 CHAPTER 7 (section 2) copyright © 2001, S. Y. Affolee “That was enlightening.” Simone frowned and stared at the lake water as Adrian unlocked the truck doors. “Not very helpful considering what we got was what we already knew.” “And even the confirmation doesn’t help us.” Adrian got into the driver’s seat and waited for his partner to buckle up before turning on the engine. “They’re already long gone.” “Ha. Wouldn’t it be so great if we had the medium equivalent of Donald to summon their ghosts in for questioning.” In the evening, the road was a slim and pale ribbon that wound around the darkly glittering Willow Lake. It faded into darkness where the head lights failed to penetrate. The night seemed to press around the truck, enveloping it, making the interior of the truck itself a small and possibly diminishing haven. Simone had leaned her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes. The car’s engine purred monotonously. The dark car came from nowhere, trailing them like a shadow with no sign of light. Adrian would not have caught it if he had not taken a double take at the rearview mirror and noticing that the road behind him did not seem as pale and ribbon-like as before. When he occasionally breaked around turns, his red break light reflected off a black hood and dark windows with just a faint shadow for a driver. But when he turned off at a bigger road to head to south Elanne, the car suddenly disappeared. Perhaps it was just some illusion, he mused as he deftly maneuvered the roads and the evening traffic. During night time, it was too easy to have the eyes play tricks on you. Perhaps he should have his eyes checked the next time he had the opportunity to go to the eye doctor. They arrived at Simone’s apartment building, a complex among complexes. “Thanks,” she said as she opened the door when he stopped the truck. “I’ll come with you.” She didn’t say anything, but only gave him an odd look. Adrian trailed after her, taking the elevator up to the third floor and walking her to the door. She kept her face down, her hair sweeping over her chin and covering part of her face so he could not see her expression. And as she opened her door, he turned to leave. “Oh God.” At the sound of her voice, he turned to see that his partner was completely still, her eyes glued to the interior of her apartment. The door was wide open. He looked in and saw nothing out of the ordinary, a sofa, a coffee table, an entertainment center, a lamp, a throwrug, a painting of some sort—all in her living room. “What’s wrong?” “Something,” she said. “This doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s...I don’t know.” She flipped on the light, bathing everything in brighter, cheerier colors. He still did not see anything wrong. But he followed her nonetheless when she cautiously stepped inside to survey whatever if anything was disturbed. They systematically scoured each of the rooms, the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedrooms. Simone kept shaking her head and frowning, seemingly on the look out for something that only in her mind could she see. They headed back to the living room only to have her halt and turn back to the kitchen. On the counter was a phone and a blue mug. There was a small pot of violets that seemed to grow cheerfully and obliviously to Simone’s strange whims. There was also a pen and an envelope that had no address on it. “I don’t think this was here before,” Simone said, gingerly picking it up. The envelope flap was open and she pulled out a folded sheet of paper which had a message typed on it. Or it could have been printed. It was hard to tell unless they took the letter to an expert. It did not have a date. It wasn’t even addressed to anyone in particular. It only contained the words, “Don’t pursue this.” It wasn’t signed. Nothing else made it distinguishable. “Someone came into my apartment.” There was a tight clip to Simone’s voice. Adrian recognized it as fury. “How could it be possible? The door was locked.” Adrian surveyed the kitchen, small but neat, all the cupboards were closed, the dining table clear. At the end of the kitchen was a window with drawn drapes. He pulled them aside and assessed the pane, noticing that the latch was undone. “Did you lock your windows too?” he asked. She scowled then, her eyes gleaming militantly. “I don’t remember. Probably not. Foolish of me, I know.” “Do me a favor, will you?” She stared back at the message, her fingers tightening, threatening to ball it up into a pathetic wad. Instead, she carefully tucked the letter back into the envelope and put it back on the counter. “Who knows about this case?” “Let me check everything to make sure that it’s locked before I head back.” “Sure.” She absent-mindedly wandered away to the living room as he began locking the kitchen window. “Who knows about this case besides us?” she wondered out loud. “There’s Thomson and Danny.” “Don’t forget Johnson and his cousin,” said Adrian as he wandered to the bathroom and bedroom windows. They appeared locked already. “They at least have an inkling.” “And possibly Thomson’s housekeeper if she eavesdropped,” said Simone. “If she was connected to this thing, it might explain why she disappeared.” “It would be nice if we knew her whereabouts,” he replied coming back to the living room. Simone was sitting on the couch, curled up and arms crossed. She looked up at him. “Yes.” A faint smile came to her lips. “You’re too bloody tall.” “No, you’re just too short.” “Ha.” “Even those ridiculous heels that add about six inches of height doesn’t work for you.” “You may be right there. That’s probably why I decided on low heels, since it’s hopeless to overcome my lack of height, might as well go for comfort.” He laughed a little and sat next to her. “Simone, if you’re ever not comfortable here, you can always stay at my place.” “Thanks,” she said. “But I’m not going to let some pathetic lurker get in the way. I mean, what else is a revolver used for?” Martinez had grumbled when Simone requested a check on Pynchon and Randall to see if any of their descendants were still around. “What am I?” he had demanded. “Some free geneology service?” “Aw, Tony, we just want to keep you on your toes,” she had replied. “You can’t fault us for asking for a little help.” “Huh. Thanks for making me feel loved.” “Any time.” The day at the office wasn’t extremely interesting or even tiring. At the moment, she and Adrian were going over old newspapers from seventy years ago, checking for any sign that may mention the group, the Dark Vipers. There were quack advertisements and articles on the latest psychic freak shows, but so far nothing. Simone decided to take a quick break from scanning text and walked outside her office, perhaps intending to talk to Danny even though the secretary rarely had anything profound to contribute. Danny, as usual was seated at her desk, clicking away on the computer. Today, she had bound her hair up in some semblance of a bun at the nape of her neck. She was also wearing another one of her low-necked blouses, this one blue. Simone had no doubt that Adrian had taken the opportunity for a quick peek before secluding himself in his own office for research. The secretary looked up and gave her a wide smile. “Afternoon Ms. Sung. Anything I can do?” “Not at the moment. Just taking a brief break.” Simone retrieved a little water from the water cooler and held the paper cup in her hand, thinking. “Anything of interest happening lately?” “You mean personally?” Danny gave a shrill laugh. “Not much, I guess. Denise set me up on a blind date two nights ago. The man was a total bore, I can tell you that. No style, no wit. But I ended up staying over his place anyway.” She wiggled her eyebrows, her intention clear. “I didn’t think you were into one-night stands,” said Simone. More like into rich boyfriends, she silently thought. “I’m not,” said Danny. “I just said he was boring. In conversation, I mean. He talked nothing but stock quotes and the latest Wall Street fiascos. But that’s fine with me. I think he just needed someone to listen to him. He’s taking me out again this evening.” “Wonderful.” “But,” and Danny lowered her voice to conspiratory level, “There’s always the online world.” Simone raised an eyebrow. “Online world? What do you mean? Like chatting?” “Yeah.” The secretary seemed pleased with herself. “I’ve been hopping around the first year or so, testing the waters, so to speak. But this past month, I’ve found the perfect cyber cafe. It’s called Dominos.” “Isn’t that supposed to be a pizza place?” Danny shrugged. “Most of it is populated by nerds you know, the kind who thing programming is the chic thing to do. But there are a couple of interesting people there.” “I don’t know, it’s sort of hard for me imagining such people who frequent ‘cyber cafes’ as having any sort of life.” “Maybe they do or maybe they don’t. Like there’s this really interesting guy who calls himself Pullman. He has the wittiest things to say. And he’s a published author! I always try to get him to tell me his real name so I could get his books, but he refuses saying he’s afraid of criticism.” “He’s probably lying then.” “Well maybe. And then there’s this professor type. Or at least I think it may be a professor type. He always sounds like he’s wanting to get laid. Calls himself Therion and telling all the girls in the chat room that once he finds ‘The Rose’ that it’ll be perfect for her, whoever the her is at the present time.” “A rose, huh?” “The Rose,” said Danny, emphasizing it so that it sounded capitalized. “He makes it sound as if it wasn’t a flower.” “How odd,” said Simone. She mentally filed the small fact away for future reference. “But don’t people have profiles on the thing? You could easily find out the real person’s name.” “Yeah, I guess you could,” Danny admitted. “But you know, I always like the mystery of the thing, the supposed anonymity. You could be anyone you wanted in such chat rooms.” |