by CD Reiss
“Very funny.”
“Fresh batteries are worth money, which people here don’t have a lot of. I’m not condoning it—”
“Or the spray paint, which was just mean.”
“Or the spray paint.” She dried her hands.
Everyone was out of the kitchen but us.
“Which was the same color as the painting on the roof. I’m thinking it’s the same person. Or people.”
She looped the towel around a drawer handle. “Even if I knew…” Which she did. I’d have bet my balls on it. “I wouldn’t tell.”
“Harper, I want you to know, if it’s some kid crying for help, I’m not an animal. Actually, I just want to know how he did what he did.”
“What did he do? Besides maybe rip off your car battery?”
“He hacked into a system, a computer system I’m developing. Whatever he did, it was really difficult. Really well-timed. The execution was perfect. Guy like that doesn’t belong in jail. I’d probably hire him.”
I couldn’t decode what happened with her face. Surprise opened it a little, and I saw anger and happiness at the same time. Before I could pin it down, it was gone. She kept looking at me, and I kept my attention on her.
“Harper!” Catherine called in a singsong.
“Let’s eat.” She turned away and went into the dining room.
* * *
Dinner had been loud, messy, and pretty delicious in a not-too-complex way. Men appeared from the yard when the food was out. We had stew in chipped bowls. The silverware was real silver, and the water glasses were canning jars. Folding chairs set next to white, plastic picnic chairs around a card table. I remembered most of the names. The kids were lively and well-behaved. Harper sat next to me.
When I was asked where I was from, my answer elicited questions about the weather, gas prices, and state taxes.
What I could gather from them was that the factory closing had hit them hard, but Catherine, who blushed when mentioned, had been the town caretaker ever since.
“I remember when she sold the dining room set we should be sitting on right now,” a weathered man named Neil said. “My wife wanted to throw herself on it when they loaded it onto the truck.”
“It was so nice.” Beverly shook her head slowly. “How much did you get for it?”
“Enough to pay down Phil and Dina’s mortgage. And worth every cent.” Catherine stood and started taking plates, ending the discussion. “Harper made bonnet cookies this morning. Who’s ready?”
The kids clamored to pick up every dinner plate. The dining room descended into chaos again.
“Bonnet cookies?” I whispered to Harper, catching the scent of the air before it rained.
She turned to me, and we were face-to-face in the middle of a crowded room. “There are so many eggs in the recipe. When my great-grandmother was a girl, they wouldn’t fit in the bag. She put them in her bonnet on the way home.”
“That’s nice.” I said it to fill space, watching the flickering changes in her expression. I didn’t know if I should kiss her or grill her until she revealed who’d hacked me. Maybe I could do both.
* * *
Orrin had brought my bags in from the car. Everyone had said it was nice to meet me and left. I turned my back, and Catherine had somehow folded herself into the walls. The house fell into a dark stillness.
Harper led me upstairs, flicking on lights with loud clacks from old switches. The steps creaked like nobody’s business.
“How old is this house?” I asked.
It was the smallest of small talk. But the house felt haunted, and that seemed like a relevant data point to proving it wasn’t.
She stood at the top of the stairs with her hand on the banister. “Nineteen eleven. You look freaked out.”
“Me?”
“You.”
“I don’t freak out. I have nerves of steel.”
“Want a tour?” she asked at the head of the hallway. Two short halls went east-west, and a longer one went north-south. All were as bare as the lower level. “There’s not much to see.”
“That would be great.”
“I figure it’ll ease your mind.” She put her hand on a knob.
“I’m not freaked out.”
“Sure.” She flicked on the sconces. The room we entered had a cot, a two-drawer dresser, and peeling wallpaper. “This was my room when I was a kid.”
“Where do you sleep now?”
She was already out a door on the other side of the room. “This is a linen closet. It’s between two rooms. They all are.” Shelves. Towels. Sheets. A bulb on a wire. “This was my mother’s room.” There was a pause where I thought of asking a question, but she moved on before I could get a word out.
She strode through the room without stopping, clacking the switch behind her. “My sister’s room.”
It looked as though someone actually slept there. A half-open armoire had clothes in it, and the sheets on the full-sized bed were fresh but mussed.
“Catherine?”
“Yup.”
She continued. We wound up in one of the short halls. A stairway led up to a door at the top. Framed pictures hung on the stairwell walls. I hadn’t seen a single thing on the walls yet, and I slowed down to look.
“We keep the bodies up there.” She waved me toward her. “Come on.”
She blew through old maids’ quarters, a narrow back stairway, three more closets, two bathrooms with toilets that hissed and sinks with separate faucets for hot and cold, a library full of books, and the only comfortable-looking chair I’d seen since entering the house. Every room was clean. Every one had the absolute minimum amount of furniture. None had a decorative element that could be moved without ripping off a part of the house.
“The master suite is the nicest.” She opened the carved mahogany door a few inches. “You’re not allergic to mold, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Good.” She opened it all the way.
It was the nicest, biggest, and it did smell of mold. A chandelier had hung in the center of a ceiling that seemed just a little higher than the rest. It had a mural of delicate flowers preserved under a layer of dirt. The hardwood inlay on the floor was in a chevron pattern, with a wide border of darker wood. Past wide French doors, a balcony looked over the black night of nowhere.
“It is nice. I don’t see the mold. I can smell it but not see it.”
She pointed at water damage on the wall. “It’s worst on the bathroom side. There’s a mushroom that grows out of the wall every year.”
“That’s not mold. It’s—”
“Fungus. I know. We have both.”
“The mismatched shingles are above this room?”
“Yeah.” She opened the French doors to the outside.
“But there’s a third floor?”
“Not over this half of the house.”
She walked out onto a balcony that I wouldn’t have trusted to hold the weight of a kitten. But she did, so I joined her.
The autumn air was cool and breezy. The interstate banded parallel to the northern horizon, invisible until headlights drifted along it like fireflies. Below us, light from the downstairs windows landed in the first few yards of the property. At first, I thought I was looking at a pit of snakes, but it was thorn bushes. Hundreds of branches were tangled together in a mass of sticks and rose hips.
Harper put her elbows on the railing, crossed her ankles, and stuck out her ass. What a work of beauty it was. I had to stop myself from slapping it as I passed.
“How far back does the property go?” I asked.
“To the river.” She pointed straight back.
The river, if I could tell correctly in the moonlight, was a little more than an eighth of a mile away, where the reeds and a line of trees broke up the sightline. Above and beyond that was the roof of the factory.
A light flicked on in the house, and my instincts tracked the movement back to the yard and the tangle of thorn bushes. I didn�
�t say anything, but she followed my gaze down below. The bushes took up about as much space as my first apartment in San Jose. The rest of the property to the river was trimmed and landscaped.
“We like it that way,” she said. “It blooms in the summer.”
“I wish I could see that.” I did want to see it. Summer was on the other side of the next year, but I wanted to see it.
“The room next to this one is nice.” She jerked her thumb toward another set of French doors on the other side if the balcony. “You should crash there.”
My elbows joined hers on the railing. “I’m sorry about before. I was frustrated.”
“Next time I won’t be so nice about it.”
“Really?”
“I can knock a guy’s balls so fast he won’t even know it until he screams soprano.”
I laughed.
“I’m serious. Wanna try me?” She put her hands up and tried to look severe. It didn’t work. She rotated her hands, angling the fingers, one knee up, mouth exposing her fight teeth.
I laughed again.
“Don’t test me, stranger,” she growled.
“Stranger?” I put my hands on hers. “We’ve shared a meal.” I laced my fingers in hers, and she let me. “I’ve met your family and friends.” I pulled her close. She let me do that too. “We broke into a building together.”
“We’re practically best friends,” she whispered.
“The minute I saw you, I thought you were beautiful.” I let my lips brush hers, and they crackled with ozone. “I could barely even speak.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Drawing my lips over her cheek and down her neck, I felt the vibration in her throat when she moaned. I didn’t want to rush, but I didn’t have a lot of time.
She might tell me the hacker’s name in the morning, when she was careless, maybe a little ashamed, wondering if she’d see me again.
Which was possible. If everything worked out with QI4, if I found the hacker and got this thing off the ground, I might get involved with a beautiful creature from a foreign land.
“Believe me,” I whispered. “I’d never lie about something like this.”
My lips found hers. When she spoke, I felt them move. “You’re staying tonight though? The car.”
She wanted it. Her voice was soaked in it. I could seal the deal in three to five minutes.
“I’m staying tonight.”
“Good.”
Lips at the side of her mouth, fingers stroking her neck, I asked, “Do you like to fuck, Harper?”
A little vowel sound escaped her lips. I was too close to see her expression, but her voice told me I’d gotten where I wanted to.
“I think you’re beautiful. I want to see you naked. I want to make you come with my mouth. I’ll make it last a long time.” I paused. She didn’t pull away. “I’d love to bury my cock in you until you come again. And again. And again.”
Her breath fell heavy on my cheek. I pulled back to get a look at her face to see if she was horrified or turned off.
Her lips were parted and wet. Expressive and open. I kissed her.
I couldn’t tell if she kissed me back.
She pressed her face into mine, but her lips weren’t moving or responding. Not that my dick cared either way. It just knew I was smelling and tasting her. It felt me pull her body into it and burst into a raging erection before I had my tongue fully in her mouth.
Her arms stayed around me, but she didn’t move any more than her tongue.
I disengaged completely. I wanted to seduce her, but I didn’t want to take what wasn’t offered. I’d overplayed my hand. Shit.
“Sorry,” I said.
“No, it’s fine.”
“I misread your signals.”
“You didn’t!” She kneaded her hands together. Her eyebrows made an inverted V.
I wanted to believe her. On that balcony, she had a sincerity that went deeper than it had all day. Maybe I’d caught her by surprise, or maybe that was how they kissed out here.
“Well, thank you then.” I reached behind the French doors and hoisted my bag over my shoulder. “Can I get into this room from here?” I pointed at the adjacent set of doors.
“Yeah. Sure. I, uh—”
“I really should get to bed.”
She got in front of me. “I’ll put sheets on it.”
I hadn’t known her for more than a day, but her desperation surprised me. She didn’t seem the type. She was acting as if my attention had higher stakes than a less-than-satisfactory kiss. Of course, I could have been misreading her the way I had a second before. Which she denied. Which meant I wasn’t misreading.
The snake ate its tail.
I spoke tenderly and took her hand. In that moment, she seemed too vulnerable for careless courtesies. “I’ll do it. You’ve done enough to help me today.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“I’ll feel bad if you do it.” I squeezed her hand and let it go. “The linen closet is off the bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay.”
I still wanted to seduce her, fuck her, get the name out of her. That strategy was on life support either way. Outside the strategy, human to human, I wanted to tell her something that was true.
“I meant it. You’re really beautiful, Harper.”
“Yeah, well… I know.” She said it as if I was telling her the sky was blue. No embarrassment or fake humility. It was what it was.
“Hey, uh, you have Wi-Fi?”
“Yeah, the router, the thing with the antenna?” She wiggled two fingers at the sky. “Kind of old and spotty. You can get cellular in the backyard sometimes.”
“Thank you.”
“Good night.”
“Bye.”
I went into the adjacent room and snapped the door closed. The door to the master suite closed a few seconds later. I was alone.
XIII
I found the light switch. Two frosted glass sconces hung on either side of the bed, lighting the ceiling and casting the rest of the room in diffused light. It was as bare as the others. I put sheets on the metal-framed twin bed and got in the shower.
It had been a long fucking day. I had no way out of town, and I was in a mansion without a couch. My hacker wanted me to stay, and I was getting the fuck out of here. I’d pay the rental car company whatever they wanted once the battery was in as long as I could get on a fucking flight.
But Harper.
The moments before that kiss.
When her skin tingled under my lips.
She’d made me so fucking hard.
And I was again. Just thinking about it made blood rush to my cock. I ran my hand over it.
There had been something inexperienced about the kiss. As if she’d wanted to but didn’t know how and nerves had kept her from going with her instincts. Was she that innocent? When I stripped her down, told her to sit on the bed, and stared at her naked body, would her chest break out in hot pink? When I gently asked her to lean back and spread her legs so I could see her pussy, would she hesitate? When I said I wanted to see her touch herself—
I grunted and came before I could finish the fantasy, shooting my load in the cleft of a cracked tile.
I finished washing myself, put on sweat pants, and plugged in my phone. A cone of lines appeared in the corner of the screen.
Live Wi-Fi. If she was right, it would be on and off.
Password protected. PassCrack, an app I’d developed and sold for Bitcoin donations back in the day, didn’t work. WarWalk didn’t either. It looked like a simple WEP but obviously wasn’t. Weird. Even in Silicon Valley, which was riddled with IT guys, one of those would have worked.
A human sound came through the walls. A woman crying. More than crying. Wailing uncontrollably. I stood. Harper? No. There was a lightness in it. A crispness. Harper was throatier. The cries came from everywhere. Right, left, downstairs. For
a second, they seemed to come from the balcony. Then the crying drifted away.
Seduction was out. As much as I wanted to fuck that girl, and I really wanted to fuck her, this place was crazytown. The internet made the world small enough to find the hacker from home, without risking my sanity. I could fuck Raven anytime.
Raven’s not going to be half as good as Harper.
That was my inner predator talking. Raven was fine. I had to focus on getting Wi-Fi.
I had one last toy in my toolbox. An offline app I had been dicking with when I was bored and missing the old days. I’d developed it to pick stocks, and it had lost everyone money, but repurposed, it was a decent password finder. I ran it.
Boom. I was on. Notifications flowed in.
The crying started again—but closer.
Ignore it.
All previous messages from Deeprak had self-destructed, but the new ones flowed, decrypting with my fingerprint on the device.
bonus. What did he find?>
He uploaded a picture. The resolution was shit, but the smile was Harper. The girl in the picture had dark hair. She was a little rounder. Standing on Vassar St., in front of Building 32, with its metal façade that was designed to look as though it was in a constant state of collapse.
I knew 32 well. Computer science. The AI lab.
Another picture came up. She had on a knit hat and pinched her bottom lip between two fingers.
Did she have a boyfriend who was studying at Stata?
Well, no, she had the books. The Visual Disp— was clearly visible when I stretched the photo.
“Display of Quantitative Information,” I said to myself, finishing the title. “That’s not even coursework, Harper. What are you doing?”
