservedly, I lucked into a brand after all.

  I search my innards to gauge how I feel about everything and come up with relief. The responsibility of finding a killer has been lifted off my shoulders.

  After a short wait, Lu comes out, two sandwiches in hand. She passes me one. “I have fifteen minutes before Jada notices I’ve stepped out.”

  We move to a nearby bench and I swat a couple of sparrows away with the linen bag I’m carrying. After Lu admires what’s in the bag, my new shoes, we taper off into silent chewing under the midday sun. A wave of helplessness shoots through me. A PAL should be able to come up with the right words, but what’s there to say? Wayne has hit the bottom like he wanted, Lu must be devastated, and there’s nothing I can do to help beyond feeling guilt about my own good fortune.

  Having consumed her sandwich, Lu irons the creases in her napkin with one thumb. “Look, Scottie, it’s fine—and it helps to know I have PALs who’ll stick by my side. Now tell me about saving Bonnie. That must have been terrifying, seeing her on the floor like that. We were all extra careful moving product bags today.”

  I recount what happened: The basement door, ajar. The apple barrel, its lid off. The hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Cece telling me that Bonnie was in the silent basement with me. The crumpled, still form on the floor and my heart racing as I sent the emergency thought to Medical One. Pumping on Bonnie’s chest. Counting the seconds until I heard feet hurrying down the stairs.

  “I’m so glad Bonnie is okay,” Lu says after I finish. “Even Jada is glad, I think, though it’s hard to tell.”

  “Humph,” I say, rolling my own used napkin into a loose ball. Lu goes on to explain that she asked Jada if she could take the week off to spend with Wayne, but the answer was no, making me comment, “I hate her.”