Dead To Me sc-1

by Anton Strout

  “Do you recall anything from your time with the Sectarians about a fish?” I asked, hoping for something useful.

  Jane thought it over a moment and then shook her head. “For a while, we had a lot of fish coming in. I remember the one you were after, but I’m afraid they kept me in the dark as to what they do. I only received and processed the shipments. Sorry.”

  I was disappointed, and she saw it on my face.

  “We kept pretty accurate records, though,” she added encouragingly. “You’d be surprised what OCD sticklers Sectarians can be about keeping track of things. They’re like the Felix Ungers of the cultist world.”

  Maybe there was something useful in that, and I wrinkled my brow while I thought about it.

  After I had been silent for several minutes, Jane spoke up again. “You okay?”

  I snapped out of my thoughts, none the wiser about what to do. Jane’s concern for me was touching, but it was me who should have been concerned about her.

  “How’s your recovery coming?” I asked.

  Jane struck a superheroic pose, hands on hips. “Nothing short of miraculous, thanks to that bag of mystical healing thingies you left with me. I’m running out, though.”

  I doubted I could easily get access to another emergency kit in a hurry. I still hadn’t told anyone in the Department that I was secretly nursing Jane back to health.

  When I said nothing, she said, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not asking for anything more. You’ve done more than enough already…it’s just that I’m kinda dwindling my savings here…”

  I still wasn’t sure how to help Jane other than hiding her, but maybe if I got her out and about, we’d hatch some kind of plan.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” I said, “go for a little walk, see how well you’re healed up. I’ve got a couple of errands to run anyway.”

  Jane looked a little frightened by the prospect. She hadn’t really stepped foot from the hotels I had been moving her to. “You sure it’s okay?”

  I nodded. I doubted anyone from the Department would run into us, and none of the Sectarians would probably do anything during daylight hours if they saw us either. Plus, I had made sure that no one had followed us downtown.

  “C’mon,” I said. “It’ll be fun. We can try to one-up each other over who’s been more damaged lately-you for falling off of the roof or me from smoke inhalation.”

  The metallic blue-checkered framework of Manhattan Super-Storage took up the entire northeast corner of Twenty-Third Street and Tenth Avenue. The sun shone off the boxy building, casting streaks of light from its many windows down onto the sizable crowd gathered out front. I led Jane into the throng as she looked around warily but with a growing good humor in her eyes.

  “What is all this?” she asked.

  Storage places were never this busy normally, but this was no normal day. The sidewalk was awash with an almost street-fair-like atmosphere-full of food carts, performers, and people pressed together tight like books on a shelf. The scent of grilled meat and roasted corn rose off the food vendors and filled the air with mouthwatering goodness, but I pushed aside all thoughts of getting a bite. Eating could wait.

  “These things keep getting trendier and trendier.” I sighed.

  A small table was set up by the entrance to three of the loading bays, and I walked over, found my name, and signed in. The bays themselves had been closed off and turned into a common feeder line that wove around a variety of tables. Each was covered in plentiful piles of other people’s belongings. The rest of the crowd, those who hadn’t signed up in advance, lurked near the line in the hopes of getting a chance to browse as well.

  “Lot of people don’t ever come to claim their storage items once they default on payment,” I explained. “The crap that accumulates is auctioned off to make room for actualpaying customers. Ever sinceTime Out wrote it up as a kitsch thing to do, it’s like the Ringling Brothers took over. All these assholes come here hoping to avoid Ikea, but to me, anything I luck into here just goes into supporting my apartment. Hey, maybe I can score you something to help you out with your money sitch until things smooth over.”

  “Maybe I should just head back to Kansas,” Jane said, sounding defeated.

  “Are you really ready to throw in the towel on the Big Apple already?” I asked, even though, if you’d asked me a couple days ago, I would have said that the city could definitely use one less Sectarian. Like many people who were transported New Yorkers, I felt Jane had something to prove to herself here, and was reluctant to leave. She would probably be safer if she left town, but that stubborn part of her that I could totally identify with was still holding out.

  I checked my watch and realized we had a little time to kill. My stomach growled and I led Jane off in the direction of the food vendors. I was hungry enough to eat whatever rat on a stick or cockroach knish they might be selling.

  My God,I realized.This feels more and more like a date, doesn’t it? I found that despite Jane’s previous alignment with the forces of Darkness, the idea didn’t scare me as much as I thought it might. Maybe if I approached this like it was a date, Jane might be more likely to give herself over to the forces of Good. In a moment of spontaneity, I approached a guy standing nearby making balloon animals. The twist of green and red he was working on looked vaguely like a wiener dog, and he handed it to a kid with a big grin on his face, who then ran off in the direction of his mother.

  “Hey, pal,” I said, fishing out my wallet. “I’ll take one of those. Can you make a flower or something like that?”

  The balloon guy was shorter than me, chunky, and wore a fanny pack to store his balloons in. He looked at me and shook his head-his black, shoulder-length mullet swaying back and forth like seaweed in the ocean. “Sorry, pal. I wouldn’t want to send any of the little kids home sad or crying because I ran out of balloons giving something away to an adult.”

  I looked around the crowd. There were only a handful of children scattered here and there, most of them already with balloons. “It’s for the lady,” I said insistently. I gave him my most sincere c’mon-be-a-pal-don’t-fuck-this-up-for-me smile.

  He shook his head again and I could feel myself going a little Hulkish around the edges.

  “C’mon,” I said, lowering my voice. “Not even for the young at heart?”

  This time he simply rolled his eyes and began to turn away, but I wouldn’t be deterred. I couldn’t control myself. I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

  “Dude,” I shouted. “You’re a guy whose only freaking job seems to be-and correct me if I’m wrong here-blowing and twisting. It’s not that hard. I think you can take two minutes out of your busy schedule here to whip one up for us big kids who are more likely to tip your sorry ass for the trouble than little Billy or Suzy here. Let’s not be a Balloon Nazi about this, okay?”

  Jane beamed like a kid on Christmas Day as she attempted to keep hold of the barely manageable variety of balloon-made items in her hands. Streaming along with her were a flower, a wiener dog, a pirate sword, a musketeer hat with a balloon plume, a poodle, a sleeping cat, an airplane, a goldfish, and something the balloon maker had feverishly assured us was a flying mouse.

  “Oh my God,” Jane said. The wiener dog suddenly made a spirited break for it, but I grabbed it by its snout and handed it back to her. “You are the man! You are totally a rock star in the world of balloon animal negotiations! I bow to your superior scare tactics!”

  “It’s my gift,” I said with a flourish of my arm and a deep bow. She laughed and hugged her balloons. One of them exploded with a loud pop and she screamed. It was a moment of fright that should have passed quickly, but suddenly tears were running down her face. I moved to put my arm on her shoulder.

  “Hey,” I said, “Jane…what’s wrong? What is it?”

  People had turned to stare now, including several children, but I figured that was probably just balloon envy. I moved us away from the crowd toward the edge of the st
reet and next to a cotton candy machine.

  “God,” she said. I could hear the self-loathing in her voice. “Ihate when I get all smalltown spooked.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just try to relax.”

  “Youtry to relax!” she snapped. The tears were still coming, but suddenly she was getting angry. “A couple of days ago my life was going fine. Now I’m essentially unemployed, I’ve lost my dental plan, and I flinch at every loud sound because I think it’s a corporate headhunter trying to put a bullet in my brain!”

  I was getting upset as well. I wasn’t really a fan of getting yelled at, and especially not when I was just trying to help.

  “Look,” I said after counting to ten to calm myself, “I can’t imagine how much this sucks for you, Jane, so I’m not even going to pretend. We’ll figure something out, I swear. I just need time to investigate things the proper way. I hate every moment that you’re at risk. In the meantime, though, I need you to let me do what I came here for. That doesn’t mean I’m going to neglect you. I’m going to do everything I can to help keep you safe.”

  I looked her in the eyes, and she nodded.

  “Not that you need to be kept safe,” I added awkwardly. “I mean, I’m sure you can take care of yourself, but, well…I’m in the Good business, so keeping people safe is part of what I do. It’s not a chauvinist thing, I swear.”

  I felt like a social retard, so I shut up.

  Jane softened and said, “I’m sorry. I’m one of the bad guys. I know you’re doing your best. You’ve already gone above and beyond with all this.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said.Gee, thanks?!? Did I actually say that? Why couldn’t I just shut up and take a compliment?

  “You’re welcome,” she said, wiping away the tears. “Besides, you probably thought I was all kinds of crazy reacting so emotionally.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I lied.

  “It’s not fine,” she said gravely. “I haven’t been totally up-front with you. You don’t know the whole story. But I like you and I think you have a right to know.”

  “Know what?” I asked.

  Jane took a deep breath, exhaled the last of her hysterics, and looked me in the eye. “Their headhunter-Jason Charles, the one I spoke to on the phone the day I was injured-may be a bit more aggressive about finding me than I might have led you to believe.”

  “And why’s that?” I asked warily.

  “We sorta dated,” she said, her voice trailing off. Her nose crinkled as she braced herself for my response.

  “Sorta?!” I asked. I could feel myself turning fifty shades of horrified. I had just started thinking I might be turning the corner with Jane, making some progress with her, but how could I begin to trust someone whodated a professional assassin? “Sorta dated? Ordid date?”

  She was fighting to explain it-I could see it in her face-but that didn’t change the feeling of frustration building up inside me.

  “I went out with him three times, but that was months ago!” she said as if somehow that excused it. “He seemed nice enough. Well-groomed, business suits every day…but once I realized the type of mentally unstable individual it took to be a hired gun in that creepy little business world of theirs, I broke it off.”

  “So how did he take it?”

  I wanted to grab her and shake her for her own good. She was a nice girl, but it was becoming increasingly likely that she was going to get both of us killed.

  “Well,” she said, “since I worked for the big boss, there was nothing Jason could do to me. So rather than giving me any trouble, he just became inordinately professional in the office and we stopped talking.”

  I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “But now you’re fair game. In fact, you’re a target requested by paying customers. Great. Any other little gems I should know about?”

  Jane shook her head, but couldn’t raise her eyes to meet mine.

  I looked over at the tables full of storage unit leftovers. It was pointless being here. I wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on reading anything. “I have to go,” I said.

  Jane looked up. “Where?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Just away for now.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I need to think,” I snapped suddenly. “I keep forgetting you’re tied into hardcore evil, Jane. It’s beyond me how you could have dated someone who kills people for a living. Connor would freak out if he knew I was helping you, and I just need to sort things out for myself.”

  I couldn’t think of anything more to say so I turned away. Was I just upset about her withholding information about the Sectarians, or was I experiencing some kind of odd jealous reaction? I didn’t know.

  I walked off feeling angry and confused, but I restrained myself from running back and childishly popping every last balloon Jane was carrying.

  26

  On the way back to my apartment, I started to cool down. Looking back, I knew that Jane wasn’t the only one who had ever made the wrong choices in life. I knew Jane had been displaced from her apartment,her life. Sure, she’d held a little information back, but she’d come clean and it was no reason for me to have gone off on her. I planned on calling her once I got back home, but all that flew out the door when I stepped off the elevator and headed down the hallway to my apartment.

  The lock on my door was busted.

  I reached inside my coat, pulled the retractable bat out, and pressed the button. It extended to its full length, and I held it at the ready as I eased my front door open with my foot. My living room was trashed. It had been messy before with all the crates in it, but now everything had been displaced and everything that had been on my shelves had been thrown to the ground. A lot of it looked broken. It was like being in Irene’s apartment all over again and my heart sank.

  Knowing my apartment as well as I did, I crept soundlessly across the floor toward the hall, hoping I could sneak up on anyone who might still be here. My plan for silence fell apart when I noticed the door to the White Room was also smashed in.

  “No no no no no,” I said as I rushed to it. Everything in the room was overturned or broken, which meant the worst had happened-my inner sanctum had been contaminated by someone else’s memories, corrupting the one place in the world I could turn to as my safety zone. My heart raced and my head swam. I used the bat as a walking stick to steady myself rather than touch anything in the room for balance.

  I had never felt so violated, but then I realized that I could find out exactly who had done this. All I had to do was touch anything in the room, use my psychometry, and I would know. I stepped slowly toward the chair on its side in the center of the room and moved my hand to grab it.

  “Simon,” a woman said, stopping me. I looked around the room, but there was no one there.

  “Irene?” I asked hesitantly.

  The plain white of the wall right in front of me crackled with a blue flash of electricity and Irene phased out of it. She was dressed the same as always-the curse of the dead-but her face was a mask of worry.

  “Are you all right?” I said. “Where have you been? What the hell happened here?”

  Irene flickered. “I don’t know where I’ve been! Some force keeps pulling me away from here. All I remember was those men from your office coming in here and being upset…the kindly older one and the creepy one. Then there was nothing except flashes of that wooden fish you talked about, and a hazy mist, like the one your friend used on me that first time we met in the cafй. It’s all so unclear.”

  “Nothing else?” I asked. She shook her head and started to flicker again. “Stay with me, Irene…calm down or you’ll disappear again. I just have to do something. I’ll be gone, well, mentally gone, for a minute or so. I have to know who did this.” I reached toward one of the shards of the Tiffany Lamp.

  “You don’t have to do that!” she shouted, her humanity stretched to its limit with that cartoonish exaggeration I had seen her exhibit before. In a flash, she was back to herself, but the bur
st seemed to take a lot out of her and she started to fade. “I know who it was,” she said. “I heard him say his name. He was on the phone…”

  “Who?” I said.

  Irene’s voice faded as her body did, but I heard part of what she said before she blinked out completely.

  “Jason…” she whispered, and was gone.

  Charles,my mind completed. Faisal Bane’s corporate headhunter. It made sense. He must have come here looking for Jane when he couldn’t find her anywhere else. Bane must have set him on the trail to my apartment, the one Jane herself had originally been following. And now it was trashed.

  The phone rang in the living room and I worked my way toward it through the mess. I couldn’t find it in the chaos of the room. Why wasn’t the machine picking up?

  I found the phone cord sticking out of a stack of books and traced along to the phone, dug it out, and answered it.

  “Canderous,” I said.

  There was laughter on the other end. “I was wondering when you might pick up,” Jason Charles said. “I’ve been trying all day.”

  “What the hell have you done?” I asked.

  “You don’t like the way I redecorated?”

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  “Just tell me where Jane is, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  “Fine, don’t cooperate,” he said. “I’ll find her on my own.”

  “Good luck with that,” I said. “Good-bye.”

  As I went to hang up, Faisal’s corporate headhunter shouted into the phone. “Wait. One more thing…”

  “What?” I said. “I really need to be assessing the damage to my property. I’ll be billing the Sectarians.”

  “I sent you a little present at work,” he said. “I suggest you check it out.”

  The line fell dead.

  What the hell was he up to? As I returned the phone to its cradle, it hit me. The reason the answering machine hadn’t picked up was because it was no longer connected to the phone. I dug around where I had found the phone in the first place, but the machine wasn’t there. After several more minutes of searching, I found the answering machine sitting neatly on the kitchen counter. Jason Charles had definitely been listening to it, checking my old messages. I plugged it back in and flipped back through several of the calls. If he had checked the caller ID on any of the last fifty or so messages, there was going to be trouble. They were all from Tamara’s number.