Lying in Shadows

by Sofia Grey

  She tapped on Aiden’s desk and caught their attention. “If the virus is date activated, could it be triggered by Thanksgiving, next week? Thanks.a. It’s worth thinking about.”

  Aiden looked as though he’d been smacked in the face. “Shit,” he muttered. “TM-Tech is an American company. Why did we not think of that?” He nodded to Marianne. “I didn’t make the connection.”

  “Well done, Marianne.” Jordan smiled at her. Aiden rang his spooks and passed on the idea, and Marianne sat back, feeling pleased. This might be the breakthrough they needed.

  Minutes later, a message popped up from Marcus.

  M. REEVE: Well done. Sounds like you may have nailed it.

  M.DEAN: Thank you. Let’s not celebrate too soon. It might come to nothing.

  M.REEVE: I know. By the way, still staying in town this weekend?

  M. DEAN: Yup. How about you?

  M. REEVE: Same.

  M. DEAN: What about Jordan?

  M. REEVE: He’s going back.

  M. DEAN: So you’re free, and I’m free. See a pattern here?

  M. REEVE: I love how your mind works.

  M.REEVE HAS SIGNED OFF.

  * * * *

  After the stark loneliness of the past few days, seeing Alex again felt amazing to Sylvie. Like being released from jail. They chattered and gossiped, laughed and jammed together, and it was as though the ugly row never existed. She pretended to herself that the kiss didn’t exist either, and was grateful Alex never called her on it.

  He disappeared to make and take phone calls, while she amused herself playing around with the basslines to his new material. Some of it was beautiful, with haunting melodies and minor chords. Other tracks had the promise of the raucous liveliness that characterised the Event Horizon sound.

  He took her to Kate’s for lunch, where she was greeted like an old friend. Kate mentioned something about Rico’s guards, and Sylvie looked at her, puzzled.

  “Ah,” Alex interrupted. “I didn’t tell you about the photographer.” He told how he knocked out the guy and stole his memory card.

  Sylvie laughed. “That’s awesome. The beach is seeing some action at the moment.”

  He groaned. “I didn’t tell Kate and Lou how you viciously attacked me. It wasn’t my finest moment, being beaten up by a tiny little creature like yourself.”

  After they ate and cleared up, Alex slipped out of the kitchen with his phone again, and returned a few minutes later.

  Sylvie was on the floor playing with the children.

  “I spoke to Rico,” he said. “I suggested you move back into my place for the moment and he thinks it’s a great idea. He’s going to text you.”

  Delight blossomed, and then withered again. “What about Marianne? I told you—”

  “She’s not coming this weekend. I’ll not see her again until Thanksgiving.”

  “Oh.” Sylvie didn’t know what to say. She wondered if Marcus would be coming up this weekend, or if he would also be staying in London. It wasn’t a question she wanted to ask Alex.

  On cue, her phone beeped with a message from Rico.

  Silverwood! Talked to Alex. Agree you are safer at his house. More room for me too. Move ASAP. See you tomorrow night. Miss you. R x

  She laughed. “Looks like I have no choice in the matter. I’ll walk down and collect my bag later.”

  “I’ll take you. I have a long-term rental car now.” Alex grinned, looking very pleased with himself, and not disappointed that his girlfriend wouldn’t be around.

  It was a simple and quick job to move back into Alex’s house. Sylvie admired the black BMW he was driving and teased him that it was a Pimp-Mobile.

  “Is not,” he cried. “And it’s a hire car anyway. I’m thinking of buying something, but I can’t decide what I want.”

  She liked teasing him about his wealth. “Let’s see. Normal people choose their cars based on size, reliability, and price. What criteria are you using?”

  “Same.”

  “So... no flashy two-seater rock-god road-burners then? No more Pimp-Mobiles?”

  He gave her a worried look. “What about a BMW X5 off-roader?”

  “Chelsea tractor.” She was dismissive.

  “Porsche Boxter?”

  “Hairdresser’s car.”

  “Jaguar XK series?”

  “Hmm... classier. Flashy though.”

  “But Jordan drives a Jag.”

  “Yeah, but Jordan’s got class.”

  They bickered playfully as they drove along, breaking off to unload her pitiful amount of luggage. He stared at the overnight bag and small handbag. “You weren’t kidding. This is all you have in the world?”

  She nodded. It was easier to make a joke of it. “I’ve discovered the art of travelling light.”

  It was a fun and relaxed evening. Sylvie talked to Rico on the phone. Everything was good, and maybe now she could stop fretting that he was in danger.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Alex couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts swirled around inside his head—probably too much coffee as well—and by one in the morning, he gave up trying and went down to the studio. Sylvie was on his mind... along with Maz, Rico, Louisa, and Marcus. What a tangled mess.

  He decided to devote himself to an engrossing task that would take all his concentration, and selected the Rickenbacker twelve-string. Tuning it was always a delicate operation, but he’d barely started, when he heard a clattering noise upstairs.

  He paused and lifted his head, to listen properly. It sounded like a herd of cattle charging along. The fuck? Was he being burgled? He abandoned the guitar, grabbed a mic stand, and ran up the corridor, in time to see Sylvie stumbling into the kitchen.

  “Syl? You okay?” He followed and saw her staring out of the window at the darkness beyond, tears trickling down her cheeks. “Christ, Syl. What happened?”

  She muttered something under her breath and barged past him, to race upstairs. It was as though she didn’t hear him. Didn’t see him. He stood, mystified, trying to make sense of what he saw.

  There was more bumping in the bedroom above. He dropped the mic stand and took the stairs two at a time. Her door was open, the room in darkness, but he saw her silhouetted in the light from the landing. She bent over the bed, tearing through the contents of one of her bags, her sobs increasing in volume.

  “Sylvie.” He raised his voice, but there was no reaction. Was she sleepwalking? He stepped into the room and placed his hands on her shoulders, before turning her to face him. He was wary of her rapid fists and knees, but fear overrode his concerns.

  Her face was blank of emotion, her eyes puffy from crying. She swayed like a sapling in a stiff breeze, unaware of his presence. It was scary. If he let her go, would she fall to the floor?

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He spoke in a soothing voice, and moments later she sighed, her eyes closing before she slumped against him. Now what?

  Holding her with one arm, he swept her belongings out of the way. He laid her down and covered her with the duvet. She felt cold to the touch. The central heating went off hours ago. How long had she been out of bed?

  He was perplexed. What brought this on? And what did she think she was doing? It was like she was searching for something. Sylvie appeared to be sound asleep again, her eyes closed and her breathing steady. A long strand of hair lay across her lips, and Alex brushed it away with his fingers.

  It felt wrong to be in her room while she slept, so he headed back downstairs, retrieving the mic stand from the kitchen as he went.

  There was no chance of going to sleep yet, so he settled back in the studio and contemplated whether he should get a drink. It was tempting.

  A cry rang out—a nerve crawling howl of pain—and Alex charged back upstairs. This time Sylvie sat upright in bed, her breath punctuated by harsh sobs.

  Was she still asleep? “Syl? Can you hear me?”

  “Alex?”

  His heart raced, but he tried to speak cal
mly. “Are you okay? I heard a noise.” He pushed the door wider open, to cast more light on her.

  She swallowed and rubbed her face with both hands. “I had another bad dream. I need to phone Rico.”

  “Syl, it’s nearly two o’clock. Why not wait until the morning?”

  “I can’t find my phone. Have you seen it?” She rummaged through her belongings again. She seemed disoriented, and Alex thought about calling a doctor. Was she having some kind of a psychotic episode? He was confident she didn’t take any drugs.

  He stepped forwards and flicked on the bedside light. “This phone?” It lay on the bedside cabinet in full view.

  “Yes.” She sounded surprised. “I was looking for it, I think. It’s all so confusing.” She drew her knees to her body and rested her chin on them, her phone tight in her hand. Her tears had subsided, but she still looked shocked and upset.

  Alex was badly rattled. He didn’t like to walk away and leave her in this state, but it was not appropriate to stay in her room. A distant memory flashed into his head. Something his mum used to swear by, for sleepless nights. “How about a drink of warm milk? Might help you go back to sleep.”

  “Mmm.” She sounded distracted, and Alex realised she was dialling a number on her phone. Probably calling Rico. Poor guy. It’d be a shock to be woken in the middle of the night, especially with everything else going on.

  Alex left her and returned a few minutes later with a mug of warm milk and some biscuits. He heard her voice as he approached, and knocked on the open door to get her attention.

  “Yes, Alex is here. Hang on, babe.” She held out her phone to him. “Could you talk to Rico, please?” They swapped phone for mug, and Alex stepped back onto the landing.

  “Rico?”

  “Alex?” He sounded stressed, and no wonder. “Is Sylvie okay?”

  He still felt shaken. “I think so, but I was a bit shocked to find her sleepwalking. How long has she done that?”

  “Sleepwalking? I’ve no idea. What happened?”

  He explained as best he could and told Rico how she seemed dazed and confused, and how insistent she was she ring him. “I think she had a nightmare. She said something about a bad dream again, and was desperate to hear your voice.” He tried to sound reassuring. Rico was hundreds of miles away and probably panicking. “Are you still coming up tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. It will probably be late, but I’ll be there. Alex, thanks for everything. I’m glad she’s with you and not on her own.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  They spoke a minute more about the security team that would be arriving on Saturday morning, and then Alex went to give the phone back to Sylvie. She was now out of bed and dressed.

  He eyed her warily. “Going somewhere?”

  She gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m wide awake. I’ll watch some TV. I’ll try not to disturb you.”

  “It may have escaped your notice, but I’m awake too.” He offered a smile, to take the sting out of his words. “I was in the studio when you woke. Some nights I don’t sleep well either.”

  “Are you going back down there? Can I come and listen? I won’t get in the way.”

  With his sense of calm restored, Alex resumed his tuning exercise while Sylvie curled up in the armchair, her feet tucked underneath her as usual. When she seemed more relaxed, he quietly asked if she wanted to talk about her dream.

  It took a while, but she opened up. “It was dark. There was smoke, and I couldn’t breathe properly. And dust. So much dust. It was trapped in my throat.” She paused. Screwed her eyes shut, as though she groped for the memory. “I heard Rico shouting for me. He was desperate; I could hear the fear in his voice. But I couldn’t answer him. It’s like I was frozen somehow.” Fresh tears glistened on her lashes, and she scrubbed them away. “His voice... shouting and shouting...” She stared into the distance.

  Alex finger-picked a couple of chords, and made a gentle backdrop of noise while she pulled herself together. “You said your flat was torched? Maybe with us talking about it today, it triggered the dream?”

  She thought about it but didn’t seem convinced. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there at the time. And the dream wasn’t like a fire; I can’t explain.”

  “Maybe it’s a result of all the stress. You know you were sleepwalking as well? I found you running downstairs into the kitchen, then back upstairs. Do you remember?”

  “Sleepwalking?”

  “Yeah. It’s no big deal. It’s not like you ran into the road or anything.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.” She wrapped her arms tight around herself.

  “Well it was either that or a bad acid trip.”

  This brought a fleeting smile. “Never done that either. Thank you for looking out for me.”

  “Any time.”

  * * * *

  I had three years to plan this operation. To work out every tiny detail, strategy and counter-strategy. Three long years to learn new skills, make new contacts, and fine-tune my anger, honing it as a weapon to use against Marcus Reeve.

  TM-Tech could afford it—a few documents here and there, a whisper in the right ear, a nod in the right direction...

  He threw the book at me, hunted me down, and tore my life apart.

  He won’t even remember my name; I was such a small cog in the faceless corporate machine he runs. But he will soon, when I’ve taken his wife and child, as he took mine. He’ll know my name then. He’ll remember Darius Gibson for eternity.

  * * * *

  The audit was finally making progress, thank fuck. Aiden was now the official liaison with the SOCA squad. Pete Tandy was taken in for questioning, and the spooks were busy dissecting code and looking for events and triggers to do with Thanksgiving.

  The day was looking up for Marcus, until Jordan came to his office, to talk about travel plans for the weekend. When Marcus said he was staying in London, Jordan was taken aback, and then got angry. Marcus didn’t want this to go any further than necessary, so he closed the door and faced him down. Things had to come to a head at some point. Now was as good a time as any.

  “What about Louisa? Your wife?” Jordan asked.

  “She won’t talk to me. I phone, she hangs up. I email, she doesn’t reply. I can’t be sure, but I think she deletes my text messages too. She wants to extract every bit of angst from this, so I’ll let her. When she calms down, we’ll talk about it.”

  Jordan glared, his face pinched and tired. “She’s probably waiting for you to go see her, to apologise to her face.”

  “Tell her I’ll come up for Thanksgiving, and we can talk then.”

  Realisation and disgust flickered on Jordan’s face. “This has nothing to do with Louisa. Marianne’s staying in London this weekend. Christ, Marcus. You can’t keep stringing Louisa along. This is tearing her apart. Do you have no compassion?”

  Marcus sighed. “It’s not easy for me, either. Starting this relationship with Marianne—breaking my marriage vows—was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I agonized over it. This was no quick fuck because I was bored. And she means too much for me to give her up.”

  “But Louisa’s been your wife for nearly ten years. That must count for something.” Marcus was silent, so Jordan tried again. “How will you feel if she divorces you and takes Ted back to Houston?”

  “Ted means the world to me, but so does Marianne. Children cope with broken marriages. They don’t all turn delinquent. Look at you. You only had your father when you were a child.”

  Jordan shook his head—in sadness or anger, Marcus couldn’t tell. “My mother died; it was completely different,” Jordan said. “And what about Alex?”

  Marcus shrugged. Alex was the least of his worries.

  “What I mean is, are you sure Marianne wants you, and not Alex? She seemed pretty into him last weekend. He’s a rock star. Millions in the bank. Her first love. Can you be sure she’s not hedging her bets with both of you?”

  “I don’t kn
ow.” The words were hard to say.

  Jordan stared at Marcus, looked away, then back again. “So lemme get this straight. While your mistress makes up her mind between her married lover and her single one, you hang on, waiting to see which way she’ll jump. Keeping your wife in agony while you do so. Then, if she goes for Alex, you can have a change of heart and make up with Louisa?”

  Marcus went hot with anger. The way Jordan said it, made him sound like a calculating bastard. “It’s not like that.”

  “Fuck you, Marcus. It’s exactly like that.” Jordan strode to the window and flicked the edge of the blind with his thumb. He never fidgeted unless he was stressed. “I thought I could trust you. All the times you were there for me... Everything we shared... You were my salvation when Kate left me, and you pulled me through. I swore I’d repay you if I ever got the chance, but I can’t support this.”

  He turned to face Marcus. “It’s not too late. Come home this weekend and talk to her. Really talk. You have so much to lose here. You both do.”

  Marcus walked back to his chair and sat down heavily. “What’s the longest relationship you’ve had, Jordan? Three years? Four, maybe?”

  He shrugged. “With Kate. Nearly four years.”

  “So before Kate, you went from one short-term fling after another?”

  “Yeah. And your point is?”

  “Well, I didn’t. I had a few girlfriends—not many—then I settled down with Louisa. I’ve always loved her, but this is different. My affair with Marianne isn’t about sex; it’s more. I was already questioning if I had a future with Louisa.”

  Jordan snorted. “You don’t have any future with her if you carry on like this.”

  “Jordan, when you split up with Kate, you were knocked sideways. If I think about divorcing Louisa, I don’t feel like that, but I do if I think about Marianne leaving me.”

  Jordan closed his eyes for a moment. “How sure are you that this isn’t a way of escaping the daily grind? A quick fix, to make you feel good?” He stared hard at him. “A midlife crisis?”

  “Fuck off. I’m not that old.”

  There was a glimmer of a smile, but it disappeared again into bleakness. “In your ideal world, what happens next?”