by Myers, Kelly
The fleeting image of Gabriel Palanick stepping into Joan Marks’ office forces a brief chuckle out of me.
“Please tell me you didn’t block him,” she sternly stares at me.
I bite my lower lip.
Extremely frustrated, she throws back her head and moans. “Goddammit! You’re hopeless.”
We spend the next half hour eating and joking as Zoe tells me about the latest celebrity gossip she heard at work. I hold my breath like a criminal afraid to be caught, hoping that Palanick’s name doesn’t pop up in the conversation.
When she eventually departs, I am left alone with my distorted thoughts and the echoes of her advice.
“No relationship with a man like Michael is ever going to satisfy you. Is this news? ‘Cause I remember barking about this a thousand times before.”
I pick up the phone and launch the chat with Michael. Scrolling, I begin to see what Palanick’s people have been doing. They never initiated a conversation, which makes sense. Those people must have been walking on eggshells trying to hide the fact that I had gone missing.
For every text he sent, they responded as briefly and politely as possible. Although none of the statements seem odd, I know they don’t put me in the best light. I began to type…
Hey. You awake?
I wait a few minutes, and he doesn’t respond. He may be in surgery. Eating a questionable meal at the hospital cafeteria. Or simply sleeping. My nerves, however, urge me to try harder. I dial his number and restlessly shake my leg as I try to will him to answer with the power of my own mind. And it works.
“Dina? Wow,” he chuckles. “I thought you were avoiding me.”
“Uh, how are you?”
“Fine,” he slurs. “You didn’t deny the avoiding part.”
“I really wasn’t. You have no idea how terrible those past few days were.”
“Did you put out the fire?”
It takes me a second to remember what he’s referring to from the chat thread. “Yeah… yeah, back to normal. I hope.”
“Good to hear.”
“Um, is this a good time?”
“Depends—”
“Are you at the hospital?”
“No, I was actually just walking into my brother’s house.”
“So late? Is everything okay?”
“Our cousin’s bachelor party,” he scoffs. “I was working late and just made it.”
“Oh…” I think fast. A party just might be the perfect start for him to push me out of his mind and move on. “Strippers?”
“Ah—I don’t know, do people still do that?”
“Are you kidding?” I giggle. “It’s the main attraction.” I pause, sighing. “Michael, I know this might not be the perfect timing. But… where are you? Geographically.”
“Uh, probably fifteen, twenty minutes from your place? What’s up, Dina?”
“Drop me the location,” I stand up. “I only need five minutes of your time.”
It takes me another minute or two to persuade him to share the location with me. He’s baffled and has no idea why I’m pushing so hard to see him after days of disappearing. I think he may also be pretending not to know, but it really doesn’t matter in the end.
Not feeling fully capable of driving my car just yet, I use my phone to order a ride. As I slide into the passenger’s seat, I don’t look around or experience any sort of concern. Apparently, my experience at Gabriel’s has put a lot of things into perspective for me.
The car pulls over in front of the house—a big, cozy-looking house with a nice fence and blooming flowers. I smile as I pay the driver and get out, seeing Michael waiting in his car by the curb.
“Hi,” I slowly approach, and he hears me through the open passenger’s window.
“Hey, get in.”
I open the door and sit next to him, sideways so that we’re face to face.
“I didn’t want to do this over the phone—”
He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips into a line before slowly nodding. “I see.”
“You’re an amazi—”
“Don’t,” he quickly shakes his head, sternly staring into my eyes. “We’re too mature for that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” he looks away. “So, you were avoiding me.”
“No,” I confirm. “You just said it yourself. We’re too mature for that.”
“Then, what? You woke up this morning and—”
“I woke up this morning feeling like my whole life has been turned upside down. Like something is terribly wrong, and not even my therapist can help me this time.”
“Your therapist?”
“There’s so much you don’t know about me. And you’re better off this way, believe me. We’re not a good match.”
“What about the wine and Dylan and… your bed. Your cousin’s party…” his eyes wander about in utter confusion, and I can’t blame him.
“I was trying,” I insist. “Really, genuinely trying, Michael. But I can’t do this. I can’t be with you knowing that this is not the best we both can be. I can’t be my best with you, and I can’t take away your chances with someone else. It’s selfish and wrong.”
“So, this is it.”
“I’m sorry.”
He deeply exhales before pinching the bridge of his nose and turning to stare at the house from which loud music was blasting. “Let me drive you home.”
“That’s okay,” I pull the handle and push the door open. “I think I need to walk.”
“It’s really late.”
I sadly titter. “That’s fine,” I shake my head before kissing him on the cheek. “I’m gonna be okay.” I pull away and look at him one last time. “Will you?”
“Well,” he runs his fingers through his hair. “There’s an outrageous party going on in there, and I’ll make sure to get intoxicated enough that I’ll spend the night.”
“Okay,” I whisper, stepping out of the car. “Goodbye, Michael.”
“Goodbye, Dina.”
I close the door and quickly turn around before he can see the tears in my eyes.
Not only did Gabriel Palanick skewer my career, but he may have also completely ruined normal, nice men for me. Whatever was left of my resolution to lead a decent, healthy relationship has now been shattered to pieces.
Gabriel has peeled away all of the pretenses and acceptable skins, showing me the depths of my own desires.
He is now the wound I don’t want to heal.
But I have to at least try.
33
Gabriel
At the Palanick Headquarters, everything feels different. My office is now somehow colder with a blue, consuming hue washing over everything and everyone. Even Amanda, I see in a different light.
Speaking of the devil, here she is, opening the door and popping in her head. “Your video conference with Mr. Ford begins in five minutes.”
“Thank you,” I straighten up in my seat and fix the tie.
As the meeting begins, I half-mindedly listen while Quentin reacquaints me with his team of executives. “Sarah Geller, new Head of Cyber Security. Malcolm Harington, Social Insights. And Sophie Clarke, Head of our Interdisciplinary Engineering division.”
“Pleasure to see you all,” I murmur with a strained smile. “Let’s get to it.”
My team of technical experts begins with the first item on the agenda, showcasing progress to date and explaining the remaining milestones. I listen and add what is required here and there, but I feel my enthusiasm wane as Ford starts to lay out more and more restrictions and guidelines.
“The bill is on its way to approval, gentlemen,” he cunningly reminds us with a grin. “Soon will come the moment we’ve all been waiting for.”
I nod. “Of course, this might be a redundant reminder but necessary nonetheless: Once the program is in action, we can begin the fine-tuning process that will take anywhere from one to two weeks.”
Ford chuckles. “Understood. The Of
fice finds our partnership extremely promising, Mr. Palanick.”
“Likewise.”
We continue to discuss the technical attributes of every aspect and agree on some final procedures on the list of agenda items. As we end the meeting, I sit back and try to clear my thoughts.
Soon, and with the government’s blessings, Palanick Holding will become the only company in the world with exclusive access to data no other organization has ever been granted in the history of the modern world.
In just a few days, my team will be able to really get to work, building and consolidating a list of worldwide suspects, which we can share with authorities around the world. Of course, local authorities will reap the benefits of such privilege in ways I don’t care for. All I want is to reveal the alternate world that lives under the radar and feeds off of the collective global resources like a parasite.
All I want?
That may be an overstatement, given that I still can’t get Dina out of my head. Flashbacks of our time together, the debates and the physical intimacy alike, still ignite sentiments within me I have never before experienced. They’re still vivid. Powerful. Overwhelming. And I am puzzled by my own mind more than ever.
There’s nobody I can talk to about this. No-one I trust enough. None that would understand.
Am I obsessed with her, or has she possessed me? Is this happening because I know that she, too, has a dark side that echoes mine? Do I truly believe that she fully understands and relates to me—despite what she claims—or is my mind playing tricks on me?
And even if I believe it, does that automatically make it true?
I have always taken pride in my ability to read people and judge their character. And on paper, everything about Dina Cormack rings true of my interpretations of her. But then again, even Gabriel Palanick can make mistakes.
The hours at the office crawl at a glacial pace until the clock announces seven o’clock. Having agreed to attend a dinner function with some of my business associates, I head home to change before the limo takes me to the Emmanuel estate. Isaac Emmanuel and his partner Alfie greet me with smiles, and a cocktail snatched from a circulating waiter.
“You look good,” Alfie smiles and tilts his head as Isaac moves on. “If only you were available.”
“Oh,” I humor him with a chuckle. “I’m confident that you and Isaac can find a more exhilarating adventure than little old me.”
“Let me know whenever your mid-life crisis hits,” he winks and moves away, handing me over to the talkative lips of Maisie Houten. She’s a young widow and a very talented party planner for the wealthy and glamorous.
She saunters around me with a champagne flute between her fingers until she is standing in front of me. “When will you let me give you an unforgettable night, Gabriel?”
“When I have a true reason to celebrate, your number will be the first one I dial.”
She narrows her eyes. “Your fortieth just passed.”
“I said a true… reason.” My phone vibrates, and I seize the opportunity. “Excuse me.” Walking away toward a corner, I check to see the name Brianna flashing across the screen. If I’m being honest, I can’t even remember who Brianna is and why I have her number. Until she materializes out of thin air.
“You gonna get that?” she keeps her lips parted as the tip of her tongue touches an upper canine. “Hi, Palanick.”
“My God,” I fake an enthused laugh. “How are you?” I kiss her on the cheek.
“So, they finally got you to show up to one of these.”
“The evening cleared up,” I lie. In reality, I needed a distraction.
“Just my luck,” her velvet-smooth deep voice gives me a chance to indulge in a heated fantasy, alas short-lived as soon as she touches my arm. “Where’s your plus one?”
For some reason, her fingers on my bicep irritate me. “Flying solo tonight.”
She grins. “I seem to get luckier by the minute. Where’s your table?”
“Ah,” I check my invitation card. “I seem to be seated at number six.”
“The best one in the house,” she lifts an eyebrow. “You get a magnificent view of the stage from six.”
I can’t be any less interested. “I’ll take your word for it.” My eyes roam until they land on an old partner, so I use him as an excuse. “Is that Peter Keith?”
She turns in the direction where I pointed. “Heard he’s engaged to wife-to-be number three.”
“I have to go say hello. Excuse me.”
I follow the expected route until Brianna’s eyes lose me. That’s when I take a sharp turn and stand in a corner, staring at my phone. I launch the messenger application and hit Dina’s name. My fingers linger on the typing box. In a rare incident, I am lost for words.
Dina, we really need to talk.
I send it before I change my mind. I see it land in its destination, and she sees it but doesn’t type anything. A few seconds later, Peter finds me.
“I thought I saw you!” his hands land on my shoulders as he pulls me in for a hug. “How are you, Palanick? Not a word for six months?”
“The rumors are true, Keith. I’m a busy man. How’s the business?”
“These days are the best for my line of work. How’s your empire?”
“Don’t you read the news?”
“On to greater things, as usual,” he chuckles, and a beautiful woman approaches, placing her arm around his waist. “Anna, this is Gabriel Palanick, my old partner.”
She gracefully smiles and extends her hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Palanick. I’ve heard great things.”
We shake hands as Peter explains. “Gabriel, Anna Brandt and I got engaged last week.”
“Oh, congratulations.” A bizarre tinge of jealousy pinches my heart.
“Thank you.” She sweetly tilts her head before turning to Peter. “It takes a lot of work to find someone who clicks.”
“You’re telling Gabriel Palanick?” Peter chuckles. “He’s the king of killing a click.”
I’m glad that my loneliness amuses you two.
The choice of the word ‘loneliness’ in my mind is a peculiar notion that keeps me company throughout the evening. When I finally get my part done, posing for pictures and shaking hands, I no longer feel the need to be here anymore. I decide to skip dinner and leave the party early.
In the backseat, headed home, I check my phone again and see no response from Dina. A sudden gust of recklessness takes hold of my fingers as they type…
I can’t get you out of my head. The emotions I’m experiencing are new to me, confusing. I don’t expect you to understand. After all, you’ve already dubbed me unhinged.
Sending the follow-up to my unrequited message proves to be a shortsighted and ill-advised choice. I know that a man in my position risks a great deal by making such a confession to a woman who doesn’t have the slightest interest in maintaining contact. When I arrive home, I head directly to my bedroom and close the door. Everything here has been returned to its original, pre-Dina state. All of my belongings and knick-knacks are neatly arranged in their spots. But my mind leads me to believe that it somehow still smells like her. I know it can’t be true, but here I am, lying down in bed and sniffing the pillow for a trace of her scent.
My phone vibrates, and I instantly pick it up.
You’re probably just as unhinged as I am. That’s not the part that scares me.
I sit up, furrowing my eyebrows and reading her text again.
Then what is?
Seeing that she’s typing, I drag a pillow and place it behind my head, resting against the headboard.
Neither one of us can keep up this dynamic for long. It’s going to burn us out completely. I hope you understand.
I don’t, so help clear it up.
You were right. You and I are very similar. It’s almost freakish. But there are no guarantees that any sort of relationship between us won’t be explosive enough to destroy us both.
You seem to hav
e very little faith in our resilience, given what we’ve both survived.
I just don’t know how much longer I can take this. I believe I need a sense of normalcy in my life, and you can’t offer me that in any context.
Normalcy is overrated.
What if that’s what I require at this stage?
It’s what your mind tricks you into believing.
If I don’t trust my mind, what else do I have?
I want to say, ‘Me,’ but I restrain myself from feeding such drama so early on into the conversation. But I also can’t take the typing marathon anymore, so I switch to the call log and dial her number. It rings once… twice… thrice before her whisper reaches me. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
I maintain a calm demeanor. “Why can’t you leave my thoughts?”
“I’m not responsible for your mind. But you’re responsible for your actions.”
“One-hundred percent.”
“How was the party?”
My eyebrows are instantly in a knot. “What?”
“You can take the girl out of journalism, but you can’t take journalism out of the girl.”
I can’t deny that I feel a win coming. “You’ve been watching me?”
“Only observing.”
“Any conclusions?”
“The pictures I received were of a completely different person.”
“Any man with half a brain would act differently in public than—” I pause, my heart beating at the memory of our intimate moments.
She titters. “At least I had the guts to admit that I’m scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Then what was the end of that sentence?” her voice is soft as silk, and I close my eyes.
“I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you,” I admit with a low voice, opening my eyes with a deep sigh. “Now I can’t get myself out of that corner.”
“The corner being me?”
“How’s Michael?”
“I don’t know,” I hear her abrupt, uneasy exhale. “He promised to get over me with the help of alcohol.”
