by Jack Parker
"You've met Melan, haven't you?"
Jack wanted to hit him with something really hard. "Yeah, last night." He still kept his gaze on Damien. He wouldn't, he couldn't, look at her. Not yet, anyway.
Damien snaked his hand around her waist and pulled her towards him. She pushed off his hands and was met with a grunt.
"What the hell was that for?"
"Don't do that. You're covered in grime." That was the first time Jack had heard her speak today, and there was something in her tone of voice, something that he couldn't quite place.
Jack looked at her face and their gazes met for a moment. She looked…uncomfortable?
He averted his gaze, quickly, as Damien wiped his hands on his trousers. Damien looked up and opened his mouth to speak.
Jack cut him off. "I'm sorry, but I have to go now. I have a meeting. Bye."
He pivoted and hurriedly made his way out of the building, not waiting for a response. There was an hour left until the meeting, but until then he needed to think.
And he needed a drink. A strong drink.
* * *
Jack swung his legs beneath the table and continued to twist the cocktail stick protruding from the glass.
He was nervous.
His eyes strayed towards the door, once, twice, and then he refocused on the clear liquid within his glass. Hurried chatter filled his ears, followed by a few strained laughs. Jack watched the ripples within his glass as they continued to cascade in and out.
He sighed. She was always the last one to show up, he had noticed. Did something always come up before the meetings that caused her to be late, or was it something else?
Did she arrive later than everyone else on purpose?
Did she know how tense she made them –how much she scared them? And if she did, was she using it to her advantage; showing up late, so that the waiting period would set them on edge before her arrival?
She confused him.
Then there was last night…Jack massaged his temple. She didn't appear like the sort of person to get drunk and, considering her calibre, it was not a wise move for her to get drunk within such a risky environment. She was cleverer than that and she wouldn't put herself into such a risky situation.
But, then again, appearances can be deceiving.
Was that all it was, an appearance –a façade? Had she really been drunk? At the beginning, it had seemed like it, but before she left, she had seemed normal, serious even.
They're just so vulnerable –so broken. But you, you've got fire, enthusiasm. And I like that. I like that a lot.
And what the hell was that supposed to mean?
Memories of last night suddenly flooded his mind. Presuming that she hadn't been drunk, what had she hoped to achieve by kissing him? She had said that she was bored, but surely, if she had been bored it would have been much more fun for her if she had done more than just kiss him.
What had been the point of it all? Did she just do it on the spur of the moment, or was he just overly analyzing it all and, in reality, she had actually been drunk all along?
His grip on the cocktail stick tightened. What if she accused him of making a move on her?
It was possible. After all, past experience had taught him that girls could and would do anything to get what they wanted.
He wanted to hit the table with something, something really hard.
Girls are just so fucking confusing.
Then there was Melan. She had been Damien's girlfriend all along, yet she had played him like a fool –she had made him think that she was interested, that he could go ahead, that there was a chance. Only a few seconds longer and he would have said something, said something only to have her make a fool of him.
Were all girls such vindictive bitches or was it just his luck that he ended up meeting the wrong ones?
They were just so manipulative and twisted and evil. They had to over think every minor detail and use it to their advantage, and they were fascinated with playing with fate –exploring the hundreds of what ifs and maybes. They loved to lead you to believe something, then catapult you into another direction and leave you hanging, waiting.
Now he finally understood why guys decided to become gay –girls were way too much of a hassle.
A door slid open and the room was suddenly encompassed in a vacuum of silence.
She was here.
Let the torture begin.
* * *
The meeting passed by in a blur.
It went by quickly, yet slowly at the same time and Jack could not help but spend all forty-five minutes and twenty-two seconds of it staring at the clock and willing for the hands to move faster.
But, of course, being the sadistic little hands they were, they decided not to. She didn't bother asking him anything this time, though, and for that he was extremely grateful. He wasn't quite sure that he would be able to give a straight answer to anything today.
He just couldn't stop thinking about last night and this morning. Everything had been so hectic, yet it had been so calm. It was eerie, scary even, the way that so little had happened yet so much had happened –so little had happened yet it had left so much of an impact.
He was desperate to get out of there. As soon as the meeting was drawn to a close, he rushed to the door hastily.
"Harlton."
Jack stopped dead in his tracks and turned. She was leaning against the shutters, her glass poised at an angle, her perfectly manicured nails glinting beneath the wavering light and encircling the smooth exterior of the glass.
She seemed frozen, like a queen of ice, frozen and surrounded by shuffling figures, a frosty expression playing over her face.
"I would like to talk to you about something, Harlton. Please stay behind."
It wasn't a request. It was an order. She sounded like a school teacher –a headmistress- telling a child to stay behind, prepare for a detention.
"Um, okay."
Jack heard the door close behind him as the last of the Sector Heads left the room.
He gulped. What did she want to talk to him about?
A light smirk quirked on the edge of her features as she placed the glass on the table. She tilted her head, a curtain of layered, blonde hair falling over half of her face and shadowing her features.
Jack shuffled his feet. "What did you want to talk with me about, Miss Coles?"
She sighed, then rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Jack. You're always so formal. It's quite suffocating. Call me Jessica."
He bit his lip. "Okay."
Something shot through her eyes, an emotion that Jack could not quite decipher. She smirked, her tone of voice adopting a cooler, frostier edge. "There was a break in within your sector last night, wasn't there?"
He wanted to sigh with relief. She wanted to talk about that. It was nothing to do with last night."Yeah."
She coiled a stray strand of hair over one of her fingers. "Mistake one: Your security was weak. You shouldn't let yourself be caught off guard, Jack."
"Nothing was taken."
She yawned and allowed the strand of hair to fall. "You shouldn't give away free information, Jack. That's mistake two."
"I didn't give away any free information."
"You just did by telling me that nothing was taken."
"You're my boss," he replied, annoyed.
She placed her finger on the edge of the glass, scraping her nail across its surface. She sighed, patronizingly. "You're still so young, Jack, so naïve. In a world of politics you can trust no one, not even your own boss. Remember that."
She was confusing him, again. What was the point of this conversation?
She made her way to the door, then indicated for him to follow. They stepped out into the corridor.
She turned. "Have a nice day, Harlton. I'll see you tomorrow."
"You too, Miss Coles."
She pivoted and began to make her way down the corridor, then stopped once again and turned her head to face him. "Oh, and, by the way. In
case you were wondering: I wasn't drunk last night. Everything that was done was done in a state of full…consciousness." She tilted her head to the side. "Bye, Jack."
Jack watched her walk down the corridor. What was she up to? She reached the corner, then stopped as another figure brushed past her.
Melan.
Something passed between them, something that Jack didn't quite pick up, then Melan quickened her pace and Jessica turned the corner as if nothing had happened.
Was it just him, or had they been sending each other evils?
Melan spotted him, then smiled lightly. "Hey, Jack."
"Hi."
She looked behind herself to where Jessica had just left, then at him. She bit her lip, as if considering what to say. "Were you just talking to her?"
"Yeah. We had a meeting."
Her right hand was clasped over her left thumb, he noticed, and she was pushing it back and forth. "Jessica Coles…Be careful around her, Jack. She's a lot more than she appears to be."
Jack could feel a familiar emotion jolt through him. Who the hell did she think she was giving him advice after what she had done to him?
"Kind of like you, then?"
He hadn't meant to say that, but it came out nonetheless.
Something flickered through her eyes. She looked angry. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
What was it meant to mean? He didn't know. But he wasn't going to just back down, especially not after she had talked to him with that sort of voice.
"What do you think it's supposed to mean?"
She was getting angrier by the minute. Girls were scary when they got angry and he was sure as hell that she would be no exception.
Melan laughed, dryly. "You know what, Jack? It's guys like you that make me have no faith in the male population."
What the fuck?
She continued. "What is it with you guys? You all have such overly inflated egos. I mean, a girl smiles at you and, suddenly, that means she's open –she's interested. A girl talks to you and all of a sudden that's her code for saying she wants to go jump in bed with you. You never once consider that maybe she's just being nice, that she's trying to be polite –that she wants to be your friend. I mean, seriously, I totally get what you mean, Jack. And I'll tell you what, Harlton. You go off with that bitch and have the lay of your life 'cause that's the last time I try to give you advice."
Jack made no move to follow her as she stormed off. He wasn't like that, was he? That wasn't him –it was Damien. He had already learnt that lesson through past experience, and he wasn't going to make the same mistake again.
She could think what she wanted to think. She would cool off eventually, anyway. It was probably just that time of the month. He rolled his eyes.
Girls.
* * *
Lia slid open the door, a soft creak resounding through her ears.
"Carmon."
He was sat up in bed, a book propped up before him. He noticed her, then grinned.
"Hey."
"Indulging in literature, are we?"
She made her way towards him and sat on a chair beside him.
He yawned, then indicated his arm. "This baby doesn't allow for me to do much of anything else."
She frowned. "I'm sorry." It wasn't much, but it was the least she could do.
He shook his head. "You've got nothing to be sorry about. If it had been me you would have done the same."
Lia bit her bottom lip. "I doubt I would have been able to carry you, kid," she joked.
"That mission was proof that you have to cut down on the cupcakes, hon. If it hadn't have been for my brilliant physique, I probably would have hurt both arms instead of one considering how heavy you were."
"Ha. Ha. So funny."
"I am, aren't I?"
She rolled her eyes. "I was hoping that the bullet would have somehow brought your brain back to reality. But then I remembered that it hit your arm, not your head."
"I love you too, Lia."
She grinned. "Seriously, though, how are you?"
Carmon shrugged. "I'm cool. I should be out of the sling in a couple of weeks. It wasn't anything major."
"That's good."
"Why? Were you worried?"
"Don't flatter yourself."
"Aww, Lia. I'm touched. You were actually concerned about me?"
"No, I just couldn't handle the guilty conscience."
Carmon gasped. "I'm hurt. I think I'm going to cry."
"As long as you don't cry for me, I'm cool."
Carmon rolled his eyes. "Always the unemotional one, aren't we?"
She smiled lightly. "I've got to go now. Michael called me about something."
"What about? Is it another mission?"
"Don't know," she replied.
"Okay. Let me know."
"Yeah, I will. Take care. I'll come back to visit."
"You make me sound like one of those old people in care."
"Awww, don't be so self pitying."
He rolled his eyes. "By the way, before you leave, did they let Emilie out?"
"Yeah. They let her out this morning. That girl sure can act."
He grinned. "That she can. See you."
"Bye."
She left the room and made her way down the corridor. Michael wouldn't give her another mission so soon, would he?
She shrugged.
We'll just have to wait and see.
* * *
Lia entered the room, a shower of dust escalating from the ground and into the air as she slid open the door. Her trainers left footprints on the floorboards, she noticed. Just because they had to keep the place looking abandoned, it didn't mean that they couldn't clean it.
She was racked with a sudden wave of nausea as the room's thick, putrid smell washed over her nostrils. The table lay in the center of the room, the only clean item within its cavernous depths. She could hear the buzzing of a light bulb above her. The room was bathed in a dull yellow light, making the thick patches of damp lined along the walls shimmer a pale, mint green.
If she stayed in here for too long she was sure it would make her sick.
Cal was already there, leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. He didn't seem fazed by the rooms sickening state.
"Why are you here?" she hissed.
"Same reason as you," he replied, calmly.
She made her way to the table and slumped down upon a chair.
"How long will Michael take?"
"As long as he wants to take."
"Can't you ever give a straight answer?"
"Can't you ever ask a polite question?"
A muscle ticked in her jaw. "I'm more polite than you'll every be."
"And I'm way cleverer than you'll ever be. So I guess it evens out."
Lia gripped the arm rest, her nails digging into the rough, splintered wood.
Cal smirked. "Careful, you might break a nail."
That was it. Lia got up, ready to charge at him, when a sudden voice stopped her.
"Lia, sit down."
Michael.
Prick.
"Whatever."
Cal yawned and dug his hands into his pockets. "Why did you call us here?"
Michael grinned and made his way toward the other end of the table, then sat down. "Hello to you to."
He bent down and it was then that Lia noticed the small cabinet beneath the table. He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a wad of paper, along with a large bottle and three glasses.
He poured himself a glass. "Want some?"
"No thanks. I'm not thirsty," Lia replied curtly.
Michael shrugged. "Suit yourself. Cal?"
Cal shook his head. "Cut to the chase, Michael."
Lia was shocked by his tone of voice. So far she was the only one who had ever talked to Michael with such…authority.
Michael turned his attention to Lia. "Ted contacted us."
Lia's eyes widened. "What did he say?"
"He
wants us to meet him. He –I decided to send you because he already knows you, so it'll make the exchange easier."
