by Harley Fox
“Breakfast isn’t ready yet,” she tells me as we make our way back to my corner. “Marc’ll bring you something when it is.”
A tremor of something goes through my stomach at the thought of Marc bringing me breakfast in bed, and I shove it down.
“Hey, I don’t have any extra clothes,” I tell her. “Is there a chance you could lend me something to wear?”
Rebekka’s walking behind me and I don’t see her face, but I hear the few seconds of silence before she speaks.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to do that,” she finally says.
“Well, how long am I going to be here? I don’t want to wear the same clothes every day. I’m gonna stink.”
Another pause. “Come on, keep going.”
We get back and Rebekka handcuffs me to the bed again before leaving me alone. The sound doesn’t travel well, and all I can hear is low mumbles of conversation. I sit and wait, picking up the book on Greece that Marc brought me yesterday. It’s strange that he would bring me a book on Greece, of all places. I didn’t tell him I wanted to go there, did I? When we were talking in the museum? We talked about so many things, it’s hard to remember.
Eventually the scuffling of shoes announces another visitor and I look up from my book to see Marc appear in the entrance, carrying a plate of food and a cup of coffee. My stomach does that lurching thing again and it’s a bit harder to suppress it this time.
“Good morning,” he says with a smile as he comes in. I close my book and set it down on the desk. I try to accept both items but the handcuffs make it awkward, so I take the plate and Marc sets the coffee down next to the book.
“Thanks.” He stands back up and looks down at me. I look up at him.
“Well, I’ll come back for your dishes in a bit…” he says, about to leave.
“Marc?” His eyebrows raise, and a smile touches his lips. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry about yesterday. I don’t know what came over me. It’ll never happen again.”
The smile dissolves. “You mean … what … up on the balcony?”
My eyebrows fly up and my heart skips a beat at the reminder.
“Oh, no! No, the running away.”
“Oh,” says Marc, and something like relief washes over his face. “Yeah. Right.” He smiles that beautiful smile. “Don’t worry about it. You were scared, and this is a pretty fucked-up situation. It’s understandable.”
He holds my gaze for a long second and I find myself returning it. Persephone! Stop it! I clear my throat, and decide to focus on my breakfast instead. But it becomes immediately apparent that holding the plate with one hand and eating with the other is not possible with these cuffs.
“Ah, shit,” I say as the fork slips out of my tenuous grasp and lands in my lap, little bits of rehydrated egg spattering.
“Oh, here, let me get that.”
Marc dips down and reaches in between my legs. I feel the flush coming over my cheeks but try to force it down as he reappears, handing me the utensil.
“Thanks.” I take it from him and put the plate down in my lap instead, giving me use of both hands to manipulate the fork. “Um, is there any chance you could take off these cuffs? At least while I’m eating?”
Marc looks embarrassed.
“Um … I’m not supposed to.”
“Just while I’m eating? They’re really uncomfortable.”
He’s standing now. He shakes his head.
“No, sorry, Persephone. If Edward found out …”
“Well, I mean … what if I weren’t a prisoner?” I ask him. “I can help out. Earn my keep. Then I wouldn’t need the cuffs at all.”
He looks uncomfortable. “No … Edward wouldn’t want that. I shouldn’t be talking to you like this.” He starts to turn to leave.
“What about the replicas?” I blurt out, and Marc pauses, looks back. “Julian was struggling with that Grecian urn yesterday. I know why. I can help him.”
He looks curious, and I struggle to maintain eye contact, ignoring my hammering heart.
“What do you mean?”
“I know what he was having trouble with,” I tell him. “I could see it. The lines were wrong. The Greeks had a certain way of marking their pots, and Julian wasn’t doing it right.”
Marc gives me a shrewd look. “Wait right there,” he says, ironically or not I don’t know, before leaving. I hear his shoes scuffle, listen to the muffled conversation. And then more scuffles grow louder and Marc reappears with Julian by his side.
“Marc told me you have something to say about my work?”
“The lines you were doing were wrong,” I tell him, looking up from my shackled state on the bed. “You’re doing Middle Geometrical, right? So the animals have to be tighter and closer together. And the horizontal lines need to be measured. They were the Greeks, so they used a combination of math and freehand to do their stuff.”
Julian blinks at me, and beside him Marc raises his eyebrows, impressed.
“The horses are close enough,” Julian says. But I shake my head.
“Not for anyone practicing horror vacui, especially around that time. That style of design only got stronger and stronger until the end of the geometrical period.”
Julian nods, a look of inspiration building in his eyes.
“I’ve been having trouble with the horses,” he says, stepping in and sitting down on the other end of my bed. I turn to face him more easily, nodding.
“That’s because you’re using the wrong model. The one you’re doing is a hybrid breed of Skyros that actually didn’t exist until after the Mycenaean era.”
As Julian and I continue talking, Marc leaves unannounced. I watch him go with a flick of my eyes, but Julian’s asking me another question so I pay attention to him. It feels good to use my brain again. I scoop up some eggs with my fork and eat them, answering Julian’s questions, watching the inspiration in his eyes grow with satisfaction.
Eventually Marc returns to my corner, but this time he’s got Edward with him. I glance up at him but continue my conversation with Julian. Edward doesn’t say anything. He only crosses his arms and stands there, listening to Julian and me talk. Eventually Julian stands up, looking like how I felt when I first started doing archaeological work.
“Wow, okay,” he says. “This is great.” He keeps nodding. “Thanks, Persephone. I really appreciate it.”
He turns, seems to notice Edward for the first time, and skirts by him and Marc, going off to continue his work. I take another bite of egg and look up at them both, chewing silently.
Edward stares down at me, his arms still crossed.
“That sounded impressive, what you said,” he tells me. “You got that just from seeing what he was doing yesterday?”
I nod. “It’s my life’s work. It’s what I do.”
I pick up the piece of toast and take a bite, then use both hands to grab the cup of coffee off the desk. Edward watches me, turns to glance at Marc without speaking, then turns to me again.
“Marc,” he says while he keeps his eyes on mine. “Rebekka’s checking humidity levels. Go give her a hand.”
Marc looks from him to me, uncertain, but still he nods and leaves Edward and me alone together. I swallow my mouthful of coffee, reach over, and place the cup back on the desk. Then I pick up a piece of buttered toast and take a bite. Chewing, I look back up at him. He still hasn’t uncrossed his arms.
“If you’re gonna be helping Julian out,” he finally says, “you’re gonna have to follow some ground rules.”
My heart skips a beat in my chest, but I try not to let it show.
“Okay,” I say through a mouthful of toast. “What rules?”
“First off,” he pivots an arm to hold up his index finger, “no more stunts like you tried yesterday. I’m sure you saw, running away won’t get you far out here. You’ll die in that desert before you ever reach sight of any town, even if you did know what direction to go.” Another finger comes out. “Second, you’re to do the w
ork assigned to you, which is assisting Julian in making these replicas. He’s got experience, but you’ve got the knowledge. You get uncuffed during the day, cuffed back up at night.”
Uncuffed during the day. My heart is pounding, but I nod and take another bite of toast.
“Those sound like good rules,” I tell him, but he unfurls a third finger.
“Third,” he says, and he levels his eyes at me. “No fraternizing with Marc.”
My stomach lurches. I put on my best confused face.
“What do you—”
“You know exactly what I mean, young lady,” he says. “No funny stuff. Just keep to yourselves and we won’t have any problems. Is that understood?”
I try to suppress my blush as I nod. “Yes,” I say, and he nods.
“Finish your breakfast,” he says as he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket. “You start now.”
I hurriedly shove the rest of the toast in my mouth before he bends down to unlock the handcuffs at my wrists and ankles. I stand up, drink some coffee to help me swallow the mouthful of bread, and follow him out of my corner.
Persephone
When Julian turns around and sees me in the common area, he looks surprised.
“What—” he starts, but Edward answers for me.
“Persephone’s agreed to help you do your work. Get the details right and hopefully speed things up.” I see Julian color a bit, but I don’t say anything. “In exchange, she’ll be out of handcuffs during the day. But I want to make it understood that if you try anything else like you did yesterday,” he’s talking to me now, “then you’ll be cuffed back up immediately, this time with a pot to piss in instead of bathroom breaks. Is that understood?”
I nod, and so does Julian.
“Okay. Get to work, you two.”
Edward turns to leave. Marc is sitting in a chair with a book, and he catches my eye. He gives me a grin, and I smile back at him before turning to join Julian.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing a chair and sitting down. “Let’s see what you’re working with.”
Julian tours me around his workspace, showing me the stack of books he uses for reference, the tools he uses to emulate specific touches and styles used in different time periods in different regions around the world.
“These are good,” I say as I look through the stack of books. “Good titles here. And where do you keep your tools? I want to see what else you’ve got.”
“There’s a toolbox over here,” Julian gets up and takes me out of the common area to a crate that holds piles of supplies. He unlatches and opens up a red metal toolbox, the lid squeaking as he does. I paw through it, checking out what he’s got at his disposal. Most of the things in here are for construction—hammers, wrenches, screwdrivers—but I take out a couple of putty knives, closing the lid but not latching it shut.
“Here,” I say. “I’ll show you how to use these to get specific patterns done. We used to play around with this kind of thing when I was in the field. Come on.”
We head back and set to work. Julian pays close attention to what I’m doing, and for a bit I start to forget where exactly I am, what exactly my situation is. For the first time in a long time I’m lost in my work again, having fun, actually enjoying what I’m doing. Before I know it, Rebekka comes up behind us and clears her throat.
“You guys? Lunch is ready.”
“Oh,” I say. I didn’t realize so much time had passed already. Julian and I get up and follow Rebekka to the kitchen, where there are five plates waiting. I take one and ladle some stir-fry onto it, then follow the others back to the common area, not sure if I’m supposed to go eat in my corner, hoping I’m not. But nobody says anything as we all find places to sit, the five of us tucking into our plates of food.
“This is good, Rebekka,” Julian says through a mouthful of rehydrated chicken and veggies. “Thanks so much.”
Rebekka nods but doesn’t say anything, and I see Julian deflate a little.
“How’s the work going?” Edward asks.
“It’s going well,” Julian says. “Persephone really knows her stuff. We should’ve had her here long ago.”
Edward nods, chewing. “Well, keep at it. We’ve got a lot of replicas to make. Big order for our next client.”
My stomach lurches. “But …” I say. “I mean, I’m not going to be here to help make all of them.” I glance around. “When exactly am I going back?”
My eyes land on Edward, who’s chewing the same mouthful. He doesn’t say anything. Nobody says anything. Edward finishes chewing, swallows … and takes another bite.
I look over at Marc. He’s looking at Edward too, with something like anger in his eyes. Suddenly I don’t feel so hungry, but I force more food into my mouth. Keep up appearances, Persephone. Don’t fuck this up.
When lunch finishes Julian and Rebekka take everybody’s plates, and Julian offers to help Rebekka do the dishes, even though she says she’s fine by herself. But he insists, though, and I can hear their heated conversation over the top of the stacks of wooden crates.
Marc stands up and stretches. “I think I’m going to go for a walk,” he announces. Then, looking at me, “Want to come stretch your legs?”
He’s smiling at me, and my stomach does that lurching thing again.
“Um, sure,” I say.
I see Edward glance at us as I stand up, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m wondering where exactly we’re going to walk—just through the narrow corridors in this warehouse?—but Marc leads me to the door that I ran out of yesterday and grabs a couple of the umbrellas propped against the wall that I didn’t notice before.
“Here,” he says, offering me one. “It can get a bit sunny out there.”
He pushes open the door and we step out. A bit sunny is a bit of an understatement. With no clouds in the sky, the harsh rays of the sun beat down on us at full blast. I open up my umbrella as Marc does the same to his and a second later I swing it up to provide my own little circle of shade.
“Holy Christ, it’s hot out here,” I tell him.
“Yeah. But sometimes it’s nice to get some fresh air.”
We start around the building, walking slowly, taking our time.
“It sounds like things are going well with Julian,” he says.
“Yeah. It’s nice being able to do work that interests me again.”
“The work you were doing wasn’t interesting?” Marc asks, actually sounding concerned.
“Well … no,” I admit. “It was, when I was in school. And then I got the job at the museum and thought it would be wonderful. But my supervisor just seems to hate me for some reason. And then my coworkers …”
“What’s wrong with your coworkers?”
“Nothing,” I say, too quickly. “But what about you? How did you get into this sort of thing? I can imagine it’s every little boy’s dream to grow up pulling off artifact heists.”
Marc chuckles. “Yeah, it sounds pretty glamorous, doesn’t it? Um, how did I get into it? I was in jail. And then, when I got out, it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world for me to get work.”
Wow, Marc was in jail? I glance at him, taking in how big he is, his muscles, and the hint of tattoos that come up just at the collar of his shirt.
“Aren’t there programs for that sort of thing?” I ask him. “To help ex-convicts get back into the workforce?”
“There are,” he admits. “But not when you got out the way that I did.”
It takes me a moment to realize what he’s implying.
“You broke out of jail?” I stop, turning to face him. He stops too and nods.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he says with a wink. I consider it for a moment.
“What were you in for?” I ask, wondering if I’m going to regret hearing the answer. But he just looks at me, squinting against the glare of the sun, and doesn’t say anything. After a moment he resumes the stroll, and I hurry to catch up with him.
Soon enough we’ve circled the bui
lding and we’re at the door again. I’m disappointed that our walk has to end so soon. I reach for the door handle, but so does Marc, and our hands touch midway. We both stop, and that lurching thing happens to my stomach again. But the funny thing is, I don’t pull my hand away immediately. A long second stretches on so that it feels like forever. I turn my head to look at him, and he turns to look at me. Has my heart been beating fast this entire time? He has a look in his eyes—those captivating green-and-hazelnut orbs—and I can feel like I want to lean forward again, see what would happen if no one came to interrupt us …
But then the logical part of my mind kicks down the door and I pull my hand back, breaking the spell. I reach quickly for the door, yanking it open.
“After you,” I say, and Marc gives me a smile tinged with something like confusion before he goes in and I follow.
When I get back to the common area Julian’s already at the workstation. Edward is reading a book, but Rebekka is nowhere to be found. When I sit down Julian greets me, but he seems sullen.
“Hey,” he says. “Let’s get back to it.”
The work continues, and I correct Julian as he applies the paint, but I can tell something is on his mind. Eventually Edward gets up to go do something, leaving Julian and me alone.
“Hey,” I say in a low voice, and he turns to look at me. “You all right?”
He raises his eyebrows, as though he’s about to deny it, but gives up right away.
“I’m all right,” he says. “It’s just … Rebekka … I don’t know, I feel like something’s been going on between us lately.”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
He blinks at me. “Is it obvious?”
I kind of shrug and nod, which only serves to make Julian more depressed.
“You know,” I tell him, “sometimes women don’t like to be waited on hand and foot. Sometimes they need a bit of space to breathe.”
“I give her space,” Julian says immediately. “I’m just trying to help. Make her feel good.”
“I know. But too much … it’s like if you were eating dessert.”
“Dessert,” Julian repeats.
“Yeah. Dessert is good, right? It’s a little treat at the end of a meal. But what makes people like dessert so much is that you only have it every now and again. If all you ever ate was dessert, then you’d get sick of it. You have to …” I think of what Marc said last night. “You have to be able to appreciate it. That’s what makes it so good.”