Death of Night

by Krissy Reynolds

  Though my job was better paying than some, it still didn't allow for major luxuries. I thought I was doing pretty well, tucking extra cash away in bank accounts and investing wisely. I didn't spend money extravagantly, or max out my credit cards. I imagined most twenty-five-year-olds weren't that financially secure.

  Without a thought, I stepped of the subway when it lurched to a stop at the third station down from Freemont Avenue. I was so accustomed to taking the underground to get to work that I knew the stops in my sleep. Fear suddenly slithered into my stomach. I wasn't going to be taking the underground any longer if I was going to get sacked.

  Quickly gathering myself, I darted around the crowd of people expertly. The morning sun greeted me cheerfully as I came up the steps, bathing me in much-needed warmth. The breeze blew gently against my face as I walked along the sidewalk. I soon halted in front of a small, white brick building with a sign that read "Montgomery & Co. Private Investigations". The sign looked new and polished, with wide, cursive lettering that showed almost no signs of wear. I went up the three steps, and laid a hand on the glass door's handle.

  I wasn't sure what to expect. Though Ayden Montgomery was some form of a legend in the P.I. world, he hardly earned the "World's Best Boss" award. He had established the private investigative service in the 1990's, gaining a reputation for satisfying the client's needs quickly, efficiently, and with no questions asked. He took pride in the fact that no other P.I. business in San Francisco had ever come close to rivaling his own. Montgomery himself was notorious for his tough, forceful disposition, and he used that to its fullest extend. Even those with some backbone almost peed their pants when he interrogated them, or even spoke to them.

  As I twisted the door handle, I flashed back to when I had first entered the building. Fresh out of college and naïve, I had submitted my dismal resume to the secretary. She had thrown it into a basket full of other, thicker resumes and resumed filing her nails. I had never expected a call. To my surprise, my phone had rung three days later, saying Montgomery requested a personal interview with me. To this day, I didn't know why he had picked me when he had a pile of much better qualified candidates on his desk.

  A warmer gust of air hit my cheeks, and I stepped into the office. I shut the door behind me, and headed for the reception area. It wasn't a large building, but it had enough room to have a main area, four offices, and a complete kitchen. I hesitated as I passed the hallway that led to the offices. My own private office lay down there, but I didn't want to assume it was mine any more. Taking a long breath, I continued to the main area.

  A twenty-something wearing a stylish beige blouse sat behind the desk titled "Reception". She was reading a thick novel, her hand tapping on the desk. Her dirty blond hair was twisted into a chignon at the nape of her neck, several hairs that had escaped flowing freely around her heart-shaped face. I laid my hands on the chest-high counter, and looked down at her.

  Setting the book face-down, she said without looking, "How can I hel-"

  She stopped mid-sentence when she lifted her head and saw my face. Her crystal clear eyes widened in surprise that slowly turned to delight.

  "Dahlia! Where-what," she stammered, peering at me intently, eyes still fixed on my face, "Where on Earth have you-you been?"

  I smiled, genuinely glad to see her. Ellie Wyes had been one of my first friends when I started working at Montgomery and Co. She had started to work here around the same time as me, so we had gotten to know what the private firm was really about together.

  "I'll tell you everything later," I said softly. I wanted to get this over with first. "Do you know if Mr. Montgomery will see me?"

  Eyebrows raised in curiosity, she nodded and picked up the phone that was next to her hand. She punched a button, and gave me a quick smile as she waited for the other end to pick up.

  "Ms. Simon is here to see you," Ellie spoke, light and businesslike, "Yes. Yes, sir. "

  She set the phone back down, and gave me an apologetic look. I must have winced, because she offered me an encouraging smile.

  "He'll see you now," she said, "You sure you wanna go in there right now? He just had a bad run."

  I nodded despite my misgivings. When Ayden Montgomery was in a foul mood, it was wise to stay out of his way until he had completely cooled down. It was like walking into an ocean with angry shark. Guaranteed pain. I had a sudden thought that Ellie was lying about the bad run, just to save me from Ayden's wrath.

  "See you in a bit," I said, trying to put a brave face on.

  "Good luck," she muttered sympathetically, picking up her book again, but her eyes following me back down the hallway.

  I turned right when I reached the hallway that held all the offices. The first one had a gold plaque that read, "Veronica Murray". The door across from it had one, too, that said, "Alexander Gabaldon". I went further and reached the next set of doors. One had a plaque that read, "Dahlia Simon", and the other had none. In its place, there was an enormous sign on the wall with the same fancy writing as the one outside. It said, "Ayden Montgomery."

  A sense of dread filled me as I shifted from foot-to-foot, standing in front of the ominous door. A multitude of thoughts fluttered in and out of my mind, confusing me to no end. One part of me said Montgomery wouldn't fire me. Why would he? He had taken the time to train me and put up with my grievances when I didn't think I could do it much longer. The other part was adamant. He would fire me as soon as I stepped into his office. Why wouldn't he? He didn't forgive any kind of behaviour he didn't like. I sure being absent for four whole days would be one of them.

  I grit my teeth and knocked before I had a chance to change my mind. My knuckles on the wood door made a hard thumping sound, filling the hallway in echoes. There was no immediate answer, so I raised my hand to knock again.

  "Enter," my boss's voice came, muffled through the thickness of the door.

  I released a breath I didn't know I had been holding. The door swung open when I pushed the elaborate handle down. I strode in, instantly looking across the enormous oak desk at the man behind it.

  Ayden Montgomery possessed a certain presence, not necessarily charismatic or charming, but fascinating nonetheless. It emanated power and confidence, along with a hint of superiority. Ayden constantly toed the fine line of being smugly self-assured to acting supercilious and arrogant. With him, however, either one worked well. It gave him an older, wiser air, despite his meager ten years of experience.

  Montgomery looked up from his work, and his eyes met mine. His face was carefully smoothed out in an expressionless façade. He folded his hands in front of himself on the gleaming oak desk, twisting his chair to face me. He looked like a king on his throne. A big, hefty, leather throne.

  I made my way unhurriedly to the chair waiting for me. It wasn't as majestic as his, but it was fabricated out of the same leather and impressive nevertheless. I dropped down in it, and the leather felt cold through my slacks.

  I peered at his face intently, wanting to see some flicker of emotion. Nothing crossed it, however, and I felt even more uncertain. I shifted in my seat.

  We sat there about a minute in complete silence. I took the time to silently watch him. He remained unmoved, still as a statue. I marveled at the fact that Ayden had short hair that was so white it bordered on gray. He liked looking rough around the edges, so he always left a day's old stubble on his face. The eyes that were fixed on me were ice, both in colour and in sensation. A light blue that send chills down my spine.

  Not being able to take the silence any longer, I said, "So, nice weather, huh?"

  It may have not been the best icebreaker given the circumstances, but it worked. Ayden's eyes blinked once, the flash of amusement I thought I had seen gone as quickly as it had come. His jaw clenched, and he took a more aggressive pose. His hands twitched slightly, curling into safe fists when he saw my eyes widen at the action.

  "I'm going to give you one chance, Simon," he growled, "One chance to explain, and t
hat's it."

  I nodded in acquiescence but kept my mouth shut for a few moments. I needed to think about how to phrase this.

  Looking at my hands, I sighed. "It was Thursday, and I had a meet with a client at "La Jolie Fleur" down at the boardwalk. The traffic was bad 'cause of the Sting concert, so I was--um--running a bit late. I ran out of the cab and hurried to be on time," I emphasized the last two words, "I had almost reached the restaurant, when this guy came out of nowhere. He shoved me up against the railing, and--er--stabbed me."

  I stopped there and looked up to gauge his expression. Ayden's eyes of ice burned with a strange emotion. It almost looked like regret.

  Not understanding, I sat up further in the chair, the fabric of my clothes making a lush shushing sound against the leather. Ayden face was wiped completely of any emotion once he recognized my curious look.

  He turned mocking. "Stabbed with what? A paperclip?"

  My brow furrowed. Affronted, I sourly replied, "With a knife. Nice big one. Shiny."

  Montgomery's expression of regret, or so I thought it was, was back, masked insufficiently by his acerbity. It was also laced with incredulity.

  "Don't be stupid, Simon," he said quickly, gesturing indifferently with his hands, "No one can heal from a stab wound from a knife like that that fast."

  "Well, I did," I responded bluntly.

  He smiled tightly, and said in a quiet tone, "Prove it."

  It was a challenge. I gritted my teeth to suppress the anger that was beginning to rise in me. Standing up, I grabbed the edge of my sweater and tugged it high enough to show the white bandage that was wrapped around my entire middle. The look on Montgomery's face was priceless. His smug, mocking air vanished and his lips pressed into a thin line. He nodded curtly and I sat back down.

  "Alright," he scratched his chin, thoughtful, "Why are you here, then?"

  The anger pushed to the surface, and I snarled, "Why am I here? Why am I here? I was stuck in that freakin' hospital for three days, and I spent half the time wondering if I would still have a job when I got out. I come down here for just that reason, making myself face a conceited, egotistic boss like you for, apparently, no reason. And you have the nerve to ask me why I'm her-"

  "I meant," Ayden calmly interrupted, looking a bit ruffled, "Why are you here. You should still be in a hospital, getting treated or going through rehab, or something."

  My breath whooshed out of me, the simmering anger leaving with it. Now I just felt exhausted. I slumped down in the chair, and met his eyes reluctantly.

  I shrugged. "I'm fine, now. I guess I'm fit enough to not be trapped in some white hospital room."

  Ayden replied, taking a firmer tone, "Why didn't you call to say you weren't coming in to work, then?"

  Scowling, I said insincerely, "Sorry. The doctor said I was unconscious for three days."

  His icy eyes had widened, and he stared at me with interest.

  "Ah," he said, looking at me intently, "I'm sorry. It's just, it's just I've never seen anyone heal so fast. Stab wound victims, particularly, take forever to recover so fully."

  The perspicacious statement made me think he was trying to sound like he knew all about stab wounds. Or any kind of violent crime injuries. Ayden was an oddity in the P.I. world. For his lack of experience, he certainly sounded like he knew a lot. The older, more worn private investigators resented his quick mind and his indefatigable stamina that made him just as astute as them, in almost half the years.

  Dismissing his comment with a nod, I said, "What matters is that I'm here now and ready to work. Got anything for me?"

  Ayden was shocked for a second, but then quickly turned his lips up into a sly smile. I groaned.

  "What?" I muttered, looking at him cautiously.

  "Since you're doing better, I suppose I can give you a run," he flashed a grin at me, "I was going to let one of the rookies do it, but since you're so eager for a job, I'll let you have it."

  I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue, but replied, oozing with sarcasm, instead, "Gee. Thanks, Mr. Montgomery."

  He was still grinning at me with a self-satisfied air about him. "No problem."

  Ayden grabbed a file from his desk, leaned forward, and slapped it down in front of me. I unenthusiastically reached for it. Setting it in my lap, I opened the file. It looked new, with perfect edges and very few pages. Upon seeing the first page, my mouth opened in a silent 'O'.

  I croaked, "Escort duty?"

  Enjoying my reaction thoroughly, Montgomery tilted his head down to hide his laughter. When he looked up, his eyes were twinkling with merriment.

  "Yes, Simon. I don't think it's above your abilities."

  I clenched my jaw and reminded myself that I should be extremely happy I actually had a job. It was the worst, most degrading one, but a job nonetheless.

  I sighed, "Alright, Mr. Montgomery."

  He threw me another smile, and I pushed myself to my feet. I tucked the folder under an arm, and headed for the door. I wanted to get out of here as quickly as I could.

  I whipped around when Ayden said, "Meet the client tomorrow. Take today off."

  The sound of a keyboard clicking filled the room. He wasn't turned to me any more, but typing on his high-tech computer keyboard. Surprised, I nodded, even though he couldn't see my face. I spun back around, and put a hand on the doorknob.

  "Thanks," I muttered softly, and walked out the door.

  Going home never even crossed my mind as I strode across the hall to the smaller office with the plaque "Dahlia Simon-P.I." I twisted the doorknob in one movement, and stepped in.

  I breathed in the smell of my office. It had the deep, rich scent of tea and flowers. For a number of different reasons, I always seemed to have a vase full of flowers sitting on the shelf behind my desk. Sometimes clients were thankful for my service, other times it was some wacko who found me more interesting than the average San Francisco girl. But flowers were flowers, and I liked the way they looked, perched there prettily, giving off their delicious smell.

  The office had almost no light, so I felt for the switch on the wall, and flicked the lights on. Light immediately bathed the room, and every nook and cranny was made visible. A desk lay across from the door, papers strewn all over it. When had it gotten so messy? Shaking my head, I rolled the standard office chair from under it, and sat in it with a heavy sigh.

  Four days away felt like the whole world should have changed. Instead, it stayed the same, continuing on its daily course. Paperwork was begging to be completed, bills waiting to be paid, emails asking for replies, and people knocking at your door.

  I brought up my left knee, and tucked it under my chin. I used my other foot to push the chair back and forth, making it twist from left to right. I laid my cheek against my knee, biting my lip in thought.

  It seemed that my life would go on as it had, the incident four nights ago merely an unwanted obstacle. That just didn't seem right. I should have a fear of dark spaces, or an obsession with locking doors. I worried that maybe I was in denial of what had happened on the boardwalk. No, because I knew and accepted that night. Was I suppressing the terror or pain I had felt? That couldn't be it. Though I constantly hid my emotions from others, I never lied to myself.

  "Ugh. What does it matter?" I muttered under my breath, letting my foot fall to the floor.

  For the rest of the morning, I organized my desk, I replied to my emails, and I called the people who worried about me most. The flowers I had received from Mrs. Bedham had wilted since I had last seen them. I dumped them in the trashcan with a frown. Mrs. Bedham had been so grateful to me for finding her long-lost son, who turned out to have amnesia and didn't have a clue what his name was, that she had brought me flowers from her own garden. Disappointed I didn't get to enjoy them, I set the card that read, "Thank you again-The Bedham Family" in a drawer full of other notes and thank-you cards.

  The file Ayden had given me sat, quite pathetically, alone on my now tidy desk. I slid
it to me, and flipped it open. It contained four sheets of paper, stapled neatly together. Skimming the form, I picked up the phone next to my hand, and dialed the contact number.

  "Hello," I said pleasantly into the phone, "May I speak to Mr. Knightley?"

  Static filled the phone line, but a tinny voice came through a few seconds later. I wasn't sure if it was a male or female. I struggled to hear what the person was saying. I caught a "Hello?" and a vague "Who is this?"

  I replied, not sure what their question was, "This is Montgomery and Co. Private Investigations. Mr. Knightley contacted us two days ago, and we're ready to meet with him. Is he there?"

  The crackling of static increased, but stopped immediately when a sharp female voice came through.

  "Yes?" she questioned with a voice like a whip.

  I repeated what I had said, and after a few moments passed, she answered, "Mr. Knightley will meet you at the Rose Bud Café in the Golden Gate Park at 8 tomorrow."

  I scribbled down the location and time on a post-it note.

  "8 o'clock at the Rose Bud Café," I said, "Got it. Thanks."

  The phone went dead. The crisp woman had hung up without saying another word. I dropped the phone back on the receiver a bit harder than I should have.

  Montgomery assumed assigning me to this run would be punishment enough for making him unhappy. I was beginning to think he was right. Glancing at the form, I saw the type of service specified was 'escort'. That kind of job was standard for private investigators. Though usually lacking in excitement or mystery, it helped pay the bills. I was insulted that Ayden had given me this job, when it was most typically given to the newbies of the firm. It was his way of penalizing me, though, and as much as I hated it, I would go along with it.