by Paula Stokes
“I won’t say anything, but you owe me one.” Natalie grins. “Nah. It’s not like delivering free Mexican food is a crime anyway.” Her face goes serious. “I’m so sorry about Rose.”
The phone rings again. Our heads swivel toward the secretary’s desk in unison.
“I have to go.” Natalie turns away.
I reach out and grab her arm. “Wait. Have you found out anything?” When she looks confused, I add, “Executive gossip? Intel?”
“Not really. I’ve only been here two weeks.” Her eyes flick to the framed photo. “I’ve only seen one of those guys.”
This picture is more casual than the one behind the fish tank. It looks like it was snapped at a corporate picnic. Several older men are posing behind a blue-and-white banner with Hangul—Korean letters—on it. Usu Annual Festival, it reads. I scan the rows of stern-faced men, each trying to look more serious than the next for the camera.
That’s when I see him. He’s in the back corner, almost completely obscured by a man in the second row. I suck in a sharp breath. Slowly, I lean in closer to the photograph, expecting it to change, expecting to realize my eyes were playing tricks on me. But the man in question doesn’t morph into someone else. And though I can’t see his whole face, I recognize him. I know I do.
It’s the one-eyed man from my dreams.
CHAPTER 25
“What did you see?” Jesse asks as soon as we’re back out in the hallway.
“I’m not sure.” I step gingerly onto the escalator, one arm holding on to the railing while my other hand calls up the photo gallery on my phone. I stopped long enough to take a picture so I could study the man without having to vise. I enlarge the image I snapped. It’s definitely him. He’s got his body turned slightly away from the camera so only half of his face is showing, but I would know him anywhere.
I just never expected him to be real.
The giant lobby seems to stretch out into infinity. I don’t want to say anything until we’re back outside, or better yet in the catering truck where no one else will hear. I feel Jesse’s eyes on me every step until we push through the glass doors and escape out into the frigid air.
Where I immediately start to doubt myself again.
I check my phone. The picture hasn’t changed. “I know one of the guys in that photo.”
“Know him?” Jesse unlocks the doors and hops into the driver’s seat. “How?”
I slide in beside him and toss the cloth bags in the back. “I’m not sure. Korea, maybe. Or L.A. This is going to sound crazy, but I see him in my dreams sometimes.”
“Like when you’re sleeping?” Jesse backs the truck out of the parking space and heads for the street.
“Yes. I don’t know what Gideon might have told you, but I don’t have daydreams, all right?”
“I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.” He meant hallucinations. “That time in my life is over. I’m not crazy anymore.”
“Let’s forget I said anything.” Jesse buckles his seat belt and slips on a pair of sunglasses. “So you dream about some guy and he shows up on the wall of the company where we broke in. How exactly is that possible?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s one of the men I … knew in L.A. and I just blocked it out.”
“Did you get his name?” Jesse turns the corner and heads toward Miguelito’s.
“The picture wasn’t labeled.”
“Maybe Gideon would know,” Jesse says.
“Except we promised him we wouldn’t snoop around.”
“So then…”
“We figure it out on our own. Once we get home, maybe we can plug the image into a search engine and come up with something.”
“Okay,” Jesse says. “It’s worth a try.”
I flash him a grateful look as he pulls into the restaurant parking lot. We drop off the keys and catering supplies with Miguel and then cross the parking lot to Jesse’s car. We’re only halfway there when Jesse takes off running.
“Son of a bitch.” He skids to a stop next to his car and kicks at one of his hubcaps.
The driver’s side window has been shattered and all four tires have been slashed.
“Damn it.” He walks a slow loop around the car like he can’t quite believe it. “Someone is on a mission to get all of us.”
“This is kind of a rough neighborhood,” I say. “Maybe it’s not related.” I pull my hands into the cuffs of my shirt and hug my arms across my body to stay warm.
“Let me call a tow truck.” Jesse steps away and dials his phone. I hear him explaining to the guy on the other end what happened, where we are, and that he’ll be out of town so he’ll need to leave the car at a tire shop for a few days. After he hangs up, he unlocks his door and fishes a pocketknife and a tin of mints out of the center console. Then he turns to me. “They’re backed up. He said it’s going to be a couple of hours. I’m just going to leave the keys with the hostess. We can take the train home.”
“Sure.” My eyes scan across the damage to Jesse’s car, looking for anything that might be a clue. There’s no way to know if it’s related.
Jesse jogs inside the restaurant and returns a couple of minutes later. The two of us cross the Miguelito’s parking lot and head for the nearest MetroLink station. It takes us about fifteen minutes to get there. The platform is crowded as usual, people waiting for multiple trains. Jesse and I stand behind the yellow line, both staring forward. Even underground, the cold air bites at my skin. I let my hair out of its ponytail, arranging the ends so they cover my ears.
“At least Florida will be warm,” Jesse says.
“True.” I exhale a frosty breath. “Was there anything stolen out of your car?”
“Not that I could tell.”
“Are you going to report it to the police?”
“What’s the point?” he says. “They don’t give a shit about this kind of vandalism.”
“Do you think it’s the same people who got Rose and broke into the penthouse?”
“I don’t know.” Jesse pulls his knit cap down low over his ears. “I’m getting pissed off just thinking about it.”
A couple of guys push past us in quilted NFL parkas. One of them looks like the kid who tried to sell us drugs the other night, but it was dark then and I can’t be certain.
Jesse’s phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and glances at the display before answering. “Yeah?” he says. “I’m on my way home actually.”
I wander a few feet away to give him privacy. I blow on my hands in an attempt to thaw my rapidly freezing fingers. As much as I don’t want to leave town right now, it will feel nice to have the sun on my face, to swim in the Atlantic Ocean. Of course, then there is the small matter of sharks. I have never seen a shark, not even in a zoo or an aquarium, but I remember reading and rereading a book about them back at the orphanage. So beautiful. So deadly.
I hear the rumble that means a train is drawing near, but I’m not sure which way it’s coming from. I glance over at Jesse. His back is to me and he’s still on the phone, his other hand covering his ear to block out the noise. I lean over just far enough to look into the dark tunnel at the end of the platform. I can’t see the train yet, but I see the reflection of headlights.
And then someone bumps me from behind. I feel hands on my back, pushing me forward. My ankle wrenches as I try to turn. Too late. I am falling. I claw out at the air, but there’s nothing to grab. I land hard on the MetroLink tracks.
CHAPTER 26
Glancing up, I see a guy dressed in black pushing his way through the throng of people on the platform.
“Winter!” Jesse nearly drops his phone when he sees me on the tracks. “What are you doing?”
I point down the platform as I scramble to my feet. “That guy pushed me!” I look left and right, hoping to see the navy uniform of a transit officer, but it’s like they say in the movies—there’s never a cop when you need one.
The tracks are only about three feet b
elow the platform, but just as I’m about to head for safety, I catch a glimpse of the train bearing down on me. I freeze up. The wind blows my hair back from my face. The train clatters on the tracks. I can see its rectangular headlights shining through the gloom. I can envision the red and blue stripes on the front of it. It’s close. So close.
Winter, move, a little voice says. I know I need to move.
But it would be easy to stand here, to be done with everything.
To be with my sister again.
I’m so tired. It would be quick.
“Damn it, Winter!” The sound of Jesse’s voice snaps me out of my trance.
He’s moving toward me. People are gathering around, panicked. They’re pointing. They’re talking on their cell phones. Some of them are even snapping pictures.
I dive shoulder-first for the safety of the platform, rolling once on the hard concrete as the train roars into the station. Jesse runs to my side and kneels next to me. All of the color has drained from his face.
“Jesus Christ,” he says. “You just took ten years off my life.”
Now that I’m safe, the crowd starts to disperse, a couple of kids clapping as if what happened was all a big performance. Jesse pulls me into a seated position as the train slows to a stop. I sit just beyond the yellow stripe, trembling as passengers begin to disembark.
“Are you okay?” he asks. He’s still completely pale.
I nod. “Did you get a look at the guy who pushed me?”
“All I saw was you down there playing chicken with the train.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I zoned out for a second. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Well, you did.” Jesse shakes his head. “I thought you were going to die.”
People hurry past with big purses and shopping bags. A few of them flip us curious glances. Most people don’t sit on the cold concrete in the middle of winter. I slowly rise to my feet as the train pulls out of the station. “I wonder how long before the next one arrives.” I turn to consult a nearby schedule.
“I know it’s cold, but how about we walk home instead?” Jesse suggests.
I shrug. “All right.”
We head back up the steps. Jesse wraps his fingers around mine as we leave the MetroLink parking lot and turn toward the Lofts. I would normally object to this, but I suspect he’s doing it so he doesn’t have to worry about me wandering out in front of a bus or something. I’m not going to, but after the scare I just gave him, I suppose the least I can do is let him hold my hand. My phone buzzes with a text. My fingers are still shaking and it takes me a couple of tries to access the message with my free hand:
If you go public with that recording, next time the train won’t miss.
* * *
I don’t show Jesse the text until we’re home, safely locked away in the penthouse.
“Did you respond?” he asks.
“I tried.” I curl my arms around my body. I’m still a little shaky. “The number won’t accept incoming texts.”
“We need to show this to Baz and Gideon. They might be able to trace it.”
“To a disposable phone,” I say. “Or some anonymous texting app. Besides, Gideon is paranoid enough as it is. If I tell him someone pushed me onto the MetroLink tracks, he’ll probably want to put me in the witness protection program.” I flop down on the sofa. Miso wanders out of the kitchen. He jumps up and crawls into my lap.
Jesse sits next to me. “We both just want you to be safe.” He reaches out and strokes Miso’s head. “What’s up, Moo?” Miso purrs but for once doesn’t abandon me for Jesse.
I lean back and let my body sink into the cushion. “Sometimes I wonder if this whole thing is just a huge mistake. Some crazy guy thinks someone caught him doing something wrong on a ViSE, but maybe we didn’t. Or maybe we did and edited it out without even knowing. I never pay attention to the people in the background. Do you?”
“Not really.” Jesse gives me a long look. “So do you want to talk about what happened back there?”
I don’t, but I need to give him some kind of explanation or he’ll probably call Gideon. I pet Miso’s soft fur. “Like I said, I didn’t mean to scare you. I guess it was one of those deer-in-headlights moments.”
Jesse reaches out to pet Miso. The cat’s toes flex, his tiny claws catching in the fabric of my shirt. “I don’t believe that, Winter. I’ve worked with you long enough to know you’re not a deer-in-headlights kind of girl.”
“You’re right,” I admit. “It was more like … have you ever peeked over the edge of a cliff and thought about jumping? Not that you want to jump, but just like what would happen if you did?”
Jesse exhales a big breath of air. “Well I’m all about cliff diving, but not if it’s going to end in a horrible death.”
“I didn’t want to die,” I say. “I swear. I’m just tired. I feel so powerless. Do you ever feel like that? Like you have only the smallest say in what actually happens to you?” I run my fingers through Miso’s fur again, comforted by the soft vibration of his purring.
“Well, yeah. But you’re talking to a guy who handed control of his life over to the military and then was disappointed when they gave it back.” Jesse pauses. “So staring down a train made you feel in control?”
“Yes. Because in that moment I was in charge of my future.”
“Or at least whether you were going to have one, I guess.”
As if sensing that Jesse needs comfort, Miso stands, stretches, and crawls across me to the next cushion. Jesse scoops him up into his arms and touches the cat’s forehead to his. “What do you think, Moo?” he asks. “Think we need to do a better job taking care of Winter?”
“I don’t need either of you to take care of me,” I say. But I give Jesse a half smile.
He sets Miso on the coffee table and then turns to me. “Question,” he says. “Have you talked to your therapist since you found out Rose was dead? Even on the phone or something?”
I sigh. “I told you I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. Someone pushed me. You saw the text.”
“I believe you,” he says. “Still. You’ve been through a lot lately.”
I start to ask him how he even knows I have a therapist and then I remember Gideon mentioning her in the office at Escape after I watched the recording of Rose.
“I’ll make an appointment when we get back from Florida, all right?”
“Thank you,” Jesse says.
We stare awkwardly at each other for a few seconds and then he says, “Do you still want to look for the one-eyed man?”
“Right.” I almost forgot about the weirdness at Phantasm. “I guess we could start with him and then finish up the ViSEs if there’s time.”
“Okay.” Jesse gets my tablet from where I have it charging on the kitchen counter. He brings it to the coffee table and opens a search engine. We both lean in toward the screen, our shoulders brushing.
According to sources on the Internet, Phantasm has offices in eight American cities but the company was purchased last year by a Korean jaebeol, a powerful industrial corporation, called Usu. I remember seeing that name on the banner in the picture with the one-eyed man. A search for Usu returns over twenty thousand websites. I scan the main page for the corporation and find out that Usu owns over thirty companies in industries ranging from textiles to technology to pharmaceutical development.
“Great,” Jesse mutters. “This won’t take long at all.”
We start by going through all of the executive and employee photos on the various Phantasm web pages, but we don’t find anything. We split up the list of Usu affiliates—me on my tablet and Jesse on his phone—and click through as many photos as we can find. After about an hour of searching, we’re both ready to admit that it’s hopeless. Some of the smaller Usu companies don’t have photos of their executives or staff and there’s no guarantee the one-eyed man still works for Usu.
I upload his picture from my phone and try to search by image, but after anot
her hour of clarifying and enlarging and scrolling through unrelated web pages, I’m forced to accept the fact that the Internet isn’t going to give up his identity. I do a last-ditch search for “Korean men” plus “one eye” and get a gruesome return of about fifty people who have been shot, stabbed, or mauled, but none of them are a match for the man from Phantasm.
Jesse turns away from the screen, like maybe looking at mangled faces is hitting a little too close to home for him.
“Sorry. I didn’t think.” I power down my tablet.
“It’s fine,” he says. “What next?”
Glancing at the time, I frown. We lost a lot of time walking home. “I want to play more ViSEs, but I’ve got to take Miso down to Natalie’s apartment and then start packing if we’re going to Miami tomorrow morning.”
Jesse and I have gone away together before, but Gideon always went with us. Thinking about a couple of nights alone with Jesse in a hotel room makes me even more nervous than the idea of him sleeping out on the living room sofa. I can’t hide from him in a tiny enclosed space. He’ll see the real me. And maybe he won’t like what he sees.
This thought should fill me with relief—maybe then he’ll finally give up on us—but instead it makes me want to abort the whole plan. You have become one of those girls who wants him to want you, even though you don’t want him. No, that isn’t true. Part of me does want him. I feel it every time we’re in the same room, but I don’t think it’s enough to make things work.
“It’ll only take me ten minutes to throw some stuff in a bag. Let me help you go through some of Rose’s ViSEs while you deal with the cat and pack,” Jesse says. “Overlay doesn’t bother me at all.”
“All right.” I retrieve my notebook and the music box from my room and set them on the coffee table. Part of me feels weird sharing my sister’s personal experiences with Jesse, but strangers have played these recordings. There’s nothing personal about them to her. Not to mention, there are still eleven more ViSEs to go and I could use some help if I’m going to make it through all of them without throwing up again. “Anything without a number hasn’t been played.”