ã€ŠTinted in red: A guide to the criminal worldã€‹


 CHAPTER ONE: DEPARTURE

    Fate is ever changeable, unpredictable. When I collected my things that day, I never guessed the mess it stored for me.

    At the end of the first university semester, after the long hours of intensive studying, I longed for my first return home, for my first visit to my family. The slight bickering with my siblings, the warm banter. The face of my parents. And the tender smile of my grandmother.

    The yearning ate at my heart. The sudden separation ravaged all the reasons that caused my absence. As if those couple of months were a trip to the netherworld. Yet I couldn''t accept the defeat. During this period, I never tasted the flavor of comfort or the pleasure of rest, always studying to succeed.

    My girlfriend Anna, I informed her about my desire to take her with me, to introduce her to my family, but sadly the illness that her father suddenly discovered, played a part in her decision to not travel the long distance and to stay beside him.

    Anna Marchetti, the slender young girl with smiley lips, a long brown air, and a face painted with inharmonious freckles. I knew her before my first time coming into this city. Haphazardly, our friendship began years ago. Who could think an old-fashioned letter exchange will foster a long relationship?

    She has grown up to become one of the most charming women I had the chance to talk to.

    A nice old Victorian house was her home, near the campus. My frequent visits to her home sustained my unbearable homesickness, charged my soul with determination. It gave me the power to resist the drama of another day. Spending some time away from the university''s up and downs life turned a blessing hard to come by.

    A few months ago, we started to get close. Since my arrival, since seeing her face for the first time. The big city never felt foreign. Then things developed rapidly, and now we are officially going out.

    I stood in the railway station, checking my luggage, preparing the ticket. The time of my expected tripe approached near. Suddenly, someone startled me from behind. Wrapped arms circled my torso, tightly hugged my back. The sensation was familiar. When I turned back, I guessed right. It was the frail figure of Anna that greeted my eyes.

    Accompanied by her ten-year-old brother, Liam looked exactly like his older sister, a tiny child version of her. The freckles light and brownish sealed their blood kinship.

    Intensely observing her face, I could see the redness surrounding her eyes, the trace of tears rendered her visage shyer. The impression that she was crying all night, the only thing my logic worked up.

    My breath halted at the entrance of my lungs. A sort of pity sipped into my chest. I felt my heart fill up with some kind of tenderness, at the same time, a load of appreciation for her will.

    I knew her¡­ and I knew how strong she is¡­ I also know how hard the situation was. Not only on her but all her family¡­

    From the moment the reality slapped her face, I was there; I stood beside her. Right now, she needed some time alone with her family¡­ and I respect that.

    In a failed attempt to seem fine, the intensity of her hug tightened, the force of her feeling transpired through the contact. Nevertheless, for her, it wasn''t enough unless she poured me hot bouquets of farewells and kisses. Demanding with a melodic voice to deliver to my family, the same kind of hot bouquets of greetings and tributes instead of her.

    The truth was: she never met my family; She didn''t know who they were? All for the sake of my personnel''s selfish reasons. In contrast, my family was also oblivious to her existence.

    Actually, my family was oblivious to a lot of things that concerned me. Only the keeper of my secrets, the bearer of my egocentrism, my elder sister, aware of many things about my private matters. About where I am, about the major I chose, about Anna. though not about us going out.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    My elder sister and Anna got the chance to meet, just for one time. Anna accompanied me to receive her at the airport. It was long ago when I was new to the city and did not precisely could find my way around the streets.

    At that time, Anna was my savior. An angel descended to guide my step and help with my installation. A blessing was to have someone like Anna in one of the biggest cities, in a place that you don''t know anything about. Where you have no support...

    The bell rung, its sound reverberated. The next moment, the train started its long trip. To the far east, I was heading.

    Searching for my cabin, the shaking toyed with my balance. And here there was the door. I chose a seat near the window after carefully placing my luggage.

    the city sceneries cascaded faster and faster, I closed my eyes for relief, waiting for the sensation of the rhythmic movements of the train to flow within my body.

    Yet somehow I recalled all the scenes of our goodbye, how emotional it was, despite that my visit to my hometown wasn''t going to take long. We were saying farewell as if we would never see each other again.

    I opened my eyes, looking at the glass of the window. I could see the reflection of the fainted profile of my two companions when they entered.

    ***

    The same way I came to this big city, the same way I am returning to my hometown. After a long absence,¡­ I don''t know how to describe my yearning. A lot of things had changed. I have changed, as a person¡­ and as a man¡­

    My relationship with my father¡­ wasn''t the best. It has its ups and downs. We had, and we still probably will have plenty of differences, in ideas, in the style that we see and understand the world, but my stay in a different environment, I came to appreciate even to such a small extent my father''s point of view, and I erased a big deal of my false assumptions on the world and on how it should work.

    The success I had achieved in my study was a prize for my own growth and efforts. I decided to bring this happy news of my hard work with me and inform my family of my achievements personally.

    Right now, the railway is at its top speed, and in the blink of an eye, I perceived the line that marks the end of the urban area and the beginning of the Grassland with its winter white dress that has started to melt. It was very long since I took the time to appreciate the natural beauty of the earth without the disturbance of the filthy hands of humans. This scene always made me lose contact with my reality. How much I wished I could show this majestic spectacle to Anna, even in a set of pictures¡­

    I was never good at socializing, neither I was a smooth talker, and it seemed that my two companions were very much like me. They hadn''t spoken a word since the moment they have entered the cabin. Honestly, I was glad for that because they looked exactly like the type of people that I would pretend that I didn''t see in the street. Yet the glances that they exchange between each other from time to time got me nervous. Like they are hiding something¡­

    After four hours, I got startled by the train whistle as it announced our arrival at the station. It was the time of sunset and the darkness began to spread bit by bit. And to my amazement, in my town, there was no trace of snowfall, only the frigid wind that pierced through my thick coat when I left the station. The roads were wet and vacuous, giving me the sensation as if I were in a horror movie. Yes, this is my town and how I remember it.

    I stood near my luggage waiting for a cab or any carriage to pass, but unfortunately, there was nothing. It was eight PM when I decided to carry my baggage and walk silently in misery. The station wasn''t very far from my house, about one hour of walking. Finding my way through empty, silent streets with almost no light was somehow depressing. Also, the cold wind and my heavy luggage didn''t make the trip easy.

    But the moment I recognized the twigs of the grape tree that hide the entrance to my house, all my weariness vanished.

    Oh, home sweet home¡­ I finally have come back.

    I promised myself to sleep for 24 hours when I reach my bed¡­

    I stormed toward the old wooden door with the big metal knob, leaving my luggage behind and I knocked using all the force that resided in me without rest, just like soldiers who are going to break in.

    I caught a small noise behind the door, so I stopped knocking, then I heard a childlike voice asking: "Who is it?..."

    I smiled happily, and I thought to myself, "so finally, Fayina is big enough to answer the door,". Trying to not make my voice very high, I told her: "Fayina!... Open the door, this is your big brother."

    The one who opened the wooden door wasn''t Fayina, the one who opened the door was my mother¡­

    The look of surprise on her face was priceless. It was mixed with longing and a bit of blame. I found myself unconsciously wrapping my arms around her for a deep, long hug.

 CHAPTER TWO: NOSTALGIA

    Around the house where I had opened my eyes and walked my first steps, shone a special aurora. Maybe due to the fact of his old origin, to the archeological location of the city, or maybe just because it was my childhood house where I let go of the last bits of my innocence. Either way, confident I am, the mysterious force pulling me here to visit again, to come back, no matter how far I go¡­filling my soul.

    Unexpectedly, for the first time in years, the twelve members of the McCarthy family graced the periphery of the dinner table.

    As much as it felt strange, as much as made me ecstatic. Before, only the tragic death of my grandfather managed to gather us.

    We were eating in such an intimate, lost atmosphere¡­Dated back to the days of my youth. For the sorrow of life, only my grandfather''s presence was missing for the past to be recreated.

    Exchanging the greeting, asking for far-placed dishes. Laughing about trivial jokes. The blessings of this dinner gathering will stay with me until the end of my life.

    I settled in my old place, next to my grandmother and near the seat of the family''s head, which now is my father''s. He was indulging himself in a long and detailed scolding of my stupid reckless, and selfish behavior, of course, from his standpoint. I won''t say that he was totally wrong¡­

    ¡§From now on you must keep in contact with us, at least with one of your brothers or your sister. And you must inform me before you come back as well.¡§ The last sentence of my father''s exhaustive scolding. And the sole part that mastered the thick walls of my well-trained defenses. Certainly for the excessive repetition.

    From the moment his eyes seized me, I swear, he had chewed those words to the point of dullness. My old self will surely make a big faze, but now I understand that this was his way to say indirectly that he was worried about my well-being.

    How much I missed the extravagant pain of concern after the brutality of the outside world tattooed my fair skin with iron fangs. However, this epic orchestra has yet to be finished. And the flame handed to my mother to continue the long path:

    "From now on I won''t accept this careless behavior, I comprehend that you are a capable person who knows how to protect himself, yet wolves always survive stronger in a pack."

    Another set of metaphors, the boredom groaned my nerves, yet I listened to my mother''s mixed lecture, those blame were needed, I deserved them. However, I kept the fact that I was in contact with my sister a secret and I made her promise me to keep it a secret from all of the family, especially my parents.

    Thank you, dear sister, for respecting my selfish wish. I admit that I made you hold a heavy responsibility.

    From over the table, I hooked my gaze with her, spending a subtle signal as thanks, and she smiled back at me in the same concealed manner as a response. After a few spoons in her mouth, she tried to help me to change the subject by asking about my studies: "How is college? Kieran."

    My father butted in before I could answer: "I hope you didn''t drop out¡­"

    I responded with a calm nerve, something new I had developed to confront, not just my father''s sarcastic tone: "No, I am a senior now. Actually, I got a few recommendations from my professors. Even more, I was accepted into a firm for an internship."

    Preying to check the face of each member around the table. A smug smirk colored my lips, a delight from the victory. Their reaction topped a priceless gift. A moment I wished for long enough. It was worth the wait, especially my father and older brothers, and my sister too. I had yet to tell her a lot of things this happy news was one of them.

    My father''s stupefied lineaments, while trying to hold his astonishment with a mask of his usual stoicism, tickled the shallow egoism in my chest. I watched him as he proceeded to continue the conversation in a failed attempt to conceal his joy...  Approval... whatever it was,

    "Which firm?"

    "Clangor law group."

    "Is it official?"

    "Not yet, but most likely yes."

    "Excellent."

    Was it an explicit compliment? My jaw dislocated. The blow hit hard.

    A compliment from my father? A very straightforward one. I must check if the sky had fallen on the earth, or in her place still.

    There were a lot of moments when I felt it was okay to die now. Most of them were out of embarrassment, rarely those for joy, and this is one of them.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Any girl in your life?" My sister Evelyn asked again, her voice mixed with the glee for my triumph and the irritation over hiding this matter. Yet here she goes again, trying to help me introduce my girlfriend. Was it the superior intuition women are proud of? I shifted my eyes to my mother timidly looked at her, in a low voice I answered:

    "Yes."

    **** **** ****

    In the living room, in that kind of warm evening, we gathered after dinner.

    My mother actively supervised the girls in clearing up the table, organizing the leftover. My grandmother retreated to her room.

    Next to my father and Alfred, my eldest brother, I squeezed myself on the big sofa. Everyone free at the moment joined in. Like an ancient folk, we recited the trivial life events; how much I missed these assemblies, always loved to listen to other stories and their experience in life and learn from their mistakes.

    Also, I wanted to learn all about things and changes that happened during my absence,

    All kinds of topics made their way to this conversation, especially about me, as I was the guest of honor, the surprise of the new year: my study, my girlfriend, my brothers'' worries and occupations, my sister''s fiance, my grandmother''s health and all the rumors And the truths about the famous and rich people that lived around here.

    Perhaps the most important matter that we have talked about was the Olvera family and their famous son; August Olvera.

    Faking disinterested, I commented: "August Olvera! Ah, yes, I know him. We are on the same campus."

    "Well, he is very famous and multi-talented. I believe he speaks several languages, and he is majoring in ancient history or something like that¡­."

    Whenever my father compliments someone in front of me, I feel like he was accusing me of failure. I did not know why¡­.

    I tried to disregard this emotion and followed my father''s speech, confirming and denying some of the things he said for facts:" That''s right, he knows several languages, precisely four. But he is majoring in finance and economics."

    My father commented without arguing: "That''s why he is managing his father''s works¡­"

    I looked at Alfred''s eyes; a persistent habit I nurtured in my childhood, it activates whenever I searched for an answer or a way to respond to my father. Conscious of my pitfall, Alfred took the lead as always: "Yes, I heard that he is managing an operation to import the wool¡­. Natural wool."

    Now, the sense of inferiority won me over, swallowed raw, urged me to speak in defense of my honor: "He is older than me¡­. I assume that he is in his thirty or so¡­" Then I followed up, attempting to hide my insecurity: "They have a branch in the city where I am studying now."

    Fleeing, I glanced at the Coffee table to steal a biscuit and shove it into my big mouth to disguise my discomfort.

    Alfred said, confirming my information and he probably understood this childish behavior of mine:" Yes, they have a branch there, it''s relatively new¡­. And he is a few years older than Kieran."

    And just like that, I welcomed the routine of the old days. When I feel conscious of every stupid thing, my father said or will attempt to say, always thinking that he was comparing me to someone whom I think was doing better than me as well as when we fought over stupid gossip - which I believe, it is - and about who was right and who is wrong. However, I never imagined that this stupid conversation and gossip consuming about one of the richest families in our neighborhood was just an introduction to something deeper and important. Something that will change my life, yet another time.

    A big error, the one who forgot that my father never indulges himself in trivial rumors was me.

    **** **** ****

    Following the nostalgic evening, the days passed in apparent peace as in my definition, albeit an ominous calm thickened underneath¡­a sort of preparation my brothers'' efforts engrossed in making. I could feel the atmosphere, but I couldn''t make its core.

    Hanging on the banner of my ideals; if your big brothers don''t want you to know their business, there is a high possibility that it doesn''t concern you, it''s better for your sanity that you don''t know.

    How na?ve I was¡­

    Until the date of my return to the campus approached, the surprise my father was hiding from me floated to the surface. They say the calmness always hid an unpredictable storm.

    An invitation to a dinner in one of the most distinguished and famed hotels.

    I took the invitation between my hands, caressing it. Turned it back and forth in every direction, smelling the rich perfume on its corners, dissecting the tiniest details to assure myself it wasn''t a prank. Then I commented, wondering:

    "What is this? Where did it come from?"

    A faint smile rested on my father''s answer gave it a taste of amusement: "An invitation to a dinner party."

    "Yes, I know that¡­ I mean from whom? Why me?"

    "You can read who is the sender yourself."

    "No, I know¡­ I mean, why?¡­ why in hell the Olvera sends us an invitation to a dinner party for the engagement of one of her sons?... Why me personally?"

    In this secluded, suffocating study room, I observed my father. Leisurely, he sat before a large wooden and very expensive desk. His back was facing the window. And his enigmatic eyes were piercing through me. Telling me to search for an answer on my own.

    I tried to avoid his gaze, shifting my eyes toward the wooden, very expensive shelves that were full of old and new books, medals, trophies. Squeezing my brain for a response: "I see¡­" Courageously, I received his piercing gaze: "Could it be Evelyn''s fiance?"

    "No." My father was silent for a minute before he followed: "There are three invitations in total, and I have chosen you to come with me and your mother."

    Bewildered, I froze in my place, happy, unhappy, proud, intrigued¡­. A mix of massive emotions that didn''t make me sure about my situation. However, all of that disappeared when my father spoke again: "Of course, your sister and her fiance will be there too. Sadly, at a different table."

    **** **** **** ****

    It was cold and dark, an average winter day in my hometown. The sound of rain kicked out the stillness of the night. My father opened the car door to my mother after he opened his umbrella, protecting her from getting wet.

    Two hands embarrassed each other, in a transient moment of care and warmth. Those small gestures of heed nurtured the roots of our family in my grandmother''s reflection.

    My mother, wearing her cashmere coat and a pearl necklace descended, stood by my father''s under the same umbrella. A scene out of a movie made them ten years younger in my eyes. Observing them together like that sipped absurd thoughts into my mind. Aren''t we just like a normal, happy family? A wild smile defeated my tense lips before I gave the keys to the concierge and followed behind them.

 CHAPTER THREE: INVITATION

    Proceeding to the great hall, the artificial light, the reflection, the glittering crystals like-decoration numbed my vision. A peasant walked into a castle by mistake, I assessed my place. The Olvera deserved their reputation. I always thought my home luxurious. Yet this hall stood at another level.

    Trailing behind my parents, I made sure to stay as far as near as the etiquettes permitted the presence of a third wheel. About three meters away, a perfect distance to grasp my embarrassment in an out of habit place.

    I watched them, and all the people that approached them.

    Noting the degree of my ignorance. All those relatively powerful people buttering up to my parents. There must have been a huge development when I was away.

    Feigning indifference, carrying the air of shallow interest. I recognized half of the advancers. Those hypocrites, superficial folk. They care about their appearance more than anything else in the world.

    Yet, my father''s objective, still an enigma, a puzzle from a higher dimension. Figuring it out, a task that perished the bits of joy and hate budded from this invitation.

    Why did he choose me to accompany him? Why me? Why not Alfred Or Jacob Or any other person who had more merit and experience?

    In this kind of situation, my anti-sociable nature proved far crippling than I ought it to be. Like a painting hung on the wall of forgetfulness, my eyes roamed in the big hall.

    The varied flavor of individuals greeted each other. Exchanged pleasantries in effortless manners.

    Envy clapped my heart. How much I hated my disability to initiate human interactions.

    However, it made me a renowned observer of humanity. Watching their interactions, witnessing their exchanges. The hypocrisy washed their faces. The fake smiles¡­ The deceiving eyes, full of lies. I asked myself; what kind of person should I pretend to be to deal with them?

    It didn''t take long for my parents to get sucked up into this abyss of duplicity. Perfectly matching the rapidly changing colors of all those high-level kinds of people.

    I remembered an argument I had with my father long ago; This is life whether you accept it or not. You should learn the art of wearing makeup¡­

    The glittering light of my mother''s pearl necklace, my father''s black tuxedo thinned under my gaze. To be honest, I was too ashamed to follow them like a little kid. So I decided to wander around searching for Evelyn and her fianc¨¦e to merge a little bit with this crowd.

    From afar, there, I spotted her with a man I have never met in person, her fianc¨¦e¡­

    Emery Cromwell¡­ An individual whom I only knew threw letters sent by my sister.

    Her description turned him into some mythical hero, born from the ash of suffering, and climbed the ladder to prosperity.

    What was my first impression of this legendary knight charming?

    He had the charm that attracted women into his orbit.

    What kind of person he was?

    Only through close interactions, I can judge his character.

    Next to him, the happiness flared around my sister. Laughing, giggling while holding onto his arm. I stopped right away, my endeavor to approach them.

    Seeing her acting like this, for some reason it froze my entire body.

    She was in my memories always the reliable, serious, caring person, the one I confided all my secrets to, and there she is¡­ Showing me an obscure side of her I never saw before.

    Next to this man, she looked more like Fayina, just a little girl. Joking and smiling without care of this world.

    Retreating to my destined place as a lonely painting hung on a remote wall, I noticed the press making their entrance. A legion of bodyguards stood between them and the object of their scope. The photographers raced to steal good shots of the main stars of this evening.

    Amazed at the big commotion:¡§ the famous Olvera family or I should say the famous August Olvera, father, you really like making me work my brain. What is the reason behind this evening?"

    The food was being served. Finally, the part I waited for came.

    Our round table''s position, a strategic one, I could observe most of the invited by a simple look.

    Eagerly counting the remaining seconds after I took a place. The sight next to me rendered my mind blank.

    Alongside my left, the prestigious member of the Olvera family had sat. Mechanically, my gaze shifted, blowing glares hit at my father''s spot.

    Was this position a hint?

    Fearing exposure, my eyes wandered away in a manner indicating a load of questions that needed to be answered.

    The invitation, the proximity with the Olvera... What''s the meaning of this? Father, On what strings were you playing¡­

    The habits of the McCarthy current head.. . Bad? ¡­ Good?¡­ I can''t decide anymore.

    I found it rather sneaky, not far different from the people I despised.

    He always calculates all affairs by himself, then he throws me suddenly in the middle of it, using his famous argument: "I am only educating you¡§. I wonder if Alfred or Evelyn gets the same kind of education?

    Seemed, In this educating session, like a forsaken prisoner, I was thrown into a desert, only by finding the road, I will succeed in the test.

    Asking him direct questions, wishing for clear answers, a mere waste of time. Was this his payback for wandering alone outside the family influence zone while not contacting him?

    My whole attention hammered the table next to me. Where the Olvera family members sat.

    Intensely staring, if my eyes emitted laser, they would be burned by now. Thanks to their arrogance, they didn''t waste a side glance towards my direction.

    The head family, I recognized him just by the cheer of the glorifying aurora he transmitted.

    Two of his children presented at the same table. I could taste the blood aroma they shared. The oldest of them was August Olvera, the next apparent heir. While the second one, not as famous as his brother. I had heard that he was the son of his third wife.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    I didn''t know the other individuals that accompanied the Olvera? Their allies, close friends.. . Two of them appeared familiar in my memory. Grey-beard old men, maybe in their sixty. The radiated foxy smiles matched the oily atmosphere. Powerful the charm they spread out.

    Yet I couldn''t remember who they were exactly.

    The hunger snapped away from the deep reflection I offered to decipher the nature of a powerful personage.

    It shifted my focus to something simpler, colorful, and more satisfying.

    It felt like ages since my nose greeted the wild aroma of fine food. Stimulating my gut, a silent cry reached my hand to take the first try.

    The luxury of varied foods left my fingers in disarray. Which dish should I start with first?

    For ages felt my sorrow since I enjoyed eating without restriction. Goodbye, my mother''s strict healthy food policy, goodbye to my empty pockets, at least for today.

    The life of a university student is very hard, especially if he decided to depend on himself.

    I encouraged myself deep in my heart, "Screw everything¡­ The invitation, my father''s objective, the Olvera, August Olvera. Even my mother glares from the side. Who cares¡­ The most important thing now is to eat and eat and enjoy every present variety of this fine food."

    The plate in front of me was full, my mouth was full. When I reached the glass, I got startled by my father''s voice whispering in my ear, advising me to carefully oversee the upcoming events.

    Little he knew about the decision I have already made. However, out of respect, out of fear, I was obligated to perform the tips of interest.

    Unable to withstand the look of resentment that colored my face. I mumbled my apparent irritation between my lips. What luck¡­

    Soon the reason behind this extravagant evening got revealed.

    Hot and loud, applauds shook the hall. The light of the cameras blinded my visual perception.

    Cheers had yet to stop after the brief introduction of the soon to be the bride of the enigmatic genius, the next head of the Olvera corporation; August Olvera.

    A long line formed as quickly as the flying flies, the congratulators surrounded their table.

    Marriage in rich families like a marriage in nobilities. A form to establish alliances, to strengthen wealth.

    Oh, then the only woman that sat around that table was his fianc¨¦e.

    If I could describe her, she was a real beauty, a long black hair slid behind her back, blue, sparkling eyes. The alluring red dress she wore accentuates her glamor.

    When she stood waving her right hand to all the guests after the revelation. Her other hand was locked into one of the old men that I didn''t recognize¡­

    I guessed two things.

    That old man was her father.

    And she wasn''t close to August at all.

    Their marriage announcement must have been decided by their parents.

    Throwing a side look to the star of this evening. At the rear of his fake smiles and the intense handshaking. I savored his dangling unhappiness.

    A quick sigh escaped my chest, I remember this jerk promiscuous conduct in the university. He had a lot of girls posing for his attention. I bet he never understood or educated himself about the meaning of the word commitment¡­ or about the responsibilities of marriage.

    I wasted a few more glances at the very much happy to be bride¡­ How much I pity her¡­ Then I jumped back to my feast.

    ***                                 *                             ***

    After the departure of the press, the atmosphere turned calmer. Some important guests left the hall. But August Olvera and the other older man stayed in. While his father, the father of the future bride and the bride herself left.

    The incoming torrent of congratulations had yet to dry.

    Some meaningless chatting forcefully made its way to my ears.

    Except for us, the McCarthy, the remaining other figures weren''t considered as powerful as the ones that left. Then it arrived at the moment that caused me to choke.

    My father, accompanied by my mother, addressed the direction towards the star of the evening. At first, I didn''t give it much thought. It struck me as part of proper etiquette.

    Yet, following a deeper reflection and much complex analysis, my brain finally beat my stomach. From the saliva stimulating dishes, I tore my eyes away. The spoon that was half dug into my throat moved out.

    Only one question begged my mind for an explanation. Why did father choose this time to offer his congregation? Was he waiting for the path to clear?

    Of course not¡­ Rather. He was waiting for the current head of the Olvera departure.

    The water glass placed in my right as I emptied it, though my thirst blazed.

    Letting myself submitted under the flame of curiosity. The exotic turbulent of the high society that I have forgotten rocked my internal peace. Far from the simplicity of the campus life that became a part of my daily routine, I have entered the abyss, more accurately I have returned to my reality, once I heard my mother''s voice calling my name to introduce me to those renowned gentlemen.

    Slowly, I pushed up my stuffed body. My eyes swallowed each inch that fell in their field. The food stuck at the entrance of my stomach when I witnessed my father sitting beside August Olvera, just like he was one of his close friends.

    A cluster of different subjects they talked about. My walk decelerated further to digest, better, the situation.

    I watched as my mother joined the conversation line and the big genius answered her inquiries like a student who eagerly wanted his teacher to be proud.

    However, the aghast me only heard bunches of murmurs that didn''t form a coherent meaning.

    Since I reached the table, I concentrated more on gulping what was in my mouth in fear embarrassing not just my parents. Replying with a gorged mouth in front of this man. An insult I will never erase. Who knows, maybe he will also advertise it at the campus too.

    "What are you working on now?"

    My father asked while his attention concentrates on me, observing me with the corner of his eyes. Standing, I halted. The hidden message translated well in my head.

    Inappropriate was my position while I found it more inappropriate to borrow a chair from a nearby table and squeeze my body between all those important people. So I kept still, like a counterfeit bodyguard. My gaze sought August. Eagerly, I waited for August''s reply:

    "Well, I am majoring in finance and economics. I want to graduate with honor before I officially get a post in my grandfather''s company."

    Oh, he said, "My grandfather''s company."

    The old man stood and called for me, offering his place. In a polite rejection,

    I waved with my hand, indicating that he didn''t need to give me his seat. Simultaneously, I hurried to search around near other tables for a vacant chair.

    But the older man insisted, and I found myself embarrassed to affirm my refusal.

    Only needed one glare from my mother before I shut my mouth, took his place, then passively participate in the conversation.

    my father, also, indirectly frowned at me with half face and smiled at August with the other half.

    Am I spoiling some plan?

    What has appeared to be a shallow conversation, has resumed...

    Mr. great babbling about his varied talents:

    "Before, I planned to major in translation and literature. But I changed my mind at the last minute."

    "Yes, I heard that you mastered English, French, Spanish¡­"

    "And Dutch, but I can''t say that I really mastered this one."

    My head rested on my hand, the drowsiness conquered my eyelashes. The purpose of them calling out for my presence fused.

    By now, I hardly listened. My father mastered the art of slapping me awake to the subject. He said:

    "To be honest, I want to invest in the import and export business. But as you know, our laws don''t allow people affiliated with the military to have any activities outside of the army corps."

    The blood rushed into my head, making me awake after I dozed off due to the boredom, and a strike of realization of my father''s objective in bringing me here hit my mind like a lightning. I corrected my posture by straightening my back and holding my chin in a lower position to not seem very eager.

    "Of course, dear general, you can count on us."

    The old man who returned with a chair responded quickly, attempting to surpass the unpleasant face August has made, or so I thought.

    My father responded with a wide smile. Even a blind one can tell that it was fake and just for courtesy.

    I stole a few glimpses to see the reaction on my mother''s face. She mirrored the same fake smile my old man gave. I observed August perceive if his reaction has changed. I didn''t understand why he was looking down at the empty plates. He then extended his arm to hold the glass of water and quaff it in one go.

    ***    *          ***

    The whole hall trembled under my feet.

    In a split second, I could exactly decipher what happened.

    Coming from outside, the sound of gunshots followed the earth-shaking. My father assured my mother''s safety while I assured the other two.

    Screams and cries contributed to the severity of commotion.

    The bodyguards intensified their presence and surrounded the periphery of the hall. My father gripped my shoulder and hissed in my ear: "Take your mother away."

    Then he stormed toward the entrance of the hall alone.

    I shifted position next to my mother, holding her hand, demanding to stay beside me no matter what. While I searched with my eyes in the middle of the chaos for the whereabouts of my sister and her fianc¨¦e.

    A bodyguard approached us: "Please Madam this way¡­"

    I shielded her, making her stand behind me, and asked him: "What''s going on? What caused this explosion? Why had I heard the sound of gun shooting?"

 CHAPTER FOUR: RESOLVE

    In the realm of haze, I lost my way. In a trance state, my consciousness locked up. The road to home never felt capricious.

    Accompanied by my mother, we left the dangerous site after the end of the primary investigation.

    The combustive dinner party ended, leaving my brain suffocated under the ash.

    The harsh order my father whispered in my ears, still biting the bottom of my perception.

    As startled as I was, his voice carried the savor of someone whose cooking went against his expectations. In a bad way¡­ In a good way¡­ I couldn''t guess.

    The key was thrown at my hands, while his back faded towards the flickering light of security services.

    Thankfully, our car escaped the damage.

    I glared at the surging gray smoke, the debris, then at the panicked guests. The wounded individuals weren''t many. The place stormed with the police agents, but the safety of my mother topped the list of my priorities. Especially when the sound of gunshots took long to stop.

    No one could predict their next target.

    I drove the car away. Through the front mirror, my mother''s face reflected in my eyes.

    She sat quietly in the back seat. Her head tilted to the window. Calmly, she watched the busy view outside. I expected her to look disturbed, stressed, yet to my amazement, her calmness defeated a priest in his prayer.

    What a level-headed woman. I never witnessed her lose to the panic.

    The corner of my lips bent up and before I made my final exit from the site, I demanded: "What about Evelyn?"

    Actually, it was the same question that left my throat when my father appeared to give me the key.

    He ignored the query while he insisted that I should take good care of my mother for the time being.

    I also asked him the reason why he was staying behind, but he didn''t answer. He left me dwelling on my confusion.

    "Don''t worry about her? I am certain that she is well protected."

    There were a lot of questions in the back of my mind, to the point that I have overlooked my mother''s confidence about Evelyn''s whereabouts or her protection.

    Akin to dream, the accelerated events of this evening passed. It dumped me into a sticky swamp of topics, I hated to be in the middle of it.

    Questions stormed my foggy head, gunshots, explosion¡­ Who was the shooter? What was his aim? Are they targeting the Olvera or one of their guests?

    My heart sank at the last question.

    I sighed, relieved¡­

    No suspicious person approached my parents. All the time, I stayed vigilant.

    Old grudges, I didn''t want to think about them, at this moment.

    I shook my head to clear it from all this mess. In the mirror, my eyes stole another glance. The reflection of my mother''s face didn''t change. The breath stuck up my lungs in fear, asking a question I shouldn''t acknowledge.

    Our eyes Indirectly met. Her eyebrows relaxed while advising: "Kieran, focus on the road. That moment, I knew, she knew about what I wanted to find.

    My concentration all went to the dark road in front. Swallowing back my insecurities. nip by nip.

    "Kieran¡­" In that split of seconds, my eyes slightly shifted, watching her reflection.

    "It''s not what you think at all."

    This tone, I recognized it. The one full of concern to protect my fragile ego by not telling me the truth.

    Coaxing the car for further speed, my opportunity for better clarification arrived: "Then why had I chosen to accompany you?"

    The speed was high, yet I diverged my eyes to imprison my mother''s reflection. Witnessing the indifference as she looked back, her lips twisted, some words refused to leave her throat.

    The doubt, the anticipation gnawed at my heart and I accelerated further.

    "Didn''t you say you knew August?"

    Hell, when?

    There must be some kind of misunderstanding here. But I just kept silent.

    "Your father thought; your presence may melt the ice."

    What? From where came this big misunderstanding?

    Yes, I knew August, I knew his profile from the far margin, the rumors that wrap his personage. we are not friends, we are not even an acquaintance.

    "That''s all?" I demanded, suppressing the escalating tension. Even the car speed slowed down.

    "Is there supposed to be something else?" In a superficial curiosity, my mother inquired.

    My driving became stable, I didn''t sneak any glimpse when I answered with "No."

    A few more turns and we finally arrived at the main house.

    The first one to greet us was Alfred. He stood in front of the main gate. Hands behind his back, along with few guards. Right away, I guessed that the news reached his ears. Fayina emerged from behind him. Waving her hands in happiness, oblivious to the danger in this world. The smile extended to my lips against my will as I observed her getting reprimanded by Alfred and sent back to the house.

    Inside the front yard, Alfred, with his index finger, tapped on my window. In response, I let the glass drop, waiting to hear what he had for me to tell.

    As calm as my mother, his expression held a suppressed satisfaction.

    "Don''t worry about Evelyn, she is okay, she came before you a few moments ago with her fianc¨¦e."

    It bugged me, not what he said, but his terrifying calmness. Maybe he was informed about our well-being.

    I sighed in relief before I answered him:

    "Good, but how about my father? Why did he stay there?"

    Alfred ignored my inquiry and tried to flee to my mother, helping her get out of the car.

    Inside, when Evelyn''s eyes captured the two of us, she jogged toward us sighing in relief thanking God for our safety.

    I expected her fianc¨¦e to be also here, however; I was wrong.

    She displayed her worries quite frankly. Talkative she became when stressed.

    "Kieran?" Pinching my right cheek: "Why didn''t you pick up your phone when I called you?"

    In defense, I took out my junk phone showing her proof. The battery was dead.

    Implying to direct her anger to my mother''s policy, I mean, unjustified hate towards using cell-phones.

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    Instead, she went and hugged her tightly. Asking about her well-being. All concern and fears.

    The atmosphere was digestible, supportive after the surprising shock I tasted today. As I had returned to those traumatizing days of my childhood.

    Yet, after midnight, my worries bubbled under the mercy of my own demons.

    I didn''t know how the night had passed, or how I got to my room. And before I could get wrapped in a deep sleep. Memories of my few past days flashed like a burst of lightning; the goodbye, the train, the invitation, the diner, the gunshots, the explosion¡­

    My brain reviewed the events, scene by scene. In a format of a horrifying nightmare. It even mixed more details. Like how I pretended that I didn''t see the whispered words. Or the eyes signals flying over my head.

    Mother? My presence melts the ice for... exactly... what?

    ****

    No matter how distant the morning was, it came.

    The light of the sun burned the resentful inner demons in the hell of forgetfulness. As if they never existed.

    Yet this morning wasn''t like any morning of the fourteen past days. The short break ended. To the dormitory, to my courses, today, I am preparing for my return.

    Aware of this fact, my body acted as sluggish as a donkey, as heavy as a wheat bag. While I packed my things. Fayina''s ever childish voice called my name from the floor to the first floor.

    "Ki-e-ra-n¡­. The breakfast is ready."

    Human beings are truly strange, how can one sentence send me to the clouds.

    The good smell of freshly baked bread guided me to the kitchen where I saw a lot of boxes for storing dishes.

    My brother''s wife and Evelyn were focused on adding the final touches to the breakfast meal. My mother, the main cook, the supervisor. Her nagging reached my ears. From behind, she ordered: "Don''t block the kitchen entrance."

    Her mood was as bright as the sun. She turned her attention to Fayina scolding and teaching: "When I send you to call for someone, don''t yell their name all over the house," She took a set of doilies, stuffing them into Fayina''s hands: "Dear, take this to the table and go to your father study then call for him."

    I nodded in affirmation, murmuring: "So my father has come back. I wonder when?"

    Another scolding word rained down mother''s lips. They were directed at me this time: "Kieran¡­ Don''t stand in the way, if you are not going to help."

    Her extended hand, trying to reach the teapot beyond my back.

    That teapot flew above my intentionally lowered head. Even so, I won an earful: "Get out of here before you cause an accident."

    "Sara? Did you prepare the¡­"

    "For whom all those lunch boxes are made for?" Forcibly inserting myself, I cut into the conversation. Yes, we are a big house. Yet all this food and those boxes. This was supposed to be a breakfast, not a dinner party. Are we having some guests?

    Hand on my left shoulder, I let my body dragged: " Traditional dishes made especially to suit your taste. For you to take them." A genuine smile painted her face while she expelled me out of her way, and out from the whole kitchen.

    The enthusiasm suddenly broke into my body. Exploded happiness in a flare. My head stuck at the entrance expressing immense gratitude. The mouth moved on its own: "Thank you, mum."

    "Don''t thank me, thank your sister and Sara."

    The door was shut, then reopened: "Ah, I need to check the table in the dining room." Mother''s obsession with etiquettes amazed me.

    Compared to the joy playing in my head, getting banned from the kitchen was nothing.

    I danced into the living room ecstatic, only Alfred''s sublime presence choked my reasoning back. Holding the TV remote control, his high concentration stole my happiness. Alfred''s seriousness floats solely in serious situations.

    Watching the morning news. I read the headlines, recalled what happened yesterday. Then I submerged into reality.

    What had happened yesterday wasn''t a nightmare. Eyes glued to the big screen, the memories rushed from their grave. How could I overlook this matter in the span of hours? An adult I am now. The obligation to start paying attention to the ongoing matters around my life, my family, something I should embrace with a wide chest and an open mind.

    *****

    "The victim was Miranda Trills, a 24 years old promising new designer and the only child of Patrick Trills, the CEO of SOC-PION. the explosion burned her body dead in her room, in the same hotel where her engagement party to August Olvera was held¡­

    The witnesses reported that they have heard the sound of an explosion from the west direction. And it happened exactly below Miranda''s room. The first investigation implies that the cause of the explosion was a technical malfunction that couldn''t detect the massive gaze leak. Few individuals were also heavily injured and dozens more escaped with some scratches¡­"

    Unexpectedly, the channel was changed.

    "No¡­ " I yelled,

    Alfred, who finally noticed my presence, I spotted him maneuvering the remote control. His motive, straight away, I understood it.

    Upset, I ran towards him, snatching the tool from his hand. My movement, slick, rapid, and tricky. He only woke up at the voice of the journalist and pictures of last night''s explosion when I switched the channel back.

    Eager to hear the full report about last night''s accident, I didn''t notice the concealed hand behind me, stealing back the remote control from me and changing the channel again.

    Angry, displeased about this distasteful gesture, I looked behind to discern the identity of the culprit to manifest my objection. And here came the unexpected. The calm, solemn feature of my father. His extended hand holding the remote control.

    I swallowed back the mouthful of vexed words I prepared in the past seconds. Sometimes, very aggressive, I became. Especially when someone sat between me and the object of my desire.

    His criticizing tone, as serene as the waterfall. No anger hid amidst the clear syllables: "If you really seek the truth about what exactly happened yesterday, you shouldn''t listen to the lies that have been fabricated by the men behind the media."

    My peaceful and lazy lineaments had changed to a mishmash of confusion and disapproval¡­

    Overlooking what I committed seconds ago, the act that my father has committed against me, the fact I wasn''t able to say anything to confront him.

    Because deep down, I knew that what he had said touched a portion of reality. The way he used to say it even hit hard. Confirmed my still lingering childishness.

    I had the chance to see on more than one occasion how the media had played with the facts to give their stories a completely different ambiance. Yet, an individual, as powerless as myself, as limited as a bird in a cage. From where could I winnow the facts.

    Alfred''s face reflected into my eyes. Irritation, anger was dart he threw at me. I bet my father''s presence denied him the delight of satisfying revenge.

    In a blink of an eye, his attention shifted, peered at the entrance of the living room. There, I cached the shadow of Jacob fading from my line of sight.

    An intense look momentarily tainted Alfred''s visage.

    At breakfast, no one touched on the subject of last night. It was like the incident didn''t concern us or more like what occurred had never happened at all.

    Savoring the aroma of Coffee, I observed the movement of everybody with suspicious eyes.

    The feeling of being left in the dark, akin to a needle sting, harmless but irritating. In the end, I decided to eat my breakfast in peace.

    This wasn''t the first time our house got entangled in those kinds of affairs.

    Whether murder, kidnapping, mafia conflict, terrorism¡­ To a point, a dinner party''s explosion was a mere routine, like a piece of weekend news about some celebrity scandals.

    Maybe this, a consequence of the McCarthy house line of work. Being far for several months, spending some time away living a seemingly normal life, like most normal people. It somehow made me forget about my identity.

    Those superficial assumptions, how much I was wrong about them.

    ****

    The next day, the luck smiled wide at my face. I received an offer, rare to come, hard to decline. It made me kiss farewell, the train ticket I booked.

    On this one occasion, I betrayed the railway in favor of something better, faster, and neater. My road to the new semester was paved between the high clouds of the sky.

    Jacob, my second eldest brother, offered me the opportunity to accompany him since he was tasked with a mission in the same city as my destination. A mission that involved flying in a private helicopter.

    Without a second thought, oblivious, I voiced my cheer approval.

    The intimidating Jacob, the enigma of the McCarthy, the hardest person to approach, of course, from my point of view.

    I found Jacob a carbon copy of my grandfather, not just in temperament, but also in appearance. He rarely offers his services without an explicit demand, yet he also rarely refuses when he gets asked for help.

    My closeness to him was limited to the superficial interaction in the morning at breakfast and the evening gathering of a dinner. In between, a speechless exchange danced amidst the void that separated us.

    Except in some specific situations, the spectator will uphold the splashed conversation surrounding two awkward individuals, unable to communicate properly, and this was one of those rare occasions.

    Compared to Evelyn or Alfred. He is, mostly, a man of few words, better saying a man of actions.

    I assumed the source of the problem laid in his silent, very cold personality, the frightening aurora that he emitted making me afraid to even look into his direction.

    He sometimes became aggressive in the light of the invisible war of rivalry between him and Alfred. A war that is known to us all except our parents.

    Deeply touched by his unexpected offer, I was. The look of pity that stashed under his stern lineaments completely passed through my radar.

    Evelyn told me once, this was Jacob''s way to voice his concern, to show his affection. I must have instigated a great deal of pity.

    ***

    From above, the sceneries of earth molded a distinct flavor. Next to the window, pleased, I sat, drawing into the sorrowful beauty of existence.

    The last time I enjoyed a blissful ride, I didn''t remember when. However, perfection in this world was hard to attain.

    Other than me, the pilot, which was Jacob. Two people accompanied us.

    My wonderful delight sugared a sour flavor of anxiety and awkwardness. My mind tumbled, my thoughts stagnated. Next to me, on my left, I barely felt my shoulder that neighboured August Olvera.

    It took me a few minutes to discover that I was the only flustered being on this trip.

    The foxy old-man, the owner of the fake smiles at the dinner party, was also with us. I didn''t like him, just by looking at him I felt the pain as if my skin was pierced by a thousand needles.

    The whole trip surfed on uneasiness, the silent glances were my only companion, no one tried to talk to the other. Apart from a few questions and answers between the pilot and the old man about the distance and high.

    Relieved at the sight of the marked spot where the helicopter was supposed to land. I breathed out the accumulated discomfort.

    Atop one of the high-rise buildings owned by the Olvera. This was my stop, I recognized the massive building. The park near it was a popular dating spot. More than one time, I invited Anna there. That was how my mind triggered, and I decided to go and give her a surprise visit.

 CHAPTER FIVE: EMBRACE

    At the crossroad, the voices mixed up between the whir of motors and the click-clacking of footsteps. I traversed the road.

    Left and right, my eyes looked for the florist''s small shop. The one I always picked out for my symbolic present. However, I had yet to register its exact location in my clumsy memory.

    The middle-aged woman, the florist, I searched for. I spotted her car near the entrance of the park, slowly became my advisor in the language of flowers.

    The sight of young couples colored the vast green landscape. It gave the momentary static picture of nature a sense of life.

    Here in this big metropolis, the spring seemed eternal despite the touch of cold.

    A nearby laugh delighted my ears. I didn''t know why Jacob''s face flashed in my memory. Why did he rest his right hand on my shoulder and wished me luck?

    On the rare occasions that our father took us on a family trip to some nearby park. There was always a foreboding feeling that transcended my happiness.

    The same feelings are now hovering above my head. As if warning me, happiness was something someone like me didn''t deserve.

    At the front of the small shop, I breathed out my insecurities. The event of the dinner party had affected me deeper than I expected.

    Indulging my eyes and nose, I stepped in carefully choosing my moves.

    The flower variation mesmerized my shrunken soul. Nevertheless, the efforts, my demons refused but to get in with me.

    The red roses bouquet made me recall the dead young woman''s joyous smile.

    Not long ago, August Olvera''s face harbored the reflection of normalcy. Unaffected, rather relieved from what it seemed a forced engagement.

    I recalled my big brother''s remark about the so important operation which the genius August took responsible for. It must have significant importance since he mentioned it.

    Was it cotton importation? Nuh, It was totally something else¡­

    The lovely old lady seized my confusing presence. Patiently, she waited for the rationality to slap me awake.

    Under some rare inspiration, I thought maybe I should buy flowers, not just for Anna but for all her family.

    Hum¡­ What I am supposed to choose this time?

    Evelyn is obsessed with sunflowers. My mother preferred white roses.

    What is happening now was exactly a copy of what happened back then? When I came here to buy flowers to court Anna. How fast time flew by, not waiting for anyone''s plan.

    Helpful, the old lady explained the meaning of each flower in her collection. With effective advice, she concluded her essay, asking about the occasion and the person I was going to buy flowers for.

    "Excuse me, Sir, something wrong?"

    If she didn''t ask, the light smile tempering with my lips had faded, unnoticed. The woman''s complexion took a darker shade, somehow puzzled. Fearful about my well-being.

    Genuine, my face turned to confront her. "Actually, I don''t have any idea about what I am supposed to buy."

    A charming, pleased curve-shaped the lower part of my visage when I finished my words.

    Her entire demeanor changed and said back to me, reflecting my smile: ¡°Is it for your special person?¡±

    ¡°It is for someone I respect. Right now, he is very sick...also for his family¡­ I want a bouquet to express my concern, my support, and my gratefulness. ¡±

    The old woman crossed her arms, supported her chin with her right hand, submerged in the exhaustive operation of thinking and choosing before she said: ¡°This is really a feeling hard to convey in one bouquet¡­¡±

    ¡°I will take whatever you will make.¡±

    Suggestive, with the corner of my eyes, I observed her reaction. Trusting the message I sent had hit its target.

    Motivated, the old woman proceeded with enthusiasm, selecting flowers here and there, combining the chosen ones into various styles. Preparing a bouquet suitable for the situation.

    Eased, my secret message was handed to a capable professional. The worries vaporized, and I spent the time inspecting the inside of the shop.

    What got my attention was the coordination of weird flowers on the wall which the florist was beautifying her shop with. I enticed her attention and asked: ¡°What is the name of those flowers?¡±

    Her head moved to where my index was referring and smiled before she answered me:

    ¡°Those are not natural flowers, they are made from wool. And I think they are gorgeous, so I tried to decorate my shop with them.¡±

    ¡°OH, I see.¡± Into the pool of embarrassment, I dived in, yet I kept a composed bearing. How come I couldn''t differentiate between the real flowers and the artificial ones? However, the word ¡§wool¡§ remained hanging in my subconscious.

    The wristwatch ticked midday, the main street colored by diverse vehicles, crawling one after the other, in slow motion to counter the passing time.

    With one hand, I sent a wave to the nearest cab, while the other held the big bouquet.

    Avoiding the curious eyes, advancing hastily against the passers-by, my uncertain palm clung into the window glass, desperate.

    The driver asked before I got in: "Going to propose?"

    "Just visiting a sick person?"

    The narrow space of the vehicle forced my agility to grow, afraid to spoil my symbolic present.

    "Your boss?"

    "Oh? Something like that."

    The chatty nature of every cab driver never ceased to amaze me.

    Semi-listening to his life story, I fumbled the fallen petals between my fingers. Caressing them in warm pettiness.

    The mundane sceneries flashing beyond the window, arousing my banned trail of reminiscence.

    The artificial flowers at the shop were made of wool¡­

    Wasn''t the Olvera blessed child supervising some Kind of operation about importing wool, natural wool¡­

    What a lame thing to be responsible for. Is the business of natural wool that profitable¡­

    Why did my father seem so interested in it?

    Long ago, I learned of his desire to use the Olvera group overgrowing business as an interface to strengthen his legion¡­ But natural wool?¡­ I wonder what he wanted to accomplish.

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    My final destination arrived. The driver stopped the car at the entrance of a wealthy residential area.

    Carefully, I liberated my body from the narrow box, paying extra attention to my flowers, afraid of the smallest wrong move. Then my sincerity will be crushed along.

    At the front of the old villa, I took a deep breath before I reached for the doorbell.

    A frightening feeling of responsibility overcame my heart whenever I stood in front of this house.

    The door lock clicked. A woman in her middle forty greeted my concealed nervousness. She bore an undeniable resemblance to my girlfriend. Fatigue mushroomed under her eyes, among the wrinkles of her forehead nested undeniable hunger for a good sleep. Yet I glimpsed the shining fake hope that never left her eyes.

    I didn¡¯t know, because of her weariness or because of my over sensibility. But I always thought

    Anna¡¯s mother''s hostility towards me broke world records.

    When her gaze stopped at my profile, she moved her dry lips, showing a counterfeit pleasure to receive me.

    To my amazement, the open arms in front of me created a hugging gesture advanced to cage me in a heated embrace: ¡°I am really grateful that you have come.¡±

    The hiss stung my ear. The flowers bouquet was crushed between our frames. Numbness infested the bit of brain I had. Clumsily, I rushed to return her hug. In that instant, furious, I was at myself. How could the selfish drama in my house make me forget the heavy suffering of this little family...

    Anna''s mother informed me of her daughter''s suffering in those past days. Sewing was her only solace

    In the living room, and she pleaded to me to surprise her, perhaps my presence will ease her sorrowful burden.

    I walked to the living room, as calm as the moment before the storm. And there I saw Anna, my beloved Anna. Behind a wooden table. The colorful wool balls scattered around, like the planets of the universe. Big, sharp needles implanted in each ball, like the painful spears of fate.

    Immersed in her work, my presence, invisible, akin to odorless breeze in late autumn. I halted, motionless, staring at her lethargic lineaments, appraising the change.

    I approached her in slow motion, but sadly my surprise failed when she raised her eyelashes in my direction.

    Her hazel eyes widened, glamour sipped through them. She threw everything from her hands, sprinted towards me, welcoming my unforeseen visit.

    In my embrace, I squeezed her tightly, feeling the apparent weight loss as she fitted exactly between my arms.

    Our conversation started. Her father''s treatment and health development grabbed the central focus of all her worries.

    The ever glittering drop of tear that never reached the red cheek finally flew off. Defeated her firm resolve to be strong.

    My understanding of the situation didn''t need a further explanation. The bad news was written in the inexplicable melancholic behavior of the members of this small household.

    I faulted myself in stirring the topic for being less perceptive without prior knowledge.

    Before I visited my family, I had heard that the new treatment was working, I guess, it was a false hope.

    The doctor informed her mother to get ready for the worst. Speechless, I didn''t know what I was supposed to do or say to comfort her.

    ****

    Mr. Marchetti, aside from being one of the big partners at the Clangor law group, I didn''t know much about him. I never knew him personally. But he was a famous successful lawyer, an instructor, an influential member of the lawyers'' syndicate, and a part of the anti-corruption movement. Which, we, students who aim to specialize in criminal law strove to be like him.

    It was an immense shock to me when I learned he was Anna''s beloved father.

    Comparing his image in the workplace and outside of it, proved an even bigger shock. To sum it up, he was a scary monster at work and your average loving dad you could find in every friendly neighborhood.

    Yes, ask the one who needed to tolerate him at university, at the law firm. Also, I was deadly afraid to meet him as his little girl boyfriend.

    Back then, I drowned in the nervousness dark sea, and then into the confused barren desert when witnessing the vast difference in his attitude.

    However, I didn''t know if he liked me or not.

    Anna mentioned to me, on several occasions, that I really knew how to please him. She always tells me, if he didn''t like me, he would never approve of our relationship.

    Women¡¯s intuition, their ability to decipher hidden emotions, I will bet on them.

    Though, Mr. Marchetti''s opinion of my person, how he viewed me, something very important, to be certain of. Not just as the boyfriend of his little girl. But also, as a student, as a future colleague¡­

    For Anna, those matters were clueless.

    I mean, I am already troubled about being approved by my father, about being one of the deep-rooted McCarthy''s house.

    Bringing my father into the frame, he and Mr. Marchetti were different men, comparable to a black and white square in a chessboard. They will never overlap and certainly, this wasn''t a good comparison.

    Nevertheless, and despite our distinct opinions, our conflicting objectives, intents, aims, I do respect Anna¡¯s father. I do respect him for his height, morals, for his diligence, for his parenting view. To a point that it created an urge to be approved by him, to please him in those final days of his.

    After dinner, Anna''s mother asked me if I would stay for the night. Her novel attitude towards my person scared me into a silent awkwardness.

    Articulating an apology, the desperate, truthful begging picture drawn on her face made me reconsider my decision.

    She confessed to me before, at the door, my presence had a calming and soothing effect not just on Anna''s spirit but also on Liam. The depressing and the heavy atmosphere in this home became lighter during my visits.

    How I was supposed to deflect this confession?

    ¡°I am really very thankful to you, Kieran.¡±

    ¡°Please, if anything happened, give me a call.¡±

    In the guest room, I made myself comfortable. In the dark, I stretched on the wide bed. Sinking into the weariness of a long road. My mind had yet to be exhausted. It traveled in a mosaic journey, reflecting on this little family''s current hardship.

    Comparing it to my own, this was the first time the small Marchetti household confronted death. The death of one of their beloved members.

    It dug up the tomb of sad recollections, buried deep in my prison of forbidden tales.

    Very young, my first encounter with death. A bitter one. My grandfather''s last breaths, his last grasps haunted my sobriety.

    The sense of loss and helplessness, the detachment from reality, and the pain of not seeing him again, for a second time. This was why I understood this family''s sorrow. I deeply do.

    Still¡­ I shouldn¡¯t be listening to this argument¡­

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you don¡¯t like him, mum? He has been very supportive, affectionate, charming, good-tempered¡­ .¡±

    ¡°This is exactly my problem as if he had no fault. Isn¡¯t he just acting to get something from you, didn¡¯t your father help him enter the firm just because he is your boyfriend?¡±

    My heart skipped a bit when I didn¡¯t hear Anna deny this. I deserve my internship, but certainly, I couldn¡¯t get it without a behind scene connection¡­

    ¡°Mum¡­ If you don¡¯t like him, why did you insist for him to stay over.¡±

    ¡°Of course to test him, dear, a person can¡¯t keep his act all day. He will make a mistake, sooner or later, then you will see his true face. And by that time, when your father isn¡¯t with us. When the benefits from this relationship dry off, he will leave you.¡±

    ¡°Mum¡­ Enough, I am done, I am not having this conversation while Kieran sleeping above.¡±

    Gently, I took out the earbuds, relaxed my head on the pillow, then I slowly closed my eyes.

    Tonight, I dreamed about my grandfather, about the time when he was training me in horsemanship. Teaching me about the etiquettes of a gentleman. It was long, long ago, like a distant mirage. As if it never happened, yet it seemed like yesterday.

    I woke up in the middle of the night, my heart torn apart, similar to a little ice cube sunk in boiling water. A horrible thirst cursed my throat, my forehead dressed with small beads of sweat. My face needed a cold water splash.

    After fighting my lazy self, I finally decided to get up and have, at least, a glass of water.

    The kitchen, downstairs, had two doors, one opened inside the house, and the other door opened in the backyard to facilitate roasting in the air.

    Staggering left and right, I walked outside the guest room. My right hand fumbling the wall. Carefully, I descended the stairs like a walking corpse.

    It was darker, calmer when I got to the living room, wondering if I am still alive, I bumped into the table. The wool balls fell, scattered around my feet.

    Anna never left her precious things untidied.

    Series of loud barking came from the backyard. Molly, the family dog, high alerted. I thought she got provoked by the noise I had made.

    However, while drinking the water, I heard another noise, the sound of footsteps, dim but recognizable. Someone is in the courtyard. Someone unknown, a stranger.

    Molly''s wariness, agitated''s state, could never be directed towards a member of the family.

    The barking became more and more intense, I opened the door to find silent drops satiating the hard dry soil. I explored with my vision the whereabouts of Molly, afraid to advance in the rain.

    The wet hair of the dog dripped a red liquid under the fainted light. Near the back gate, I spotted a moving shadow, elusive, evasive. They disappeared behind the walls in seconds. Yet Molly''s frantic rage didn¡¯t stop.

    My eyes startled, my ears captured the sound of a falling object. The sudden lightning bolt illuminated the backyard, and I froze at the glimpse of someone''s body on the soil.

    The rain started pouring down heavily before the monstrous sound of the thunder shook the air. Masking molly furious barks.

    I run toward her, gripped the chain fasting her neck, attempting to distance her from the unidentified body. Possessed, my efforts in restraining her rage went in vain.

    The lightning bolt struck a second time, and my heart hopped into a flutter when I recognized the identity of the person who was on the soil.

    My hands dropped the chain, my body approached the corpse. Half of the face was buried by the mud, the other half was bloody red. I shook it violently, numerous times to get a response.

    A long, rigid, and thin rod was stuck into the neck.

    Finally, someone arrived at the scene, Molly didn''t stop barking and another screaming voice joined her.

    When I saw the accusation on Anna''s mother''s face, I didn''t understand.

    The place became brighter; I saw my hands soaked in red blood while one of them holding a large metallic needle, the same one Anna used for knitting.

    I looked at Mm Marchetti and I said denying what that look had meant: ¡°No¡­ No, you are wrong¡­¡±

 CHAPTER SIX : INDICTMENT

    Absent-minded, I meditated on the dim light of the lamp centered at my visage. Its continuous glow kidnapped my sight, it sent me to the desert of bad dreams. There, I experienced, again and again, the aftermath of last night''s trial.

    In my imagination conquered by demons, I repeated the scene. Again and again.

    My grandfather¡¯s ring endured the waiting torment with me. Periodically, it suffered the process of caressing, spiraling then a complete removal.

    After my unbelievable, quick arrest, three hours had passed. I didn¡¯t hear anything from the heroes of justice. Other than the mandatory routine questions, no one came for the interrogation. My suspicions towered over the clouds of the sky. All this waiting crowned my doubts, my darkest obsessions.

    They are observing me; I knew it... From where I can¡¯t see them, or hear them. I felt it. They are waiting for the moment of my mental resistance breakdown. The actual attack will begin.

    The small desk cornered to the left chained my freedom. Rendered me, helpless. The four high walls, the tiny free space, the breath I drew senseless. In a coffin, trapped, I felt.

    The cracking sound reached my ears, the door, at last, pushed open. My heart jolted. Like a flash of morning light, the announcement ticked the start of the mice and the cheese trap game.

    It was merely a half month ago, the goodbyes'' flattery Anna sent with me at the train station, that day, engraved between the folds of mirage. I refused to give it a deeper meaning. At that time.

    "Who is Anna Marchetti to you?"

    The cold room generated a sense of hollowness, reverberating the officer¡¯s voice. The dim light amplified the void, the intimidation.

    ¡°How do you describe your relationship with her?¡±

    As a sinful performer, questions shoved down my growling stomach.

    "Good," I answered, for like a million times, deflecting the furtive accusation. "She is my girlfriend." My tone versed confident and overbearing. no hesitation trimmed its edges, yet it felt like somebody else had said that.

    "How do you describe your relationship with your girlfriend?"

    My eyes met the officer¡¯s gaze, our mutual stares interwoven into a play of dominance. "Good." I repeated again, "very good." I confirmed, not to the officer but to myself. The same determined confidence oozed out of my lips.

    Except, our dancing glares didn''t end, it just switched to the following rhythm¡­ The aggressive one.

    He threw a neutral glimpse. Its hidden meaning was encrypted well, and hard to decipher. At least for the moment.

    "Her mother said the opposite." His head lowered, inspecting a paper in his hands. "She said that the two of you were going to break up. You didn''t take it well, that''s why you committed the hideous crime."

    Inwardly, I tittered despite my solid self-restraint. Mm. Marchetti''s embrace of yesterday felt today, a ferocious fire searing my nape. Cold water pouring on my head.

    For interpretation, the detective''s eyes measured each movement resurfaced on my visage, while I did the same.

    "Did she also say that she was the one who invited me to stay for the night?" Sarcastic my tone was a putrid contempt sipped from every syllable.

    "You have gotten red-handed. The weapon used in the crime was in your hand."

    Shaking the dullness dressed my thoughts, I sighed. Then I welcomed his words, clear of an informal claim. Sure of my guilt. God only knew how many times I repeated the same statement: the barking dog, the noise, my attempt to feel life on the dead body on the soil.

    ¡°Have you checked the surveillance camera in the backyard?¡±

    ¡°Yes, we did." He didn''t look into my eyes. "As you have mentioned before.¡±

    Something foreboding caressed the deepest parts of my fears. Waking them up. Yet, in anticipation of a conclusion to this bad dream. My heart pumped hard for the result. My eyes widened, gapping the officer¡¯s face. Even though the look on it was unimpressed, placid. Then, here came announcing my dismay.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°As you have said, a surveillance system was installed in the backyard, but it was out of service.¡±

    The surprise cut the air off my lungs. Inside, my heart collapsed in a series of intensive palpitations. My fears triumphed. I swung my body to the back. My head draped backward, then upward. From the corner of my eyes, I watched the officer¡¯s reaction... Apathetic as ever.

    Alarmed, I dived into my reflections. Reevaluating my steps, collecting the scattered pieces of this blood-stained puzzle.

    Last night¡¯s event, as random as it looked, by each minute, by each fragment of information I gathered, slowly stripped off the haphazard mosaic dress. Showing evidence of an ugly conspiracy. And hidden fingers manipulating the backstage. Last night¡¯s event leaked out the corridors of coincidence and tripped into the human invention gallery. The incident must have been thoroughly groomed for my indictment.

    Yet missing links. My mind couldn¡¯t get hold of them.

    Very familiar, the shadows I spotted within the murk of the night. Climbing the walls of the backyard, certain of their successful escape. As if their getaway tickets were pending behind the fence.

    With the possibility of them being mere thieves, what was in there for them to kill, in a horrible manner, a ten-year-old boy suffering a serious mental disability?

    In the first place, what was a young boy doing in the backyard after midnight?

    Was he killed, then his body moved, or has he been lured there?

    The updated surveillance system, specifically handpicked by Mr. Marchetti was out of service. Whereas for all the animosity Mm. Marchetti harbored for me, she insisted on making me stay.

    If this was not pre-prepared, then what is it?

    She ought to be an accomplice. However, my imagination failed to estimate the degree of her hatred and the boldness of her actions.

    No matter how high Mm Marchetti¡¯s objection to my relationship with her daughter, even if he wasn¡¯t her flesh and blood, will she arrange for Liam¡¯s death just to accuse me of murder¡­ Just to break us apart?

    Without ruling out the possibility of her being implicated, is it possible that she was deceived? Could it be that she is also a mere victim?

    The officer went out, leaving me paddling aimlessly in the torrent of my endless hesitations.

    As I sat tied up in this room, constructing then demolishing theories behind my accusation, the investigation process continued. The nameless perpetrators, whoever they are, held the upper hand.

    Another lead was unlike to be found at the present time. Mm. Marchetti''s confession will be the only evidence of this crime. Based on her last glare, she certainly will bury me in the mud.

    Yet my biggest concern wasn''t centered on this trumped-up charge. The truth will resurface sooner or later. My biggest concern was the clean reputation of McCarthy¡¯s name, my father¡¯s judgment, my brothers'' scorns, and my mother and Evelyn''s worries.

    What am I going to do for this matter to stay under the threshold?

    The sunray of my hope in this dark cage owned by Anna. If she confessed the reason behind my staying at her house last night, Mm. Marchetti''s accusing words would kiss the rain.

    My dear Anna, what will be your stand?

    Beyond the door, a small oppressed movement reached my ears. From overthinking, maybe the lucidity of my senses began to fade. Until I sensed the doorknob sway down, then up. I looked forward into the darkness, wondering about the new surprise the person behind the wall will bring to me.

    The last drops of rationality, I squeezed them forcibly from the last bits of the intact brain cells I was left with. Ready I must be. With the next episode of this orchestrated psychological provocation, the third round is drawing near.

    It was mere seconds before the annoying wheeze leaked into my perception.

    The door was open. Without turning my head, my focused gaze shifted, aiming to steal a few peeps. Was it a new officer, or the same boring one in the second round?

    However, the unexpected surprise lifted the limits of my internal chaos to the next level.

    At the entrance, the letters of my full name whiffled one after the other.

    Kieran... Noah... McCarthy¡­

    In a slow, eloquent cadence, he repeated it more than once. Implying his vast grasp over the identity of my person. Alluding reservedly.

    Rather than the other officers, I understood that this man recognized the roots and the purpose behind this incident on a much deeper level.

    I watched while he stretched his arm for a friendly handshake as if we knew each other for years.

    The medical glasses he wore cast a heavy shadow on his eyes. Skillfully hiding the scale of his intentions. It made me reluctant to reciprocate.

    As for his lips, they straightened in a neutral design. They didn''t govern an ounce of incrimination or disdain. Every facial expression, every gesture of his body screamed, loud, of an immense prestige imposed on the atmosphere, the moment he made his entrance.

    How fearsome those individuals are, masters of dreadful composure, possessors of nerves of steel. The endeavor to distract them is akin to barefoot walking on embers.

    Despite my caution, vigilance, I draw out my hand. My gaze never left his face. Looking for an opening, a signal, attempting to disclose the riddle of his machinations. For he was above those simple officers I had encountered. And it seemed that he had broad knowledge about who I was.

    Who is he? What are his objectives?

    When he sat down, and before he fully adjusted his glasses, he repeated, again, ¡°Kieran¡­ Noah¡­ McCarthy...¡±

    I couldn¡¯t fathom the meaning of the tone he spoke with. Was he serious, interrogative, or was it just a padded sarcasm¡­

    His fingers touched that cursed lamp, regulating the direction of the light. At last, the shadows that sheltered his mien scattered away. Yet my brain programs failed to put a name on that face.

    I peeked at the leather briefcase he placed on the table. It was clean to the point of freshness. Not only this, everything about his attire appeared superb. A top-notch suit, tidy and clean sleeves, and a fine necktie that goes with his overall look.

    A golden wristwatch and remarkably expensive perfume.

    Did he ditch his wedding ceremony and come specifically to supervise my humiliation?

    He startled me, not when he repeated my full name for the fourth time, but when he added that distasteful nickname;

    ¡°Kieran¡­ The black sheep of the McCarthy house¡­¡±

 CHAPTER SEVEN : POWER-PLAY

    The black sheep of the McCarthy...

    After this revelation, my bottled-up feelings streamed out of my face, like an enigmatic sketch blinded by incoherent colors. On its display, it drew every bit of my inside insecurities with a touch of resentment.

    My attention strayed here and there. Between reality and inside my head. Either way, I couldn¡¯t look this person in the eyes. My head lowered, gathering the shreds of those ugly dispersed expressions, struggling to restrain them, to be in control once more.

    In all those moments that seemed like elongated years, he didn¡¯t add any other remark. Only satisfied by observing my futile attempts to swallow back my na?ve and flawed reaction.

    His lineament twisted, showed a trace of wicked amusement ensued by my ordeal. I detected his delight, his intermittent stare that carried a meaning I couldn¡¯t translate. His breath, as calm as ever, compared to the emotional eruption I displayed.

    What bothered me most was the patience he exhibited, making room for my comeback, to get up and hold the reins of my composure. Why would he miss such an opportunity to disarm me?

    Finally, his eyes bulged towards his left wrist. The golden watch was adjusted, its frame reflected a portion of the light. Then his lips moved: ¡®It took you thirty-eight seconds to calm your reaction.¡¯

    His cold gaze shifted in my direction, and my face straightened in cloudless tranquility above a lava river.

    ¡°This is bad, this is so bad,¡± he said in frank mockery. ¡°Your performance had dropped, your mental control sank dramatically those few months.¡± Or maybe he was serious¡­

    Not caring about the small talk, I adopted the same tone: ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like you are one of the police. Are you even allowed to be in here?¡±

    ¡°No¡­ No¡­ don¡¯t be aggressive. I hastily left my dear friend''s wedding and came here just for you.¡± The unfastened strap of his glasses oscillated, synchronized with his head''s slow motion. ¡°And here you are greeting me with such a coldness full of discourtesy.¡°

    Assuming a mechanical facade, my endurance strings loosened. They needed to be tightened for me to confront this kind of sardonic individual. A second breath before I rephrased my earlier question, being more sarcastic: ¡°I may know who graced me with his presence?¡±

    But as if he didn¡¯t hear me, his friendly discourse resumed, divulging something questionable.

    ¡°In the next twenty-four hours, you will be released for lack of enough evidence.¡±

    Aware of his little game, I didn¡¯t react. The information raining at the tip of his tongue disclosed for one purpose; scanning my wordless response.

    ¡°You don¡¯t look happy or surprised with the good news.¡± He looked at his watch and I could see the detail of a crafty smile convert between the folds of his combustible chatter.

    When he became sure that he wouldn''t get what he wanted for free, he shoved his body backward, out of resignation, or to initiate another attack. ¡± You knew it right.¡± The smugness in his word waned, ¡°is it why you didn¡¯t ask for a lawyer?¡±

    I didn¡¯t react, yet I couldn¡¯t help but let the edge of my lips chuckle.

    ¡°However, a medical examination and psychological assessment are needed before your release.¡± His counterattack arrived in a heartbeat.

    As long as the doctors are on your side, who knows what can be fabricated during a medical and psychological evaluation? Hence, I humbly executed my right to silence. Exploiting my efforts in observing the subtle gestures he made, the frame of his glasses, the shiny golden strap that won the rest of my curiosity and dazzle. Under the light refraction, I am half confident it is a golden chain.

    Nevertheless, our brief, discreet interaction allowed me to construct a simple concept about this person¡¯s identity and background. His goals grew into a more defined outline in my mind.

    Once our furious dance over the main topic dragged on, he tossed his hidden time bomb: ¡°You know they set you up?¡±

    After he ripped off the gibberish disguise, both of us kept watching the other with endless alertness. The clock¡¯s hands of his watch ticked like a drum in the sea of our false calm. The seconds sprinted at the speed of light. Again, I witnessed his eyes wandering to his wrist.

    He was in a race against the time. While I was free from any engagement, and I can keep silent for centuries to come.

    ¡°There are some prominent figures....that will benefit from your indictment with first-degree murder.¡±

    Alas, he gave up so quickly...

    But this confession threw my heart at the other side of the table. My lips parted in shock, opening the gate to my inner self, allowing the waves of confusion to combine together.

    This case is bigger than I anticipated.

    ¡°How did the charge got dropped?¡± I demanded, rather I ordered an answer.

    My first guess... Anna¡¯s confession to the investigation team was my innocence ticket. However, after receiving this dangerous information, there was no way in hell that her confession will be enough.

    ¡°Were you aware that this incident was arranged to implicate you?¡±

    I closed my mouth. Both of us wanted the other to speak first. His reluctance to hastily question me set loud alarms in my head. Especially while they are monitoring my every reaction on the other side of the walls.

    I don¡¯t want to make a mistake or say anything that will send me to the abyss. Who knows how they will twist and wrap my words against me?

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I turned off the monitoring system. No one hears or sees our conversation.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Startled, was I obvious?

    No, he is an excellent reader of facial¡¯s changes, high on perception level. Except, demonstrating his talent in this place, at this time was not a good way to win my trust. Instead, he built extra anxiety in the already suffocating air.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    In front of his eyes, what kind of open book I am?

    On my watch, he tucked his hand into his pocket, bringing his phone within my sight. ¡°Take it,¡± he assured after unlocking it. ¡°Check it. I am not recording anything.¡±

    Once again, I didn¡¯t respond, settling for a quick squint that jumped between his face and the phone''s screen. Resuming my initial quest; decoding, even just a portion of his character and aims.

    Such firm confidence of authority he conveyed in his manners. Still, I could tell... The subtle threads of discontent. He was kind of disturbed at receiving the unexpected mission of interrogating my person. Without a doubt, he is operating on someone else¡¯s behalf.

    On what side he is?

    Though he tipped me indirect details about my state, here he is sending a further signal through the background picture of his phone. It certificated to me that he wasn¡¯t convinced about us not being monitored in one way or another.

    The background of his phone showed a photo taken at a national closed conference. Its main theme centered on discussing the new law about witness protection. I recognized the event since I was one of the attendants. Mr. Marchetti, one of the major regulators, has sent me an official invitation despite I had yet to formally enter the Firm.

    His encrypted message dangled amidst the ambiguous actions and the spoken words, easy to decipher. Basically, emphasizing his strong disconnect with the party that prepared the false charge.

    In normal circumstances, my way of thinking can be shortened to this: As much as you try to dissociate yourself from something or someone, as much as you are guilty of committing it or being his close accomplice. It¡¯s my default setting. I can¡¯t help it. Besides, given my unfortunate present position, the luxury of allocating my faith to a certain suspicious stranger I met a few minutes ago is completely out of the question.

    I felt his eyes scanning me while I scanned the screen of his phone. Next, he said, answering my earlier question, selecting words in immense reservation: ¡°Somebody helped in deflecting the false charge against you.¡± Expecting my trust to rain on him in cheer after this half-baked, vague response.

    He peeked at his wrist, checking the golden watch for the twentieth time before he added: ¡°Do you think if I was working with the party that tried to set you up, you would be released so easily?¡±

    ¡°I am not yet released.¡±

    My voice clasped with coldness transcended the docility I showed. In a fraction of a second, my fingers glided over the surface of the phone, entrapping it under my control. I smelled his nervous breath nursing my fractured ego.

    The screen was turned off and the whole system was shut down. I even took off the SIM card. Yet my meticulous preparation required a final move. Swiftly shifting the lamp light towards the surveillance camera, I pushed my upper body forward, approaching, whispering: ¡°If I was aware that they were going to set me up... Do you think I am idiotic to the point of walking into their trap while knowing it?¡±

    Confident that he received each word of my complaint, my back relaxed into the seat, and my gaze wandered the darkness. Clothed into obscurity. The relocated lamplight rendered my ability to decipher his face low within the simple interpretation standard.

    What is on his mind now? What are his thoughts? Questions were hard to answer, even when I watched his varied expressions.

    "Really¡­ "

    What a tactful timbre to indicate that he didn''t believe me. Such a disappointment, since what I stated was the take on my situation.

    I narrowed my eyes, waiting in anticipation of his next move. Will he prey for more? Will he lull me and pour extra details? Will he stagger, fall, then retreat?

    ¡°The input I possess suggested prior knowledge from your part of being targeted.¡±

    ¡°Really¡­¡±

    He rested his chin on a platform made of his interlocked fingers, ¡°really,...¡± a smug smile followed, ¡°Like I do have evidence, confirming that you are the one who proposed to Mr. Marchetti, the installation of a monitoring system in his backyard, specifically¡­ Can I ask why?¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    His hands disconnected. ¡°I can answer that.¡± One supported his head while the other caressed his phone¡¯s screen: ¡°It¡¯s so obvious.¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    ¡°In front of the house, several surveillance cameras are monitoring the main street, while the rear is neglected. If¡­¡±

    ¡°If someone wants to sneak into the house, he will do it through the backyard.¡± I had no choice but to participate in the explanation. ¡°So¡­¡± I straightened my back. ¡°I failed to understand the connection you are implying.¡±

    This man is dangerous. The intelligence network he may be connected to must be inclusive, wide and at a high level of competence, to be able to pick up on this small trivial thing from months ago.

    A second alternative to the source of this information can be the Marchetti ladies during the interrogation. However, I doubt Mr. Marchetti, given his personality, will praise this insignificant suggestion to his family.

    In both cases, if this gentleman knew such a trivial thing, then the party planned to frame me, also knows it. Thus, the mystery of the disabled monitoring system in the backyard is resolved.

    On the other hand, what else do they know?

    ¡°In your opinion, who will benefit from this?¡± He asked, changing the course of the conversation anew. His eyes stole a glimpse at his watch. The counter of the allowable time must have reached the finishing line.

    I narrowed the air passage of my lungs, enabling my breath to circulate slowly, enticing my brain¡¯s shortcuts to work a quick solution. In the end, I decided to twirl and roll. Dodging the victim card performance, this gentleman assigned to me early in our clash:

    ¡°Mr. Marchetti is a man of high standing, has a great reputation. Famous for taking on difficult criminal cases, thus many must be hostile towards him, whether it was the envy of his success, or paranoid of his actions, often labeling him as a criminal sympathizer, a law bender, and other names. I am not sure of their identity or number. But they are abundant. This is not the first time his family got assaulted or his house trespassed. A monitoring system is proved a necessity, not a choice.¡±

    The look in his eyes turned colder, to the degree of apathy. Thrilled by the transformation, I added:

    ¡°Besides, you are making it seem like I am the center of this terrible event. Maybe you are wrong, maybe, after all, they only want to get back at Mr. Marchetti, and I was unlucky enough to not just be able to save the kid but also to spend the night in this place.¡±

    The radiating frost stung my skin. Such a face wasn¡¯t meant for my aide. Still, if we sought to help one another, we lacked the required faith for a mutual endeavor. As he tried to sway over the meaning of the speech, I did the same. Nevertheless, the tucked bit of the truth in semi-ambiguous sentences shall be our tribute. It was up to us to discover what the other had genuinely hinted at.

    The show was over. I sighed in relief when the heels of his boots struck the ground outside the interrogation room.

    My left hand clung to my phone as I greeted goodby; the police headquarters. Passing the agents, one by one, I skimmed their faces, memorized their features, scuffed at their possessions. The daily routine in the station carried on, law hypothetical offenders went in and out in a consistent cycle of applied human morals.

    I shifted the jacket over my arm to sign the discharge papers, passing a final message, sort of intimidation:

    ¡°If any news of yesterday''s arrest gets out, I will sue the whole station not just for mistreating eyewitnesses but also for disclosing personal information and official misconduct.¡± My glares penetrated through the fat officer at the front desk.

    The cool breeze gratified my hunger for freedom, washed the agony of an uncertain fate. Albeit the bad dream had yet to end if the eavesdropping devices I planted around the Marchetti¡¯s house uncovered.

    Selfish, insensitive, perhaps pretentious, I dialed Anna''s number¡­

    ¡°Hello¡­ This is Anna. Sorry for not picking up. I am busy right now. Call me back later¡­ Bise.¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    She should change this voicemail¡­

    Walking towards the bus station, I kept dialing Anna''s number¡­ A second time¡­ A third time¡­

    Frustrated while crossing the road, one red car almost hit me. The driver didn¡¯t bother to stop checking my well-being or even yelling at my neglect. Familiar, I felt. On the campus, there was a red car, its driver hobby harassing pedestrians.

    Asserting my confusion, my angry gaze pursued it, halting before the police headquarters. August Olvera stepped down, hand waving in my opposite direction.

    Towards the entrance of the station, I followed the line of his wave. The reflection of a certain golden watch blinded my sight. A golden glasses frame, a golden strap, that man waved back.

    At that moment, at that precise moment, Jacob''s affectionate expression invaded my vision. In my heart, I echoed an epiphany triggered by this situation:

    Jacob, you... You¡­ jerk, you villain¡­ you¡­ you knew it, you knew that I was going to be framed¡­

    At the same time, my phone vibrated. An incoming message was displayed on my notification.

    Obscured by the natural light of the day, my phone screen was unreadable. I needed to bring it very near to my eyes to decode it.

    ¡°Let¡¯s break up.¡±

 CHAPTER EIGHT: AVOWAL

    Such a beautiful, refreshing morning to be rejected by a short message.

    Today, before noon, God blessed me with two sudden epiphanies condemning my already tear-jerker chest. On a higher level...

    The bus wrenched back and forth, up and down, with my congested spirit. At this hour, like canned sardines, we passengers supported each other so it would crush no unfortunate soul under our insensitive feet.

    I checked my not-so-bright screen several times to be certain of what was written in the brief message. My so exhausted brain formulated hundreds of explanations, thousands of justifications. Translated an infinity of excuses for the profound reasoning of those tiny little letters. None seemed convincing enough. Others were very dark. For my rational balance, I feared dwelling in their peppery mazes.

    At each station, a few passengers disembarked, and more joined the experience. The perfume of sweat jammed into a locked, badly ventilated space suffocated me. My ancient ailment is slowly rising from its grave. Hallucinating after a restless night, there my destination approached the horizon of my sight.

    The new semester had begun, but instead of earning the recognition I thirsted for, my life escalated into a tempestuous rage of disruption. It must be swallowed before I will lose myself in the storm.

    Walking the law college corridors. Ominous stares tailed after my back. Sinister whispers hovered close to my ears. The unseen wind blew in my direction, flirting above my chosen path. Whispering rumors printed Olvera¡¯s nasty smirk within the folds of my thoughts.

    Unaware, lecture by lecture ate the remaining time of the day. I sighed in relief. The bad first day of my return to college reached its finishing line.

    At the dormitory entrance to my assigned room. The newfound tranquility in its hallways chased out my weariness.

    Once inside, I felt absorbed by the hollowness of the calm, the terrible kind. My limbs tensed and caution clothed my ongoing steps.

    As I cut the stillness towards my room, I felt like I was navigating a curfew area. No one crossed paths with me, no one even seemed present. The doors locked, while the inhabitants seemed as if they had announced their departure.

    The key blocked rounds in the lock, arousing a huge deal of misgiving. When I finally opened the door, the horror of a messy view polluted my eyes.

    Even my tiny, warm room didn¡¯t escape the tragedy. Such a trauma for a person with a high sense of order and arrangements. Books on the floor, table upside down, broken items, spilled liquid, muddy footprints¡­

    Frozen in the same spot, I stared for a long time, reminiscing about the lost beauty of an arranged home, struggling to ingest the aftermath of an explosion. All its ingredients had finally reached the combustion stage.

    With an angry swing, the door closed tight behind. The echoes of the hit faded slowly in silence. I pulled my weight above the tainted bed. Sidestepping the uncleaned parts. Helplessly accepting the reality, steadily sinking into the renunciation vortex.

    My mind turned blank, soothed within the embrace of slumber. My body fell, lying on its side. I chant a mantra for comfort. I persuaded my wounds. It was just a bad dream.

    A tired mind will always turn things monstrous, uglier than what they are¡­ Only rest will refill my exhausted sanity¡­

    *** *** ***

    Shrouded in solitude, in the dead of the night, I opened my eyes. While I washed the dizziness of deep sleep, my heart longed that everything of the past two days dulled in the realm of nightmares.

    ¡°Let¡¯s break up.¡±

    Those three simple words, as clear as the crystal river, amassed a great deal of complexity.

    The sound of flowing water in the bathroom filled the emptiness of my seclusion. I let my face soak under the falling droplets. Through each splash, my mind drifted into the sea of yesterday.

    After the sunrise, I wove my way to the cafeteria, surveying left and right the possibility of an unwanted surprise.

    Inside the big space, the smell of cheap food saluted my breath. It wasn''t packed as it should be, yet it wasn¡¯t vacant. I adjusted myself in an acceptable spot, ingesting the flavorless plate, spoon by spoon, evading the up-raising sensation of nausea.

    On my left, a quick hand posed a dumb phone beside me. Out of the corner of my eyes, I glanced at the shadow who passed ahead, then jumped into the front seat. Not long after, I felt a mass above my head and a clap behind my back, teeth masticating food and words at the same time.

    ¡°You heard the news, big boy?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied, unimpressed. ¡°Thank you for not notifying me about the relocation.¡±

    ¡°You are welcome.¡± She lifted the canteen tray from my head and sat down next to me. Her restless, oily fingers dismissed the grace of napkins and wiped the oil on the dumb phone. My phone. The last caress for my nausea to turn into vomit.

    I ran to the nearest washroom.

    When I returned, triumphed lips smirked at my grumpy face.

    ¡°What?¡± The man who brought the dumb phone asked, ¡°Your mysophobia returned?¡±

    Without looking at him, I returned to my seat: ¡°I don¡¯t have Mysophobia.¡± Deporting the dish far from my direct sight. Both of my so-called friends stared in disbelief, and Cali''s mouth never kept shut when it was supposed to:

    ¡°Yes, and I am your beloved Anna.¡±

    Grumpy, half-opened eyes, I admitted: ¡°We broke¡­ She dumped me.¡±

    ¡°Huh¡­¡± Cali gasped, almost choking on the chewed food in her mouth.

    ¡°You killed her little brother.¡± Travis finally joined the talk show, yet in his statement rose a stain of craftiness, contrary to Cali''s na?ve sarcasm.

    ¡°From where did those rumors come from?¡± I asked while eying him indirectly. Sickness rose again in my gut, noticing him consuming my leftovers.

    He kept still while eating, ¡°Aren¡¯t we friends?¡± There, my futile attempt at convincing him, grooming it with a tone of hopeless request. Unexpectedly, it worked most of the time.

    He adored being asked for a favor. In more precise terms, he loved being entreated.

    ¡°Since you are so smart, you can guess.¡± The spoon stuck between his lips and I contemplated for billions of times why I am associating myself with those people.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to?¡± I stated while I shifted my gaze to Cali, snatching the dumb phone from her hands. Rubbing the greasy dirt with a napkin.

    ¡°Then you know..¡±

    I turned my head to see that damn spoon stationed near my nose. I could smell it. My stomach grumbled. My guess, he sought insight into the details he will share. Through the same napkin, I moved the spoon from my sight above the tray, then I let it fall.

    ¡°The thieves got into the house. I was the one who discovered his corpse.¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    They both said in synchronization. Their mouths watered for more details.

    ¡°The same routine¡­¡± I said, cutting to the chase: ¡°I got dragged into the police station to give my statement.¡±

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°The poor kid.¡± Cali mourned, ¡°What bad luck.¡±

    ¡°For me or the boy?¡± I tested her sincerity.

    ¡°Both.¡± She was oblivious¡­ As I became certain that she didn¡¯t know or hear anything. I wished I could say the same about the man before us.

    ¡°Maybe she dumped you out of shock,¡± Cali added, while I waited for Travis''s intervention.

    He was far too preoccupied with my leftovers than with the conversation. I know when he feigned disinterested. It meant something distasteful. To encourage that jaw to articulate words, I alluded:

    ¡°One of the red care harem?¡± He licked his fingers dry after he used them to wipe the plate. ¡°There are a lot of them on our turf.¡±

    ¡°Anna picked up my call.¡± At last, he spoke. I knew it. There was something in his behavior that screamed bad omens. ¡°She is devastated, in a really awful way.¡±

    ¡°That is expected.¡± It was a tragedy, after all. My sanity flipped upside down and I am accustomed to those nasty blows, I suppose.

    ¡°No, Kieran.¡± He snapped, and it shocked both of us. ¡°She really thinks, she is convinced that you are the murderer.¡±

    The freezing wind roared in my direction, paralyzed my body, my fears turned right. The conversation I overheard that night echoed in my head. Finally, her mother''s constant blabbing played into her brain.

    Searching for clarification, an illustration, I scanned his face. Letting my emotions drive. Only Cali''s earlier suggestion, I found to rephrase: ¡°She must be under the shock.¡± For more credibility, I attached: "Don''t forget her father''s illness, now her little brother is dead.¡±

    ¡°Murdered.¡±

    ¡°Murdered.¡± I reverberated, as detached as I could from the actual act.

    The next minute followed our give and take sheathed in contemplation, reminiscing our already spoken words. I craved to break the ice and change the depressing subject.

    Cali finally finished her meal. She refused to look at us. Checking her reflection on the metallic tray, I glanced at her profile, afraid she would grab my arm with her unwashed hand in an instant of forgetfulness.

    In front of me, Travis surveyed better than a hawk. I could feel his hateful glares, bullets meant to burst my head.

    We never liked each other, anyway. He played the victim of unfulfilled love, and I was the gentleman who stole his princess. Why did we tolerate each other all this time? Well, I was a gentleman, and he was of great use.

    Such an example; whom I would call for quick laptop repair and to get myself a free dumb phone. That personality trait made him unable to refuse a request. While I built him the opportunity to be chivalrous in front of Anna. it was a win-win situation and I enjoyed the display.

    Sometimes his hate spurs over the threshold of his heart. I bet that the disgusting way he ate my leftovers meant to trigger my nausea¡­ on purpose.

    Cali was the overload that came with the main package. I needed to bear. Dear me, how my Anna succeeded in being friends with this unrefined, crude alien all those years.

    ¡°Travis¡­¡± I confronted the cannon nozzle. ¡°You don¡¯t know how much you saved me.¡± I watched as his hostility wither, ¡°I really needed to replace my dead phone.¡± He is truly a good man in some ways. I hope he will find a pleasant woman soon, for his jealousy will leave me alone.

    However much on my mind, it surprised me Olvera wasn''t the primary source of the rumors. Who wasn''t? Travis won''t be able to spread the fake details on the campus by himself.

    The dumb phone firmly secured in my grip while making use of my closing speech, I stood up, leaving. My aim marked accomplished, worth the misery of uncleaned fast-food, in rather uncleansed place that I avoid unless obliged.

    Before I strayed far enough, Cali''s not-so-low confession to Travis reached my ears: ¡°Now, I think I have a chance with him.¡±

    I pictured her oily finger on the phone; ¡°Only in your wildest dreams, Cali.¡± I breathed out. My face took a serious shade. It was a quick recess. Now let¡¯s concentrate more on the most pressing matters.

    I won¡¯t lie, I professed Anna¡¯s message just for the sake to certificate my¡­ My¡­ My what? Friends, acquaintances, rivals, tormentors? reaction, hence my conscience won¡¯t torture me when I violate this draining, complicated relationship.

    Today, I decided to skip the lectures for a far more important meeting.

    The handful of hours of rest helped me adjust to my new reality. I plopped down, mulling over the police interrogation. Pulling each and every bit of conversation from the depth of my mind''s storage. Reproducing them. All the sounds and pictures formed an old movie tape from my childhood.

    My grandfather''s ring refracted the sneaking light. I surveyed the road through the shop glass facade in anticipation till the server stood, blocking my view.

    ¡°Sir, did you decide?¡±

    I hastily opened the menu. It just happened that the shop has a variety of coffee, except I am more of a tea person than a coffee person; ¡°Water please.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± she kept hovering over my head.

    ¡°I rather wait for my companion.¡±

    ¡°Oh..¡±

    When the view cleared again, I witnessed a big black car desperately maneuvering to park in the small spot left between two other cars. I sighed. What up with drivers these days?

    In dizziness, I relaxed my chin on the back of my hand, observing the show and waiting for the poor end. The driver will certainly hit one of the cars at his side.

    The car crooked in a dangerous position before the passenger next to the driver¡¯s seat descended. My eyes strained wide. That figure, the classy look, aroused a familiar touch of nostalgia.

    The man unlocked the driver''s door. And for the love of god¡­

    In disbelief, my body uplifted forward. The surprise dangled from my breath when Evelyn''s graceful frame slipped under her fianc¨¦''s careful supervision.

    I never knew she was very bad with big cars¡­

    My eyes followed her while her fianc¨¦ corrected her awful parking position.

    Gosh, If it was my car, I would never have let her behind the steering wheel only after extensive hours of training.

    I relaxed again into my seat, wondering why she brought the third wheel with her. This was supposed to be our secret meeting, our secret operation. And I am too burned up to officially welcome the man faking a smile.

    Engrossed in studying Evelyn''s merry visage as she savored the ordered colorful desserts, oblivious to my arching pain of two consecutive days, maybe more.

    I puffed air, marveling if she received my message, or if she had read it completely and understood my current situation.

    ¡°So, this is your Kieran?¡± Emery relaxed next to her. Both dwelt in an air of intimacy. ¡°All your brothers are ladies killers.¡± He winked. So much for my broken heart. I stared away, surveying the other customers.

    ¡°Enchant¨¦.¡± He grinned, stretching his hand for a shake.

    ¡°Hmm.¡± I received him, executing a manner of politeness. No more and no less.

    Again when my gaze fell upon Evelyn''s face, I noticed something I missed upon a first examination. Something foreboding coated in a false clam. My resolve to be the conversation starter waned.

    I waited, drinking the cold water, arranging the spoon and the fork in parallel lines. Eyes jumping between the void of other customers to Emery¡¯s content countenance. I judged Evelyn didn¡¯t tell him an ounce of our shared secrets.

    A thought was proven wrong in the following seconds.

    ¡°So romantic, the flower bouquet you have ordered for the Marchetti¡¯s house.¡± He said: ¡°You really impressed me, exploiting the language of the flowers to communicate private messages between the two of you.¡± He added, and I gasped, glaring at her.

    Without wasting a glance at my face, she defended the red straw near her jaws: ¡°After your short notice, I couldn¡¯t move this fast by myself.¡± She didn¡¯t sound or look apologetic. Instead, irritated, bordering the edges of anger.

    I did not argue, no counterattack.

    Our table sunk into a bitter mood. Emery''s merry expression wasn¡¯t an exception.

    Thanks to his insinuation, some questions in my head washed off the dusty confusion on my awareness.

    "Since when did you know you were targeted?" Emery demanded on behalf of Evelyn, however, I evaded the question by asking another one:

    "Did you manage to get your hands on the Marchetti confession that incriminated me?"

    This question seemed so uninteresting from Emery''s point of view, so irrelevant. Yet in my eyes, there was nothing more important than the answer I am going to get, at least for the moment.

    Muddled, his widened eyes searched for Evelyn, which in turn studied each expression on my serious face.

    She said. Her finger danced, navigating the shallow depth of her purse. "Oh, my dear Kieran, what kind of bad techniques earned you all this hate?"

    She put a memory card on the table, "This is a copy of the interrogation as well as the irrefutable proofs of your innocence."

    Before my fingers claimed it, Evelyn retrieved the tiny item: "You need to thank Emery for it."

    Thanks was a word that carried a tricky meaning in our family. The McCarthy never considered the simplistic usage of the word a thanks worthy of acceptance. In our family, thanking someone for something denoted giving something material in return.

    A nervous smile directed at the happy man next to my sister.

    "Just happy to be of use." He stated, meaning entirely something else. I read it in his reaction. "If possible, if you think I will be of help with anything, don''t be shy, you can ask me." I knew it.

    I take Evelyn didn''t privy him to the fine details, yet she thrilled him to the point that he wanted to be a part of it.

    My gaze shift to my sister gauging her desire. In every bit of her demeanor, the yearning to involve her man in our bid screamed loud.

    Evelyn, as sly as ever. When she wished for something, she plays her card to make the target do it for her. Excluding every possibility for an opinion.

    "I will count on your services." Defeated, how coil I say no to my savior. My eyelashes swung down, protecting the discontent from befouling the mood.

    "How did you find out that you are targeted?"

    The same wrong question traveled amidst the reluctant lips then returned to my table.

    The right question should be; since when I noticed I was tailed? Whatever. Let them dazzle by the genius they believe I possessed.

    "When I rode the train home, two suspicious persons accompanied me, my first doubt started from there."

    Priceless the admiration I received. Albeit tinted fake and exaggerated, for I had no idea they targeted me in such a gruesome way.

    "How is your mysterious girlfriend, I mean, she must be in danger?"

    In her voice vaporized the flavor of scolding. Eventually, she found the time to show her upset from the fact that I didn''t tell her about my girlfriend.

    There was a reason for that, a very important one.

    "Well, for the time being," I said, skimming the subject.

    "It''s okay if you don''t want to tell me who she is." Her voice wasn''t okay at all, "You can tell Emery about her, at least to receive the necessary protection."

    I took the memory card, tucked it in a secured place, my grandfather''s ring. Unexpectedly, this move enlightened her. The wrong way.

    "Kieran? Who is your girlfriend?" She ordered. My eye fled the direct connection.

    "Kieran?" the authority in her tone burst, akin to my mother''s fury. I bet she overheard some parts of the recorded interrogation.

    "Kieran? No¡­" Her head shook left and right in disapproval. "Don''t tell me your girlfriend is the daughter of the man we want to destroy.

 CHAPTER NINE: PRAYERS

    Concealed behind the water glass, I couldn¡¯t help the distort adorning my mouth. Several chuckles traveled through the cracks formed between my lips. Transpired into the air, then left Evelyn and her Mr. Right bewildered by hesitation.

    ¡°Of course she is.¡± In the span of seconds, the three of us exchanged hundreds of looks. ¡°How do you think I got my free ticket into the target house?"

    Painful glares landed from Evelyn. Her knitted brows electrified in a cocktail of absurdity and anger.

    But her fianc¨¦''s reaction ripped through the thin balance, sustaining the situation. My focus gravitated as he lowered his head, pecking at the edge of the coffee cup. Refusing to deliver hints of his opinion.

    Despite the tangible discord, Evelyn nipped the orange juice, detached. The ton of inquiries behind those pursed lips swam back along with the swallowed liquid. Her eyelashes glided, peeling me off from her sight.

    The disapproval soaked her mood, yet refused to add or deduct a judgment.

    Hung under their heavy breath. Any excuse I will chew will just wrench further my image.

    "You want me to find the actual people behind this accident."

    My eyes tracked the voice source, swept to the other corner in relief, and escape. Oh, Mr. Right, neatly leaped over the subject¡­

    Out of retaliation, all serious, I confronted him, controlling tone imprinted my speech: "Start investigating Mm. Marchetti''s circle." If Evelyn wanted him in, then I shall burn him dead.

    "However, there is something more urgent." I said as I glared at the waitress that passed us for the third time, "If you were able to get your hand on the investigation record, you could certainly accomplish this task."

    Emery¡¯s expression developed in an awful fashion. He didn¡¯t appreciate the bossy attitude. Nevertheless, it motivated me to persist in the same rhythm. If he thought about impressing his girlfriend by stealing my hard work, he needed to have a second thought.

    Evelyn smelled the arching smoke circling between us. Her long fingers soothed Mr. Right''s shoulder, her red lips curved: "We should go now, dear," Her gaze winked discreet agreement towards me, "you two can discuss those things later."

    Obviously, she didn¡¯t wish for extra interaction with me, at least for the present time.

    Emery side glanced at the waitress. He cupped Evelyn¡¯s hand when he stood, whispering some flirty words I refused to hear. Honestly, I wondered who fell under the spell of who?

    As he rolled away, I seized the chance for a private conversation. It came to me, late, that Evelyn had the exact idea.

    "Just do me this favor." She pleaded, beating me to the punch.

    My voice stagnated within my throat. I couldn¡¯t comply and say yes, neither could I express my genuine feeling and say no.

    Speechless, I scanned her face. Her fabricated cool humor fissured atop cheerless contents. When she became aware of my meticulous attention, she broke the momentum, ¡°Kieran, be careful.¡± Her eyes looked up to whatever moved behind me. At that instant, the amount of the unsaid matters I grow conscious of flooded my senses.

    ¡°Do not forget to destroy the memory card.¡± Murmuring, her last pointer left me drowning.

    The car skilfully took the road, its silhouette disappeared among the crowd.

    From behind, a shadow towered over my head. Imposing. The waitress gleefully giggled, ¡°How are you going to pay, sir?¡±

    ¡°What? Didn¡¯t the man who sat here already paid the...?¡±

    She placed the bill before my eyes, leaving me choking on the number of zero. Rage reached my ears without being visible.

    All my pockets licked empty. I counted to the last coins I had not close enough¡­.

    What a scum trick. I shall reward him double for it.

    ¡°The owner said, if you couldn¡¯t pay, you must work here till you repay all the debt.¡±

    Owner? Keeping my startle in check, this man really had long arms.

    My brain engines launched, new connections built inside my head.

    Mr. Right¡¯s business extended to this metropolis. Olvera¡¯s business controlled around half of the legal dealings. Father keeping both parties close by. We are expanding. Precis updates were essential about this matter.

    "Can I just sign a commitment?"

    "Of course sir, but it will double the interest for each delayed day."

    What a shady business. And if I don''t pay, I will be sent to jail. No wonder he had a lot of acquaintances in the police.

    I lifted my head, defeated: "Where is the kitchen?" Thank God I was a cleaning fanatic.

    Following behind the waitress, we walked through an interesting architectural design. For a better description, a maze. If she left me, it won¡¯t be simple, finding the way out.

    At a certain moment, the doubts burned my indifference, ashes tinted my compulsion black. When we took the elevator up, my over skeptic nature won over, almost assured of the trap laying ahead.

    Only one woman stood next to me. The elevator moved up. Alert, my gaze fixated on her back. Calculating eventual moves I will employ to neutralize the target.

    Even if she possessed a gun. From this distance, I can handle her easily.

    Aware she was of my attentive observation and abnormal bearing.

    The waitress couldn''t mask her tension from the persistent focus I showered her with.

    In my head, I smirked. What an amateur they had used. Yet irritated, they succeeded in diminishing my preparedness.

    Emery, head lowered, sipping the coffee. The scene dangled in front of my eyes. If he was a traitor, if he tricked Evelyn all along. I will dig up his heart and throw it at stray dogs.

    The elevator door opened, however, no suspicious move had yet to be made.

    I stepped into a luxurious corridor. Cleanliness oozed from the floor, the walls. The flowery smell relaxed the intensity in my muscles.

    Noting from the consecutively numbered doors, we probably entered a hotel.

    We stopped at the most elegant quarters. What awaited me beyond this door¡­ I ceased feeling less pessimistic.

    The timing was important. Should I make my move here and now? Should I hold longer for a confirming clue?

    Retreating a few steps, I leaned into an angle that concealed my presence if someone opened the door. She didn¡¯t object to my adjustment. Luckily, my escort, an incompetent one.

    Like outside, like inside, the vast sitting room shone in an impeccable luxury. Albeit, no one waited within. My agility pumped harder. The waitress invited me to the couch, placed the folder that she carried all the way on a nice coffee table.

    Hesitant, my eyes, my ears, my arms began the shutdown mode against my will.

    "What is this?" Through a narrowed pair of eyes, I asked as I cautiously threw my weight on the comfortable couch.

    "The working contract."

    Restrained confusion, suppressed frustration, only frowns bombarded her strained face. Hell, what a contract? Is he trying to make me his slave for a bunch of dessert dishes eaten by his woman?

    Upright, my body rose, "I am not signing any contract."

    "Sir¡­"

    "Several nights in jail are much better." My hand already cupped the door''s handle.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    "Sir, at least read before you decide."

    It took me a fraction of a second to choose. My head swung back. Solemn gaze flickered toward the waitress and the coffee table, photographing them in one detailed picture. Finding more reasons to hate Emery was my choice.

    Skimming over the lines, the furious tincture defiled my manners, dissipated. The tense colors paled. Bafflement replaced the anger.

    I scanned the waitress, for like the hundred times: "You are sure that he wanted me to sign this contract?"

    Lips tight sealed. She nodded, confirming. Way earnest.

    Still skeptical, I sat down, inwardly, reciting each phrase, probing for discreet setbacks, secret cheats. Following this contract, I will pay my debt in three months.

    Long, yes. Still, what he offered me turned off my reasoning further.

    Besides the free lodging which I ought since the dormitory I stayed in is closing for maintenance, he is paying me for practically doing nothing, and taking 10% to cover the debt he imposed on me?

    Maybe Mr. Cromwell wasn''t that bad. Haughty, complacent, the first impression he radiated, but reliability, it was unexpected. Albeit the spiteful served method.

    The tip of the pen floated above the predestined spot. Approaching...

    No, no, no, I won''t fall for it. This is too good to be true. Too much for helping the little brother of his woman.

    The thing about desperate individuals, like a certain someone. They weren''t stupid, - I suppose¡­-, just, they smell the oddity in the blowing pleasant breeze, yet they choose to ignore it in favor of their comfort, a period of instant gratification.

    This night, I indulged the scars of my soul, the ache of my tired body on a big, comfy bed. Although the new, clean, and arranged home, it failed to soothe the lingering heaviness of the past days of my life.

    Nightmares accompanied my sleep, each episode stretched on the side. If I turned left, I reminisce over Olvera''s dinner party. When I turned right, I tasted the rain of that night at Marchetti''s house. On my back, the ceiling spiraled, morphed, as dark as the blindness. It swallowed me deep within an unfavorable stop of the past.

    "Noah¡­" The voice of my grandmother from that day, "Why are you not eating?" I could never forget that look. The disapproval claimed her face, lips pursed in displeasure.

    "This is not the end of the world." She scolded.

    Granting her an inky image, the mourning clothes hugged her aged figure. At that instant, my grandmother seemed tough, looked resilient, and much, much wiser.

    I am sorry, grandmother, yes; it wasn''t the end of the world; it was my resurrection.

    ***

    After the confirmed statement of my innocence, the funeral of Anna''s little brother was held, the next three days.

    Gravely compassionate, I stepped into the burial ceremony, alone. Per usual, head up front, registering the surroundings. Assessing the attendants'' grief scale. It felt like a party-themed around black clothes.

    My poor Liam, your death welcomed cheerfully compared to your life. You were the deleted obstacle that prevailed Mm. Marchetti''s quest, subduing her husband''s wealth.

    Unconvinced by my innocence, Mm. Marchetti swarmed by a hysterical storm upon discerning my face among the alleged mourners.

    The slap landed on my cheek, the continuous hits I sustained. Her acting transcended mediocrity, at least in my eyes. The sole honest tears I stumbled upon that morning came from a face that I found torn between avoiding me and collapsing into my embrace.

    In the end, Anna refused to give more than those glimpses. The hug of her childhood friend surrounded her.

    As sympathetic as I was, as pragmatic as I could be.

    This opportunity, I exploited to retrieve the planted spy bug transmitters from the locations my hands could attain. Sadly, luck ditched my side in those last days. I could only leave the house empty-handed.

    Therefore, my last trip to Marchetti''s house slandered me into massive disappointment.

    Mm. Marchetti''s frenzied act glued most of the unwanted attention to my back. I didn''t remember hating a woman as much as I hated her.

    The days strode forward. The shreds of my mind huddled as the routine swept my life further. Immersed between the lectures of the final term, the distress of preparing my thesis, to the bloody fight of paralegals in the Clangor law group for a permanent position. Furthermore, the new part-time job bestowed by my benefactor, Mr. Cromwell, proven delightful as much as its payment.

    My free time for overthinking diminished.

    Free I became from the self-inflicted reproach, the remorse that caged my conscience for days. The overall picture in my head cleaned fresh.

    My current position. What happened and what I am going to do next? They were all a matter of careful, logical planning.

    Though, on occasions, the margin thread of memories reminded me of the remark of the unknown mysterious interrogator. His remark, annotating the decline in my resistance as well as adaptability, echoed subtly at the back of my head.

    Far from formalities and denials. Regardless of the extent of his knowledge concerning my person, he spoke right. Those last years, I became a tattered puppet of my former identity, fractured, in parts, chopped, not just intellectually¡­

    I feared my father and brothers'' censure if they witnessed my crappy handling of the pressure. My literal breakdown at nights, and my succumbing to the glittering fortune of Mr. Cromwell. For he was, to me, an unknown person with unknown motives.

    Evelyn¡¯s fianc¨¦?... Humm, Wasn¡¯t I Anna¡¯s ideal boyfriend...

    Despite Mr. Marchetti''s hospitalization, my position as his assistant was unaffected. Now, all his cases have reached the freezing point, the time-devouring assignments squashed to dust. Aside from small errands here and there, my work at the firm sunk inside a peaceful train.

    The ongoing fight for an official post didn¡¯t interest me. The raining offers, showering my egotism for a new position, merely served an appetizer. My goals strove above them. Actually, I pitied the rivals. Excluding unseen surprises, the upcoming months, the Clangor law group future shrouded behind nameless hands.

    Amidst those and that, my quest to appease Anna''s grief had its own spot. I bet it would be much easier if she picked up her phone.

    After the hundred tries, I grew convinced that she may truly break up with me. What swept the little doubt and hope for reconciliation, the high and mighty attitude of my very, very dear friend, Travis.

    In the scarce chances orchestrating our encounters - by half-coincidences - Considering I made it unfailing to distance myself from the duo that called themselves my friends. Travis''s nose held tall, while his mouth drew the curves of a victorious smile. He spoke to me from a tower high among the clouds.

    Altogether, I returned his smiles, I sincerely returned them. Fainting the oblivion world, radiating extra heartbreak, waves worked like a charm that stabbed his glorifying pride. The sympathy he threw at me, I made full use of it.

    Evelyn¡¯s memory card, ever buried under the center stone of my grandfather¡¯s ring. I had yet to watch the file records. Different kinds of fears generated the stall, combined with a bit of laziness and tight schedules.

    First, I wasn¡¯t in the right mindset to judge things and form an impartial opinion. Second, I dreaded that my laptop, my restored phone were bugged by¡­, Mmm, the police? The ones who set me up?. Better be safe than sorry. Let Travis finish reprogramming the laptop before any intimate usage.

    I forgot to mention my diligent prayers each morning and every night that the investigator won''t find the spy bugs I hid in the Marchetti¡¯s house. Or my innocence counter will flatten to zero.

    Well, it seemed that my prayers were heard. The first time I visited the house to meet Anna, face to face, the signboard mentioned it was for sale. The second time, the house was sold.

    At last another chance to exploit.

    It will cost me only another favor I required to ask Emery for; arrange me a place with the company responsible for the operation and find Anna¡¯s new address.

    Now, the only point left beyond my brilliant arrangement, my destined reunion with my dear Jacob. Not exactly certain on the method to summon him without the interference of Evelyn, in particular, and my family in a broad sense. But I am assured that our communication problem, after the upcoming meeting, will grow worse.

    ¡°This is your lucky day Mr. McCarthy.¡±

    My upper body shook from the hit on my back. My fingers slipped on the keyboard and ruined the report. Nevertheless, the loss of working flow. My head lifted upward, tilted, the smile I forced concealed the culminating displeasure.

    Mr. Harrison''s timing was always bad, his awareness worse. His hand didn''t stop at one strike. The second slap shook my left shoulder, wrecking my report further.

    I pulled the chair then stood, for two reasons; saving the remaining shreds of my ruined composure, showing respect to a senior partner of the firm.

    Defamation stayed external to my field of expertise. My judgment of Mr. Harrison, I prefer keeping it to myself. However, it''s an open secret everyone here knew about. The success of the Clangor law group blasted off of the abilities of this man.

    How he survived the harsh competition was something I will discover soon.

    What he said finally reached my nervous circuit. I tossed indifference and heedlessness out and concentrated.

    What he exactly meant by lucky.

    This word was ever tricky¡­

    "Yes, yes, he is here. Should I take him to the second meeting room or the office?"

    It took me several seconds to figure out that he was talking on his phone.

    My heart palpitated. In the past days, all my worries culminated around the spy bugs in Marchetti''s house. Till I achieved my plan, with each unforeseen derivation of my schedule, I automatically linked it to the police, calling me for an explanation.

    My main second plan, feign ignorance and deny everything until my last breath.

    My ultimate third plan, if they detected any fingerprint or DNA traces and wanted to take a simple comparison¡­

    Pray that I was careful enough to not leave sufficient marks.

    What a degradation. I should have set that house on fire after the funeral.

    Anxious, I walked behind Mr. Harrison, leaving some distance. My heart stopped when he turned to wait for my approaching.

    "Not feeling good today, you are awfully slow." Only half of my mouth smiled.

    When our foot arrayed in a horizontal line, I asked: "Can I ask why I am lucky and where you are taking me?"

    Side by side, we moved forward. Mr. Harrison''s idea for suspense tore me to extreme irritation.

    Before the locked gate for the secondary meeting room, he paused. One hand on the door, the other signaled to hush me: "This is not official yet, so keep it a secret."

    The door oscillated inward then outward, barely allowing me enough angle to view who occupied the room. I narrowed my eyes, the access deliberately locked. It kept me out after Mr. Harrison got in.

    The integral asked for files staged on the desk, parallels: "Those are all the frozen cases of Mr. Marchetti, arranged by the time of the last hearing.

    "Ready and flawless as always," He approached to whisper in my ear, "Remember that it was me who recommended you."

    I still didn''t understand why we made the trip to the meeting room than to Mr. Marchetti¡¯s office, much to understand this off-topic chatter. Hence, I insinuated: "Are you the one who is going to resume Mr. Marchetti''s frozen cases?"

    The pitiful clients, they are going to say goodbye to their miserable life. Mr. Harrison only excels at divorce cases. Was there more damage that can be done to the firm''s reputation?

    His index crossed his mouth again to hash me: "I told you it''s not official yet." His voice was created from threads of whispers.

    Made of glass, Mr. Marchetti''s office had two entrances. My back faced both of them. Nothing but the breeze I felt when one door opened, carrying a nostalgic fragrance.

    Like a brainless fan, Mr. Harrison hobbled toward the person who joined us: "Mr. Macias, I have arranged all the frozen cases by order of the last hearing."

    Oh¡­

    Nevertheless, Mr. Harrison acting beneath his standing, or shamefully attributing my work to himself.

    Me, me the forgotten third wheel, halted next to the desk. Detached like a moon in a starless night, Calm like a sea in windless day. My eruption burst into words, like the lava of a dormant volcano. Direct, rigid, and apathetic:

    "The files contain personal information of our clients. No one has the right to access them without the explicit consent of each respective client."

    The golden strings of the glasses swayed with curves of a smug smile.

 CHAPTER TEN: FEARS

    There was no way I will forget this face.

    When his shadow passed on the doorstep, insecurities slithered under my skin. Fears readied my response for the worst.

    Mr. Harrison cramped himself, blocking the upcoming bloodshed; ¡°my, my, it seems that I missed the hint." I disregarded his interference.

    His hand clapped for attention. Yet the sharp sound forced me to eye him.

    "I didn''t know that you two already knew each other." He ended the sentence with a stupid forced laugh.

    The spared glance I bestowed on him jerked toward the unknown face that finally got a name; Mr. Macias.

    However, Mr. Harrison, as ever, was slow in assessing his own standing in a conversation that shouldn''t include him.

    "It saves me the hassle of introducing... Haha..." He chewed, stammering.

    "Could you please¡­" Marchetti''s unofficial replacement beckoned¡­ his eyes smiling at the doorway

    Without a further delay, Mr. Harrison, on the tips of his toes, retreated, leaving his usual touch of fake flattery. At last, he understood his worth in this office.

    Placide. My face settled, inspecting the standing man''s shoes, the cut end of his trousers. Dustless. Spotless. His clothes were smooth, with no trace of wrinkles.

    Our gaze collided in mid-air. Heating the surroundings. The inner parts of my mind blanked from turmoil. My logic sunk in a sticky swamp.

    The roots of the relationship between Mr. Marchetti and this dangerous man, a new quest I had yet time to take on. To what depth those roots reached, so would he be chosen as his replacement?

    In our first encounter, numerous things I noticed about this man. For hours, I was drained by thoughts about our silent symbolic talk as well as the expressive one the two of us shared in that dark room.

    His incessant desire for me to believe in his words, the repetitive questions about those who were supposed to frame me, and I was supposed to be aware of them. His concealed desperation to reveal my guess of those behind the scene reached the edge of pleading.

    Endless times I wondered to myself, how can someone be genuine to the point of entreaty and be able to shake you to the point of terror at the same time.

    My hands crossed behind my back in military forwardness. The stares I pointed directly, indiscriminately at this person kept him pinned at the same spot.

    Yet my mind traveled everywhere, escaping the unrelaxed dis-balance, looking for an excuse to avoid this confrontation.

    Maybe I was thrilled by the surprise, or curious to discover his aims. Either way, his mere presence in here provoked my highest misgivings.

    Consideration about restarting the conversation climbed up my head, though nothing seemed fit after my stupid, impulsive, blatant attack.

    Albeit my profound attentiveness, in an unexpected declaration, my ears captured a weird meaning:

    "I admit it." He said, or I hallucinated what he said.

    Compelled, my eyes wide, pictured his profile. His hands, before his chest, waved a surrounding insignia. This moment was the epic of my bewilderment in the calm of the last few days.

    ¡°I admit it.¡± He repeated, for me to validate, for he read the hesitation written all over my visage.

    Hell, you are admitting what?

    "I lost.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    I swear, he is doing it on purpose.

    ¡°I acted on my superiority in that situation, I underestimate you.¡±

    Is he talking about that night in the interrogation room? I won¡¯t fall for the psychological harassment, again. I Hope¡­

    ¡°You were playing us all along, and I drove right into your trap.¡±

    My gaze burned, sending soundless inquiries. What this man is talking about?

    If anyone was in control of that situation, it was him. Back then, I merely passed his interrogation because of the time limit.

    ¡°It took me hours to figure it out.¡± He tested. His dismissed hands joined in one quiet clap, ¡°To figure out that it was a trap.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    "Don¡¯t play dumb, I said. I admit my loss. I rarely do."

    In that laid-back attitude of his, he invited himself further inside the office. Sizing the first chair near the desk. Crossed his legs. Elbow sustained by a pile of files while his chin relaxed in the vicinity of his palm. A posture could be translated as I am the new owner of this place.

    This man hit right where it irks my nerves. He is well informed about my obsessive compulsions. Maybe that¡¯s why he threatened me, back then, with a psychological assessment.

    The muscles of my jew spasmed, in forced neutrality, I hit back: "I didn''t ask for a lawyer. You hadn''t the right to be in the interrogation room that day."

    "Thanks to your caution, there is no proof of me being in the interrogation room." his head inclined for a better view.

    The nostalgic taste of an insomniac night washed my mouth. As he observed me through the golden frame of his glasses, his haughtiness dissolved bit by bit in the glamor of a perfect realization.

    "There is no need to change the subject." He swallowed, appeased. ¡°Or you are not the kind who dwells in his victories.¡±

    His body shifted to allow extra relaxation into the caress of the chair; ¡°If it were me, I would be drunk on it for days.¡±

    Sidelong glimpses peeped at my frozen countenances. Measuring what it should be, unnoticeable alterations of presumed indifferent features. His neck craned, the both of us gained a full view of each other''s disguise. While I was painfully exposed to him, I solely deciphered the disappointment trails bordering the corners of his eyes.

    Pointless was my futile attempt to hide my provoked nerves in front of this man. Finally, after much pretense, I submitted. He won. I can¡¯t calm down against this kind of person. Yet before any word of protest could pass the edges of my mouth, he said:

    ¡°You were aware of Mm. Marchetti¡¯s intention when she invited you to stay.¡± His hands fondled the files.

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to not notice. She always acts extra-dramatic when she plans something.¡±

    Oh my god, she also acted so dramatic at Liam¡¯s funeral. This realization hammered into my head as the memories of her fist on my chest revived. Wasn¡¯t that just an act to fake grief?

    ¡°This also can explain why you recommended to Mr. Marchetti installing a surveillance system in the backyard,¡± a sly glare mailed from his eyes to corner me, to accuse me: ¡°To use it as an alibi.¡±

    My lips firm shut, teeth grinding, I better not jump to a bad conclusion... Let him finish telling his theory. Full and clear.

    In all honesty, the task of finding this man''s identity was placed atop of my list for the people who must be dealt with sooner.

    ¡°Because you were familiar with the system, you probably will take you one look to notice that it was shut down, then fain ignorance about it being shut down.¡±

    I became more interested in the meaning of his rumble as the smiles of victory began padding his cheeks.

    ¡°The records you have prepared to counter-attack the testament of the ladies, you have masterfully woven it into the big picture. Despite the short time you have known that you have been set up for something.¡±

    What he is talking about, I could hardly repress my puzzlement. Unprepared for what is to come.

    ¡°I underestimated the extent of your resolve. Who would think that you will go to the point of murdering a kid.¡±

    What?

    Murder?

    What a wrecked distortion of reality.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Him making an appearance, today, in such manners, in such a position, in such a place. Singing implausible theory, believing in it, a proof that his intent, now, or back in the interrogation room wasn¡¯t about achieving justice, finding the real criminals, and setting an innocent soul out of the accusation cage.

    The ever na?ve me thought I had got rid of him, of every smell of the murder accusation, after the official declaration of my innocence. A big miscalculation on my part.

    Didn¡¯t Travis tell me that Anna was convinced that I was the real culprit? Now, I found out the source of the false idea.

    Was this man the reason she broke up with me?

    One of the biggest flaws of this man was his tongue. He spoke far more than necessary.

    This little chat confirmed that not just the people who aimed to trap me are active on my trails, but also the police when the real culprits, still outside the bars.

    "But I have avenged my loss." He stood in one swift movement. The wave of disturbed air slapped my face.

    Alarmed by the posture change, the second I adjusted my gaze, It fell on a dark plastic bag.

    "Don''t get full of yourself just because you outwitted me, once."

    I tasted the bitter warning emerging from the steam of his breath. Mixed with arrogant confidence. My red light alarm flickered. As I started guessing what was inside the bag.

    A swallowed laugh perked from his delighted lips: ¡°You must have guessed out.¡± My heartbeats, loud, echoed into my eardrums, ¡°What is inside this bag.¡±

    His amused smile only widened to reach his eyes. ¡°I ordered a meticulous search when I bought the house.¡±

    I get it, for the purpose of cornering me by the gossiping mourners, the one who advised Mm. Marchetti to make a scene at the funeral, at my sight, was him.

    My legs failed me. I barely was able to maintain my standing.

    At this instant, there was nothing I can do or say to deflect his absurd theory. I can only deny it, until the last breath.

    ¡°Guess? What should I guess?¡±

    Akin to a magic trick, from behind the black bag, he brought out a sealed envelope: ¡°I thought you would deny it.¡±

    My doomed future blackened my vision as I spelled ¡°Fingerprint analysis result.¡± on the back of the envelope.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he smugly added, ¡°You guessed right.¡± While my gaze alternated between his ecstatic face and the damned envelope. ¡°I took your fingerprint reference from my phone.¡±

    On the floor, my eyes were forwarded. If he gave that evidence to the police, how could I liberate myself from the suspicion a second time?

    I don¡¯t want to imagine my horrible state. My father disappointed glares. I felt them condemning me of my own worthlessness. My grandfather''s ghost. I sensed his presence, wrapping me in a sympathetic embrace. Defending me from my father''s scorn, and whispering in my ears: ¡°It¡¯s okay Noah, you will find your way.¡±

    In that instant, I realized; Why didn''t Mr. Macias contact the police with this evidence? Unless he wanted something in return.

    Blackmailing?

    ¡°Since I only believe in trust and loyalty for a relationship to work,¡± he said, as he placed the black bag and the envelope into my custody. ¡°I will trust you with those.¡±

    My second bewilderment ever on this day. The stretched hand asking for a shake, in front of me. I couldn¡¯t refuse it, neither could I fully welcome it.

    ¡°Let us have a good working relationship.¡± Sincere, I channeled his tone.

    *** *** ***

    ¡°You have not looked well since days.¡± Emery¡¯s employee, the server, and I clicked so well, we became best friends in no time.

    ¡°Work¡­¡± Absentmindedly, I responded to her.

    ¡°What?¡± she punched my shoulder playfully. ¡°I am doing all the work here, you only came in your free time.¡±

    ¡°Law school¡­¡± My tone, ever distance, detached in a faraway land of worries.

    She put the auction register then slid a pen above it: ¡°Anyway, don¡¯t forget to approve the list before the weekend.¡±

    The leather cover at the edge of my sight, at first, made me wonder why Emery¡¯s auction business used traditional ways. Why won''t he install a private server to facilitate the menial tasks for his workers? However, as the days of my work turned into weeks, I opened to appreciate the traditional methods. Even enjoying the process.

    I picked the heavy register, turning the pages lazily. It took me forever to reach the last page. These slow, unmotivated gestures appeared to irk Annabell.

    Her finger strode to help in-process and finish it. She pointed: ¡°You can start from here.¡± The tip of her nail pointed to the date marking. While my gaze noticed her fingers. Her fingernails precisely, their shape, their colors, somehow, triggered my memory of Evelyne. The resemblance was wide.

    My grandmother, as she caressed Evelyn¡¯s hands, always complimented their elegance. The unmindful, younger version of me didn¡¯t grasp the significance. After I witnessed Emery¡¯s irritation melting at Evelyn¡¯s hands on his shoulder. It creeped me out.

    Almost all the female staff shared the same vague trait. He must have a thing for hands and fingernails.

    Slightly delighted, my mood improved a little. The pen trapped between my fingers hovered above the page, pensive. I said after seconds of contemplation: ¡°Can you lend me your laptop?¡±

    My eyes peered at her for a response. She was startled by the demand: ¡°Lately mine is a little off.¡± I elaborated, my tone was neutral yet my face was suggestive.

    Of course, if she thought I was invading her personal space, free to decline her choice.

    Another pack of files landed next to me: ¡°By all means,¡± Nonchalantly giving an answer, after throwing more work for me to do: ¡°I don¡¯t use it that often.¡±

    She didn¡¯t look me in the eye when she added this; ¡°You can keep it until you receive yours.¡± Her voice, strange. A lier I will be if I said it was hard for me to pinpoint the anomaly.

    When the clock ticked midnight, I gave up. The work Annabell sent to me was barely finished. Most of it is still piled on the desk. Unable to concentrate, unsettled, my mind swam in an ocean of endless turbulence.

    Restless, my thumb rubbed the ring head. My gaze drifted around the room, leaped everywhere before focusing on Annabell¡¯s laptop at the side.

    It¡¯s been almost two weeks since Evelyn handed me a copy of the interrogation records, though I have yet to examine them.

    A case of procrastination¡­ Nuh... Whom I am kidding? This is a life-or-death matter for me...

    Why am I avoiding it then, like fleeing from an obvious revelation I didn¡¯t wish to acknowledge or confirm? Something I don¡¯t want to listen to, to hear.

    I kept making excuses: my phone must be under surveillance of the police, my laptop must be bugged by whoever broke into my room in the dormitory. It¡¯s risky to use the library computers¡­

    They were mere excuses I created to delay the inevitable. To postpone the outcome of a battle between the rationality of life and my heart. That is going on and on. Inside my head.

    The sound of my broken heart. Afraid to hear it again. Now cornered, chained to a cold wall, I had no choice but to face the reality.

    My index touched the switch button without clicking it. As soon as my eyes fell on Mr. Macias¡¯s envelope, the screen lit up. I put the headphone on, then I inserted the memory card.

    the memory card contained a bunch of files mainly recorded audio and videos. and only one folder, marked in red "important, must be checked."

    It itched my curiosity so It won the first few clicks. But all the increased urge died after I read some of the titles.

    The folder didn''t treat my case at all rather it contained several press articles about something else. Not urgent neither important for the time being. For a passing moment, I wondered why Evelyn collected those speculations about the Olvera dinner party and the incident of that day.

    Why did she put them in this memory card?

    my contemplation was ephemeral. With the thought that I will return to this folder later, I jumped to the records.

    The first one was about Mm. Marchetti spouting nonsense. Her statement was full of loopholes.

    ¡°Madam, you have told us you saw him killing the kid? How? Wasn¡¯t it pitch black?¡± Judging by the voice, I believe this officer wasn¡¯t among the ones who interrogated me.

    ¡°Weren¡¯t you standing at the same level as him, and given your position you were able to only see his back.¡± he did a great job spotting illogical lacunas. ¡°Can you tell me what you have exactly seen? Not what you supposed.¡±

    His voice is very familiar.

    ¡°The lightning illuminated the garden. I saw him crouching on the boy¡¯s body.¡± Mm. Marchetti¡¯s tongue stuttering,

    ¡°You mean, in that instant, you figured out that the boy was dead and the one checking on him is the murderer.¡±

    Wait a minute, the way his questions were structured, as if he was revising the pits in Mm. Marchetti already confessed, statement.

    He did one good job.

    But didn¡¯t his meticulous interrogation defy the purpose of the whole ploy to implicate me?

    It means one thing, the people behind the curtains didn¡¯t control all the officers.

    The conversation jumped to the next question: ¡°You also said your daughter¡¯s relationship with him wasn¡¯t great and they were going to break up. Was it logical for you to invite him to stay for the night?¡±

    The second record was about, as I guessed, Emery¡¯s men.

    Two men happen to drive through the rear of the house and get a glimpse of individuals climbing up the fence and sprinting toward a vehicle parked nearby. Even they offered a phone camera video confirming their saying. However, they didn¡¯t get to see faces nor be able to register the car number because of the darkness.

    So this had solidified my statement.

    On the other hand, maybe they really couldn¡¯t see their faces, but the car number, a blatant bluff. Emery must be on track with this car.

    Few other records and files were about the psychological assessment of the Marchetti ladies, under the excuse of the traumatic shock.

    The reports confirmed the ladies were unstable at the moment. It can take their statements with a grain of salt.

    Evelyn touch. I sensed it under the written lines. This was her work.

    Didn¡¯t Mr. Macias threaten me by employing the same method? Grateful he didn¡¯t have the power to do so.

    Then the last record, the one I was putting off, the one I was afraid to hear.

    ¡°I woke up to Molly barking, my window open in the backyard so I looked over, at the break of lightning I saw him planting something on somebody on the soil.¡± Her voice crushed under suppressed cries, ¡°I can¡¯t believe it was Liam.¡±

    ¡°Are you certain it was your boyfriend?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she sobbed, ¡°There is no way I will mistake him for someone else.¡±

    ¡°Then why would he go out of his way and take the child out to the backyard then kill him, isn¡¯t it easier to kill him in his room?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what he thinks? He isn¡¯t normal after all.¡±

    I watched tentatively. The officer handed her a napkin, waited, before delving into the next question: ¡°Your mother said that you were going to break up, and he sensed it, he kill your brother for retaliation...¡±

    ¡°My mother was right. I should have broken up with him. But with all the bad things going on in my life, I just¡­ I just couldn¡¯t make my mind. I was drugging things up because I was afraid of being alone.¡±

    ¡°My question was, why does he retaliate against your little brother and not you directly?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I told you he is not normal. Who knows what goes inside his mind. At first, I didn¡¯t listen to my mother, but after going out with him, she was right, there is just something wrong with him like he was some kind of monster who is trying to fit in a place that didn¡¯t suit him, using me.¡±

    My hand clicked on the switch-off button. There was no point in listing more. The things I feared hearing the most scattered on Anna¡¯s sobbing breath, like a knife piercing through my skin.

    Was it how Anna truly saw me? All this time¡­

    The image I painted of her in my head despite all the awkwardness¡­ How pathetic of me?

    So agonizing, so hard. Her confession reverberated inside my head. I needed to distract my thoughts or I will go wild.

    Thank goddess for the black bag Mr. Macias left me with. It served me an excellent dish for distraction.

    I tempered with the envelope, opening it, no hesitation. Reading the results didn¡¯t come as shock, my expectations, my fears... A 100% match. Neutral, my state of mind.

    I sighed¡­

    The next step was to count the number of Fm transmitters, wondering if Mr. Macias found them all.

    Before I could open the bag, I wore gloves out of habit, so I wouldn''t contaminate the sample if I went for counter testing.

    Handling the bag carefully, I took out the first device. Feeling it within my fingers.

    Its shape, the sophisticated design, I felt my jaw drop¡­ My eyes popped out...

    How come?

    Those are high materiel quality transmitters, different from the handmade, low quality I planted in the Marchetti''s house.

    The entire weight of my frustration was thrown backward. Unbalancing the seat.

    A case of fingerprints forgery?

    A laugh surged out from the depth of satisfaction. Like a foul, a possessed, I couldn¡¯t surpass it.

    Oh, he tricked me?

    Did I got tricked by Mr. Macias? just like that...

    Then why? Why did he choose to print my fingerprints on a transmitter?

 CHAPTER ELEVEN: FORTUNE

    In my torturous wait, the teacher¡¯s explanation bleached the edge of my mental absorption. Never was my lectures long, heavy, dull, and uninteresting.

    The voice of my overthinking demons flew into doodles. Line over a line, mirroring an ongoing stream of anarchy.

    My gaze strayed a million times, licking the dumb phone''s dormant screen. A glimmer of hope, each glance, it grew. The screen will light at any second. Any second...

    Yet, what I got, a lightning bolt. An acute vibration traveled down my limbs, responding to a sudden pain from a bite on my tongue.

    I squeezed my eyes tight. Calming the rage.

    ¡°Ooh-la-la¡­ The big boy is not taking notes.¡±

    Seriously, she should stop doing this.

    "It has become harder to get hold of you these days."

    Like the wind, her interest shifted. "Are you avoiding us?" I felt it, as her hand stretched toward the dump phone. "Still using this trash?" and my palm sheltered the phone before her fingers had the chance to taste its surface.

    "Oh¡­" mind struck as she covered her mouth, acting dramatically, "it''s fate."

    "Cali."

    The call attracted unwanted attention. Nearby eyes stared, a dramatic show they thirst for.

    My invisible university life hugged me farewell since that day. Every move I took each uncivilized gesture of mine, entangled in the gossip complex web.

    The celebrity of the law department, I became, in the bad sense of the word.

    My effort to get out of the limelight. Sabotaged by fate, and by Cali.

    By hand, I drugged her into an isolated spot.

    Her back to the wall. Both of my arms above her head, trapping her: "What do you want?"

    Speechless, her eyes gaped at my face, my reflection in them, like a water surface, fragile and disturbed. A trace of fear, surprise, and guilt gushed, subtly.

    Rarely, I see her flustered. Rarely, my anger mirrored.

    I was venting to the wrong person at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

    The one who deserved my curses, the one who didn''t return my thirty-six calls. The one who left me drowning in the events of that fateful night.

    "What do you want?" I retreated. Cali was a storm of nuisance, annoyance, but this is unfair to her.

    Under the shock, still. Her frightened expression eased a little. I barely heard her voice.

    "I am sorry." The coldness on my palm cooled into my forehead.

    My eyelids dropped halfway, avoiding contact.

    She finally said while withdrawing: "Anna''s father is in a coma."

    The distance widened. "I thought you wanted to know this."

    In the next seconds, her silhouette was buried in the silence of the corridor¡¯s twist.

    I didn''t have much time to dwell. A faint vibration rang, disturbing the behavioral reflections of mine.

    The lit small screen, in a direct line of my view, displayed a name. Sadly, wasn''t the person I wished to contact.

    I clenched my fist, pressing the small phone under an overgrowing force. My resolve thickened. No other choice was left on my path.

    I must meet him face to face.

    ***

    The parking lot of the finance and economic department, or the wealthy department, before midday, always gets full. Here, you will find cars you can only see on TV commercials.

    Pedestrians such as myself abhor strolling in this area. Especially at this time of day.

    I stood near my favorite red car, vigilant, like a watchdog. I felt I turned. From the curious passengers quick, questionable glances.

    Running the overarching feeling of humiliation, I meditated on the rhythmic motion of my watch¡­ counting seconds¡­

    The concluding events of my life, lately, consisted of an alternate series of waiting and perks of surprises. Unpleasant ones were the most abundant.

    For I readied my agility for any form of unexpected situation.

    Here approaching my target, slowly, steadily walking.

    He didn''t notice me, perhaps preoccupied, as his steps showed a stain of reluctance.

    He never ceased checking the phone screen.

    Before he crossed the street, his head turned right, his lips smiled wide.

    No longer than two minutes, two girls joined him. The three of them outlined a circle while engaged in a chat. For like, for like, I started pulling my hair.

    No waiting anymore. I pushed for my first move to approach them, to see a third girl joining them. Rather a woman, she was slightly older.

    As I began to complain about the number of women he was acquainted with, the group finally headed towards the red car, at last.

    And, at last, he detected my presence. I enjoyed the effect of surprise on his face. Made me feel in control, in power for the upcoming meeting, especially when I was asking for a favor.

    "August Olvera."

    Maybe this was my first time talking to Olvera¡¯s genius hire and my father''s future target for business cooperation.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "Kieran?"

    Out of the control seat, he pushed me when he said my name. As familiar as old acquaintances.

    I was afraid it was all written on my face.

    "Mr. McCarthy?" The woman picked on it rather fast.

    In a silent glare, my focus bathed her. I didn''t appreciate her tone.

    "You are the new celebrity in the law department, it''s so hard to not know you."

    Salty¡­

    Probably, she was a long-distance relative of Mm. Marchetti.

    "This is Kieran McCarthy¡­" August playing peacemaker, introducing me to the other girls and mending the circulating, decayed wind.

    Pointless this prologue was, the suspended giggles at the edge of my vision told me so, like a clown in a cheap theater I felt, yet the second round was coming.

    "This is Madeline Fry, my assistant."

    His presenting hand flagged left. "This is Samantha Fry and her friend Lia Riggs."

    No romantic entanglement, I detected with any of the girls. Merely, the taint of friendliness, friendship leaked through the voice.

    The ringing of metal gripped my sensors, the car''s lights responded to the soft click, the doors lock clack free, obeying. "Don''t stand here wasting time, you only have one hour for lunch."

    Madeline urged and her sister, cousin, whatever already jumped next to the driver¡¯s seat.

    Humm, she doesn''t desire to associate with me, interesting¡­

    "I think I will take my lunch here."

    The door stuck half-open, Madeline''s flinching eyes stopped the time. "The campus cafeteria?"

    "Yes, the private one." August alluded.

    Oh please, I hoped for an invitation to the city''s finest restaurants.

    Emery is such a gourmet, and he succeeded in infecting me.

    Her gaze jerked between us, curves of her lips down in disagreement, then she glanced at her wrist: "I will come to get you in one hour."

    Like thunder, a cloud of dust left us alone. "Isn''t this your car?" I asked after we got our eardrums burst from the excessive engine noise. The answer waltzed far from my damaged hearing ability.

    The overall view from the cafeteria roof¡­

    Impressive.

    Long since I had this misconception about this place being reserved for professors. It shattered today.

    Even there were servers here¡­

    In my painful wait for the ordered meal, Mr. Genius, in front of me, didn''t waste an ounce of his time.

    A never-ending cadence of keyboard typing. A spread block note kissed by the tip of a pen, now and then. Each moment he lifted his eyelashes, I pretended to be surfing the moving tides of humans as they walked in and out of my perspective.

    Finally, the ring of plates graced our table.

    The serviette spread open. I watched every particular eating habit of his. From the little details of preparation to the first sample spoon on his tongue. Comparing them to the ones I witnessed at the dinner party.

    The way he held the silverware, the position of his hands, arms, the tilt of his head¡­ The refinement in his gestures.

    Such pig manners of mine, in contrast. Especially when I recalled my gluttonous monkey style at the dinner party.

    Did he notice it? Did he watch me eating like a monkey pig? Our tables were so close¡­

    I hope the matter of his unwanted engagement sealed the total of his focus.

    What bothered me further was the balanced attitude of the spoon, traveling up and down. Steady, nonchalant. Talking to me about his untroubled spirit during my visitation.

    That hint of surprise I drank on earlier withered. Only left a faint decayed scent, stinging my throat.

    No word stepped out of his mouth while eating. Perhaps, a display of decency in high society.

    Fools, they didn''t know what they were missing. Chatting around a full table, one of life''s top pleasures.

    With each implication of his eating habit, my boat of reminiscence drift. Probing for links.

    August Olvera¡­ I remembered him, easy-going between his friends, lifeless at the dinner party, nervous under my father''s interest, relieved as he rode the helicopter, and awfully cold during the trip.

    He called me by name... I missed the part when I became one of his closest acquaintances.

    To this level of closeness, we never interacted before...

    Furious, I bottled the itchy feelings. Even my intentionally piercing stares didn¡¯t affect him.

    His half-lowered eyelids trailed from the set of his order down to mine. Witnessing the outlook change in his eyes as the intensity of the blue increased.

    My head dropped towards my dish. Nothing was wrong. I just made sure that each sort of food was placed on a defined limit, in a symmetrical approach.

    On the left, soup drops rested on the edge of the plate, my plate. How come I didn¡¯t notice... A fresh napkin slid enough to wipe them clean and nice.

    The spoon on my right, the fork on my left, ready for the appetizer.

    My meal, the epitome of an arranged pattern. The view from above, matchless, reassuring. Like a critical photographer, I inspected it.

    Yet from where arose this bitterness?

    Something¡­ Missing, hard to pinpoint, inaccurate to define¡­ I felt it¡­ In my surroundings... under my skin.

    In this meeting, why am I the one standing on the edge of a slope?

    Why was he unruffled?

    Where was my satisfying, disturbed expression on his visage? As if aware I was coming after him?

    "Is the food not to your liking?"

    Mechanically, the bones of my neck cracked, my head motionless when I reached his sightline. As well as my voice deprived vitality:

    "I am here because of Jacob McCarthy."

    The last spoon of his meal perched aside. He cleaned the corner of his mouth, his hands. A server brought coffee. After one sip, he said: "I see," a sluggish timbre, all unconcerned. Unsurprised.

    "For an important matter," the fork fell on the floor, echoing an unpleasant noise.

    The corner of his eyes jerked slightly. "Sorry," I reverberated, sharp, "it was unintentional."

    "Sorry," he said, in there, less panic than I wished for. "I didn''t mean¡­¡± Perfect, my aggressive message reached him. He better says goodby for any false presumption about my character.

    ¡°Actually..., Jacob told me you will make contact."

    My endeavor of retrieving the fork ended with acute pain. My head knocked on the table border. Maybe the unbearable ache caused impaired hearing.

    "Kieran?" he leaped from his seat, hastily, a strange expression traced his face. "Are you ok?"

    "Jacob, what?" My hand soothed the impact of the hit and the confusion.

    Oh, aside from the unwanted stares I attracted, can I correct others¡¯ false assumptions about me with a clumsy, humiliating show? And after such a manly move.

    ¡°Jacob informed me of your incoming.¡±

    ¡°Today?¡± Still confused, but asked anyway for additional affirmation.

    ¡°Yes..., this morning.¡±

    ¡°Hmm,¡± that jerk, he didn¡¯t pick up my calls, ¡°Did he say something else?¡± August¡¯s face twisted in return for the question. I didn¡¯t appreciate the hazy look. Better close this subject sooner than him finding out the terrible communication skills of my family members.

    ¡°Then what I am supposed to do?¡± I rephrased my inquiry.

    ¡°We are, ah... Madeli... My assistant was supposed to brief you on your role but¡­¡±

    In his stuttering, a sense of relief rained over my heart, appeasing and ecstatic. At last, something I can start feasting on.

    Under my teeth, the first sample of the food was crushed. The taste, above terrible. I kept chewing, my eyes throwing animalistic sparks, though, why he allows his assistant such liberty.

    ¡°Sorry about her¡­ Earlier, she was kinda rude.¡±

    The savor of my meal grew tastier, with each crunch, with each bite.

    He sought to read me but failed: ¡°Good, I appreciate this kind of person.¡± I jammed another spoon in my mouth, making him wait while I observed.

    His face weighed on the apologetic scale over the intimidation, thus I doubled the stimulus: ¡°She makes it clear from the start that she didn¡¯t like me.¡±

    Truthfully, it saved me the effort to suck up to her. Like I did with Mm. Marchetti. What a bad memory.

    ¡°No, no¡­, it¡¯s not like that, not on a personal level. It¡¯s only because of work and reputation.¡±

    Everything in my mouth, I swallowed in one go. Felt it caught in my throat. Where were we going with this conversation?

    ¡°You know the rumors circulating about you, she thinks if I associate myself with you, at the moment, will cause my reputation to sink.¡±

    I reached for the water.

    Associating himself with me? What Jacob had told him?

    ¡°I will be frank, what I want to say, this is not the first time you have been accused of first-degree murder, then the charge dropped off suddenly.¡±

    I drank his appearance along with the cold water. My gaze straightened toward his, through the glass. The ash-pale brows, evermore relaxed, devoid of judgment or accusation. From my unfortunate recent and old experience, I couldn''t fathom his stand from what he said.

    Did he really care only about his reputation?

    One thing for sure, despite the polite attitude, the underneath bones of his smelled sordid.

    ¡°I am just a luckless individual, always existing in the wrong place at the wrong time.¡± Soon, I switched for defensive. ¡°I will work hard so your assistant stops fearing associating myself with you. Just dial Jacob¡¯s number on your phone, for me.¡±

    ****

    ¡°Hi... Dear, brother.¡±

    ¡°Huh, using someone else phone to contact me? Angry... I guess... Is that why you are spiting love words?¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    My silence lasted a fraction of a second, yet felt longer. From the other side, Jacob didn''t add a sound while I feared him hanging up the call: "You are awfully wordy today, is this the guilt speaking?" Before I pour out my heart.

 CHAPTER TWELVE : FAREWELL

    Every meticulous plan possessed an unpredicted pitfall.

    Hard enough, the decision to contact Jacob, starting a conversation with him, a struggle, had its virtue. It took me days to reason about the discourse opening. And now that I have no choice...

    My thumb pressed the phone''s surface, ending the call.

    I sighed, the cold air freshened by the boiled blood of my veins.

    Through the glass wall, my annoyance cooled atop the transparent surface, distorting my reflection into something hideous. At this instant, nothing tempting as much as venting my frustration.

    My eyes leaped above the vapor stain created by my breath. Escaping. Dispersing the anger. The campus spread wide beneath my sight.

    Like a teased ant colony, the students swarmed in every direction. Individually or in groups. The mundane routine of the campus daily life, I felt standing on the edges of its existence observing it. Being part of it and yet swimming outside its borders. The same as an outcast.

    The clock tick-tocks the passage of time. The afternoon classes were starting, though my appetite to participate waned.

    I shun my head away from the grand view, blocking the unwanted thoughts. This wasn¡¯t the best time for meditating on my life course or regretting it. In few steps away stood someone behind my back, waiting, watching...

    Arm crossed, back to the wall, August¡¯s face hardly reflected on the glass, rather a half distorted image of quiet and anticipation. His presence was imminent through the silently radiated questions.

    His gaze worked a hole in my back. Searching for his clarification.

    Before I turned to face him, I paralyzed each inch of my spread expression, cracked a thankful smile, then stepped down, swaying his phone between my fingers.

    He looked at my hand while I looked at his visage. Aside from the palpable irritation about the way I treated his phone, I could savor the confusion beneath the polite facade.

    Load over a load of doubt traced his manners. However, no word made its path to my ears.

    The tactfulness he was famous for saving me the pain of crafting a lie and remembering it.

    Not saying I am in a better position than him. Equal to the backseat spot of his, I was also walking in darkness.

    He caught the phone from my grasp. Along with a few answers about the disturbing relationship I have with my brother.

    I wonder¡­ What did he think?

    What had Jacob told him? His refined behavior? The purpose behind this prearranged meeting? And above all of them, Am I going to play assistant for the Olvera boy?

    Only one thing was certain, for me,¡­ Not only the huge, intentional miscommunication between us, brothers. On the ground level, Olvera and I were chess pieces for Jacob''s game. Or so I thought, at that moment, forgetting that August was merely courteous, and everything but na?ve.

    We exchanged pleasantries. I tried to rival his politeness as much as my face muscles'' flexibility allowed me.

    The two of us stood at the fringes of curiosity. Plenty of explanation was needed. Yet no one of us waived to breach the hurdle of being open.

    I left him unsatisfied, on several levels. Arms crossed on his chest. He couldn¡¯t hold back the questionable stares tinting his gaze. Perhaps this was what gave my artificial smile the texture of authenticity. Nonetheless, I was on the losing side. While he glimpsed at an obnoxious margin of my private life, I got nothing in comparison.

    I remember in our brief conversation, the hum below his lips, between the repetitive apologies, the scent of malignity oozed slightly. When he mentioned: ¡°This is not the first time you have been charged with first-degree murder¡­¡±

    What did he mean by bringing my past?

    A threat?

    I wasn¡¯t surprised regarding his acquaintance with my forgone misfortune. In the end, his family, an ancient resident of my hometown. Digging up dirt under each other''s houses, a tradition we inherited from our ancestors. To a point that it became imprinted on our DNA.

    The cafeteria entrance merged into my sightline. Still, my last steps halted at an interesting inspiration. I looked backward, checking if August followed right behind my trail. Luckily, he didn¡¯t. If so, I had probably accused him of working with Milford Macias and being a part of the ploy that meant to destroy me then my family.

    Such charges needed concrete evidence, especially when my father was betting on him.

    Yet, in all those days, I couldn¡¯t wash up that warm meeting in front of the police station the morning of my discharge. The red car nearly knocked me on purpose. I couldn¡¯t uncover an explanation for it but August''s involvement with the dangerous man. And¡­ And Jacob too¡­

    I gritted my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut, chasing the idea. In this lightless salvage, Madeline''s smirking lips twirl and twist. The sound of the red car engine emerged from afar, waking me up.

    I turned to the exit, wearing a mask of nonchalance. However, the voice reached me from behind: ¡°Is everything ok?¡±

    Unsuccessful to crack another smile, I didn¡¯t turn back. My hand danced in the air, saluting and fleeing. Cursing in my heart for he had seen me while thanking him with my tongue for the meal.

    The next contact with the sunrays was unpleasant, like everything on this day. I used my hand to fend for myself from the excessive light. It wasn¡¯t enough. I moved my head to the other side, how I wished I didn¡¯t.

    The first thing my gaze fell upon manifested in the profile of the mean lady of earlier. Miss Madeline Fry. Our eyes were hooked in solid connection, created by fate. No wonder I heard the red car engine from a moment ago.

    Her hair played by the gentle breeze scattered behind her back. She took off the sunglasses, then stared at me. intensely. I had nothing but to smile and wave.

    ¡°I know it, the two of you are familiar with each other.¡± The persistent voice that didn¡¯t wish to leave me alone, carried from the rear.

    ¡°No, we are not.¡± I denied it, however, it sounded just like a confirmation.

    Before she reached us, I withdrew as fast as I could. Using the afternoon lectures, I am going to skip as an excuse.

    A minute later, I heard the engine waking up, yet the red car didn¡¯t overrun my slow marching. It was the only exit from the cafeteria parking lot. What took them so long? I was dying to turn and discern what kept them. Did August say something to Madeline? Or vice versa¡­

    In the end, the car never left its place all the time it took me to move away from the building. As if they were waiting for me to get out of sight.

    My unproductive appointment with August ruined my mood. The already awful day descended into despair, sucking up my whole enthusiasm for the next month. Unless something soul-lifting will occur, I feared my bumper would shatter down. Sooner. At that time, I will transform into someone I don¡¯t know.

    Nothing but a purposeless stroll might liberate the negative tension. So I walked and walked, aimless, blind. Throughout the hidden paths of the vast campus. Encountering a myriad of faces. Countless laughs, clamors... Most of the individuals and groups didn¡¯t recognize me, nor did I. It was a blessing of its own unique taste. How much I missed the lost time of being nameless.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Loomed on the horizon, the law department. I hesitated, my advance paused. As a bunch of familiar figures made their way outside the building, I assumed the lecture had ended.

    I kept my distance, and my gaze focused on them. Cali¡¯s silhouette possessed my interest. She walked alone between the groups of acquaintances. Head almost down. A half cheerful smile perked her mouth whenever a salute, half-heartedly, was thrown at her.

    Cali glorified me as a celebrity, Cali that covers everything behind a set of stupid actions and silly smiles. Abashed, frightened, she appeared, earlier, under my angry gaze.

    I pondered what my expressions looked like at that moment?

    Akin to a white paper, my mind was blank¡­ My heart was empty. Numb, the emotions seeped from my body. Pity, anxiety, sympathy, anger¡­ They splattered on the soil under my feet. The roots of the mulberry tree supporting my hand absorbed them all. Only guilt remained, for it was not yet liquified. I shook it off right after. Just then, I felt pure.

    In a fresh garment, I strode, leaving the campus'' ground behind. Of course, to the nearest bus station, I usually use.

    Even while I was waiting to ship myself inside this fish box. I felt weightless.

    Even a vague shadow that kept crawling after me, I felt stressless.

    Its specific details, its constant calls, melted within the spring breeze. I also start hallucinating a calling voice amidst the murmurs of the drifting sounds. My head must be playing tricks on me, avenging the consecutive traumas it received today. I thought¡­

    Until¡­

    A hand tugged at my shoulder¡­ It was a light touch as if it was bestowed by a ghost or any other immaterial creature¡­ Seeking my attention.

    Hastily, I pulled off my arm, avoiding the contact, albeit the familiar tone that floated with it: ¡°Kieran¡­¡± A tone that I knew very well, but I didn¡¯t hear for ages. My heart skipped, a mixture of fear and surprise gushed into my blood. My head pursued the source, automatically.

    Among the strange visages surrounding me, I identified the caller in a flash.

    ¡°Anna?¡±

    There were much more words I desired to add, but the shock crippled my vocal cords. Only her name I could articulate.

    ¡°Can we talk?¡± She said, after all this time of separation...

    That pale color and that tired expression of her vanished as if they had never existed. The red eyes and the torrential tears that threaded her face were nowhere to be seen. Wasn¡¯t her father, recently, in a comatose state, as Cali mentioned?

    My eloquence always lets me down in these kinds of situations. What I am supposed to say? Should I ask about her state? Her family? Her father¡®s health? Or act like a jerk and ignore her¡­ Because¡­ Because of what happened, because of what she said about me. Because she didn¡¯t give me a chance to defend myself. Didn¡¯t she cut our relationship selfishly on her own?

    The struggle between my pride, my emotions, my consideration as a gentleman didn¡¯t last long. It fragmented below the light pressure of one word: ¡°Please.¡±

    How awkward¡­ This meeting with each other, on this day. It seemed like it had happened years ago. In the far past. And here we gather again to laugh about the trivial mistakes of our youth.

    I didn¡¯t touch the menu, the food in my belly had yet to be digested. I only asked for a cup of tea. Whereas Anna ordered a cheesecake and of course the orange juice.

    From the bus station to this teahouse, the silence was our sole way of interaction. We exchanged questions through quick stares, insignificant gestures, everything available except actual words.

    At this instant, I felt I was the only one who deserved answers. A lot of answers. About the break-up message, about ignoring my calls, about her mean confession to the police¡­ About the rumors tarnishing my reputation spreading on the campus, about everything, including this sudden meeting.

    I watched her visage, brazenly. Flustered, she was, and I needed her to be. How cute the way she pretended she wasn¡¯t bothered.

    The bags under her eyes dried, the color of her cheeks more lively. She became a million times more gorgeous than before. What happened? Was Travis a better boyfriend?

    The mere thoughts of this idea burn me up.

    Despite the cheesecake and the orange juice being placed in front of her, she didn¡¯t reach any of them. They were just a legitimate justification to bow her head and avoid my gaze. Nevertheless, she failed to hide the tension in her fingers.

    Surely, she depleted all of her courage in favor of this meeting. Maybe it was what caused my anger, and railing to waver.

    What do I want more? Thus, I decided to crush this cold anxiety of hers. ¡°Anna, let¡¯s stop this wrong fight and get back together.¡±

    ....

    "This is a great opportunity to solve the misunderstanding."

    Her hand hit the table, and my heart skipped a bit. ¡°My name is not Anna.¡± She screamed, attracting a startled audience to our table. ¡°My name is Hanna, Hanna Marchetti.¡±

    In a full, fake calm state, I gazed upon her face, my eyes wide, roaming her expressions. Then shifting towards the background, glaring at the curious faces trying to prey on us. There was a silence that needed to be cut through.

    ¡°The letter ¡®H¡¯ in French is silent. That is why I can pronounce your name as Anna instead of Hanna.¡± It was the same sentence I had written to her in one of our exchanged letters. After that, over and over again, I repeated it.

    Her head rocked up and down, with two angry eyes, parroting exactly what I had said. Then the silence landed anew.

    She didn¡¯t dare to look at me again while I began questioning the purpose of this meeting if we were only going to argue. However, my assumption was swept by her sad tone: ¡°I believed you at first.¡± she attempted a glance at my face but it was a mere quick peek.

    ¡°I meant the story of the silent letter ¡®H¡¯ in French, about the French language and its romanticism, also about other things, a lot of things¡­¡± She sighed. "But I am Hanna Marchetti,¡± she hesitated. ¡°Me and Anna that you always call for¡­ are different individuals.¡±

    Lately, the knives on my back, life threw at me, grew in number, while the old ones reached a deeper level.

    But Wait, this speech didn¡¯t match Anna¡¯s. The reasoning behind it, it especially matched her dear mother.

    My dear Anna, why¡­ Why do you believe in whatever the liars say about me? And you are one of the closest people in my life. Why all these accusations, the blaming stares, and the cruel words?

    Only, at this moment, I understood that the verdict of our separation was a fracture that can never be mended.

    My dear Anna, you didn¡¯t leave me a second choice. I had given you all the excuses, all the justifications, all the reasons I could uncover along my thinking path to explain your harsh conduct towards me.

    I believed you needed some time to dissolve the painful events occurring in your life. I said it''s okay; you were only tired physically, drained mentally because of the grief and sorrow. I said they manipulated you; they drew my person in a picture full of lies and deceit to separate us¡­

    What did you want more?

    What did you want more than this meeting that required all your courage just to curse at me?

    My dear Anna¡­ You are breaking my heart.

    ¡°How is your father? I heard he is in a coma.¡±

    My dear Anna... I am finally convinced that this is our time for Goodby ¡­

    She didn¡¯t answer. Her eyes wangled far from me. Escaping from something.

    Did you expect the bullshit that you said about me, to the police, to your friends, to the whole university, will vanish? ¡°They have already chosen a replacement for him at the firm.¡± Like a handful of drops of water in an arid desert? ¡°The news isn¡¯t official yet.¡±

    I will teach you that in this life there will be consequences to everything you will do or say.

    While listening, she took the fork, tormenting the strawberry above the cheesecake. Her reluctance to eat proved her understanding. She rapidly picked up the significance of my words.

    It seemed her mother told her the truth, the other side of the truth. The upside-down truth.

    ¡°I know you are the one behind what was happening to my father.¡±

    The strawberry fell out of the plate, rolled in my direction.

    ¡°Really?¡± I said, my heart was focused on the red-colored fruit getting near my cup. The pieces of nausea in my stomach began complaining.

    I shifted my eyes to Anna, calming down the beast inside of me.

    From below came her glares. ¡°My mother told me everything.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°You poisoned him¡­¡± She took out a paper from her purse. The speed it took her to get it out made me think it was prepared beforehand. ¡°I have evidence.¡±

    How much I was familiar with this paper. It confirmed the result of a blood and hair analysis for toxins. The result proved that Mr. Marchetti was exposed to a slow poisoning process, explaining the deterioration in his health condition.

    How much I was familiar with this paper. How not, when I used the same paper to blackmail Mm. Marchetti.

    I plunged into Anna''s sight, filled with anger and hate, and said frankly: ¡°This paper proves that Mr. Marchetti was poisoned, but it didn¡¯t prove that it was me who poisoned him.¡±

    ¡°That''s why you are a monster¡­¡± The scowls kept coming. ¡°But what did Liam do to you so you had to kill him that way,¡± she paused, the words failing her, for an instant: ¡°what my father did to you so you make him suffer this much? Didn¡¯t he help and support you in every way he could?¡±

    At last, I found out the reason behind this meeting, the meeting that drank every drop of Anna''s courage. I know her. She could never make peace within herself, and those questions roamed the backyard of her mind.

    That is why she chose to face me despite the high risk.

    My dear Anna¡­ That¡¯s why I think you are incredible...

    On your own, you have decided to face your fears, to face this monster in front of you¡­ To get your truth¡­

    You made me change my mind like always you do¡­ I won¡¯t invent some obscure lies or create hard conditions to punish you. For your mistrust. For your wrong accusations. But sometimes the truth can be the worst kind of punishment.

    ¡°Do you want to know from where your dear mother got her hands on these toxins?¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡± She shouted. Bringing unwanted attention again...

    Sparks dashed from her eyes, molded from hate and anger. Her breath felt weighty. Though she can never burn the truth with denial. This mute reaction persisted. In return, I placed a sealed envelope between us. it was also prepared beforehand, for another reason.

    My index pressed the rough paper, moving it subtly in her direction. No explanation was needed. I let her intuition work what was concealed inside. I left the choice to open it for her.

    My dear Anna, this decision was so hard for me, after you open this secret and you will, because I know you, your life will never be the same. Aren''t you the courageous one who confronted me to ascertain the veracity?

    I assure you this isn¡¯t a punishment, not my punishment anyway¡­

    She gasped for air, not once, not twice¡­ her eyes blinking between me and the letter under my finger. Something in them burned hard, something akin to challenge, anger, despise...

    As much as my satisfaction scale overweighted, as much as my pity for her skyrocketed.

    The glittering in her eyes morphed into a drop of tear before it deserted the prison of her lashes. She collected her things and stormed out. It goes without saying that she had left me a painful token on my cheek that will last for a few days.

    The sun, wearing a red dress, touched the horizon. The faces in the shop changed over and over, yet my teacup was still half full.

    The server cleaned the table empty. ¡°Bad break up?¡± He asked.

    My absent-mindedness straightened into a partly disoriented concentration. My face relaxed into a pleasant smile, then I left.

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN: KINSHIP

    I strolled leisurely, appreciating the growing darkness of night. Satisfied¡­ maybe?  The expanding silence magnified the solitude I felt. Half of me was regretful, the other half¡­ felt to a certain degree¡­ Liberated.

    The sunlight deviated into a shade of an orange-yellow, mirroring the new balance created inside me. Step after step, in the direction of the port, I walked towards my next rendezvous point for another battle.

    Numb, I was from the earlier clash of emotions, the consequence of what I had set myself up against, next, swallowed by overwhelming hunger, perhaps a rare kind of emptiness.

    Nothing transcended the importance of satiating them.

    My vision turned vague, the obscure touch of night play with its accuracy, yet that dark green uniform seized my undivided interest. Never will I confuse that shade of green, never. Once I bore it, not long ago, in my glorious days of the past.

    As the distance between us thinned, my pace sped. Restless. My chest heaved, simultaneously, in nervous excitement and budding discomfort, announcing my return to reality. I clenched my fists, restraining any foolish rush. In the end, my next battle was up against the embodiment of my grandfather''s prestige.

    From afar, he stood motionless, his hands inside his pockets, completely defenseless. He looked at me with familiar indifference, accompanied by some kind of hidden pity, like always.

    How many times did I visualize my retaliation against him? Confronting him now, why was my mind blank? Why were my arms frozen? Oh God, where were all those insults and blames that I spent days preparing for him?

    I halted at a safe distance. We exchanged stares in flowing quietness. Lasted for¡­ an eternity. In this world of ours, lacking proper communication, the only noise came from the outside.

    One of us needed to speak, one of us must weave the first threads for proper communication. Or we will stand like this the whole night.

    A procession of trucks cut this everlasting ritual. My ego found solace in surveying them. Or maybe it was an excuse to escape his gaze. Then one of Jacob''s hands landed on my shoulder, freaking me. ¡°Let''s change the location.¡±

    The profile of his face was drenched in shadows. I didn¡¯t see how he approached me, and just because of the impact of the shock, I followed him like an obedient dog.

    Shame on me, I can only be mean to girls? I deserved more than one slap.

    In our quest for a private place, my observational quirk woke up, shutting down the shame sensation. Finally, relevant questions began popping around in every corner of my head. Why did he choose this place to meet? Why this time of day precisely?

    His back was in front of me. Not slow, nor fast, he kept the lead. The wrinkles of his uniform changed through the alteration in his movements. On this path, I spotted several cameras covering the passages. In the first few moments, I questioned Jacob''s nonchalance. Why did he come here wearing his uniform?

    Wasn''t he afraid of the surveillance system, registering the prints of his face while wearing the military dress?

    Left, right, we zigzagged across the narrow paths created by huge containers, cargo, heavy lifters¡­ He seemed to have a destination in mind. And yet, my insight tumbled over another doubt. Why was he so familiar with these port passages? As if he knew them as if he was a native dweller of this ever changeable maze.

    Into a safe sanctuary, our presence got concealed. Once down, the noise of the exterior world drove to a degree of extinction. The wave of polluted sea punished the human-made stairs where we stood, the only sound deserving an appreciation.

    Beneath my feet, I appraised the blue water. Mesmerized by the repetitive motion of its tiny waves, I squatted down, stretching my hand to touch it. The tips of my fingers became wet, also my mental restrictions. Between each inhale and exhale sneaked out pieces of frustration venting my upside-down turned life, my upside-down turned plans, mixing with failure on my features. Then the wrong words left my mouth without evaluation:

    ¡°You planned this from the start.¡± Another wave, high enough to wash my fingers. ¡°Have you planned to frame me since the day you offered me to accompany you in the helicopter?¡±

    My back was to him, making the confrontation easier. Still, waiting for the response that didn¡¯t come, the urge to punch him flared inside my heart, stronger than before. I knew any physical conflict with him, right now, right here, will end up in my drowning. However, I made up my mind that being buried within this melancholic water wasn¡¯t such a terrible death.

    Then, in a click of a second, my flying wrist was trapped under pressure threatening to break it. My quick blow blocked midair before reaching its goal. Jacob stood one step ahead of me, one step above me, ¡°It wasn¡¯t out of the pureness of your heart, you only wanted someone to replace you in babysitting Olvera that¡¯s why you offered to take me with you at the same time you were escorting him. You planned this all cleverly, so every move I made falls into your desired scheme.¡±

    "You didn¡¯t answer my calls, because you know that I will go after August, in order to facilitate the process of contacting you. While you told August that I will be the one to reach him first to start my duties."

    Jacob''s expressions, unmoved, akin to static sculpture. Full of prestige and reverie. While the pain possessed my face, twisting parallel to the force, he applied to secure my wrist. Pressing hard in one go, then releasing slowly. Enjoying the procedure, he kept testing the extent of my endurance.

    I was already aware of my declining fitness. This interaction made Jacob aware of it too, and soon my father will be. On my next visit home, if there ever will be a next one, I will need to be ready for an upcoming lengthy lecture. But in this instant¡­ ¡°You didn¡¯t care how risky the situation you let me in.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about? What kind of risk I got you in. ¡± He didn¡¯t release my arm until he was certain of my neutralized attack, ¡°I admit, even temporarily, I hated playing guard to the Olvera boy, yet the one who decided this job for you wasn¡¯t me.¡± His voice was torn by a sort of resentment. It felt weak, nevertheless present. This was our first exchange of coherent sentences and the longest.

    Even so, If my glare could be translated into a dagger, he would be pierced by thousands of cuts.

    "I don''t understand where all this anger comes from? I bet this would not be your reaction if I was Alfred." He questioned, and he sounded so damn serious.

    Anger melted into hesitation, I stood aghast, fixing his grave expressions under the low light, digesting what he said. No wonder we didn''t talk much. He appeared disappointed as if I had let him down while we weren¡¯t even on the same page¡­ How come Alfred became the center of this dispute?

    As always, he didn''t wait enough for the counter-attack, just turned and climbed up the stairs. The flash of his quick gaze held the shining melancholy of disappointment. Yet he paused after two steps, then turned back, settling for a watch from above, like a judge or priest wanting a confession from a wrongdoer.

    In those few moments, my legs hardly moved to climb up the stairs with him for he seemed extra intimidating being at a higher level than me, even lifting my head to confront him or thinking straight about what he meant after those ambiguous words of his, they consumed all my courage. Leaving me speechless.

    In the end, I chose to stand motionless where I was, nearest to the tinted blue water. Arranging the storm of thoughts breaking into my mind. I was afraid he would leave before I would sort anything out in my head, hence I blathered the first sentence that came to my lips. ¡°What does Alfred have to do with this matter? Regardless, Alfred is smarter than forsaking his little brother just to shake off an unpleasant task.¡±

    For him, I must have sounded like a croaking crow. Considering the pronounced syllables were delayed as slowly as I could speak them, to gain as much as time I will get for my reflection to sort things out.

    His weight shifted to one of his legs, his head turned upfront, allowing the shadows of the upcoming night to eat his face. I sensed the thin bridge of communication between us crumpling, gradually. How could it not when the anger and blame were the only things that supported it.

    ¡°I was framed for a first-degree murder,¡± I screamed out of fear of his egocentric departure. ¡°Did you know that?¡± At least, He stopped, our gaze aligned again, but only silence birthed with this connection.

    ¡°Yes, I know.¡±

    The mysterious touch I perceived from his composed tone sent a chill over my body. It was an ominous feeling, like an electric shock, like a lightning strike, concealing a vague feeling of pity directed at me. And with an accumulated control, he echoed. ¡°Of course, I know... Everybody knows.¡± I can tell that those words were chewed hard and long before he kicked them out as he exhaled.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    A strange calm spread around the edges, whereas the sound of small waves hitting the stony stairs slimmed. The sun disk was finally swallowed by the night. My heart skipped beats, so insignificant, I felt compared to where Jacob stood. I understood what he implied by "everybody knows." Certainly, Not my friends and colleagues, not the campus, not even the whole city. What he meant by ¡®everybody knows.¡¯ was one of my worst fears being incarnated.

    ¡°Did you know why General McCarthy stayed put while you were causing him disgrace here and there to selfishly feed your own ego?¡± A long pause trailed behind the last tone, seeking, a justification, an apology¡­ I didn¡¯t know¡­

    When he confirmed  I had nothing to deflect or defend myself with, he resumed, his tone dressed yet again a letdown timber. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter anymore,¡± hand fanned nonchalance, back turning once more, legs climbing up the stairs, ¡°August Olvera''s wellbeing is your responsibility now.¡±

    Trapped between shame and rage, I bit my lower lip. I hated the fact, him, retreating triumphed, obtaining what he set himself to get while leaving me wallowing in the despair of my naive faith in our brotherhood.

    ¡°I know it.¡± I yelled for him to hear me, bloating a mouthful of sarcasm in my tone, ¡°You planned all of this to get me to babysit the Olvera boy in your place.¡± Yet it was useless, as he continued moving coolly, indifferent to my retaliation.

    transforming my anger into grenades blowing up without a prior thought. ¡°You always hold yourself high and mighty above odious conduct, forever detesting and dining Alfred methods for you always said he is a calculative jerk. Aren¡¯t you using those same methods? such hypocrisy¡­¡±

    Jacob''s elegant retreat came to an abrupt halt. A spectrum of flames danced across his eyes as he fixed me with a side look, it quickly subsided under strong self-restraint. I know what ticked him most, nothing successful like motioning Alfred then comparing them together in one sentence.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you the worst kind of hypocrites? Dating the daughter of a traitor?'''' To my surprise, He closed the distance that separated us, in a blink of an eye. Smoke floated with his words, generating a surge of gooseflesh beneath my clothes. In front of this tsunami of rage, strings of dread and stress played their symphony on my face. I wished I could run, as fast as I could, as far as I will be able to. But, how? When the ocean one a step behind my back, thus I resigned to take my last breath.

    My eyelids locked my vision, I anticipated him pushing me to the water, it won¡¯t cost him much effort for I was neutralized by fear. Yet that light tap didn¡¯t reach my body. The next second I opened my eyes to check on him. I was greeted by the silhouette of Jacob bathing in the glassy light of the sky. He looked like the spirit of an old warrior looking down on me with reverence. Discarding my pitiful attempt to provoke him. Even the cold shine of the moon made him seem as if he had risen alone from a fierce battle.

    I did not dare to stare much longer, I quickly tried to retreat unaware of the nonavailability of space under my feet. Then the unbalance of my weight dragged me into a fall.

    Similar to the anticipated push that didn¡¯t come, the taste of the polluted salty water didn¡¯t reach my skin. While I was suspended in the air, Jacob''s hand holding my arm helped in restoring my balance. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect that you will be so stupid to run yourself straight into their trap. If you had someone to blame, blame your own inability to understand your circumstances.¡±

    As I crouched beside him, grateful for his help but never unmindful of his slander. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to lose the small trust I had built using the Marchetti, however, I didn¡¯t expect I would be framed with a first-degree murder. I didn''t expect this level of boldness¡±

    ¡°Such a level of boldness? From a traitor? Is there anything more bold?¡± Jacob''s tone carried an apparent sarcasm, ¡°No matter how much secrets you divulge to them for their trust, as long as you hold the McCarthey in your name they will use you, but never trust you.¡± I expected every bit of Jacob''s reaction. I thought he would scoff at my naivety, endlessly.  I thought he would turn back, climb up the stairs and never look back again, ..

    Though¡­

    ¡°They were probably using you as much as you were thinking that you are tricking them.¡± He added...

    Though¡­

    I never expected him to push me into the cold water.

    It tasted like oil, except it was salty, cold, and filthy. The unforeseen impact caused dullness in my perception, also a serious sluggishness in my movements. The duration that took me to recover the control was enough for Jacob to reach the level ground and walk away.

    My clothes weighed heavier on the dry land, colder under the breeze. Should I be angry, should I be regretful? At that moment, I didn¡¯t feel anything, only a vague numbness, in my mind and on my body.

    When I reached the level ground, the salty water drew a long mark commemorating my footpath. It got thinner and drier as I pushed on. Maybe I was faster than I imagined. But that green uniform beneath the moonlight looked darker. Both of his hands rested in his pockets, Jacob''s steps were slow. Slow as though he was waiting for me to catch up.

    The warmth in my body was sucked up, every inch of my body began shivering, only out of the stubbornness I kept going. He was still a few steps ahead of me. However, I was close enough to hear him.  ¡°If I didn¡¯t send someone to get you out of the interrogation room, what were you going to do?¡±

    ¡°I planned my own alibi.¡± I refused to let him claim credit for my release, thus my voice echoed loud, compared to the miserable state I was in.

    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± his head leaned to the side, allowing the flash of mockery on his face, an ambiguous visibility, ¡°the McCarthy control of this city is very limited, didn¡¯t you expect whoever orchestrated the play will temper with whatever evidence you have planned and forge others that condemn you as long as you were tied in the interrogation room?¡± Then he straightened forward, rectifying ¡°But I guess Evelyn won¡¯t stand still¡­¡±

    I rolled my eyes, somehow he became extremely talkative today. All critical and preachy. A rare conduct from a stoic individual. On the other hand, the smug face with golden glasses and all know it smiles emerged over a white background within my imagination. Was Mr. Macias a friend or foe? He was too wicked to pass as a friend.

    ¡°Anyway, you should thank August for pulling some strings to get you out of the interrogation room quickly.¡±

    This sentence startled me as if Jacob was aware of what was on my mind. Perhaps he felt guilty hence he is sharing information? Or he wanted me to see how much the Olvera boy is generous and willing to help, so I will gladly become his lapdog? Did he still consider me the gullible five-year-old boy whom he used to bully and scare?

    Mistaken was Jacob if he thought that I will be grateful. In the end, thanks to August I got myself a far superior wolf to be alert of.

    Hum¡­ right now, I had nothing to fight with. Nothing to ask more for. I will just gulp up the insult for the sake of the big picture of that day starting to reveal itself. Connecting loose ends, One thread at a time¡­

    While we walked, the silence shrouded us along with the darkness of night. The noise of workers and machines reduced, Jacob reverted to his self-reserved mood, thus the only sound reverberated from our steps. I couldn''t muster the courage to ask him for further clarification. How much I craved to find out the extent of his insight into me and Evelyn''s plan? Since he motioned her name, he must have an inkling of what we had set ourselves up.

    Whereas, It was easy to deduce from where he got the details about my relationship with Anna. Certainly, August''s assistant ran her mouth without reserve.

    The cold finally reached my brain, freezing my every sense, confined me into a world limited to my own thoughts.

    I didn¡¯t notice Jacob stopping, thus I crashed into his back. Confused, I suspected something related to the uniform he wore must have caused this abrupt stop. Since we were at the port exit.  ¡°What?¡± in my question sipped a bit of delirium.

    ¡°I heard Marchetti is in a coma.¡± His voice expressed some kind of revelation, opening a subject I wished to explore, albeit not in this unfavorable condition, ¡°was it your doing?¡± His head inclined slightly to the side so he could examine my reaction through the corner of his eye. He didn¡¯t wait for my confirmation or denial, just believed whatever it was threaded by his logic, ¡°What if your girlfriend finds out?¡±

    Again he didn¡¯t wait and moved up ahead, preventing me to sense the pity soiling the apathetic image of a solemn soldier.

    It always marveled me, Jacob''s personality and character, was he cruel, was he caring?. Was he selfish, was he generous? It was a mystery that had yet to be solved. He certainly didn¡¯t appreciate showing a lot of emotions, especially positive ones. However, sometimes the mercy in his heart transcended his perfect image of cold indifference.

    At this instant, as his profile strayed away further and further, eaten by the solitude of shadows. A wave of warmth climbed my skin, its source was a shame hidden deep in my heart, a disgrace directed at myself, at my thoughts and suspicions. How could I doubt him being part of the accusation ploy, while he didn''t need to. He could force me to be the next babysitter for the Olvera boy with a mere glare?

    Jacob¡¯s silhouette paused again, then the entire of his frame turned back. Face to face. Kind of creepy sensation nipped at my heart. Akin to the pride of being acknowledged. The distance between us wasn¡¯t considered long or small. Though because of my sorry state, I was afraid I won¡¯t be able to hear him in this rare instant of us transcending the communication barrier that was assembled over years.

    The elation encouraged a sudden rush to get closer. My legs strode, one after another, thirsty for whatever he was going to say.

    ¡°You have become a target now?¡±

    My teeth ground, desperately fighting the cold. Yet my arms involuntarily crossed tightly, restraining the bit of the fading heat. I probably sounded like a clown, despite it rung so smug in my imagination. ¡°I suspected that I would become a target since I decided to return home for the holiday.¡±

    A long gaze of a complete doubt thrown in a straight direction. I received its weight on my chest. The hit was heavy as well as it broke down the feeble bridge connecting us. Demanding a convincing answer to the following question: If you were aware of being targeted how come you let yourself into an obvious trap? Albeit he avoided to voice it out loud.

    The irony halted the conversation flow. Wrong move. If it was Alfred or Evelyn, they have already started a subtle interrogation to estimate the accuracy of my words. But Jacob wasn¡¯t Alfred or Evelyn. Our foreign intimacy here ended its boundaries.

    Clueless to whatsoever happening behind me, the awkwardness consumed the remains of my dignity. Afraid to utter another unfit sentence, I adhere to the closed lips solution. Allowing the silence authority a comeback. The background noise of the engines governed our world, anew. The problem¡­ It got louder and louder as if we were on a highway, or a car was going to hit us.

    The shadows wrapping Jacob¡¯s silhouette brighten gradually with an approaching faded light. Parallel to the background noise. My heart tightened, I turned around. The blast as I faced the flashlight sealed my vision.

    Is this a hit and run?

    Are they going to kill us?

    How did they learn of the meeting place and time?

    It was too late to run away, however, my arms automatically shielded my face. Equal to death cry, the impact of air, the blow of the engine paused at a needle width from my body.

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN : AFFIANCED

    I hit hard the vehicle¡¯s bonnet, my eyes burned with rage. Because of the tinted windscreen, I couldn¡¯t see the driver. Still, I recognized the car. The famous red car almost knocked me down for like million times.

    The alerting whistle triggered. The driver¡¯s anger showed from the continuous repeating sound, satisfying my aggression. Since I didn¡¯t take off my hands, the car started moving, causing my legs to retreat. I felt the speed accelerating, hence I lifted my arms and stepped aside.

    Arousing my suspicions, the red car decelerated towards Jacob, then halted. The driver shifted its position so the door to the driver''s side propped in front of Jacob.

    Even with the dim light and this sophisticated piece of metal separating us, I could see Jacob opening the door. But before he rode, he said from over the car roof: ¡°Do not take the new assignment to heart, think of it as guarding the life of Evelyn''s fianc¨¦.¡±

    The next thing I heard was the car engine squeezing the trauma of my new-founded shock.

    Evelyn''s fianc¨¦?

    The noise grew far away in a blink of an eye, a complete darkness surrounded me anew. The silence shocked out my breath, my mind, and my beliefs.

    Who is Evelyn''s fianc¨¦?

    Whom he was referring to?

    The cold returned nibbling at the periphery of my limbs, then a sneeze followed up. I felt strange fatigue emerging within my soul, turning my thoughts into a dance of fog. Wherever I search for a concept, it turned into a mirage.

    My arms hugged my chest, shielding the last drops of warmth. I still have to walk to the nearest urban area. Maybe there, I will be lucky to catch a cap.

    The world began to spin over my head with each step. The earth''s gravity somehow became strong, pulling down my legs to the point it became so hard to walk. So hard to stand.

    I approached the nearest wall, leaning on it. At the next moment, I couldn¡¯t keep up the standing position. My back slid gradually over the wall until my body reached the sitting position.

    It was the periphery of this industrial zone, outside of big transporter vehicles that pass now and then, there were no caps, no bus going by this highway at this late hour.

    I checked my phone several times. Earlier, it was damaged by water. Each time, a glimmer of hope surged in my heart that it would work. However, even the faint screen won¡¯t turn on.

    Evelyn''s fianc¨¦¡­ who is Evelyn''s fianc¨¦?

    Who is Emery Cromwell?

    The accumulating moments of lethargy and inertia cause my conscience a moment of drowning, one after another, then emerged again, albeit weaker and chaotic. In the end, the dullness reached its winning point, forcing me to resign and take a superficial nap sectioned by rambling nightmares.

    How much time passed, I didn¡¯t know¡­ The faded calling voice merged with my dark dreams. In my imagination, it had no face, no name.

    I felt a hand on my forehead, cold, and wet. The light touch alerted the survival instinct of mine. My head jerked away, avoiding it, yet my eyelids refused to open. They were so heavy.

    The light touch changed position and transformed into light slaps on my cheek. Finally waking me up.

    The obscurity still lingering in my vision, refusing to break out. The pain of cracked bones resurfaced into my awareness, leaving me wishing to stay unconscious forever.

    ¡°Kiran, are you with me? Can you get up?¡±

    Despite the strange voice taking a clearer tone, its owner remained anonymous.

    So much force was needed to lift my body, standing. Ache everywhere. one hand leaning on the wall the other, fending, keeping this stranger at a safe distance.

    My balance fell apart in the first attempt to take a step.  I was certain of my collapse. In letting my body under the mercy of air gave me such a relief. I didn¡¯t need to make more effort to stand nonetheless to walk.

    The next time I grew aware of my surroundings, I was in a warm place, lying in a comfortable place. The buzz of air seemed far away yet real, as if I were inside something moving at high speed.

    My clothes were still damp, but not like the cold dripping wet kind of dampness of earlier, but rather the humid, soft one after an intense workout.

    The fog kept control over my mind. A ray of clarity popped out questioning the unfamiliar circumstance, and in one click everything fall into a logical spot.

    Where was I?

    The same voice of earlier reached my ears before I could open my eyes. ¡°You finally woke up?¡±

    With a difficulty, my palm covered my face, hiding an alarming expression of anxiety and surprise. Perhaps I had never ridden in this car before, yet I identified it from the inside, the space, the speed. The familiar perfume.

    From the corner of my eyes, I stole a glimpse at the driver''s seat. The silhouette of a large frame filled most of the space. His head inclined to the right, meeting my gaze. Emery Cromwell''s visage bordered a heavy aura of authority I never witnessed before. He looked like a different person, quite dignified and extra dangerous.

    Assuming an act of calmness, I perceived his eagerness hungry for a surprising response or better, a shock. My lips sealed down the many questions roaming at their entrance. My body relaxed back to the seat, focusing upfront, on the road, on the unknown destination I was taken to.

    From time to time, I noticed his gaze scrutinized my side, subtly as only his eyes moved. The gamble between us right now summed up a game of patience, the first who will speak, the first who will expose his intentions and vulnerabilities.

    In this wordless battle, I let my mind wonder the deep pit of memories, uncovering it, a layer by a layer in search of rationalization.

    The first time I acquainted Emery Cromwell was across Evelyn encoded letters.

    Her earlier writing never singled a name, never gave an explicit description. Just hints of infatuation, dispersed here and there for my brain to make a connection.

    The first time she disclosed a name was also for my sake, a helping hand for her lonely little brother in an unfamiliar place, pursuing an implausible goal.

    It was I who affiliated the previous hints under this name, given the awe and respect in her words, carried the same besotted gist.

    This nameless mane quietly took a shape in my imagination. The perfect hero for the perfect legend. However, the legends named legends because they couldn¡¯t be real. There was always a scrap of deceit clinging to the back of my throat after each tale of his accomplishments. Can such a perfect person exist in such an unperfect world?

    I saw him for the first time at the cursed Olvera dinner party. Finally, that shiny name and aspiring deeds of courage and generosity took a shape and crowned a face. Back then, my worldview of Evelyn crumbled. I wasn¡¯t her primary priority anymore. Somebody else took my place, somebody I didn¡¯t even know. A sense of loss mushroomed out of childish selfishness that the people who were mine will be always mine, no matter how much time will pass. But because this was the cruel way in the world, I gobbled up my insecurities for the greater good. For Evelyn¡¯s happiness.

    The second time I met Emery Cromwell was on a much more intimate level. A face-to-face conversation, longer than the ones I had with my friends. He wanted to solidify his position in Evelyn''s heart exploiting my unfortunate circumstance, or so I have guessed¡­ After a while, this belief changed to something entirely different, something rather absurd, for an unknown purpose, he wanted to be for me the hero he was to my sister. Such an unfathomable hero complex.

    Still, if August Olvera is Evelyn''s fianc¨¦, then who is Emery Cromwell?

    The car speed stayed steady, and the sequential passage of light bulbs illuminating the road worked a hypnotic influence on my tired body. Despite the drowsiness fighting its way to my eyes, fervently, my mind kept its liveliness, floating high and low in the murky valleys of thoughts. Half dead, I appeared to the spectator. However, Mr. Cromwell showed a craftiness I didn¡¯t foresee he would be capable of.

    Instead of acting as I intended for him, a trick to play half dead, so it forced him to start the conversation. He rather caused the car a swift deceleration. The mass of sudden pressure pushed not just my body forward, but also some items. An item that it rather not appeared in my sightline.

    My eyes opened at a sort of a firearm after the impact, loosely tucked among other trivial objects.

    Was it intentional? I had already lost faith in his supposed innocence.

    Instead of following what he intended me to be the first one to start the conversation about the abrupt deceleration. I profited from the collision, pretending to hit my head hard.

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    ¡°Ouch¡­¡±

    I swear, it wasn¡¯t an act. The pain was real.

    The side glance landing I won from his direction sealed the pact of my win as it soon followed by the hero complex top of list favorite question, ¡°Are you Ok?¡±

    Ah, and don¡¯t forget the irresistible rule of self-proclaimed gentlemen. I knew because I am one of them.

    He sounded the same as I remembered him. The timbre of his voice carried the merry facade of virtuous motive.

    After the initiated sentence seeped out of his control, the dialogue poured down, except for the caution shreds under the slyness cover governing the exchange.

    ¡°Were you enjoying a night bath in the sea in this kind of weather?¡±

    ¡°Were you enjoying the night sceneries of the industrial zone?¡±

    A yawn forged its way atop my mouth, feigning disinterest in the extensive sidelong glance he soaked me in.

    The underneath significance entombed within the passive sarcasm of those questions, both of us succeeded in extracting an uncommon translation out of it. He was digging up my motive behind visiting the Olvera industrial zone while I sought his method of knowing my whereabouts.

    The time, the place, even my state deemed unfavorable for a challenge, I was completely, mercilessly under his grasp. For a greater self-interest and personal wellbeing, my all raging beast of pride and skepticism earned a sleeping pile. Hence, I surrendered. ¡°I went to investigate something?¡± My voice as detached as dejected as a dry leaf on a dusky autumn day.

    This frankness earned me a quite display. I never saw him miss control over his facial expressions, the upright, stupidly merry, well-crafted expressions. A ghost of his true person flickered behind the heavy curtains. And to my surprise, I couldn¡¯t judge it.

    ¡°You think the Olvera had something to do with the murder story?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I thought.¡±

    ¡°Did you find something?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I answered while watching his profile. From the upward corner of his lips, my response didn¡¯t hit the mark. In my mind, two sides wrestled with the message of my next words. Should I add a lie, or should I speak a fact? Should I shut up?

    ¡°No, I think I was searching in the wrong direction all along.¡± It startled me the moment his head whirled to the side, towards me. Our gaze met, briefly. The ghost of his true character emerged anew before it sank into the stream of a quick alternation of the road shadows and dim lights.

    The car speed decreased, the trajectory swerved left, then he drove away from the main road. The sudden change of path escalated the doubts symphony, halting my effort to maintain an alertness bearing.

    My patience withered along with the growing distance, my persistent wait for a clarification condensed with the entangled trees bordering this side road.

    ¡°How did you find me?¡± It was a question it long kept grazing the roof of my throat, if something bad was going to happen, at least, I deserved an answer.

    ¡°Certainly, I was looking for you.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I guessed that much. I mean, how exactly did you see me while driving at the speed of light, on the highway, at the night?¡±  No chance I won¡¯t be vigilant If he sent someone to stalk after me.

    The purpose behind this question extended larger than obtaining a false reply. It tested the scope of his wit. Provided he understood much that no matter the response, I will not believe in it.

    ¡°I told you, I was looking for you.¡±

    Absolutely, there must be some truth in this phrase. Yet it didn¡¯t contain a justification, even an erroneous argument. Either he lacked the eloquent skill, which I doubted was the case, or he found it a waste coming clean to someone insignificant, such as myself.

    I gave up the conversation warfare in favor of relaxation. The earlier fever relapsed, generating a vague but an imposing lethargy. My head leaned back in the seat, allowing me a narrow field of vision. Doubtless, Emery''s profile erred through its boundary. The sceneries before my eyes kept the gloomy touch of darkness, artificial light here as scarce as the stars in a cloudy sky. From time to time, my gaze spied the location of the firearm.

    Every kind of thought roved my mind earlier mingled amidst the fragmented memories of that day, giving birth to a mild nightmare.

    The invitation, The Olvera dinner party, the explosion, August''s public fianc¨¦e''s death¡­ The next time I woke up, the car was halting in front of a big residence. The architecture resembled the French neoclassical style, from the dramatic columns and the triangular pediments to the symmetrical concepts of simplicity and flat roofs with a central dome.

    The generous light sources uncovered a surprising gathering of what appeared at first glance, an aristocratic soiree.

    Through the blurry glass, my almost shut eyes encompassed a familiar stage. Young men and young women in formal attire welcomed the arriving cars, one by one. Greeting the guests courteously before guiding them to the gateway.

    Likewise, upon its arrival, Emery¡¯s car received the same treatment. One young man and one young female, one in black and the other in a white suit approached. Emery quickened the process. Before the attendant could reach the car door, he jumped out of his seat. In my case, I took my time observing what could reach my five senses.

    My first priority summed up in pursuing Emery¡¯s endeavor. The head of the young man bounced up and down as he accepted instructions from him. Afterward, the latter gaze hindered mine in a wary style.

    The door next to me was opened, the night breeze launched an attack, and the damp clothes above my skin sucked out the newfound warmth. I chased the fatigue and prepared for the exit.

    The drop in temperature-induced successive sneezes, as well as a general shudder across my whole body. However, my ears operated at full capacity while my eyes betrayed me.

    "Oh¡­ Kiran? What happened to you?" All concern, this feminine voice sounded familiar.

    "Let''s get you inside before your condition turns worse."

    A soft touch supported my back and elegant fingers held my arm, walking me inside. Slowly, carefully. I heard the other young man say something, but it all faded into the background of my consciousness.

    Once inside a warm room, the same voice echoed again, "You can take a bath, I have some work now, I will send someone to deliver new clothes for you and there are painkillers in the cabinet. "

    "Thank you." I said before she left, "Anna." My head turned to observe her reaction. She seemed unmindful of the nickname, "I mean Annabel, I hope you don''t mind. I call you Anna for short."

    She giggled, her palm covering her lips, "well, this is so new. At first it took you so long to call me by my name, and now you are giving me a short name."

    "I hope you don''t mind."

    "Of course not, I finally can consider ourselves friends." A beep came from the notifier fastened on her belt. "Sorry, I am really busy now. Russ will kill me if I slack off. I will find you later."

    The room door glided unhurriedly, shutting down Annabel¡¯s outline as it drifted away. My hand froze on the door handle, refusing to let go, as though I was going to lose something by allowing the door to close. Where was I, and why Emery had brought me here? Two frustrating questions, sunk into a muddled head, resonated beneath rationality.

    In the end, I waived to reality, fastening the door lock via the offered multiple levels of security.

    Like a charm, the hot water washed the thick layer of dust, obstructing my thinking process. Clouds of indolent steam melted the heavy chain restricting my limbs. Akin to a white feather floating in an endless void, an overwhelming state of tranquility unrolled inside, then outside my being, scrubbing the frost away in craving touches.

    In the new set of clothes, I chose to dress in a black suit. Similar to the one worn by the attendants. But this one was accompanied by a black carnival mask. In front of the mirror, I placed the mask above my eyes, observing the resulting image. The reflection looked like me, yet it seemed as if I was watching somebody else.

    In no time, I identified my way through the hallways and entrances. The underground auditorium concluded my journey. There, between the disguised faces and the ongoing murmurs, I searched for a well-known companion. Albeit my guided focus and my fevered pursuit of the designed goal, multiple fast stares spilled out here and there, surveying the place.

    From the left, a soft tap on my shoulder interrupted this obsessive-compulsive disorder of mine. Although I had yet to retrieve my full perception, a heartfelt smile overcame the solemn air, hugging my entire presence.

    ¡°Thank goddess¡­ It¡¯s good seeing you not disoriented in this maze of a building.¡± Annabel commented, holding a chuckle, half of her face concealed under a white butterfly mask. ¡°I was racing against time to check on you, but it seems that you know your way.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to not memorize the building map when I see it, practically every day,¡± I said while I received a drink from her hand.

    ¡°You look very good in this outfit. You should have accepted the job when the boss had offered it. It also pays very well, especially for stony-broke students.¡±

    The pips from her notifier restarted anew. She covered the tiny device in her fist and giggled. ¡°Oh! They are not letting me relax this time.¡± She lifted her eyes, winking, ¡°See you later¡­¡± Then slithered a passage amidst the crowd.

    If I have to compare Hanna Marchetti and Annabel Harmon, they were two characters who inhabited the opposite end of the spectrum. Annabel was awfully cheerful, quite the optimist and social butterfly. She never lacked a subject for a conversation. In contrast, Hanna Marchetti represented the reserved, cold queen, the silent dove carrying a hundred messages. While under the calm surface resided a shy spirit.

    ¡°I thought that you already have a girlfriend?¡±

    I didn¡¯t need a head confrontation to identify the speaker. ¡°She is the one hitting on me.¡±

    ¡°Haha,¡± an unreserved smirk retained an ambiguous essence, pierced through my back.

    ¡°That¡¯s right. Who could resist Evelyn¡¯s younger twin brother?¡±

    At this moment, I turned around, the majority of my frowns confiscated beneath the black mask, whereas my mouth mirrored even an awful smirk. ¡°Thank you, boss. If it weren¡¯t for you, I may have frozen to death.¡±

    ¡°Glad to see you recuperating quickly. But I rather preferred your lethargic stance.¡±

    The air that started to stagnate harbored the scent of smoke, unbeknownst to our entourage, however, acknowledged by both of us. This nefarious burning smell sowed prior to my grasp of Mr. Emery Cromwell''s actual place in Evelyn¡¯s life.

    Would she mind if anything bad will descend upon this man?

    An acute voice resonated from a man using a hand-mic while standing in the middle of the main stage. ¡°Dear ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats, tonight auction will start soon.¡±

    To maintain the aggressive enthusiasm, I sat right next to Mr. Cromwell. Our shoulders almost touched. This blatant provocation on my part met with extreme aloofness from his side. Neither angry nor critical, he watched the unfolding stage bearing a keen interest. There were no significant changes in his countenances.

    Brazenly, I leaned forward, elbow on knee, head tilted, resting on my hand. I examined his posture. From head to toe. He changed clothes. The double-breasted suit he modeled matched the one he wore at the dinner party and wildly clashed with his usual attire. The way he sat oozed arrogance and imposed some sort of dominance.

    ¡°What? Displeased because I forced you in here? Afraid you will stain your reputation when showing your covered face in outlawed events?¡± The merry humor and the mischievous tone stayed unchangeable.

    All at once, I drenched in the glacial breeze, my onset flame to harass him cooled into ash. The irritating pose I adopted dissolved into a polite etiquette. ¡°I have left no reputation to speak of.¡±

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN: BARGAIN

    ¡°The first item we have in our collection today is a porcelain mosaic artwork, 300 hundred years old. It said it belonged to an ancient family from the eastern region. The painting depicts the fateful battle of red water under the leadership of lord Cartha. This piece of work is regarded as a national treasure, lost during the crow decennary, 20 years ago. And here it returns again. The auction starts at 20 million.¡±

    I never was an antique enthusiast, never understood why they cost this much. Why the relentless fight from some wealthy to get them? Hence it puzzled me, this aggressive competition over this piece. Instead, I buy myself something useful, such as a car or a motorcycle.

    ¡°45¡­,50,... we have 50 million, do we have more?¡±

    Despite the accumulating boredom, my curiosity reached an uplifted threshold. the source materialized in a person who constantly raised the bet, for he was determined to obtain this art piece. My gaze shifted, guided by this formed curiosity, traversing the present notable individuals, wandering until it found its target.

    He was, by all means, an old man. The winter-white hair and the wrinkled pale skin approved my quick-set opinion. A sense of familiarity struck my perception about his identity, albeit the carnival black mask concealing his upper visage.

    ¡°Did you recognize him?¡±

    Emery''s interest reflected mine. He laid a question, for it an answer felt unnecessary. At least to him.

    At once, he started a fierce battle against this old man, which he won, in the end. But at what cost?

    ¡°Our first piece is sold for participant number 13 at 125 million.¡±

    The old man, all anger and hate, eyed us. Subconsciously, against his identifying glares, I turned my head hiding.

    ¡°Then you have recognized him?¡± Emery repeated. his insistence on tackling the subject of this man''s identity increased my interest.

    Of course, I didn''t yet, but my frosty pride refused to admit it.

    ¡°I thought all items in the auction belonged to you?¡± So much, I wished to put a name tag on that old man. So I walked the bumpy road of a hide and seek game. Except, this version in which I played with words to have my answer had brought me a crooked, long gaze.

    Unsure if he was sitting with a monkey or a human with decent intelligence, Emery answered while uncertain of the purpose of the question, ¡°Well, we organize those auctions, but certainly we don¡¯t always own every and each piece.¡±

    ¡°Such as this mosaic piece?¡± Nevertheless, I continued. No backing down now.

    ¡°Ah¡­ Yes.¡± A smile of satisfaction poured into his features. Because he won over this old man? Because he won this art piece?

    Interesting...

    ¡°Why did you buy it at this unreasonable price?¡± It was but a bridge question to reach my main objective. Who would have thought that I had pulled deep strings?

    ¡°You asking why?¡± He gave a long hum. His eyelids lowered, denoting an intense process of constructing a reply. ¡°For that cranky old donkey¡­ It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s a mere¡­ trophy,¡± the words failing him as he kept stammering in search of the right term, ¡°but for me,... hmm, it¡¯s related,... it¡¯s something related to my identity.¡±

    Oh¡­

    Almost there, he nearly said the man''s name... The disappointment made its way to the lower half of my face, in extravagant fashion. Even an oblivious kid will notice it. However, it gained a wrong reason from Mr. Cromwell¡¯s point of view, or so I thought.

    He must have felt my dissatisfaction with his answer. Hence, he dived into a lengthy chat about our ancient history and the glory of our ancestors. Neither it held my attention, nor did it interest me.

    Whereas my dissatisfaction lay in the fact that he didn¡¯t call the old man by his name. But how neglectful I was¡­ I failed to recognize his quick insight into my little game. And in so not far future, I will regret not paying enough attention to this history lesson of his.

    With the succession of the next items and the growth of the competition, my earlier boredom boiled into a fevered heat. There were even pieces that haunted my unwavering fascination. Such as the mechanical wristwatch identical to the one owned by my grandfather in his youthful days. I had my back itching to get my hands on it, if not for my empty pockets and the daily struggle to reach my due date.

    All the time, Mr. Cromwell found it hard to keep silent. He needed to explain something whenever a new item showed on the auction stage. It took me by surprise his vast knowledge of antiques and monuments.

    From our first official meeting, the already primary bad insight about his personality reigned in my interactions with him. However, a new light fell upon this constructed image of an uncivilized thug, bleached it, bit by bit, towards the guise of a respectable intellectual.

    In one moment of daze, I thought maybe this was what Evelyn¡¯s infatuation had built upon.

    My new experience at the auction came to an end. And The second chance to unfold the mystery of the identity of the old man drew near.

    In less than a minute, half of the seats left only with a fading warmth. Even Mr. Cromwell, who sat next to me, abandoned the hall.

    I waited patiently for the unidentified masked man''s departure. It became the single reason that kept me glued to my chair. To not provoke unwanted attention, I used the reflective surface of the turned-off laptop to survey my target¡¯s actions.

    Several sturdy men, in black suits and sunglasses covering their visages, surrounded him. Each one showed more vigilance than the others. I felt their eyes cutting through my flesh, seeking an explanation for my delayed exit. At this point, I realized two things; the old man¡¯s high prudence, and tailing him right now will cause me nothing but trouble.

    Empty-handed, though not discouraged yet, I uncovered the path to the entrance. Playing the role of an attendant, I served the retired guests while reviewing my target from a safe distance. Despite the crowd, he wasn''t hard to spot, albeit hard to get near. However, this time, the carnival mask protecting his identity was taken off.

    A victorious smile I couldn''t help to bury adorned the apex of my delight. Although it didn''t last long. The instant I figured out his identity, our gaze intertwined and spurted a sparkle of dread.

    Clumsily retreating backward, my feet tripped out of fear that he would recognize me too.

    My lost balance was restored in a second as well as Annabell''s sudden arrival served me the ideal excuse to give him my back.

    I didn''t hear any of her words, only my fluttered heart begging murmurs echoed in my ears, ¡°Please God, don''t let him recognize me... Please, God, don''t let him recognize me."

    Or maybe he had already recognized my identity¡­ My prayers slashed under those thoughts, bringing a recollection¡¯s flash. Our seats¡¯ location in the auction hall materialized in front of my eyes. I calculated the possibility of being detected by him. ¡°No, no, don''t be a pessimist. His seat during the auction was positioned in the back, he won¡¯t be able to see me unless I turned my head. Did I turn my head? Did he spot me?¡±

    Whatever Annabell¡¯s discourse, I interrupted it. My arms entrapped her in a distant embrace. ¡°Anna, tell me if the old man with bodyguards is walking toward us?¡±

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    She shifted her head slightly, allowing her eyes a quick view. ¡°Umm¡­¡± This interjection was followed by a head jerk. Once I translated it, ¡°No.¡± my heart rate dropped. Until it was trailed by the next sentence, ¡°But he is looking in our direction?¡±

    A great opportunity for a swift retreat. I held her hand, then I run away.

    ¡°Kieran¡­ Wait¡­ Wait¡­ I can''t anymore.¡±

    The fitful sound of her exhausted breath was the signal to my stop. We paused in a corridor far away and somewhat deserted. Safe enough, I turned to look back. Her hand was still capped by mine. The redness in her cheeks, whether from the fatigue or from the innocent handholding, seemed somehow wrong.

    Awkwardly, I let her fingers slide, joining the others to support her recovery while my eyes strayed away.

    Her intermittent word shattered the silence, ¡°what? Who ¡­ is that¡­ man?¡±

    ¡°An acquaintance of my father.¡± I answered, ¡°rather a boot licking fellow,¡± however the last sentence was kept for my inner self. My gaze roamed every spot except the one Anna stood on, while my memory of the Olvera dinner party resurfaced again.

    The taste of rotten meat leaked between my teeth. The pointed nose and those narrow eyes, the smell of a crafty fox screamed loud out of that man. How could I forget such a person, especially when I enjoyed his company on my last flight? He must have managed to climb a high position in my father¡¯s pyramid to win himself a seat in Jacob¡¯s helicopter.

    What an impressive stroke of luck I got. Certainly, this fox of man won''t waste himself another opportunity to lick clean another pair of my father''s shoes.

    I refused to picture the disappointment in my father¡¯s eyes learning about his son frequenting an illegal auction just after getting framed with first-degree murder. Creating another door for the McCarthey''s enemies to exploit. But if this situation was anyone''s fault, the perpetrator was none other than the ex Mr. Right of my sister.

    This return of the dark thoughts triggered a rewrote in my expression. Upon a quick glance at Anna''s face, it alarmed me of my dissipated coolness. Thanks to the mask absorbing a portion of the ugly tone, I feared glossing over the subject would plant unwanted doubts.

    ¡°Then why were you searching for me?¡±

    After a brief pause revealing a lot of her perception about my person, she responded, ¡°The Boss tasked me with a message.¡± All sheer and trust contrasted the insecure threads pulling at her heart that caused the previous pause. At that moment, in my heart, I felt she had made a certain choice.

    ¡°A message?... What a message?¡± My voice oozed annoyance on purpose. Carefully, waiting for a reply. A reply that may assess Annabell''s earlier choice.

    ¡°The boss said he will wait for you in the secondary parking lot. He will take you home.¡±

    Humm, interesting, and quite terrifying¡­

    I didn''t need a guide for my journey to the secondary parking lot. The instant I stepped in, a familiar car drove towards me. The driver''s face was swallowed by shadows as well as was mine.

    In complete silence, while the car approached, a lot of reflections about this day fought for dominance inside my mind. Meeting August Olvera, breaking up with Hanna Marchetti, quarreling with Jacob, and then¡­ Befriending Mr. Cromwell?

    In the first place, how did this man know my whereabouts? Why did he bring me here? Did he want me to see the foxy old man, or did he want the latter to have something against me in front of my father? And to my first question ever about Mr. Emery Cromwell, what was his relationship with Evelyn?

    The icy breeze playing on my hair slowed my motion. My hand was glued to the car handle. Not opening it, nor releasing it. A moment of hesitation harassed my heart. My overflowing curiosity, my nostalgic carefulness. Both spiraled high, similar to that day when Hanna''s mother invited me for the night. A gamble of my fate, it felt. I shall take it and win again.

    I relaxed my back on the car seat, leaned on the headrest, closed my eyes, and yielded to the continuous engine vibration. The vehicle gradually accelerated, reaching its full speed after a number of turns. The steady villosity scrubbed out the side thoughts, providing me a complete focus on today''s main theme. Who is Emery Cromwell?

    Numerous situations my brain had speculated, ups and downs. The worst-case scenario¡­ I anticipated the car stopping each deceleration. The same questions rampaged wild the vicinity of my logic.

    This time, neither of us uttered a word. The whole trip rolled as calm as a thrilling ride to the unknown, at least from my standpoint. Then came the ultimatum, ¡­

    A stop.

    My eyelids slid up, revealing the unfolding scene in front of me. Where were we? Where did he take me? What did he want?

    The obscure scenery in front of my eyes didn¡¯t parallel a shady forest, or an isolated, iffy location where killers got rid of the body of their victims.

    ¡°We are in 1001 street?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡± a little vagueness infused his tone. ¡°Aren¡¯t you staying here?¡±

    Swinging my gaze to the opposite side, my fingers fiddled with the door handle while nodding, ¡°yeah¡­ Thanks¡±.

    ¡°You are welcome.¡±

    Despite the normality, I was unsure of my situation. I expected anything except him really giving me a ride to my residence.

    My physique preserved a natural motion while my thoughts grow trapped in senseless stagnation, uncertain of reality. However, before the door flapped shut, I redressed the context, ¡°That all?¡±

    ¡°Anything else?¡±

    My eyes fixed on his profile, discerning the hidden significances of his words to no avail. Hence, I restored to frankness, ¡°How did you know my whereabouts?¡±

    He confronted my suspicions with a melodious reply, ¡°I told you, it was a mere coincidence.¡± I could perceive the enclosed chuckle behind his fangs.

    Resigning from letting him enjoy my anxiety further, I stepped backward, closing the door.

    Of course, I wasn¡¯t the oblivious type. I will figure it out if someone was tailing me. Jacob, an individual more cautious than me. Whereas there was a low possibility of tracking my dumb phone if so, that really shows great dedication and large resources. Unless¡­

    I opened the door before the car moved. ¡°Could it be your men were trailing the red car?¡±

    ¡°Bingo.¡± A crafty smile reached his eyes.

    ¡°Why?¡± Honestly, it was a stupid question, since it was I who requested that he help in investigating the murder accusation plan.

    The smile kept its hold over his expressions without giving an answer while I didn¡¯t press on getting one.

    How much I was wrong about this guess, and how much I will regret not delving deeper into this matter in the near future.

    Then, the next few days, an obsession called Emery Cromwell and his relationship with my sister and why he was so adamant to befriend me occupied the majority of my daily thinking. So many tricks I considered to unfold this mystery. Such as contacting Jacob and soliciting more details, which were absurd and stupid. The second idea was to contact Evelyn and be forward with my questions, which weren¡¯t my style. The third one, which I was executing these last days, portrayed in approaching Emery himself and extracting scattered elements to build my own picture.

    In this endeavor, I procrastinated overworking my thesis, therefore it is trailing behind the schedule. As well as I completely forget about my new mentor at work who is threatening me.

    As a matter of fact, this was but a defense mechanism to avoid ruminating on my own personal problems.

    ****

    ¡°Then, how is Evelyn?¡¯ I sat down in front of Emery, pestering him. He sometimes came to this shop to sort out things related to his shady business. All this time, he showed a great tolerance regarding my discourteous, on purpose, conduct. It only challenged me to push into his limits, farther and farther. ¡°I didn¡¯t have much time to contact her,¡± I added, eagerly waiting for a change in his face.

    ¡°Me neither.¡±

    Rather, I ended up the one who displayed signs of discontent and mistrust. Moreover, he detected it for he justified, ¡°Not all couples are lovey-dovey like you and your girlfriend.¡±

    ¡°Really? That not what I saw while when we snacked together at this very shop.¡±

    ¡°Eh, I thought you are so perceptive, was I wrong?¡± by this annotation he referred to the Olvera red car insight, yet the unspoken message hung midway between an insult and a compliment.

    ¡°We are not in contact as much as she wanted you to notice. In truth, we had some arguments lately, and she hasn¡¯t contacted me since then.¡±

    ¡°Humm, really?.¡± Actually, I got surprised by his honesty but my face showed the opposite.

    ¡°Really, the only exception was when she called me, barely managing a coherent sentence, requesting my aide to help her little brother.¡±

    Who successfully managed to throw himself at the enemy¡¯s mercy¡­

    I could hear those words within his breath, though he confiscated them. Only, I succeeded in curving my lips upward. He mirrored my mechanical smile in a genuine way before he added, ¡°that¡¯s why I consider you my matchmaker.¡±

    My mechanical smile rusted. Lost the last single touch of its natural quality. Basically, he said that he wasn¡¯t mad at my discourteous behavior because I played cupid in his near-failing relationship.

    Ah, this person, perhaps not as intimidating as Mr. Milford Macias, quite the approachable and the friendly, sometimes overly flirtatious but no less dangerous than the latter.

    ¡°How about you work at the auction house?¡±

    ¡°Huh, the illegal auction house?¡±

    ¡°What is legal and illegal is merely decided by a bunch of greedy old men who want to keep all benefits under their feet.¡±

    I failed to translate the relevance of what he said this time. As for now, I was no friend of Mr. Emery Cromwell, nor an associate. Neither I know the extent of his shady activities. I merely qualified as a distant acquaintance, forced by circumstance to interact with him. But it felt like he was sharing with me his philosophy about life. A self-justification about his illegal business and why he embraced this road of no return.

    How did Evelyn come in contact with such a man? As for now, I had built a general understanding of this crucial point to realize this was not Evelyn¡¯s choice. This was my father¡¯s fingerprint.

    ¡°I guess you have some kind of internship in some high prestige law firm, but for a law school student in his final year, you have so much time in your hands.¡±

    He changed the subject, emphasizing his awareness of my changed behavior towards him during the last few days, and told me I won¡¯t grant you further tips. It arrived the dues time to stop pestering him. Indeed, a dangerous individual, for he perceived I had grasped an epiphany.

    ¡°I am thinking of giving my resignation to the firm. That¡¯s why I have so much time in my hands.¡± I side glanced at the left passage, monitoring the oncoming figure, then added without looking him in eyes, ¡°I will consider your offer.¡± The surprise filling his features ended; priceless. On occasions like this one, it amazed me the degree he expressed his inner emotions, permitting them a flow free of any restraints. Perhaps it was what made him pleasant to talk to. I should employ the tactic more in my future relations.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you supposed to work on a graduation thesis? Or something?¡±

    ¡°Ahh..¡± I stood up, surpassing a laugh, ¡°Okey¡­ Okey¡­¡± my hand waving nonchalance, assuring him of my intention to let him be. In fact, it was Annabell¡¯s forthcoming that triggered a surrender to my amusement.

    A professional visage honored me with a working glance. Deprived of any friendliness, Annabell placed a laptop and a few files in front of Emery. Except for the superficial pleasantries she shared mostly with her boss, she retreated. I caught the smirks Emery throwing me from the background yet I chose to negate it. My schedule for tomorrow is already cramped. And my thesis won¡¯t write itself.

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN : AUTHORITY

    The same road, the same bus stop. In this area, stored experiences aged almost four years. Hardly devoid of fading hopes and conflicts. Here in this exile, hundreds of miles away from home, I crossed many difficult moments that changed my outlook on the world, life, and people. To think about the approaching graduation day, my heart fluttered under the withered leaves of nostalgia. Even if I return someday, it won¡¯t be the same.

    Today, here I am, despite all the setbacks, the invisible wars raging in the background, and my own demons. I threw them all behind my back for the sake of completing my thesis, the last milestone in this long journey. Yet the world never ceased to sneer at my sacrifices.

    Who thought I will be standing here for over an hour, waiting for someone I forced myself to work with for reasons that no longer existed? Still, I preferred being stood off than becoming the passersby¡¯s center of attention.

    ¡°So¡­ Sorry¡­Sorry¡­ So¡­Sorry,¡±

    The echoes of a voice howling in the air, alerting people and winning their scorn. Everyone was curious to whom those barely pronounced excuses were directed. They came hundreds of meters away, yet spectators managed to spot me as the receiving end.

    Panting, the wobbly voice kept cutting the sentences. ¡°I slept too long¡­¡± Louder and louder, as if waking up dead. ¡°And I missed the tram¡­ then I remembered¡­ I have forgotten the research draft¡­ am I¡­ am I late?¡±

    Should I fake oblivion?

    No chance it will work¡­ I have tried it before¡­

    In defeat, I stared at Cali¡¯s red face, gasping for a breath. My lips pursed tight, blocking the explosive chaos of meaningless anger. At least, she could have called and informed me of her unforeseen lateness or, at best, answered her phone.

    ¡°And my phone charge is out¡­¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    At least her voice calmed down.

    ¡°You could just start without me.¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    I sighed, cooling the uprising vexation. One of the main reasons why I preserved a calm facade materialized in her frustrating hesitation to directly look at my eyes. She prattled the entire of her petty excuses while her glances fell everywhere except towards me.

    The whole purpose behind co-authoring the undergraduate thesis stemmed not from my genuine desire for cooperation but in favor of certain needs, some related to Mr. Marchetti, some related to his daughter, and some related to my own reputation on the campus. Well, all of the aforementioned necessities parched among new unsought developments in my life. What''s left? A burden who strove to leech from my effort.

    Too bad I can¡¯t change what was already set on the official paper.

    Burying the annoyance by taking a deep breath, I walked ahead. At the tip of my tongue, no words I could say to appease her anxiety, and If I did, it would be a flagrant lie.

    This time, what startled my sensors, she let me lead the way while she followed from behind in blind obedience. More than two steps backward. Moreover, contrary to her loudmouth character, she didn¡¯t speak of other topics to create a distraction from her mistake.

    In my wonder about explaining this exotic, docile behavior, my mind stalled around our last interactions. I remembered the fear crawling up her face, ripping her defensive shell as well as mirroring my misconduct. I admitted. Back then, the control over my emotions loosened, and regrets over that slip hunted my conscience ever since. However, some people forget quickly while others possess thick skin. And the two of those traits created the pillars of Cali¡¯s character.

    Then, again, what lurked behind this tamed behavior of her?

    While approaching the library, the number of stolen stares increased according to the density of the crowd. I occupied the attraction center yet again while the distance separating Cali from me grew.

    For a moment, another possibility of these peculiar manners of hers broadened my horizon. Perhaps, the circulating rumors; on the loose killer¡­ Spelled out the oddity. Thanks to Hanna Marchetti, my fame broke to another level. Who wished to associate with me anymore?

    Like a blooming rose in early spring, a certain brilliant red intrigued my mind. I paused, my concern encompassing the vastness of the law department parking lot. Scurtning the roving individuals while searching for a familiar face.

    From behind, a sudden hit jerked me forward. ¡°Sorry¡­Sorry¡­¡±

    Today, she apologized a lot. Interesting?

    As soon as I turned, Cali¡¯s features fluctuated between shyness and anxiety. Her hand waved in front of her face, hiding the contradiction. I confirmed the existence of a problem when she didn¡¯t ask why I stopped so suddenly, like her usual self.

    I neglected the stationed red car and launched an interrogation. ¡°Have you even started writing the second part of the first chapter?

    ¡°Of course,¡± her cheeks puffed up, mad at the suggestion, ¡°I am just stuck in the discussion about the new law of witness protection.¡±

    I retreated, albeit unsure of anything, especially of what caused her odd behavior. ¡°Ok then, we will go to the library, revise what we had already written, and prepare the outline for the second chapter before we meet our supervisor.¡± But, in my heart, this matter became secondary compared to the reason behind the stationed red car in the law department parking lot.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she jolted, swallowing air. The same look that refused to confront me. Her gaze escaped mine, whereas I was too occupied with Olvera and Madeline Fry¡¯s presence to dwell on each insecure hint.

    The whole period I spent in the library, I waited every moment for the abrupt arrival of Madeline Fry, her contemptuous stares ordering me to accompany her; considering I became the new slave of her boss. The thought ravaged my pride like maggots ravaging a dead carcass. Even the oblivious Cali noticed my garbled focus. Out of fear, out of guilt, she didn¡¯t demand an explanation.

    As soon as the appointed hour arrived, I jumped from my seat, relieved of two things; Madeline not showing up and half of the graduation thesis.

    On the way to the supervisor¡¯s office, Cali¡¯s silence spoke aloud of her ongoing character change that grew positively in my view. I awaited her comment to question my repetitive glances over the windows. Instead, she babbled about Hanna Marchetti, since she thought I hoped for a source to satisfy my curiosity about my ex-girlfriend¡¯s current life, which was totally what I wanted, and in no way, I will initiate a conversation in this direction.

    Whenever a chance presented itself, across the windowpanes I would scan the parking lot angles looking for the red car. Confirming or refuting its presence. To my puzzlement, it was still stationed in the same spot. Which meant I was still at the risk of being called out by Madeline or August or both.

    Previously, Madeline said she didn¡¯t wish to tarnish August¡¯s reputation by associating with me. Then what miracle had brought her here? What did she want? Or did August want from me? Couldn¡¯t she choose another, less controversial location to meet me? Where was she in the first place?

    ¡°Welcome.¡± The secretary¡¯s visage faintly frowned upon recognizing me. What a colossal effort? Those rumors reached even managerial ears, ¡°We have an appointment with professor Lowery?¡±

    ¡°Professor Lowery?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡± I confirmed, solely concerned about the look in his eyes and hating it.

    ¡°I am sorry, but professor Lowery left us about a weak ago?¡±

    ¡°What?... Like it¡¯s not here for the appointment? Or like she had resigned and left?¡±

    His voiceless response and marveled expressions clarified a lot, ¡°why didn¡¯t I hear anything? You should have informed us of her departure. She is our supervisor. What we are going to do now?¡±

    ¡°We sent a notification to all her students one week before her departure,¡± he glared at me sending another meaning with cover words, ¡°if you have attended your class regularly you may have heard about it.¡± he preyed Cali from behind me and added, ¡°your colleague had even signed the form to change supervisor.¡±

    ¡°Really¡­¡± I spilled the syllable slowly as I turned toward Cali¡¯s flustered face. ¡°Why didn¡¯t I hear of it?¡± Her voice rose to defend herself. ¡°I tried to tell you back then,¡­. But¡­ But you were so angry¡­. about the breakup and everything¡­ .¡± Her fingers danced in the air, helping to add emphasis to the explanation.

    ¡°Why you didn¡¯t tell me this morning?¡±

    ¡°I was so late,... You were so angry¡­ Then I¡­ I forget. ¡± The same voice, the same hesitation. The same mediocre mockery. It was what I found most unbearable about her. Everything paled in comparison. What she was getting from this? Aside from my loathsome. A momentary laugh? A flitting feeling of satisfaction?

    I refused to make a scandal out of this¡­ Misplaced trick? Miserable revenge? I asked the secretary, ¡°Who is our new supervisor?¡± And he pointed to the just-opened door behind me.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    Up to this instant, nothing left to provoke me, save the unfolding scene at the office doorstep. I withheld my breath, not because of irritation or anger. My jaw hardened, unable to allow a humble greeting¡­ Out of shock.

    ¡°Kieran McCarthey, ¡­ Finally, I was waiting for you.¡±

    Albeit the beaming light surging over the unlashed curtains bathed the interior with innocent warmth, the chill confined my perceptions, freezing them into a trance.

    Cali braved the inside of the office, leading the way. While I staggered at the doorway, wasted. She slammed our work on the desk and run outside the same as she came. All the way, her eyes never crossed mine, even for a second, forever down and removed. Yet I got drunk on the details of her unsettling face. The machine-like expressions. Guilt, or maybe regret, pulled off within her departure.

    ¡°Thank you, miss Harisson for coming today.¡± The voice came hasty and low, carrying a strange pleasure denoting victorious glee. I bet she didn¡¯t hear our new supervisor giving his thanks.

    And once more, and face to face, I was left alone with Mr. Milford Macias¡­

    In all our three meetings, I was never his equal. He always appeared when he held a form of authority above me. Why would this man be obsessed with having some kind of power over someone such as myself?

    A repressed fear? An inferiority complex?...

    From me?...

    No, of course, it has nothing to do with me as a person. It must be from the weight of my name. From the McCarthey name.

    The silence was awkward¡­

    ¡°See!... I can make your friends betray you for mere bonus points,¡­¡± He closed the curtain before he focused on my direction. ¡°It shows how fragile those kinds of relationships are.¡±

    ¡°...¡± The silence was far merciful, more bearable.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you impressed?¡± His head shook, subtly.

    The comfortable chair received the free fall of his weight while the desk in front supported his elbows. The intertwined fingers created a bridge to nest his chin. I could hear the air going in, then out of his lungs as he whispered, ¡°hmm, no?¡±

    Unwillingly, my head shook left and right, in slow unimpressed motion, reverberating, ¡°hmm, no.¡±

    ¡°Actually, I am joking.¡± He leaned backward, switching his attitude to a casual one. The atmosphere tuned according. ¡°Don¡¯t get mad at her, she had nothing to do with it. I forced her to.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t find any difference.¡±

    He threw an apprehensive glance. ¡°Alas, you are so cruel,¡± between dread and comprehension. ¡°I pity her. She didn¡¯t want to understand that you are such a jerk, whereas she was so afraid that you will hate her for pulling this trick on you.¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    Am I seeing crocodile tears? She had already done worst though, not on purpose.

    ¡°I mean, she didn¡¯t want to believe that you were exploiting her feelings for you from the beginning, so subtle you excel at dressing your goals. Even this co-authoring thing. You made her believe that you were helping her ace the evaluation, but in truth, you were helping yourself.¡±

    A voice in my head told me if I won¡¯t stop him, he will go on and on about broad false assumptions. I needed to shut him up, or else. ¡°Ok, ok, I am a vicious jerk and you are no better than me.¡±

    What between Cali and myself was a fair exchange, a contract. I let her take credit for my thesis, and I will¡­ I will what? Those goals don¡¯t exist anymore¡­ Yet here I am fulfilling my part of the bargain till the end.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± I sounded cold, indifferent, and slightly disrespectful, but not rude. This marked the first time I offered such a rebellious style in his presence.

    ¡°Watch your mouth. I can make you fail.¡± Maybe he reprimanded me, however, no anger nor irritation threaded his voice. It motivated me to press harder.

    ¡°I will postpone submitting the thesis. I don¡¯t mind repeating the year.¡±

    Now, at last, an expression caused me satisfaction, although as quick as a sunray lost in a sea of his calmness. I rushed, ¡°can we get to the point?¡±

    His gaze fluttered beyond, then back towards the wooden desk separating us. It dawdled on the mass of papers left by Cali. The tips of his finger seized its surface, then stamped a fingerprint, sliding a trail to the nearest edge.

    ¡°I gave you a personnel invitation¡­¡± He eyed me, more like a glare, ¡°you didn¡¯t attend my welcoming party at the firm.¡±

    There was no merit in extracting a verbal answer for a subject he already established its finality. But the very reasons he desired a concrete confirmation magnified my interest. Hence, I kept quiet.

    ¡°I read your resignation letter.¡± His gaze jumped periodically among objects on the desk and me. ¡°It took me by surprise¡­ It took me by surprise your willingness to lose all the merit you worked hard to accumulate because you refuse to work with me.¡±

    ¡°You threatened me.¡± I was honest and with honesty clung to an unsought discourtesy.

    ¡°You hate being controlled,¡± he used his hand to allude, ¡°I admire that, but I didn¡¯t threaten you. I blackmailed you and I am still blackmailing you.¡± His hand ended up thumping the same paper pile. A demonstration full of conflicting messages, tiptoeing on my nerves.

    ¡°Wrong. If you have anything to blackmail me with, you won¡¯t bother pulling strings to present yourself today, here, in this office, as my new supervisor.¡±

    He lifted his hands, waving surrender, ¡°all right, all right, we have started on bad footing. Grant me the fortune to correct my mistake.¡± The smug smile that always succeeded in fuelling the enmity flames of my fire.

    ¡°Listen, if you think you will get an insider regarding matters concerning the general of the east or the reformers¡¯ party, think again.¡± What a rookie mistake I just babbled. I knew it from the several blinking of his eyelids, the judgmental glances, and the brief pause.

    ¡°I think there is some kind of misunderstanding.¡±

    ¡°I agree.¡±

    The silence walloped anew. My gaze straightened into a less invisible challenge. He lowered his head before he stood. The upper part of his body leaned forward, supported by two arms gluing on the desk surface, ¡°how about I will grant you an opportunity regarding¡­.¡±

    ¡°I am not that eager to graduate,¡± I interrupted with a lie.

    ¡°Allow me to finish before you decide. How about we get an opportunity to talk privately and sort out our misunderstandings¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    ¡°Shush¡­¡± a finger rose into the middle of his lips, ¡°If we don¡¯t arrive at an agreement we will part peacefully¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    ¡°Shush, If you refuse, say goodbye to submitting your thesis this year, or the next year, or until I lose this privilege over you. I will make it my mission to not let you graduate from this law school.¡±

    Did he even have this kind of power? Maybe, he is bluffing¡­

    Still, I didn¡¯t fancy even the possibility of giving my father or Alfred a call to help me graduate. If so, where was the point in me leaving home, isolating myself from the authority of the McCarthey name?

    I can¡¯t swallow the humiliation, or withstood the blows to my ego¡­ It will be an immense shame that will last through the whole of my professional career. Therefore, I spent the next two hours waiting for Milford Macias to finish his lecture.

    The students crowded the lecture hall, a rarity in the late period of the evening, especially for a new professor. The marvel left my mind when I discovered most of them were girls.

    The farthest possible seat, in the left corner, I favored as a strategic lookout point, then I settled down, bored, counting seconds and minutes. My decision to attend his lecture stemmed from a childish attempt to distract him during the lesson. Asking hard to answer controversial questions topped the list of my preferred methods. However, the magic turned against the magician in the first ten minutes.

    Despite the lecture being an introduction for the first-year students, I found myself diving into the lesson atmosphere. Even, sometimes, in between my lips, I answered the questions he applied to address the different lecture topics. Honestly, he was an excellent educator, a master at drawing student attention.

    ¡°How about someone gives us an example of a crime in which the intention of the criminal is punished by law,¡± although the distance separating us, he demanded while looking in my direction.

    ¡°The one sitting alone in the back.¡± He is planning to implicate me somehow. ¡°Can you give us an example?¡±

    All eyes turned toward me, and I was an individual who hated to be the center of attention, especially in a peopled and closed space.

    Considering the circulating rumors, I had hoped my face was still unknown to the first-year students, ¡°a first-degree murder,¡± in particular, regarding this response.

    Zero in a million chance, the underlying aim of this question suggested innocence. Anyway, no worry, I placed myself in this situation deliberately, so I won¡¯t feel over conscious when I will kill him later.

    After the lecture closure, a large number of students gathered in a circle. The majority of them fitted in the column of softer gender. Mr. Milford Macias occupied the circle core. Thanks to his popularity, no one cared about the awkward position he plotted to place me in.

    Left and right topics rained over his head, most of them veered off the lecture theme. Their goal was not to understand the discipline but to exchange conversations with the new professor. My distant and high position provided me with the exclusive fortune of observing him. I watched as he guarded against the personal inquiries with a lowered head, a fake indifferent attitude toward girls¡¯ subtle and vulgar winks while distracting his hands by collecting the materials.

    My lips couldn¡¯t help but curve into a wicked smile. I just uncovered a unique weakness of his. Beyond those clumsy techniques in dealing with women, he quickly became defensive against their attacks.

    When he pulled up his head, our gaze intertwined, I didn¡¯t hide my smile, let him see it, let him know of my illumination about one of his embarrassing shortcomings.

    Following the scattered crowds, as well as the departure of the majority of the student, I expected to meet him at the department exit. My wait stretched long. The vexation and boredom rubbed my bottom line. Partly out of curiosity, partly to vent steam, I picnicked near the parking lot. It grew almost empty. Except, from a shiny red metal stationed in the same spot. Alone. Without a sign of a previous movement.

    With all Madeline¡¯s undried passion for work, it sounded impossible for her to not leave the campus at this hour. It was around seven o¡¯clock.

    In wonder, I approached, auditing the car around its four corners. Doubts undulating in my mind¡­ Only fluctuated at a sudden buzz.

    The car¡¯s lock was unlatched.

    Akin to a thousand needle stings, the terror fluttered under my spin. Not ready to meet her just yet, I considered running away. Curse the fact of we humans birthed wingless. Because If I had wings, like terrorized flocks, I would be already flying. However, if I run now, I will cringe, more than I already do, each time I will encounter her.

    ¡°Get in the car.¡± from behind, the breeze carried a resolute order. It didn¡¯t sound like the familiar scorn I am used to¡­

    At a lightning speed, we got off the campus ground onto the highway. Regardless of how insanely fast Milford Macias was driving, I had passed out. My eyes iced wide open, gone amidst the haze. Solely, one question wallowing in the ups and downs of my breath; wasn¡¯t this August¡¯s car? Operated by Madelin? Then Why was Milford Macias sitting at its wheel?

 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: ETIQUETTE

    A sense of d¨¦ja-Vu¡­

    The night ate through the edge of the day, catching up to the car¡¯s speed. Flickering sparkles of noise perforated the guise of the drafted silence when we stopped.

    A warm breeze caressed my skin, announcing the summer arrival. Felt like a lover¡¯s touch, affectionate but discreet. I looked at the front gate, blinded by the colorful lights. This hotel tasted of a nightclub¡¯s toxic aroma. This kind of raucous site smelled rotten of an unpleasant scheme. My eyes pierced Mr. Milford Macias straight back, a frown sipped on my face. What he wanted to accomplish, bringing me to such a place.

    As if he read minds, his head tilted, granting me a side look, ¡°relax,¡± The golden chain attached to his glasses oscillated in compliance, ¡°I am banned from here?¡± His chin bounced up, pointing past the street, ¡°we are going to dine there.¡±

    My gaze marathoned the denoted invisible line, and a shabby rundown restaurant met the end of my sight. I scanned the site up, left, then right to assess any other place. Uncertain, I was, until his frame strolled across the road, joining the disordered tables and seats enclosing a tiny ragged door.

    I thought we will settle outside, therefore, my eyes browsed amongst the tables in a hopeless search for a modest, clean spot. Nothing reached the threshold of my lowest requirements. Ah¡­ Also, the amalgam of scents breezing out the gapes of the small building¡­

    ¡°Barbecue?¡± I said, swallowing my saliva. Mr. Macias¡¯s golden strings danced again, reflecting colorful lights. The glow covered the most significant part of his eyes, ¡°Grilled red meat.¡± The sly smile filling his lineaments exposed his avidity. ¡°Every carnivore must visit this place,¡±  he whispered, then slipped inside.

    Abandoned between the remains of an unsophisticated eatery, hardly called a restaurant and unbearably soiled. Mr. Milford Macias revealed yet another facade of his character. An unexpected one. An individual such as himself who probably had spent hours grooming his attire, a dandy by all measures, frequented a place with no apparent food hygiene.

    The scent of roasted meat overrode any prior aversion on my part. I sunk into temptation, guided by hunger. The inside of my mouth was watered with drools. However, my consciousness walked after Mr. Macias¡¯s steps, one after the next.

    In a hidden corner, straightened up wooden stairs. Loud cracks and a handful of dust streamed after each foot press. Any instant, I pictured the upcoming collapse of either the wooden stairs or the whole level. Before the last steps, a final cautious glance licked the surrounding before I followed him up.

    The full liberty of choosing a table, I granted all the rights to my companion while I settled for a diligent inspection. Once I relaxed into a seat, I approved the harmlessness of the place.

    A table near the window, if we can call it a window. The quadrangular opening was stacked with irregular wooden plates, fixing some gaps. Through them, the view encompassed the nightclub entrance and pretty much the majority of the street. Someone outside can¡¯t identify the one inside, while in the opposite situation the statement is held false. In short, a perfect point for surveillance. My eyes side-glared at the person preparing himself for a feast, transmitting a comprehensible message.

    Whom were you spying on?

    Ignoring me, Mr. Macias continued his before-meal ritual. He removed his golden watch, tightened the strings of his glasses. He placed a napkin above his chest and rolled up his sleeve. Somehow, his propriety pleased my OCD and eased my earlier-induced nausea.

    The order loitered, but when the intoxicating smell of grilled meat reached my brain, my empty stomach recalled its desire for food. The reclamation started right away.

    The grilled small pieces of red meat loaded on wooden skewers dripped into their own juice. I could tell it was grilled over charcoal. After a few minutes, the server, an old lady, returned with hot sauce, drinks, and raw salad.

    As I watched Mr. Macias¡¯s theatrical style of eating, my grumbling stomach kept begging. A man table¡¯s manners can unearth so sought buried traits of his past. Despite his elegance, a trace of a subtle unrefinement resurfaced here and there. It wasn¡¯t the case when I watched August Olvera. If it implied anything, I will consider the possibility of him belonging to the poorest or shunned class of society for a period in his life.

    Was this the reason behind this over-the-top showy attire? As if he wanted to tell the world he didn¡¯t belong there anymore.

    Then how did he climb the social ladder this fast? Hard work? Maybe, but hardly so. Capabilities? Not enough, especially in our society. For the love of power, he is also an acquaintance of August Olvera.

    He stopped devouring the meat under my gaze. The subtle annoyance on his face spoke of his dislike of being watched while eating. Perhaps a side-effect of vague insecurity from fear of being found out.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to eat?¡± The tips of his fingers were coated in a fine, oily layer. Compared to Cali, he managed to keep it limited to his own fingertips. ¡°Don¡¯t let the restaurant state affect you.¡± He almost licked his thumb. He paused at the last second before brushing it over his upper lip. ¡°The mouton meat here is peerless.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. At the end of the day, old habits die hard. ¡°Are you paying?¡±

    ¡°Of course, I invited you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you forced me.¡± Although I whimpered, my hands braced, drafting my own eating ritual. Thereupon, the situation''s perspective changed, and I became the observation target. The brazen stares. I would be a bad liar if I denied the discomfort it had generated. Fortunately, my brain withheld to layering the subjacent significance tailing this remark, ¡®don¡¯t let the restaurant state affect you.¡¯

    When the symmetry of my meal achieved perfection, I said, ¡°whatever Cali had told you about me¡­ She is wrong.¡± Before the first juicy bit of grilled meat shut down the rumbling of my stomach.

    The strength curving his lips upward in a grin as I watched worried me. Hence, I added while avoiding outright eye contact, ¡°I don¡¯t have mysophobia.¡±

    He fixed me with a crafty peer, ¡°Of course¡­¡± Triggering goosebumps all under my skin. At this instant, I believed he brought me to this rundown place just to confirm the details he extracted from Cali.

    One more chunk of grilled meat ground between my teeth, followed by another one. Then another one. I barely chewed them enough. Just swallowed as fast as I could. Under his scrutinizing view, it became a high insecure technique to validate my confession, nevertheless, I couldn¡¯t back down.

    ¡°Of course, if you have Mysophobia, you won¡¯t have set a foot in this unsavory old restaurant.¡±

    The tone of his word confused me. Did he really get convinced by my act? Was he playing along?

    We stared at each other and it was too uncomfortable, so I lowered my head, repeating the earlier eating protocol all over again.

    ¡°You know why I love this restaurant?¡±

    ¡°Because of the grilled meat?¡± Oh, please, someone saves me¡­

    ¡°Yes, that,¡± once more he smirked, ¡°but also something else.¡±

    I rolled my eyes, where he is going with this stupid conversation? ¡°Hmm¡­ then enlighten me?¡±

    ¡°Seriously,¡± He wiped the corner of his mouth, ¡°you really didn¡¯t notice?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I maintained my sightline away from him.

    ¡°The order of the tables and seats outside, the decor inside. The architecture. Maybe it looks like a chubby place at first, but it gives a great sense of relief when you notice these small things.¡±

    ¡°...¡± He waited for some kind of feedback, except I refused to deliver any. While in the back of my mind, the process of extracting sense out of his words rose in priority.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°You probably have¡­¡± His eyes jumped beyond my seat as in searching his brain for the right term. ¡°You probably have Ataxophobia.¡± A genuine smile crowned the triumph of his discovery and left me dumbstruck. The piece of the meat trapped under my teeth lost its flavor.

    Extra fake and overacted, I smiled. The only instant response came to my mind. Evading the scrutinized gaze, my sight fixated on the plate in front of me, finding solace in the beauty of its proportionated display. Yet the silence persisted only for seconds¡­

    ¡°Each person needs a degree of order and tidiness in his life ¡­¡±

    At that time, I didn¡¯t bother analyzing his following commentaries. The stains of humiliation drove me inside my self-built dungeons, suffocating me, slowly, with ropes of my own imagination.

    Over the earlier period, I spent my efforts evaluating his behavior. He was doing the same thing.

    I wonder what would be my reaction if I had deduced from his spoken remark that he had a similar condition. Would I be as humiliated as I was? Or will I find a kind of comfort in discovering that he suffered from an equivalent disorder? I just remembered how much I wished to change the conversation subject no matter what? No matter how? Even by opening what I deemed a forbidden door.

    ¡°Why did you choose FM spy bug transmitters to threaten me?¡±

    Upon this question, his reaction faded into ambiguity, difficult to put a label on it. He poured himself a drink then gestured if I also need one. I gave him a cold silent reply.

    The way he drank can be described as messy, maybe enthusiastic, or perhaps cheerful. Wherever it was, it showed me another angle of the 360 shift of his character.

    A fruitless wait I felt in watching this ambiguous display, in straps of boredom the patience of waiting for an answer strangled, slowly, with the passing seconds. I craved a response, yet I feared what he will say. What an inconvenient dilemma¡­

    My gaze peddled the surroundings, organizing the details of the decor. Mr. Milford Macias¡¯ remarks judged right. The restaurant was meticulously crafted in its design. The items were well chosen, harmonious in their placement. A soft ripple extended to reach my heart, very pleasing until my supervisor began talking.

    ¡°Why did I choose FM spy bug transmitters?¡± He sighed, eyes lost in the void wandering before they fall straight at me, ¡°because¡­ Because that is exactly what I would start with if I am targeting someone.¡± This sentence seemed like a trap, a test, especially the accompanying sidelong stares he threw toward me as he resumed his meal.

    The quietude nuzzled into a ticklish fierceness. I nibbled the well-grilled meat. He drank what was left in the bottle. The situation grew far more awkward than when it started. However, he possessed that smug attitude that conferred him the boldness to smoothly changes any state of affairs.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what was inside the bag.¡± He said, but I didn¡¯t believe him. I was more inclined to believe the earlier statement. ¡°Actually, it was a trap,¡± He added, not leaving a chance for contemplation. ¡°what mattered is that you will touch it with your hands, and once you do, your fingertips will get imprinted on the transmitters. Even if you try to erase your fingerprints, you will end up erasing every fingerprint on the transmitters by then when I present the murder case and ask for a reexamination, the expert won¡¯t find any fingerprints on the suspicious transmitters and that will make you, again, a prime suspect for the Marchetti¡¯s case.¡±

    Speechless, the shock froze my limbs, my jew opened, and my eyelids jumped. What kind of an evil creature did fate set me up against, or rather, what had August Olvera introduced me to?

    Oh, my dear Jacob, no, no, I shouldn¡¯t be thanking August for pulling strings to help me out of the interrogation room. I should curse him to the end of his life by paving an effortless road for this demon to my life.

    The memories engines of my brain began a painful process to access the images of the day I opened this Pandora bag Mr. Milford Macias had offered me as a token of our newly assumed friendship. Those inattentive seconds of self-absorption created fissures in my strict facial control, allowing him an unwanted advantage.

    At the margin of my perception, he adjusted his posture, from the leisurely loosened one to a stance linked to professionalism. If I were in my neutral state, I may have noticed the straightforward change. I may have spotted the similarity between this raw adopted attitude of his and the one in our first meeting in the interrogation room. I may have concluded I was primed for the upcoming interrogation from the start.

    ¡°It¡¯s my turn now,¡± He interrupted the flashback train of mine, ¡°since I answered honestly, you should be honest with me too.¡± obtaining every bit of my undivided attention, ¡°this is confidential, I swear to you, no one will learn about what we are going to talk about here.¡± His eyes shone with curiosity, flames like the answer to his next question topped the important matters of his entire existence.

    It scared me.

    ¡°Why did you kill the poor boy? You didn¡¯t gain anything from it? It only caused you more troubles to take care of.¡±

    Phew, what a relief. I expected another elaborated evidence to frame me. However, the doubts refused to leave my side just yet.

    Facing his intense glare, woken unexpected wariness in my heart. What should I say? What I am supposed to answer? How do I turn the table?

    ¡°You have been a victim of this Pandora''s bag trick before? Right?¡± As if somebody else said that, I demanded. The words flow like water. The timbre of my voice carried as clear as the moon on a cloudless night. I felt like I was somebody else watching strangers at the negotiation table. And I watched his startled face with a raging pleasure.

    ¡°Hum?¡±

    He enfolded the frustrating question with a thin veil of ignorance, apparent at least to me. Hence I refused to leave him an escape route. ¡°someone used the fingerprint trick on you before?¡± In other words, I repeated, parching for a spoken response, or silent reaction.

    ¡°Ah¡­¡±

    The taste of overpowering an arrogant person, addicting, ¡°someone, I know?¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    ¡°If you answer me truthfully, I will answer you truthfully. I mean¡­ your question, I mean, who killed the poor boy?¡±

    The suspenseful instant cut into explosive hysterical laughter, disturbing and unappealing. Suggesting an impolite demeanor compared to his attire. In its loudness, he attracted an irritated gaze. Unpalatable, persisted gazes. As uncomfortable as I became, he wouldn¡¯t stop, rather he couldn¡¯t stop.

    I looked at my plate for solace and resumed my eating ritual. Hopelessly denying any relation to this sudden madness. With the passing moments, the clamorous giggles converted into muffled chuckles. Still, I resolved to keep my head low, finish the meal and get out from here before things will evolve.

    Yeah, for a second choice I could depart at once, but there was no way I was going to leave without drying his pockets.

    All over again, at the drop of a hat, the peace returned. He didn¡¯t attempt further communication, neither I demanded an explanation. Let him wallow in public dishonor, alone.

    However, this peace didn¡¯t last long. Weird intermittent noise reached my ears from the outside, through the window bars. Akin to hitting and smashing, accompanied by a sound like shattered glass and clanging metals. At first, I ignored it until it lasted long enough for me to seek attention, and its intensity irked my mood. In a moment of extreme annoyance, I waggled near the window, spying on the road.

    Under the playful lights of the nightclub building, near the newly stationed high-class car, a familiar shadow colonized a margin of my curiosity, but I ignored him. Another one held its center, for he seemed extra familiar. My mind focused on the second one, as he was the source of this noise.

    To add meaning to the scene displayed outside, I needed to hurry downstairs even at the expense of disregarding the dinner etiquettes.

    My eyes got sight of a long iron bar swiping air up and down. Sometimes it hit the car front, other times it hit the window glass, severely. The impact resonance rang louder compared to when I was inside the restaurant. At the scene periphery, a few men gathered around the culprit, yet they did nothing to stop his rage.

    The spectacle continued for a couple of minutes, in which the red car rendered a pile of trash. The culprit¡¯s pause came out of exhaustion, not out of self-fulfillment. So apparent in his wild features.

    The iron bar dangled above the ground. It looked like it will fall from his fingers at any instant. From this distance, I felt his rage, frustration. And worst, I related to it.

    The first shadow approached under some order unheard by me. He caught the iron bar, then whispered into the other¡¯s ears. Even beneath the night cloak, between the flickering artificial lights and the so-not close distance, both men were recognized by me.

    I recognized Emery Cromwell in his favorite suit style, which grew ruined because of the violent activity. He was eyeing the red car, chest up and down due to anger and strain. The men around him stood wordlessly. Their back blocked my sight, hence identifying their temperament counted inaccessible.

    It wasn¡¯t difficult for me to grasp the situation. The reason for this commotion all boiled down to the presence of the red car, the famous red car, and the possibility of the presence of its owner.

    But this wasn¡¯t my problem¡­ or at least not my very own personal problem for now.

    My unforeseen problem became the other one. The one standing next to Mr. Cromwell. He was no one but my named friend, Travis. High and mighty. From every man who satellited the scene, he was the sol individual who held enough courage and approached the out-of-control Mr. Emery Cromwell. So naturally, so confidently, to the point it set an angry fire into my core.

    What is the meaning of this? What was Travis¡¯s real identity? Have I been played from the start?

    Afraid of being recognized as well, I hurried back. Confused on all levels, I worked up the stairs, slowly, in hesitation. From above, Milford Macias'' visage greeted me. Solemn. He sustained neutral expressions, straight lips, a precis gaze. This exterior prestige, below it, buried an immense satisfaction of victory. I knew I felt it.

    The purpose of this trip, why did he bring me to this place? Why did he park August¡¯s car near the nightclub building?

    He killed two birds with one stone.

 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN : PERCEPTION

    Perhaps only in my imagination, once inside the rundown restaurant, the atmosphere became unbearable, suffocating my chest. Like a boulder, underneath it a crushed ribs.

    Back at our table, I sat. In the same place, in the same spot. The visionary scenes haven¡¯t changed here. The only thing touched shattered my internal expectations of the encounter with Mr. Milford Macias.

    The half-eaten plate in front of me turned cold and nauseating. Breathing slowly, I closed my eyes. But my attempt to flee the smell failed. The previous scene was stuck in my short memory, replaying, over and over, similar to an old film tap, unable to dissolve.

    A few glances over the window I stole, multiple times, to separate illusion and reality, to confirm what I had just witnessed. Each time, it felt as if I had reviewed an over-the-top movie. The profile of a lawless gangster, capable of anything, handling a metal bar with full force contradicted the intellectual individual whom I interacted with several days ago. During his violent spree, Emery Cromwell was a completely different person.

    Amidst the anarchic mental confusion, a kind of self-blaming thought floated, clinging to the last bit of rationality. Where was the committed mistake? Where did I stumble? Maybe at the point where I arrogantly believe in figuring out a person¡¯s character based on a handful of meetings and haughty conversations. Though I consider myself a good judge of human nature. However, on occasion, the depth of one¡¯s inner self ranged greater than my ability to see and read.

    Those strange people, able to evade my radar. To what extent we are similar? I wonder?

    The other face of Mr. Emery Cromewell. The hidden one. It left my mind a blank paper, rage devouring it. Every time I pictured him beside Evelyn, the blood rush into my head. The mere possibility of him lifting his hand on her, burned me to ash.

    Besides, what about that two-faced Travis? To what degree of perfection, he aced his act for me to underestimate him this much¡­ To be fooled by his act? To let him be near my Anna? What was his genuine relationship with her? Could it be she was another consumer of his play or someone able to influence truly her?

    After the earlier scene, the play of a man in unrequired love and a rival who swept all his hopes underwent a lot of appraisal rounds in a mere few minutes. The validation I felt in beating him exploded to shreds of illusion. Luminous, but quick to die. Every gesture of his I recalled entered the accusation cage in my eyes. And somehow several questionable matters irked me before began making sense.

    My forehead rested on my palms, restless. Half blaming, half wondering, I lamented in my heart, full of sourness, ¡°Father¡­ Father¡­ in what risk have you put, Evelyn? You could have thought of another plan.¡± To be startled by an equivalent troubling existence.

    ¡°Tired? Is it past your bedtime?¡±

    The vacant seat across from me has been occupied once more. I lifted my head, forcing a smile, but I fell way below my ability to act. The stiffened atmosphere grew over-saturated, filled with discomfort. Not that kind of awkwardness or that of boredom. But with something else, something akin to the calm before an explosion.

    Contrary to my muddled state, Mr. Milford Macias appeared gratified. His eyes glittered in satisfaction. My intuition whispered in my ears such a pleasure stemmed not just from the awesome grilled meat.

    I sighed, and he noticed it. The curves of his smug smile elongated, and my displeasure amplified. However, as a matter of fact, I didn¡¯t understand my inner conflict regarding my new supervisor. Or opponent?¡­ Or whatever his occupation was. Anyway, his intentional or unintentional trick opened my eyes to an impossible prospect. A one never scratched the peripheral margin of my consideration. As a matter of course, the gratitude must fill up my heart¡­

    Nevertheless, his trick also unfolded a scary possibility about Mr. Milford Macias¡¯s source of information. His precise knowledge about the identity of August Olvera¡¯s new fiancee. About me and my circle of acquaintances. And maybe about my family. Hence, today, his action, in my heart, won another layer of distrust mixed with worry.

    While also, this could be a mere coincidence, or at least a half coincidence, especially if I added Travis into the picture¡­

    I sighed again¡­

    Mulling my head over the overwhelmed possibilities will vaporize my brain. Better start looking for evidence. That was why, and despite my muddled chest, I volunteered to wipe the dust in our sitting before we part way.

    ¡°I think you shouldn¡¯t have parked your car in that particular place? Did you relocate it?¡±

    Mr. Milford Macias offered himself a cup of water. He delayed his answer till after he called for tea. Then he allowed himself a complete focus on me, with a weird look. His chin pointed high in exclamation, a short word oozed out his lips discernible for me to confirm. ¡°why?... Why should I?¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    At the tip of his tongue, the mockery dangled apparent, except I managed to swallow the provocation by hanging on the silence rope.

    The seconds moved slowly, unpalatably¡­ I felt his eyes on me, judging, anticipating as I turned my head towards the window, preying for a valid answer.

    He certainly didn¡¯t change the car''s location. And the reason why stood apparent nearby¡­

    Two of the men waited not near neither far, in so not concealed place, watching the passerby. From their clothes, I deduced their identities. Emery must have ordered them to stand for lookout, oh man, but they were so obvious. What do they wish to accomplish? Scare everyone away?

    ¡°Aha¡­ Thank you¡­¡± He said, pulling my interest and stopping the lumpish attitude or I thought so, ¡°but don¡¯t worry,¡± he glanced at my plate, then to my face. A trace of conjecture painted the corner of his eyes, yet what he prattled after contradicted his look, ¡°it¡¯s not my car.¡±

    ¡°Hell, that¡¯s worst.¡± I jumped to respond without a reflection.

    Stupid me. Now he knew that I knew that the car wasn¡¯t his. Maybe he already knew before. Still, he wasn¡¯t certain and now I approved his doubts.

    Stupid me¡­

    The triumphed smile of victory made an ample comeback, sucking the blood out of his lips. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the original owner won¡¯t feel the loss. Besides, I won that car over after giving a small favor.¡±

    ¡°A favor? A small one?¡± I questioned, baiting a further explanation.

    ¡°Yes, a small favor. Do you want to know what kind of favor makes you able to get a car like this?¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    I swallowed my breath, somehow deep inside my heart. I didn¡¯t wish to know. But curiosity got the better of me.

    ¡°Well, as you know, the first time when we met.¡± The tea finally arrives. He moved the cup near his face inhaling the hot aroma. ¡°I told you that I had come straight from an engagement party.¡± He said before he took a sip.

    ¡°No, you didn¡¯t.¡± I precipitated again, ¡°actually, you said you have come from a wedding party.¡± What¡¯s wrong with my mouth today?

    ¡°Well, whatever,¡± he waved his hand, "in the end, it¡¯s the same thing.¡± Then nipped a second taste from his tea.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s¡­¡± I studied his reaction before I cut off my explanation. My resolve stationed at no merit in winning this argument, nor did he seem adamant to change his concept of marriage and engagement. A waste of time and words.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°Anyway¡­ during the party¡­¡± He resumed, taking my resignation as a win. I know it from the tone of his voice. Though up to this point, I was tired, bored with this game. Let¡¯s just find what he stored up his sleeves.

    ¡°My friend''s fianc¨¦e received a call that her stupid little brother got himself jailed for a crime. Apparently, he didn¡¯t commit. So my friend didn¡¯t have a choice but to ask me for a favor to get him out.¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    My gaze turned glacial, fixated on him yet he continued unbothered, ¡°you know he wanted to look all-powerful and reliable in front of his fianc¨¦e.¡±

    ¡°...¡±

    A triumphed smirk washed his face. He fixed me with a challenging stare. I wasn¡¯t certain how he perceived me until he added, ¡°you know the continuation, right? I don¡¯t need to say more?¡± It marked the moment that changed my silent demeanor. The moment I became aware that he didn¡¯t seize the reaction he was looking for.

    ¡°And that¡¯s how I got the car, but I wasn¡¯t able to receive it until now.¡±

    With the last sentence, I felt his enthusiasm,... Waning, bleaching along the irritating smirk.

    My turn for a counterattack arrived. I gathered the leftover of my wit in one single blow, ¡°great¡­¡±I thickened my voice as much as I could, ¡°so how are we going back downtown? At this late time of night?¡± Like it was the only thing that mattered in the whole story.

    Ah¡­, How much I loved the surprise, betraying his arrogant features.

    I watched the barley emptied tea cup settle on the table. Its calm surface cracked into ripples reflecting its owner''s internal, not showed, unsatisfaction. He wanted me irritated, however; the spell turned on the magician. Insults don¡¯t work on me.

    ¡°Well,¡± his tone changed drastically, ¡°I hope you have enough money so you could ask for a cap. I have to warn you, in this place and at this time, a cap downtown is very expensive.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± Could it be this was his aim from the start, ¡°but you should take responsibility? You are the one who invited me and brought me here?¡± I decided to play along. In all honesty, I played along, hoping to win his pity and make him change his mind.

    ¡°Sorry boy,¡± He stood up, ¡°I promised to pay for the meal, not the trip back to your home.¡± The way he walked away reminded me of my last meeting with Hanna Marchetti when she stormed off. Of course, minus the slap, minus the physical slap.

    ¡°I will settle the bill.¡± He threw me a side look. ¡°Good night.¡± Between harassment and smugness. It left me perplexed. Did I win? Or did he get what he sought? When he disappeared out of my sight, it occurred to me that this person set an irrational goal to bully me for nothing, only for his personal amusement.

    After midnight, a new calm surrendered the ever-woken area. The noise of the closing gate behind my back lasted for minutes. My sole consolation under the weighing negative thoughts.

    I sighed, the cool breeze pushed me forward. Here in this unfamiliar, unknown place, I walked soulless. My fist clenching the dump phone. And in one moment of resolve, I threw it as far as I could, as if it was a small stone and I was standing on the edges of a raging sea.

    Inside my head, every piece of recent memories convoluted into a chaotic mass. Searching for a meaning, a hint, when it all started¡­

    The night swallowed every sign of life. At this hour, all the cries and laughers reached my ears earlier, withdrawn. And the colorful lights of fake happiness were expelled as if they never existed. It was the calm that gave the night its infinite divine, the kind which mixed fears with dark ideas.

    I got tired while thinking of a place to return to, to where I was supposed to go to¡­ The road in front of me looked endless. However, the thought of a destination smudged blur¡­ Where should I return to? Surely not to the dormitory, or to one of my friend''s houses, neither to Emery Cromwell hotel.

    Amidst this indecisiveness, my last meeting with Evelyn flapped in front of my eyes. Pieces of the puzzle dangled from the dungeons of my memories. Allowing me to form new connections. In my head, I recalled her awkwardness, her face lineaments... The light trembles in her fingers. I was certain of something she wasn''t able to tell me in words... At that time, in that situation¡­

    Mr. Macias said he was at an engagement party the same night I was held captive by the police...

    His friend was August Olvera. My sister was his supposed fianc¨¦e. But, the next day I have met her, Evelyn was accompanied by Emery Cromwell...

    What does this mean?..., I don''t know anything anymore... Whereas I know Evelyn... I knew she wasn''t this kind of person¡­ She must be a part of some sort of large scheme¡­

    Then a strike of realization hammered into my head. At the time of the planned murder, and the failed scandal of the third McCarthey son being charged with first-degree murder must be meant to sabotage the union between the Olvera and the McCarthey¡­

    Wasn¡¯t August already engaged to some other big conglomerate daughter not long ago?

    I lifted my palm slapping myself for not releasing sooner¡­ The explosion at the dinner party¡­ The death of the girl, August¡¯s ex-fianc¨¦e¡­ They must have all been my father''s meticulous planning to break down the ongoing alliance between the Olvera and the Trills.

    The victim''s family won¡¯t stay still. They will seek revenge while my father foresaw the Trills counterattack. He had also prepared for it. In addition, here came the answer I spend days attempting to look for. The reason why my father had chosen to take me with him to the Olvera dinner party¡­

    It was non-other than to use me as bait.

    As much as it irritated me, this piece of sudden illumination as much as it enthralled me, the fact that I was still useful. As if I had paid half of my sins, half of what the McCarthey name owns me.

    In this darkness, I continued my walk without a destination. Evelyn''s face redrew again and again in my visualization... Each time, a few more details revived the memory. I saw her suppressing a hundred expressions, unable to divulge while asking me in a wordless act to accept Emery Cromwell in our secret plan¡­ without a further explanation¡­ without asking my opinion. More like she was demanding a favor.

    The air puffed my lungs stagnated. I needed to take a deep breath to shake off Emery''s merry visage next to Evelyn from my memories. He showed an unhealthy delight, chatting happily to the point that the only deduction hovered in my mind, his unawareness about his girlfriend''s official engagement to¡­ To what? a business rival? An archenemy?

    When he smashed the multimillions red car like a beast, he must have learned about this engagement. But the question was when? When did he learn about this official engagement? Just recently or the moment he tracked me and took me to his auction house? Maybe way¡­ Way earlier?

    The sound of a car engine stuffed my ears. This was really an isolated area. Calm and dark. No car crossed this road since I began walking in this direction. In some way, despite the disturbance, this sound felt comforting. I nearly snapped, thinking that on top of this holy moly crisis I got stuck in, I was walking in the wrong way.

    In the blink of an eye, the roaring engine reached me. The car lights illuminated the surroundings. I wanted to wave my hand, may, and perhaps I will get a free ride¡­ This greedy idea died at the likelihood of this car being one that belongs to Emery. I retreated further into the darkness, then I resumed my long walk to an unknown home.

    While witnessing Emery''s actual frenzy, I didn¡¯t wish to find myself in the red car''s sorry state. Considering if I were in his position, I will certainly believe that this pair of sister and brother teamed up to scam me.

    Thinking this way made the earlier question popped inside my head. When Emery had found out about the official engagement of Evelyn?

    Another car passed, several minutes later, passed another one, then another one. This succession encouraged me to wave my hand, asking for a free ride. I mean, from all those passing cars, what will be the probability of one of Emery¡¯s cars will stop for me? I can¡¯t be that unlucky.

    I stepped near the road to be able to get spotted in this darkness. Over a handful of tries, I haven¡¯t been unlucky. Rather, no one showed a tiny desire to pick me up. Not even showing an ounce of pity for someone walking in the middle of nowhere after midnight. Another few more unsuccessful tries, then I abandoned the idea.

    The first ray of daylight broke through the shadows of the night, providing me a clearer view. I paused, scanning the surroundings for a close station, a nearby house, anything where I can ask for help or a phone.

    Yet my last hope shattered. I was stuck in the middle of nowhere. I was careless enough to not closely survey the road when the jerk Macias drove me here.

    The single ray turned into bundles, and the bundles of light advertised the upcoming rising sun. Unexpectedly, a black car stopped several meters ahead of me. With caution, I stood observing it. Every possibility I could shelve as an excuse for its pause roamed my thoughts. In the end, I decided to proceed forward, feigning disinterest.

    Looking up front while eyeing the roadside, I attempt to picture any passenger entering my vision field. Unfortunately, all the car windows were made from smoked glass and they were closed. I could only spot the profile of my reflection.

    Nothing happened after I walked passed it, or after I became a few meters ahead of it. My wracked nerves relaxed a bit. Till an alarm sound arrived from behind. It repeated several times, but I decided to ignore it.

    Behind my back, I felt something approaching me slowly. The sound of the engine roared near my ears, followed by the firm noise of the same alarm. The muscle in my face spasmed, my brows tingled in a knot. Maintaining a charmful front became impossible. I glared to the side without leaning my head. The smoked glass of the driver''s window went down slowly.

 CHAPTER NINETEEN : CONFESSION

    Slim was the chance the surveillance system didn¡¯t capture my face for I was careless not expecting Milford Macias''s little surprise.

    How I wished to avoid this¡­

    The sun blinded my eyes, I moved closer before I could see the one behind the driver''s seat. In my unfulfilled guess, I froze motionless peeking inside. My right hand sustained the weight of my body as I stretched it gripping the car roof.

    ¡°Get in.¡±

    The familiar voice gave what seemed to me an order, causing my muscles to tense in contempt. My eyes pointed invisible arrows of a calm rage, ready to launch. But I stood in a position from where there was nothing to win if I was the one to start a quarrel.

    That was why I waited in that rundown restaurant for things outside to calm down, for the crowd to disperse, for Emery men to get bored, tired, and lose vigilance.

    With similar shared thoughts, Travis didn¡¯t repeat his¡­ Order. The door lock clicked open and his head shifted forward to the long road. No room for negotiation.

    Seeing him now, somehow, he looked different. I barely recognized him, even began wondering if he was the same person I had known. There hovered a shade of formality and coldness on his face I never experienced before.

    As I dragged my feet to the car door, a battle of choices broke out under my skin, firing my nerves. How am I supposed to treat him? Like the dull friend, he was to me, the unqualified love rival or the betrayer of an uncompleted trust?

    The moment I pulled the door open, another question popped into my head. Am I really going to sit next to him? In the place he chose?

    Despite my unfavorable position, it won¡¯t hurt showing him a hint of my rebellious self. I can still show an opinion, even symbolically, to satisfy my arrogance.

    Drawing in an ecstasy of trivial win, I moved to open the rear door. And I wished I didn¡¯t.

    The outside blooming sunlight denied me a clear view, however, in no chance, I could mistake that voice for another.

    ¡°See!... He chose the backseat¡­ I won.¡±

    From the inside, Emery Cromwell''s voice brushed near my ears. His comment wasn¡¯t addressed to me, nor did he tick like his usual self. He sounded different than I remembered him. In¡­ In a strange way.

    The door clanged closed, I shoved my body into the seat next to him. For my pride, there were no options to back down now, even if I wished to.

    Upon settling, a stench paused at the entrance of my nostrils. And from the front seat reached me a late warning, ¡°I will tell you now, he is very different from his normal self when he is wasted.¡± I could care less if I was talking to Travis or any other person with an uneven personal score. My lips just moved, articulating a question. An important one.

    ¡°In what way? Did he get violent?¡±

    The rearview mirror glassed Travis''s upper visage. Our eyes mingled in a silent conversation full of threat and dread, yet the connection dwindled then ceased. The car wobbled causing a sudden loss of balance. I felt a bump under my feet and my body oscillated forward and backward. As if that wasn¡¯t enough, a person''s weight fell on my side, making the alcohol stench in my nostrils stronger accompanied by an acidic trail.

    I shouted, ¡±are you going to throw up?¡± Pushing his head further from my body.

    In those few seconds, I strengthened my mind for any possible outcome. However, this time, my good luck woke up from its undefined slumber coercing Emery to nod, ¡°No¡±. I breathed relief while adjusting him to a safer position.

    While I fixed him in his place, he mumbled between his lips unrecognizable words. I turned to Travis demanding if he had any water¡­

    Like magic, the handful mouthful he sipped sobered him in an instant. He even started chatting, projecting sidelong glances, sliced into sleepiness and slyness.

    ¡° Ah, it¡¯s Kieran¡­¡± He breathed out as if he just noticed my presence. The tip of his fingers massaged his temple then added, slowly separating his lips, ¡°how is your girlfriend?¡± After, he applied light pressure to his eyes scrubbing the touch of pain under his eyebrows.

    The last drop of my luck seemed consumed by the striking headache befalling Mr. Cromwell. It kept him from pursuing an answer. Hence, I zipped my lips and retreated awkwardly.

    ¡°I told you¡­ It¡¯s been more than a month since they have broken up.¡±

    I cringed a smile at the rearview mirror. Then blurted, "how is Anna?¡± To divert the conversation theme. Through the same reflective surface, I won his focus over the road. His indifferent stares slipped like water from a fist. Soon, his gaze joined the road up ahead. But, after a surprise.

    ¡°As unstable as you remember her.¡±

    The neutrality put into his tone had me aghast, the clarity of his answer startled me. Nothing felt personal in his voice. Just the ruthless professionalism. It urged me to reason again my thoughts of him trying to provoke me. I stipulated wrong.

    ¡°Nah, he is just tricking you into thinking that they had broken up.¡± Emery joined the conversation. I sensed his half-closed eyes picking at my profile escorted by an incomprehensive smile. " Right?"

    "Well¡­" He pushed his body behind the driver¡¯s seat, whispering behind Travis¡¯s ears, "well, let''s make it a bet."

    Something in my head warned me to not go against him or to indulge in this subject at all. I pursed my lips tight avoiding the constant invisible nagging and apparent anticipation from both sides.

    Despite my reluctant silence, the nagging continued. Rather, it turned visible, physical. Emery''s hand held my shoulder, his head leaned closer, whispering in the same manner, "did or didn''t you break up with Marchetti¡¯s daughter?"

    I sought solace from the eyes reflected in the mirror. But Travis held a nonchalant look, implying that the consequences were mine to bear for opening the incorrect door.

    I sighed, "she dumped me."

    "No way." The sleepy, unconscious look on his face sharpened. He retreated backward and finally sat like a normal person. "No way¡­ You are a ladies killer." He really appeared in a dilemma. Unable to believe that Hanna Marchetti dumped me. But from where did he get the part that I am a ladies killer?

    As if he read my mind, he approached the driver¡¯s seat again, blowing into Travis¡¯s ears, yet loud enough for me to hear. "Did you know, Even Annabel had her eyes on him?"

    "There is also a cute girl chasing after him,¡± Travis indulged the chat, ¡°Her name?... Her name¡­ Ah Cali Harisson, you know her, second daughter of Harrison, the lawyer at the same firm. But no, he favors the unstable, psychopathic one while he mercilessly uses the latter feelings for his own benefit."

    I hardly finished digesting the meaning of those words when the sudden deceleration in the car speed ended in my head hitting the back of the front seat next to the driver.

    This time, Travis overdid it. "Annabel?" He echoed, frightened, his mind fully processing the information, just now.

    "Yes, Annabel, as in like your little sister." A diabolic smirk transpired against Emery''s drunken mien spraying fuel over the ignited fire.

    Yes, no way this was a mere bet about me being dumped. I will pray that his revenge against Evelyn leaving him will end here.

    "What?" The Travis I knew made a comeback.

    "He was the one who first gave her signals. I thought since he already has a girlfriend, he was doing it on purpose to get back to you. You know, the tracked phone, the whole stalking, and sniffing game."

    Mmm, sniffing? Was he aware?

    The car stopped and the driver¡¯s upper body whirled towards me, shouting and swearing, "what¡­ You¡­ You maniac, if you get near her I will¡­"

    "Don''t worry, I warned her as in, he already has a girlfriend." Emery interrupted, pouring some water on the fire he stirred. it made me wonder, did he want us to fight or not fight? But let it be, the milk is already burned. Though, was it why Annabel tried to distance herself from me?

    ¡°What will you do? Sneak into my room in the dorm and turn it upside down?¡± My inquiry directed to Travis, he seemed the safest root to demonstrate some of my resistance.

    The silence stormed inside the car, freezing the passage of time. Since the two of them didn¡¯t volunteer to melt it, I continued, ¡°I wondered for a million times why did you sneak into my room. What will you get? But yesterday I obtained the last piece of this puzzle.¡± When I was talking, I felt as if somebody else took control over my words, after twisting and tweaking them he spilled them using my mouth.

    ¡°How did you find out?¡± Emery was the first one to participate. Whether it was the influence of alcohol or something else, once I graced him my attention, his expression fluctuated between curiosity and praise.

    ¡°The print of his Shoes, all over my floor.¡± I closed my eyes reminiscing about the devastating state of my room after I came back alive from the Trills grip. ¡°At first I thought maybe it was an act of retribution, but now I think it was a show of scorn.¡± I turned my head, confronting Travis a second time, ¡°you should have changed them before you came to the cafeteria the next day. You made it so easy for me to identify you.¡±

    "Yeah, but don''t worry, I mean you already know that we didn¡¯t find anything of significant importance. And you didn¡¯t lose anything."

    Emery wanted to pull the whole talking in his direction. Bearing all the blame. He gestured to Travis to turn away. A signal gnawed at my brain. I mulled the earlier question again, does this man fancy or doesn¡¯t fancy a fight? The contradiction in his words and cues bewildered me. What was he wishing for?

    Oh¡­ During the days I spent testing him, did he find himself obligated to refund the favor?

    ¡°And I compensated you handsomely.¡±

    Was he talking about the free hotel suit, the high-paid job? So they were a compensation? Yet they supported many of the reasons why I didn¡¯t trust him. No one will hand gifts for nothing. A principle mended into my subconscious, the painful way.

    ¡°Compensation? Don¡¯t make me laugh. Because when you failed, you used my sister to reach me. It wasn¡¯t cool at all.¡±

    Emery¡¯s eyes shifted up front, exchanging glances with Travis through the rearview mirror. His lips pursed reluctance for he didn¡¯t uncover the right speech to counter me or I believed.

    Honestly, this wasn¡¯t like him. I acknowledged his wit. Perhaps the alcohol diluted his thinking yet allowed a cluster of expressions to emerge I never witnessed on his face before.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    The few minutes of contemplation finally cut, ¡°you think Evelyn can be used?¡±

    I could smell the stench of bitterness oozing under his breath. He didn¡¯t look at me when he said that nor at Travis. His lost gaze sunk into the void of another world known only to him. After all, who will recognize the kind of regrets and flaws in someone else but himself?

    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± I discerned this question was not the kind that required an answer. A question for the sake of a question¡­ Because¡­.,

    ¡°We are mere humans, everything is possible.¡± I swallowed back what I didn¡¯t know how to articulate. I didn¡¯t deserve to paraphrase this sort of matter. However, due to the gentleman complex I suffered from. I ached to be the hero I was not, and will never be, still I comforted him.

    ¡°I think she wanted to give you a second chance with my father after you had screwed up the Olvera dinner party.¡± Oh boy, and that seemed very out of place, so I had to be mean too for things to be normal again.

    ¡°Did she know that you have sent your man to search my room and stalk me?¡±

    ¡°The Trills¡¯ legal dealings all go through the Klangor firm, they must have a lot of dirt on them. Despite your origin, you succeeded in infiltrating it. I wanted the information you have gathered about them to compensate General McCarthy and polish my image in front of him again.¡±

    Although he skipped my inquiry on purpose, this long declaration felt like the most honest thing he ever said during our interaction. Well, in my experience, Emery Cromwell hardly could be classified as a liar. When he told me he didn¡¯t trace my phone he wasn¡¯t lying. The one who did is now accomplishing the duty of being our driver. Yet what are those dreadful sensations akin to being hunted down by a beast?

    I cracked a joke to lighten the air, ¡°You thought I am going to hide such hard-earned dirt in my room, at the university dorm?¡±

    ¡°Then, where?¡±

    The smile barely touched my lips to fade away. The sacrifices and risks I sweated there to collect it, he deemed oblivious to them.

    ¡°I am joking¡­¡±

    Certain he wasn¡¯t. The tone hammered at the speed of thunderlight. The desperation glittered, was my father threatening him or promising him a prize? The carrot and the tick stakes, my father¡¯s well-loved game. What a pity I will pray him good luck in getting the approval he sought, for my father a quick to grow disappointed and rarely gives second chances.

    My hands slipped to the door lock. I judged this moment the best to retreat before things develop an uglier turn. Compared to the stuffy atmosphere I was detained in, a missed fresh breeze slapped my face. Ease my stress. Yet the time was too early to celebrate my freedom. Emery¡¯s grip tightened on my shoulder, preventing me from getting out. The scene of him crushing the red car flashed in front of my eyes. I believed it arrived¡­ The moment when we get to the physical part.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡±

    I swallowed my saliva.

    ¡°In the middle of nowhere.¡±

    Should I size the opportunity, push him hard and flee for my life? He is wasted, and Travis didn¡¯t represent a threat. He stood nearer to the nerdy spectrum rather than to the athletic one, despite being somehow fit.

    No¡­ It will be too cowardly. A disgrace to my former self before it will be a disgrace to the McCarthy name.

    I relaxed my body back. Comfortable at the surface, alert in the heart, and ready if needed.

    ¡°Where should we drop you?¡±

    My eyebrows jerked startled, ¡°to the university¡¯s entrance?¡± And to my amazement,...

    The trip sailed without further complications.

    Hollow-minded there, I sat obediently during most of the drive. Unable to speculate or build theories of the ending. Next to me, Emery laid motionless. Hands crossed before his chest, head inclined backward and eyes closed. I concluded his headache consumed the remaining bits the alcohol didn¡¯t. Likewise, Travis never peeked at the mirror again. The majority of his concentration invested on the road. When the car stopped anew, we had already reached the university.

    While ready to open the door, I perceived Emery¡¯s unfocused gaze. His head leaned to the side, observing me through half-closed eyelids. He looked so harmless and encouraged me to spill out one of my many unanswered questions.

    ¡°Did you see the person whom I came with?¡± Not just Emery, but also Travis. ¡°I mean over the club¡¯s surveillance system.¡± Both of them must have seen me with Mr. Milford Macias.

    ¡°Mmm¡­¡±

    ¡°Do you know the man?¡±

    ¡°Mmm¡­ Yeah,¡± His voice dropped so low as in fading to a dream, ¡° a legal advisor to the Olvera Conglomeration and a close confidant to August Olvera.¡±

    I contemplated a little before I decided to add, ¡°No I don¡¯t think he is working for august.¡± In a similarly low voice. The man is already wasted, he won¡¯t remember anything anyway. Then I walked out, unheeding, what I just said had cleared up Emery¡¯s headache and woke him up.

    The huge trees in the entrance stretched to cover my trails. When I grew sure of my invisibility to the onlookers in the parked car, the several confident strides I took toward the gate withered, little by little. The comfort shed its silky veils on my tensed limbs releasing the restricting chains of hopelessness.

    Free from my control, my legs walked the usual path as I was occupied by my next move. Henceforth, where should I go? Where should I return to? Who could be my savior in this state of homelessness, joblessness, and needs?

    The money with me won¡¯t last a month of expense. Friends? Almost nonexistent, other acquaintances? Mostly not trusted. Only two options left in my narrow drawer of available options, call my family for the rescue,... Albeit I was no longer involved with the firm, one trace of connection and I will be tracked down by the remaining partners. They will be able to inflict harm on me or use me to pressure my father once more.

    But, Jacob is here.

    Evelyn is here.

    And Emery and August, both can be called an ally, although, with unknown agenda to me at least.

    What power were the Trills left with now? Father and Evelyn blew their attempt to unite with the Olvera. Marchetti ruled as good as dead. Their law firm is sinking into chaos for a new face won¡¯t be easy for him to take control in no time. And I have accumulated a pile of dirt against them to leak and use in court.

    We basically won¡­

    We have avenged the fall of my grandfather.

    I have avenged the death of my grandfather.

    The ecstasy of victory overwhelmed my worries while the stream of pinky dreams flowered inside my head. A stupid smirk printed on my lips. Soon, I will receive my law degree and return to the East. Either I will join another firm or maybe I will find work in the department of justice.

    My legs paused when my mind sobered enough for me to realize I was in front of the library building. Down the line, everything looked rosy and tasted sweet. I could grab its materialization in my hands. My status in the McCarthy house will rise to a higher level, obviously not equal to competing with Alfred or Jacob, however, at last, I will ditch that nasty nickname from my forehead.

    The day kept progressing greater and greater. The few hours in the library turned fruitful, I decided on the bibliographies I will employ for the rest of my thesis, sped read over half of them, then decided on the big points I will discuss.

    At midday, the calls of nature finally reached me. My stomach roared hungrily while the sleepless night of yesterday demanded compensation. Stretching my arms for the last rush of energy, I collected my notes, returned the books then strode off to the exit.

    The earlier problem of shelter and food, I tossed into the dustbin of unwanted worries for now. I will deal with it later when my savings dry up. Who knows maybe Evelyn will hear about my fall off with Emery and send me some pocket money, the way she used to. Besides, I must find a way to give her the information I stole before someone else will try to snatch it away from me or be found out by the enemy.

    As I inhaled the campus air. In the giggles and chatters of passers-by students, a trace of nostalgia caressed my heart. A knot of regret tightened my chest for I exhausted my time as a student under the filthy swam of schemes and secrets.

    My eyes roamed between the flocks of moving freshwomen and men. Always alert, always on the edges.

    How remorseful for a person who can only be a student once in his whole life?

    I fetched up a well-acquainted silhouette. Clumsy, disorientated, bumping here and there while asking for directions.

    Yet this formed the life I was born to as well as the price I will pay for bearing the Mccarthy powerful name, whether I accepted it or not as Jacob had told me.

    I stopped.

    The smile overpowered my resistance to not smile.

    And I waited.

    The distance narrowed and I finally got spotted.

    Ahh¡­ This day is getting greater and greater.

    We stood face to face, well I stood taller, so in the figurative meaning of the situation.

    ¡°You promised me¡­ You promised me you will protect her¡­ You promised to never show her the blood test.¡±

    Left and right, I survived the place around us for unwanted ears then I said, ¡°let us change the location.¡±

    I invited Mm Marchetti to the same shop where I and Hanna officially broke up. I even chose the same table. Upon seating, the touch of anxiety painted her forehead, betraying the brave face she showed to me.

    I preferred to be the initiator of this conversation.

    ¡°It took you so long, I thought you would never contact me until I find the time to pay you a personal visit.¡±

    She pursed her lips, looking down at the table decoration, ¡°I did¡­ You were just nowhere to be found. I also visited the dormitory but it was under construction.¡±

    I contemplated a little about the past days of my life. Oh¡­ She wasn¡¯t the one to blame for the tardiness¡­

    Without admitting I moved to the next topic.

    ¡°You have betrayed me first.¡± Deflecting her earlier accusation.

    The soft tremble in her lower lips surpassed yet her eyes glittered by a newly formed mist.

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand¡­¡±

    ¡°Understand what?¡±

    ¡°It was out of my hands¡±

    ¡°Out of your hands¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t just refuse¡­¡±

    I drank her pitiful appearance trying to assess the sincerity from the acting.

    ¡°You can punish me, but not Anna¡­¡±

    Ugh, a wrong move, employing the same name I once used to call her daughter.

    The conversation ceased when the server brought my order. Uncourteous, I obeyed the call of nature, jumping onto the food, devouring spoon after spoon like a starved monkey pig. Whilst wondering about the last time I enjoyed my food this much. It must be the Olvera dinner party.

    The gritted meat was also good until it lasted.

    Mm, Marchetti kept her silence, only settling for mouthfuls of water. One after the other, as a coping mechanism.

    ¡°What are you going to do now?¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± I questioned under the chewing movements of my teeth.

    ¡°I mean to us?¡±

    I nearly choked¡­ ¡°You, what are you going to do now? You get what you wanted, your cheating husband on his deathbed, the little heir is dead. All the wealth and assets will become yours and your daughter¡¯s, exactly like you had wished.¡±

    ¡°I never thought of¡­ Of¡­ Harming anyone before, his¡­ His action forced me to¡­¡±

    ¡°I know, I know, we all have reasons to kill someone but only a few have the guts to do so.¡±

    A customer switched on the TV, leaving it on the news channel. The loud sound reverberated across the walls.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not what you think, Liam was never my target for revenge.¡±

    I gazed at her, annoyed by the voice of the reporters. Under my scrutinized glares, the stress coerced her to explain.

    ¡°The agreement wasn¡¯t to kill him at all. It was to put him to sleep so the kidnapping process will be easy¡­ But¡­ But¡­¡±

    ¡°But he is dead.¡± I glanced at the TV screen. Before I concentrated on any headline, the realization struck me. Why she wasn''t framing me or accusing me of the murder if she only put the kid to sleep?

    I eyed her in well-hidden confusion and she averted her eyes.

    Oh god, I remembered that night as well as I remember the knitting needle in the boy''s neck. The painful breathing and the flowing tears or raindrops.

    ¡°She found out about her father''s will¡­¡± Despite she had reached the verge of sobbing she continued, ¡°all that stress, all that weariness became anger.¡±

    Rationally meditating, Mm. Marchetti never was the bold type. Employing a needle to kill someone deviated far away from her style. Rather she hit me as the preserving one, never the impulsive thriller seeker or the compulsive one. Not because of intelligence or wit, but instead out of fear and cowardice. Moreover, the autopsy report proved the trace of the sleeping medicine in the boy''s blood.

    The silence befell our table for our talk ended sooner than I anticipated. I sighed, searching for a diversion. The water glass on my right, the busy server, the sound of the TV. anything will do.

    Ah¡­ The TV, Yes, yes the TV. I will watch the news.

    In a last attempt to gather my scattered, contradicted emotions. I invested all my heart in it.

    Moving pictures crossed my eyes, an unrecognizable voice buzzed in my ears. They didn¡¯t build a strong distraction. Only when I caught an image of August being surrounded by a swarm of reporters, my muddled brain dispatched a sign of revival. My eyes galloped the headlines, adding meaning to each term glowing on the big screen.

    Upon absorbing the sense of the caption I jumped out of my seat, approaching the screen.

    ¡°Cargo ship laden with prohibited substances docked at the Olvera and the new manager declares¡­¡±

 EXTRA: SUCCESSION

    A lot of people showed up on the day of the funeral.

    Some were distant relatives, some were close friends¡­ Hell, even some enemies have attended the ceremony. However, the large crowd of mourners consisted of common people. Rather appeared to be, according to the press. Despite the identity of the attendants, the deceased was a well-known head figure, a commander of great influence and for several achievements, he possessed huge popularity in civil society.

    In other words, he grew to become a national symbol.

    The old lady stood firm while receiving the mourners¡¯ procession on her face, shaped by life¡¯s tough experiences, a frame of wisdom and dignity. Granting her posture another layer of depth and splendor, far more than the traditional picture of an outdated widow grieving the death of her husband.

    Although the sadness gnawed at her heart, no thick trace of sorrow could redraw the details of her stern countenances. Akin to a divine sculpture of a deity guarding the entrance of a great palace, She rose, leading the ritual initiating to another world.

    In the composure of queens, the Mccarthy lady devoted her sunken eyes towards the crawling human queue, slowly driving in her direction. Holding the offered hands while thin lips poised, echoing words of thanks and gratitude. Whether the attendees came to present their genuine condolence or sneer at her loss, as well as others'' unspeakable motives, her treatment was the same and demonstrated in one fashion. Cold equity.

    Behind, two ladies, no less in confidence and calmness, saluted this stream of humans. One of them sealed a great resemblance to the old lady. As if she was a reflection of a bygone past. Both helped in receiving this sour blend of mourners. Their strong mien amassed an amalgam of meanings, blackness, sadness, and flaring preparedness to fight.

    And not far away, three girls in their prime of youth, the similarities between them were light, nonetheless noticeable to the Keen observers, regulated the organization and the guidance of the attendees. Regardless of their neutral features, the redness in the rim of their eyes couldn¡¯t be concealed.

    After more than seventy years of continuous struggle and fight, in the eyes of his family and loved ones, after more than forty years of arrogance and tyranny, in his opponent''s and enemies'' perspective, at midday, Mccarthy Benjamin Desmond¡¯s body will be transported to its final resting place. Out of respect for his will, he will be buried in the Whitestone cemetery, next to his parent, as well as some of his children and grandchildren who weren¡¯t lucky enough in this world and left early.

    It wasn¡¯t widespread knowledge that the Whitestone cemetery turned into the last resting place for many generations of the Mccarthy house. This ancient, deep-rooted family, whose origin went far back in history, in which names and titles changed. Social standing varied. Yet the origin remained one, the same pure and clean blood.

    Under its last surname flourished a few generations dating back older than the new political and economic movement the world is currently witnessing. And now, here rose the moment for this generation''s leader to hand in the torch of this house to the next one.

    In the news, it has been rumored the cause of Benjamin Mccarthy¡¯s death, the head of the Mccarthy house for more than forty years, was a sudden cardiac arrest. However, the truth unrevealed to the public was only known by a handful of people; influence monopolists, power grabbers, and sovereignty holders. Of course, for the sake of national security and public opinion, facts that bring panic and chaos to the community must be tempered with, obscured, hidden then changed, and manipulated before being published and disclosed in the media.

    Maby this restricted truth fueled the reason that urged the potential and expected heir of the Mcarthy to order tight security, around the residence, in the streets, and also at the cemetery, while he contented himself in showing the traditional mysterious, stern face.

    Not far from where he stood, the rest of the family men scarred near him, exhibiting a mechanical reception, a well-thought-out formality atop fake expressions, and extreme caution. In which, an ordinary individual will be confused, wondering if he was at a funeral or in a charged diplomatic meeting.

    Every handshake accepted by the potential heir, accompanied by sympathy and condolence recitals. Its resonance reverberated hollow, lacking authenticity in his ears. Just an empty speech, occasionally provocative, exceptionally unearthed with contradictory meanings. Sometimes he coupled the sound with a scrutinizing gaze. Different faces yet equal stiff, woody features.

    Hand after hand, for seconds, fingers intertwined then slipped apart, separating for the ritual to repeat, again and again. In the end, people hear what they wanted to hear, see what they wanted to see and he was no exception to this rule.

    General Mccarthy approached his eldest son, hissing into his left ear, ¡°where is Kieran? Everyone noticed his absence.¡±

    Silence governed Alfred''s response, his eyelids flickered, eyebrows raised. The answer to this question stretched beyond succulent words. Swift action needed to be carried out. No matter where was Kieran, he must force him to show face. Needless to say, he must find him first.

    This day, an important one for the family¡¯s reputation. it will be long as well as overtaxed. Even so, nothing unplanned allowed to emerge, nothing unexpected shall defile the family prestige and no unfavorable remark qualified to emerge as rumors.

    Considering most of the other powerful houses, strong clans, who sang the grief melodies of loss to the Mccarthy, were mere fiery hyenas and bloodthirsty wolves. The funeral ceremony molded a fancy umbrella for their hungry claws and a shallow napkin for their eager drools. Under the humanity and compassion masks, they concealed their greed.

    For their success, there were no better opportunities than monitoring a headless prey, in a state of confusion and dispersal. And this was as it was expected after the sudden death of Benjamin Mccarthy, escorted by the well-known whispers of the bad relationship between the Patriarch of the house and his potential heir.

    For the sake of assessing circumstances, spotting the defiances then elaborating plans, the attendees perfected their performance. To what level spread the control and authority of the new head? did his strength plenty to withstand an outside threat? Or will there be openings, fragile balance, weaknesses that can be exploited in near future?

    Everyone, everything had the possibility to be profitable. A child from the family''s main root, spiteful relatives from its branches, close allies, frenemies, incompetent operatives, bad security¡­ The list goes on and on¡­

    This day deemed a matter of life and death, a matter of continuity and survival. General Mccarthy was well aware of this truth. The victory crown only decorated the head of the worthy.

    On the afternoon of Benjamin Mccarthy''s funeral, from the residence gate to the cemetery entrance, the streets filled with myriad clusters of people. Overcrowding the roads. Those who knew the General predicted half of the mourners to be his trusted men.

    That afternoon, no one witnessed Kieran Noah Mccarthy''s presence, even the closest members of his family.

    Condolences continued throughout the week, while evidence of grief still hung on the wells and balconies of the residence. The neighborhood crowded with the arriving as well as leaving cars, felt restless. Unable to attend the funeral day, some reached from far regions, most ranked low on the hierarchy scale of power and influence, others with diluted blood, distant small branches in the family old tree.

    The anxiety nets, the caution axes, waving around the family members'' necks, began to recede and the danger to retreat. The huge weight fell on the General shoulders, from the death announcement day until the burial day, started to shrivel, little by little. But some stalking eyes in their constant, diligent surveillance, forever active. Like stray dogs, Hiding among dark alleys, they never slept and always sniffed out the well-swept dirt.

    Not long before the sunset on the tenth day of the patriarch''s death. Against the magnificent powerful display. From the worn forgotten corners, a loud barking resurfaced, explaining and analyzing the justificative reasons regarding the Mccarthy third son''s absence.

    What a disgrace, it was a scandal. No matter how much general McCarthy''s power had grown, he was unable to educate his son.

    ¡°Do I supervise the process of searching for the source then silencing them?¡± Calmly said Alfred, his arms stretched along his body, according to the military custom. As if he was one of them although he didn¡¯t wear any official uniform to prove his affiliation.

    ¡°No.¡±

    One word rejection, the general command voiced clear, furthermore anticipated by his elder son.

    Anyway, Alfred''s purpose for laying down this suggestion dug deeper than gaining investigation approval, rather it gravitated more towards learning about his father''s intention regarding his little brother''s behavior.

    It called, sibling curiosity¡­

    ¡°We have far more important affairs to deal with,¡± added Jeremiah, and he wasn¡¯t the type who dwelled on subjects he already had decided on, especially when his answers shortened under the ¡°yes¡± or ¡°no¡± label, hardly an explanation or reasoning will follow, ¡°what we will get after silencing big mouths? We will only confirm the doubts of their patrons.¡±

    Alfred sighed without sound, it seemed his father did not intend to punish Kieran for the time being, or was there another motive for the delay?

    ¡°How about Kieran?¡± So he attempted a direct approach.

    ¡°Leave him alone.¡±

    Jeremiah''s eyes flickered above the documents bedding his desk. The pen hugged between his fingers halted its unwavering dance above the papers. He leaned his weight back on the chair. It wasn¡¯t a look of anger nor resentment that besieged his face, just the one out of thoughtfulness and concern from a father to his gullible son. His ignorant son.

    ¡°He is stubborn, only acts on what his demons dictated in his head. Regular discipline, normal punishment methods will not bring me satisfying results, I will deal with him later.¡±

    Ah¡­ He will deal with him later...

    Soundless Alfred murmured the last sentence under his tongue. The all-encompassing undisclosed implications perched at the back of his mind. ¡°I will deal with him later,¡± when this sentence left his father''s mouth, it did not bode well.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    Faster than the train of his thoughts rampaging the laying possibilities, a file flapped in his direction, settling in the nearest corner to his visual field. Above its cover fixed a picture of a person getting out of a black car. His attire combined the luxurious elegance of businessmen and the brutality of impulsive outlaws, in a harmonious, subtle blend, only discerned by well-seasoned observers and body language experts.

    ¡°Have you checked his background?¡± Demanded Jeremiah, who was still relaxing in the comfort of his chair. Yet the serious mien told a different story.

    The General lost ruminating about his brief encounter with the man. The quick handshake, the applied pressure, the way the stranger carried himself, then the condolence words slipped out of his breath. Everything about this man sparked the General''s irritation and flared the fire of his curiosity. Did he motion that this businessman wasn¡¯t registered in the authorized attendees'' lists, at least in his lists?

    ¡°Emery Cromwell, a nouveau riche, a rising businessman. The core of his wealth revolved around a series of gambling houses, nightclubs, and hotels, yet his true passion lay in antiques, monuments, and historical artifacts. I believe he reached the town about ten hours after the public announcement, but the opportunity to offer his condolence was granted to him only days later.¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± The general interrupted him, finally got himself an insight, not deep enough but sufficient to build a theory upon it, ¡°Hmm, antiques, monuments, no wonder he was able to approach your grandfather''s circle?¡± He glanced at Alfred demanding further elaboration, ¡°Is this all you got?¡±

    Old Benjamin wasn¡¯t exactly a fan of art or antiques, his favorite hobbies leaned towards action and violence more than beauty and esthetic, such as shooting, hunting, or airports¡­ Yes airports, he obsessed with everything that had to do with flying, light aircraft, airplanes, even hang gliding and parachuting.

    Except, after he advanced in years and old age weaknesses bit on his health, the pursuit of those delights waned. Excluding the great influence of his wife who tended to appreciate classical music and collect antiques, the change in his avocation in his last years due not only to his wife''s taste or withering body but also, to a certain of his grandchildren, participated in the transformation process.

    ¡°Accurate details about him or his work are scarce, I will need longer than a few hours to do a large-scale profound digging about his background, connections, and transactions. I presume he isn¡¯t a fan of popularity attracting public attention.

    ¡°Since he trade in monuments and antiques, he must be familiar with a particular variety of our transactions.¡±

    ¡°It goes without saying, but I don¡¯t think grandfather just used as a mediator and supported his growth simply to collect antiques.¡±

    ¡°Humm¡­¡± Jeremiah''s head jolted by thoughts, sorting information¡­ scarce details, not fonded of popularity, his old man supported him, antiques, monuments¡­¡± Humm¡­¡± then why the man rubbed him the wrong way?

    Jeremiah wasn¡¯t the kind of man that placed others above their worth. However, something about this man gutted his reservation, aroused his doubt, upset him. Something he wasn¡¯t able to put his fingers on or define it. His intuition seldom failed him before, and certainly, he can¡¯t leave unsupervised possible danger.

    Too bad he was at a sensitive period, establishing his control, deterring big competitors, and sniffing out rooted traitors summed up his urgent objectives. Not enough time left for small arrogant fishes that annoy and fiddle with his suspicions.

    Aware of his father''s top priorities as well as his busy schedule, Alfred shoved the decision threads from under his father''s grasp, ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much.¡±

    The general gifted him, his famous ambiguous stare, neutral yet inquisitive, perhaps nonchalant or resentful, anyway he resumed, ¡°leave him to me.¡±

    ¡­¡­

    ¡°Are you certain of your ability to discipline an insidious wild beast?¡± Following a short silence, the general finally interacted, ¡°or getting rid of him if it ruled a necessity?¡±

    Alfred threw him his charismatic smile, stained with loads of confidence, ¡°I am not talking about myself, I am just saying I know who is best suited to this job.¡±

    The conversation cut by the light knocks on the door, a formally dressed guard saluted after getting permission, ¡°Sir¡­ the car is ready.¡±

    The general stand up, the sunlight swept over his uniform, first highlighting the number of stars adorning his epaulets then reflecting on the medals and badges on his chest before it fell on the desk surface.

    He picked up his hat, straightened it above a perfectly sleeked backward hair. Calmly pushing towards the door he left Alfred a rather last warning than passing advice, ¡°Be careful, this kind of ambitious individuals who climb through ranks in such a short time, possess plenty of tricky packages if you weren¡¯t able to control and use him, get rid of him.¡±

    Minutes after General McCarthy''s envoy set off, a gray pickup truck joined by two black cars left the same residence but in the opposite direction. In the direction of Benjamin McCarthy''s favorite hunting spot.

    Miles out of the town, expanded, as far as the eyes could reach, breathtaking plateaus and virgin forests that survived the absurd destructive touches of humans¡¯ hands. How not? When this area has been incorporated under the law protecting and preserving natural domain, thanks to the effort of a well-known association.

    However, this lawful protection didn¡¯t prevent a handful of powerful figures from stamping their trace on the border of this natural reserve.

    Nothing counted far from a person¡¯s hold as long as they have the means to grab it so.

    Some of the existing structures possessed a simple look and traditional rustic feel, delivering to the spectator, a warm impression and a subtle nostalgia for the region''s ancient history. The original owners of the land, inherited it, from grandfather to father to son. Whereas other buildings were modern in construction, new in design, and fancy in execution. The ownership of the land measured recent. several buildings stank of tourism investment for those who can pay the accommodation cost.

    Alfred and his sibling always considered the mill residence, the summer house of the family.

    In fact, it was more like a farm than a summer house. Horse stables, greenhouses, and bee boxes sprawled around. In addition, a wide field protected by meter long wooden fence spread on left. Likely for practicing horsemanship. Whereas the archery field concealed in the back of the main building.

    As for the ground behind the name, represented in two very old built towers, nearest to the protected land borders, once the main mills for a prosperous village. Today, they serve as watchtowers.

    How much this place sparked back his childhood memories... And how dear this farm was to his Grandmother''s heart.

    She never fed up repeating the same stories; the period in which the family was forced to settle here before the restoration of the city, or about her wedding ceremony, to impose with this soft tactic, her firm rejection of all the renovating suggestions while strongly encouraging the restoration means.

    ¡°You all can do with this farm whatever you want to, but after my death.¡± One day she said to his grandfather, and father, also to him. When they brought the idea of ??establishing a hotel or turning the land into a tourist center.

    She never thought Benjamin will be the first to go¡­ Since his health was in a better state than hers.

    Whenever Alfred heard his grandmother''s stubborn declaration, doubts submerged him, to the point he became certain of the fact that this farm will withstand the overarching tides of time as long as the property contract was inherited by the women of his family.

    The car stopped in front of an old but large building that combined the grandeur of palaces and the simplicity of cottages. His accompanying bodyguards opened the door¡­

    Swimming among the waves of his memories, Alfred was in no hurry to put his shoes on the muddy soil.

    As soon as his eyes wandered exploring the way to the house gate, he felt great regret for not wearing thick boots. A long sigh escaped his lungs¡­ Lamenting the catastrophic state at the entrance of the house and wondering what caused the roads to deteriorate into this miserable state...

    Didn''t the restoration process, to which his grandfather allocated a large sum of his income, end?

    Escorted by two guards... Once Alfred reached the big wooden door, all his senses jumped fluttering to a nearby loud racket of a gunshot.

    One of the two guards rushed towards the source while the other squared up to a protective, alerted posture, as he twiddled the arm from under his jacket¡­ Yet Alfred''s first reaction was to chase the gunshot root.

    The neglected bodyguard had no choice but to catch up in his superior footsteps as fast as he could.

    The mud defiled not just Alfred''s shoes but also his luxurious clothes.

    Oh my God... Could it be that they didn''t target the official residence during the mourning period because their eyes were on the farm?

    This terrifying thought dominated his being, growing to a panic attack, urging him to run quickly, not caring about the muddy puddles and animal waste in which his feet sunk in¡­

    How come he didn¡¯t consider this possibility? His conscience yelled.

    How could he diminish the threshold of his caution after a few days of calm?

    How could he not have put tight security on their summer residence when he expected his grandmother to come back right away after the mourning period?

    Besides, didn¡¯t Evelyn must have accompanied her too? Mabe also his fianc¨¦e was here¡­

    He would never forgive himself if something happened to them.

    From afar... Behind the wooden fence, Alfred and his bodyguards spotted two men running to the same destination, the source of the gunshot noise. From their uniforms he deduced their affiliation, they were farm workers.

    He paused catching his lost breath¡­ Watching with eyes charged per chaos. the scene unfolding in front of him carried unmistakable clarification...

    When the workers reached the said location, the outlines of a familiar shadow entered Alfred''s visual field. his movements drifted graceful, dejected, confident, angry, a lot of contradiction blended into one appearance. The shadow crouched down, adjusting the hunting rifle in his left hand, and feeling the withdrawn life from the corps under him with the other one.

    Once more, Alfred took a deep breath... and watched the merciful farewell scene of his grandfather''s favorite horse...

    Under the skin of his face, many conflicted feelings feuded¡­

    Kieran¡¯s actions always made him bewildered... indignant, upset, relieved, and reluctant to be angry at him much less master the heart to scold him.

    Did he need to pity him or condemn his irrational, public- unfitting conduct?

    How many times did he advise him to leave the dirty work in others'' hands? And care more about appearances.

    Even principles honoring, morally uptight, ideals chasing Jacob understand this necessity.

    Seconds passed quickly, during them, Alfred froze up in his place, surveying the profile of his little brother hovering above the horse''s corpse. Hooded darkness concealed his expression before his gaze flickered into the distance, to the soil under his feet, then to his own clothes, his miserable expensive clothes.

    He attempted to shake off the dirt excess before moving on, walking away, back to the house.

    ¡°Oh my god, Alfred, what happened?¡± Evelyn exclaimed at the top of the stairs. ¡°You look like you have soaked in swam of horse shit.¡± she chuckled amused, ¡°you better take shower before grandma sees you.¡±

    ¡°Is there enough security in here,¡± He asked, something unsettling besieging his voice, undefined, at least to Evelyn¡­

    ¡°Yes, uncle Fry sent with us some of his men,¡± she rubbed the base of her nose, tired while eyeing the restless outlines of her brother, ¡°Why what''s wrong?¡±

    ¡°Nothing.¡± Alfred mused, way absent-minded, heeding the surroundings, ¡°you should have informed me of your departure, I could arrange a few more guards.¡±

    Oh... Evelyn hummed in understanding, he must have met Kieran.

    No..no, if he had met Kieran, a verbal fight would have already broken in. He must have seen him from afar...

    She strode downstairs wondering what errant brought her big brother here. He rarely visited this place even less outside his vacation days. At the same time, she thanked god it was Alfred who came not Jacob... The latter will lunch a war against her twin''s strange yet very understandable to her, behavior.

    ¡°Are you angry?¡± she asked, tearing her gaze away, ¡°at Kieran, I mean?¡± Avoiding lineal contact.

    Prior to Alfred''s reply, the silence throbbed a gloomy air. Evelyn could swear on her old brother''s protest against Kieran¡­

    ¡°No.¡±

    They exchanged abrupt, sharp stares. The answer was unexpected. Incredible.

    ¡°No.¡± Alfred repeated for his sister''s disbelief to be erased, tilting his head to the side, his tone was low-pitched, almost soothing, ¡°the coffin was empty anyway.¡±

 EXTRA: ADVENTURE

    "Are you satisfied now?"

    An old and calm voice came from the phone ¡ª a bit consoling, a bit firm, and commanding. A foreign mixture of the three distinct ingredients created a vague taste of bittersweet flavor.

    "Thank you so much for granting me this opportunity." Answered the receiver. Polite yet reserved, grateful yet ambiguous.

    The line cut short, leaving behind a fleeting trace of solitude and uncertainty.

    The receiver''s gaze lingered on the small lit screen, lost in stillness. Lips sealed.

    When the dim light of the phone screen died, the darkness enveloped the environment, interrupted only by the quick shimmering light from the road.

    Through the closed car window, the profile of his face resting on the cold glass, flashed then faded, one time after another, accentuating the contrast within his thoughts.

    Steady and swift, the silence continued as the car sped, in what it felt; an endless road.

    "How did it go?"

    Another question cut through his barriers...

    He lifted his gaze toward its source...

    How did it go?...

    Reverberating like the remains of weak echoes between deserted mountains.

    He needed a few minutes to smash a sense into this question.

    That handshake reproduced within his vision, with all the sensation, the applied pressure. The words that accompanied them, even the bitty details, were still fresh in his mind. However, how did it go?...

    He, himself, mulled over the outcome of this dangerous gamble, or perhaps this glimmer of hope, as he thought of it before he met him.

    Now, after the brief meeting that barely lasted five minutes...

    "We should leave soon..."

    Without further explanation, a picky stare fixated on him through the rearview mirror.

    He didn''t feel the need to give more, yet emptying his thoughts reservoir of his, a little, may help in sorting out the available better options.

    "Perhaps I was a bit optimistic in my expectations."

    Even more curious stares reached his seat. But this time, they won no additional elaboration.

    For more than an hour, the car''s wheels rolled tireless, matching the cool night breeze speed.

    In the barren land stretching beyond, glittered the colorful gate of the silver knights resort, the nearest place accepting reservations from outsiders.

    Albeit not in a strategic location, about a 3-hour drive from the airport and 2 hours from the train station, here, found the only hotel accepting reservations from those who have arrived from the west.

    The only two reasons Emery Cromwell could enumerate enclosed: a high demand, and tight security measures.

    He breathed out the murky air stuck in his lungs. The fact he managed to attend the funeral and offer his condolences accounted for one year of good luck and equally measured wealth. He shouldn''t be greedy for more, at least for the time being.

    Upon entering a side road, The car¡®s speed decelerated till it finally stopped in the parking lot.

    In a calm and swift movement, Emery''s hand ended on his driver''s shoulder, alerting him to not get out just yet.

    The night cast down its black robe around, enforcing its murkiness with, a moonless, starless sky. A mere few moments later, two black cars made their way to the same parking lot.

    With an eagle-like gaze, he observed their passage, then their parking in the not-so-far spots from his.

    "Are you sure we didn''t get followed?"

    Likewise, his driver''s eyes never nudged astray, the shadows of cars passing over them.

    "No..., But we should have brought a few more men with us."

    The doors swung open, two shadows disembarked.

    Despite the close proximity between the cars, the visibility was anything but good.

    One shadow worked on the rear passenger door; meanwhile, a few more shadows slid out of the second car.

    The silence of the night returned once the last pair of heels stamped out the parking lot exit. Yet, Emery chose caution over frivolity. As he grew certain of their departure, he pushed open the door.

    His driver ran after him flustered, setting up a foldable knife. Only to be paralyzed by a low soft hum, tailed with a decisive order. "No need."

    Emery walked towards the cars, checking their license plate number, and further elaborating, "If they were really in our track, they wouldn''t find a better location."

    At this time, it just never occurred to Emery the accuracy of his initial guess and the faultiness of his late deduction. There were just numerous approaches to trap a man.

    The morning arrived fast. As quick as the clock ticked, as relaxed as Emery''s nerves got.

    Separated only by the breakfast period, his departure dangled finally around his head.

    To honor this reckless venture of his, he took an oath to make merry of every lasting minute before his departure. Who knew, he may never return to the east, to the city of his ancestors, again?

    In prudent leisure, he strolled near the training fields. Much alike, humans and horses, reunited in pleasurable harmony. Coaches and trainees moved in a sequential cadence. Cheers and laughter rose from the viewing seats. An estranged world unlike his, completely different.

    Near an open sandy field without fences, he stopped enjoying the dressage performances of riders and their mounts. One after the other, grading their demonstration based on his limited knowledge of the activity and, of course, on the elegance of the rider and his mount while occasionally checking left and right.

    His driver rushed towards him. Serious and vigilant.

    The look on Emery''s face flip-flopped to the opposite end of tranquility. Feigning the need to know the time, he glanced at his wrist and then retreated. Unbeknownst to his tied-down mind that the neighs scratching the edges of his ears belonged to what seemed an out-of-control mount heading after him.

    The face of his driver grew uglier by the second, while Emery''s nerves pulsated with the expected gravity of the bad news waiting for him.

    A pair of hooves thrown up as high as possible in the air. Preceded by powerful thunder striking neighs. Emery''s body turned to uphold the majestic posture that going to crush him. Dust everywhere. People screaming joined the event.

    Was it deliberate, or was it an accident, Emery Cromwell couldn''t decide until months later.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "Are you sure you didn''t get hurt?"

    Clad in perfectly fitting riding apparel and a soft, apologetic, melodic voice accompanied by cute, flustered expressions, the rider exclaimed, "I assure you, I rarely lose control, but this stallion temperament."

    Emery smiled. Aside from a few scratches on his forehead, and a dull pain in his left shoulder, he comported indemnity of any serious injury, "Don''t worry, my lady. I am certain if it weren''t for your talented commending skill I would be dead now."

    "No... No... I should take you to the hospital for checking; the medical team here doesn''t have performing equipment. They may have missed something."

    Evelyn noted him glancing at his wrist again and again; she seized the hidden opportunity and adjusted her earlier suggestion. "Or maybe you can stay here, in the infirmary for observation."

    As he stretched his right hand towards his suit jacket, he cracked another smile, " I must apologize for your wasted concern, my lady. Rest assured that I am not fazed by the accident, and the reason for my hastiness only because of a flight I desperately need to catch up to."

    He exuded a relaxed air as he casually draped his jacket over his shoulder, embodying an effortless sense of comfort before he loped beyond the infirmary door.

    Unlike the first trip, this time, the drive to the airport lacked the initial anticipation, stripped down from the stressful atmosphere. Only a small number of worries nestled inside Emery''s thoughts.

    "So, did you manage to find out the identity of the individuals we encountered last night?"

    "No, not exactly... But I have found out the owners of the car."

    Travis said as he glanced over his boss''s reflection.

    The latter seemed totally in another world. Not just now, but since he came out of the infirmary.

    At first guess, Travis traced back the reason to the near-death experience his boss had just gone through. However, now, after much more contemplation and the fact behind the constant phone screen kissing, as well as the pleasant grins, Travis discovered the real reason behind his boss, head in the clouds; behavior.

    He must have gotten her number...

    "The number plates on both cars are registered to Fry Security Company.."

    Travis wondered about the cause of his boss''s delight, how the hell he is going to meet her for a date. The distance separating them extended long and wide. With him residing and working in the west while she resided in the east, hundreds of kilometers away.

    Will he risk traveling back to the East? Out of the question for the time being as well as considering the ongoing power struggle. On the other hand, it seemed unlikely that the young lady would venture to follow him into the West.

    Regardless of her privileged background and the nature of her upbringing, the Eastern region is conservative anyway. It seemed improbable that she would be able to go against societal norms and meet him without facing consequences such as leaving her family or being involved in a scandal.

    "Fry security...?" His boss''s agility picked up instantly. "Were they escorting someone?"

    "Most likely."

    "Mmm."

    At last, Emery put aside his phone, his left hand supporting his shin as he gazed out the car window. His habitual posture when he engaged in careful and detailed reasoning.

    "As per the laws, the military has a restricted ability to intervene in civil matters, aside from being attacked by the military council, General McCarthy would tarnish his reputation if he mobilized his troupes to assure security during the funeral, It would be more appropriate for him to hire a security company to arrange things to his liking."

    "You mean Fry security." Travis elaborated.

    "Yes. However, what are the members of the company doing in a resort two hours away from their work site, they must have a crazy load of work to do."

    "Maybe they were escorting a family member or relative or an important guest or an ally."

    "To a resort?" Emery couldn''t digest the thought, besides he had not observed any unusual conduct or strict protocols or any other peculiar behavior from the hotel staff.

    Travis stated, defending his standpoint, "Well, everything is possible, the news of the youngest son of General McCarthy being absent from the funeral is storming the media."

    "What?, really?, What an ungrateful brat."

    *** *** ***

    Dealing with the aftermath of a big funeral had its share of stress and fatigue. After a long day, Alfred finally was able to return home. Albeit the late time, his mind filed by a certain inkling, sleep won¡¯t approach him if he did not inquire about it. Thus the first action he took was to irritate Evelyn by requesting a midnight meal.

    With half-closed eyes, she dragged her way to the kitchen, groggy from drowsiness. Regardless of their compatibility, she mixed whatever ingredients she found in the fridge. The observer might believe she was concocting poison rather than a meal.

    In the thrill of the invention, the real talk began without introductions.

    ¡°Hmm, how did it go? Your adventure?¡±

    The drowsiness fled Evelyn''s eyes and legs, she also stopped adding more salt. Conscious of the mess she had been preparing, an urge for accomplishment pushed her to start over.

    ¡°Well, for the start, you promised to explain why it has to be me to execute your honey trap.¡± At the tip of her tongue, she tasted the mixture after some adjustments.

    ¡°Honey trap?¡± Alfred swallowed a pleasant smile.

    ¡°That person certainly wasn¡¯t your average businessman from the West as you have said, There was an air of danger subtly oozing all around him.¡± She turned to face him, the spoon in her hand used as a weapon threatening him, "Are you confident he isn''t a gangster, possibly a military deserter, or even a hired mercenary?"

    Alfred couldn¡¯t hide his smile anymore.

    ¡°Since you have involved me now, you should tell me everything.¡±

    ¡°How in the hell did you approach him to build this impression of him?¡± Alfred''s pleasant smile transformed into chuckling.

    With a complete unimpressed look and pouted lips, Evelyn crossed her arms and said, ¡°You must have already found out.¡±

    ¡°Well, since you acted that way, you must have your own theory.¡±

    Unexpectedly the quick meal Evelyn prepared wasn¡¯t that terrible, the rescue attempt succeeded as well as the debriefing between the two of them.

    Evelyn meditated for several moments, her gaze locked into observing Alfred''s bad eating habits, her mind drifting through her thoughts, perhaps adrift in a whirlpool as she pieced together all the information her older brother shared with her.

    ¡°Someone must have helped him join the funeral proceedings, even enabling him to approach my father and exchange a handshake while offering his condolences¡­ Who is he? Who is the one helping him?¡±

    Alfred gulped down a half glass of carbonated beverage, his features did not suggest worry or anxiety. On the contrary, he radiated elation and excitement akin to a kid getting his new toy, unconcerned for the late time of the night.

    He stood up and said: ¡°That is exactly what we are going to find out,¡± a large grin dressed his lips, ego inflated all over his body language.

    Evelyn watched him closely, feeling a sense of cringe within. She considered sharing Emery''s phone number even if it wasn¡¯t his main number, maybe also the car''s license plate he had driven, and even the pictures she had captured of his driver. However, she quickly reconsidered, at least for the time being. She feared if he gained access to this information, God forbid he would rest peacefully this night, nor would he allow her to do so.

    As if he had forgotten something crucial, Alfred turned back before reaching the kitchen door. ¡°Especially don¡¯t tell about this operation, I don¡¯t want Jacob to know anything about it, or about anything else.¡±

    She followed in his footsteps, closing the kitchen light when a forgotten insight popped into her head, she hurried toward the stairs calling him in a toned-down voice, ¡°you have yet to explain why me?¡±

    He faced her in an equality-toned voice, ¡°he wants to make an acquaintance with the McCarthy? Why not?¡±

    ¡°Still doesn¡¯t explain why me?¡±

    ¡°Oh, well,¡± he contemplated, more like he searched for the best way to lay it down, ¡°You know how it is with men. They tend to become more open and less guarded when in the company of a woman.¡±

    Though she refrained from vocalizing her thoughts. The expression "stupid jerk" was vividly portrayed on her face. Impossible for the keen Alfred to not notice and decipher it. He contented himself with a repressed weak smile unable to trace his lips.

    The both of them shifted their attention upstairs, toward a slow-moving silhouette that stole their concern.

    They watched in silence as their eyes locked on the languid and unsteady motion. In their neutral features expressed a kind of indescribable pity, sympathy, and concern.

    The gloomy silhouette passed across them as if they didn¡¯t exist, lost in its own dark reality and chained by invisible restraints.

    Alfred sighed, then asked, ¡°How is he?¡±

    ¡°Not good,¡± Evelyn answered in reflective pain, ¡°Not good at all.¡± Her inability as a psychiatrist to help him weighed down on her consciousness twice.

    A soft touch patted her shoulder: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, he is doing well and he will get better.¡± she moved her gaze to the last trace left of Kieran''s shadow. Thinking about the successive blows. Her young brother endured the missed promotion, the expulsion from the military school, the unnatural passing of their grandfather, and the most distressing of all, shouldering all the blame for each of these trials himself.

    In a muffled voice, she preyed for Alfred''s words to be true. ¡°I hope so.¡±

    Less than two months later and as if fate was determined to smash all of Travis''s meticulous reasoning, Evelyn traveled to the capital of the Western region. Of course not to meet Emery Cromwell exclusively, but because of a certain worry for a certain someone and for a certain scheming to begin laboring behind the shadows.

    Back then, a notorious rumor swept across the entire nation, like wildfire consuming dry timber, General McCarthy had disowned his youngest son and removed his name from the family records.