by Dara England
Then discarding her original idea, she thought, maybe the ritual was important. Maybe parts of it did have a purpose. Could it be one part—just one—of his eerie ritual had some secret significance? And if it did, and if he didn’t want her to invest too much energy into guessing at what it was, wouldn’t it have been a natural stroke of brilliance on his part to concoct an entire odd routine for her to act out. By doing so, he would be disguising the importance of the one part of the ritual that might otherwise stand out, distracting her from the area she should be concentrating on the most.
Teagan shivered, at once excited and frightened by the idea. What secret could Sir be hiding that was any stranger than the odd behavior he had already demonstrated? She ran her mind over each of the tasks she had performed that night from the list. Which one was the one—the real task for which all the others were just screens of smoke? But try as she might, she couldn’t separate one particular part of the routine that seemed any more mysterious or significant than the others.
Maybe all her exhausted mind needed was a little peaceful sleep and in the morning, the answer would come to her, she thought, sinking drowsily back into her bed. If nothing else, perhaps she would stumble onto some clue to the mystery when she returned to Sir’s apartment at dawn. For now, her eyes had grown heavy and she found she was, after all, able to slip down again into a light slumber.
* * * *
The next morning Teagan’s eyes felt achy and grainy as she locked the door to her room and left the apartment house behind. Forget buying a paper. She was too tired just now to focus on it. Besides, she was running behind. It was a gray, chilly day out and the last of the snow still blanketed the ground in muddy, melting heaps along the edges of the streets.
The sidewalks at least had been cleared and sprinkled with salt so Teagan didn’t have to watch her step as she hurried off on her way to Sir’s. Taxis were too expensive, and she couldn’t afford to let them eat up her money taking her someplace her legs were perfectly capable of carrying her. She’d just remember to start out earlier in the future, she told herself. Sir’s apartment complex wasn’t anywhere near her neighborhood.
She made it past the doorman without any trouble this time. She didn’t know if Sir had given him instructions to always let her pass unquestioned or if he had merely given up trying to keep her out. Then again, her new, cleaner look probably didn’t hurt her cause any either. The elevator was beginning to feel like her second home as it carried her up to the penthouse. Give her a reclining chair and a pillow, she thought, and she could live here as comfortably as her new apartment. More so maybe. The elevator had lulling music and a clean smell.
Stepping out into Sir’s living room she was unsurprised to find the entire place exactly as she had left it. The wine was still in its goblet, untouched. The CD player still blared and the study door remained closed and locked. Only one thing was different, she noticed as she moved to turn off the CD player. Rounding the couches, she saw what hadn’t been visible to her before. A low table near the center of the room had been knocked over and there was a small rip in the carpet near the sunken part of the living room. She couldn’t say for sure about the torn carpet but she knew she hadn’t left the table that way. A small figurine had fallen from the tipped table and shattered across the floor. A pile of magazines had also slid off. That was all. Not such a big deal.
And yet its implication hit Teagan hard. Someone had been here since she left. An intruder maybe? Had they taken anything? But all the priceless artwork along the walls seemed to be in place. The entertainment system wasn’t stolen, and thieves surely would have been drawn to that. She checked her first panicked thought of calling the police. This was Sir’s apartment. Best to let him deal with it. Besides, who was to say it hadn’t been Sir himself returning during the night to make this mess? Maybe it was even his mysterious guest, showing up after all.
“Sir?” Teagan called out into the silence. “Is anyone here?” There was no answer, but then she hadn’t really expected one.
Summoning her courage, she moved from room to room. No one lurked behind the shadowed doorways or beneath the furniture. Nothing else appeared to have been disturbed or taken. Returning to the living room she put the coffee table to rights and swept up the broken statue. Maybe Sir wouldn’t notice it was missing, she thought hopefully. The tear in the rug, however, was another matter. Would he hold her responsible for that? The carpet looked expensive.
Never mind, she told herself. He couldn’t possibly blame her for something that had happened while she wasn’t here. All the same, she gave in to the temptation to drag a nearby armchair over a foot or two to cover the spot. With any luck he wouldn’t notice it. Having done what she could about the problem, she next turned her attention to clearing away the dishes from the night before. It was a simple enough chore since they hadn’t been touched and didn’t even need washing. The heavy silence was a relief after the blaring noise of the CD player at least, as she moved on into the den. She took the brass key from its place, unlocked the study door, and replaced the key beneath the music box.
Not until she straightened from the desk did she notice a faint movement from the corner of her eye. A thick scarlet drapery hanging over the wall behind the desk rustled. For a moment Teagan was paralyzed, mentally replaying the last frightening confrontation that had taken place in this room on a morning similar to this. An instant later, however, her fears were relieved as the curtain moved again and she realized it was only a faint stirring of air coming through a hidden window that had set the curtains fluttering. She hadn’t even noticed there was a window behind the desk.
She pulled the curtain back to peer behind it. She could see why the opening had been intentionally concealed by the thick draperies. It was a big window but provided an ugly view, looking out over the fire escape and down onto an alley below. There was a tall privacy fence between the fancy apartment complex and its neighboring buildings, but from this vantage point, the alley was still clearly visible on the other side.
Teagan thought an intruder could easily bypass the doorman and elevator altogether and climb the row of garbage cans in the alley to clamber over the fence and drop down onto the apartment complex’s lawn. From there they could scramble up the fire escape and enter through the window. They would have to be a good climber, though, and have little fear of heights to make such a dangerous climb. Then too, the window would have to have been left open for them. Was this, she wondered, the secret method of entry used by Sir’s mystery guest?
It didn’t make much sense of course. A friend of Sir’s would have nothing to fear by merely entering his apartment the normal way. All the same, as she carefully drew the window closed, she resolved the next time she came to this place to carry out her tasks she would make a quick check behind these same curtains. If the window had been opened again, surely that would mean something. Wouldn’t it?
Returning to the desk and scanning Sir’s note, left the night before, she found only one more instruction left on the list. He had left a little blank space at the bottom of the note and ordered she write down an address in this area where she could be reached. Her payment would be delivered there. As she took up a pen out of a fancy pen-cup and scratched out the address of her new apartment, Teagan thought wryly that a week ago if he had asked for her address she would’ve given him the location of her cardboard box in that back alley. A lot had changed since then.
Leaving the note on the desk, she exited the den, gave a final, hasty glance around her, and departed.
Chapter 12
Teagan bought a newspaper and a stack of magazines from a corner newsstand and spent the rest of the morning in her apartment flipping through them. It wasn’t sheer boredom or even idle curiosity motivating her. Although she had yet to hear back from Dr. Mortimer Green, she was already proceeding as if there was an agreement between them, an agreement that supplied her with plenty of reason to find out all she could about her employer.
She did make an interesting discovery in one of the magazines. The business section had an entire spread on NationBank and how, under the guidance of Mr. J. Rotham, it was emerging as one of the top financial institutions in the country.
There was no other information about Sir in the article, not even a mention of his full name, but there was a large picture of him taking up most of the page. She tore out the article and its accompanying picture and laid them on the rickety nightstand beside her bed. She needed to collect all the information she could on Mr. J. Rotham, in both his business and his personal life. It was an uncomfortable feeling, being so dependent on someone who was such a mystery.
Next she turned to the newspaper, where all the news seemed bad. Robberies and murders filled the headlines, which she supposed wasn’t surprising in a city of this size. A gas station held up in broad daylight just a few blocks from her apartment; a prominent politician accused of corruption and embezzlement; an attempted murder near the luxurious Heights apartment complex…
Teagan stopped scanning the headlines to focus on that one. The Heights? She had been at the Heights last night. The article gave the time of the attack as just a few hours before she had returned to Sir’s apartment. That was downright creepy, she thought, reading on. Suppose it had been her set upon in some lonely alley? She shivered. Maybe from now on she would take a cab to Sir’s. The streets were dangerous these days. Or maybe it was only the hail of bad news from the papers that made them seem so. Yes, that must be it. She set aside the newspaper and decided she wouldn’t buy them anymore.
The rumbling of her stomach reminded her that whatever bad things were happening out there in the world, it was still breakfast time. She ate a bowl of cereal, drank a glass of orange juice, which made an odd mix, and lay down for a quick nap. She had slept so little last night and awoken so early this morning to go to back to Sir’s, that she felt weak and sluggish. Snuggling up into a tight little ball atop her creaky mattress, she drifted off into a deep, pleasant sleep.
It was a firm pounding on the door that finally stirred her. A glance at her digital alarm clock revealed she had slept away the morning and most of the afternoon. She had been more exhausted than she’d realized.
“Coming, coming,” she called at the insistent pounding. She sat up and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a tousled mess, her face red and pillow-lined. Never mind, she told herself. It was probably a neighbor come to borrow…whatever neighbors borrowed. She wouldn’t know. She’d never had a neighbor before, or for that matter, ever owned anything one might expect her to loan out.
She stumbled drowsily to the door and put her eye up to the peephole. “Sir!” she couldn’t help exclaiming loudly at the sight of the tall figure standing outside her door.
“That’s right,” he called through the door. “Open up.”
Teagan hesitated. She hadn’t imagined he would be the one coming to deliver her money. He’d said he would send it over, not bring it over. In fact, didn’t this face-to-face meeting kind of violate the rules they had agreed to work under? She wasn’t sure she was entirely comfortable with this man and his intense aura entering the peace of her new sanctuary. Still…she wanted the money. And she comforted herself with the thought of her landlord’s presence just a few doors down. Although he was elderly and hard of hearing, if his TV wasn’t turned up too loud and if he had his hearing aid in, he might notice a dangerous commotion coming from her apartment.
Sir was still standing outside. She could imagine his impatience. Making up her mind, she slid the deadbolt and cracked the door.
“Did you bring my money?” she asked, poking her face around the door.
“Let me in,” he answered in a strange tone. “We need to talk.” There was a different look about him today than usual. His face looked tense and weary, and he seemed to be having trouble standing still. His foot tapped impatiently on the carpeted floor.
Teagan frowned, trying to hide her nervousness. Did he somehow guess at her plan involving Dr. Green? Was that what brought him here? She stalled for time, looking for excuses to keep him out in the hall. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish but shoved the door open and pushed his way in. “I’m not very concerned with what you think at the moment,” he said, sounding a little like his usual arrogant self. “I need to know what you did last night in my apartment.”
Teagan grimaced. So he had noticed the torn rug and the broken statue. “I didn’t do anything, I swear,” she hastened to explain. “The damage was done between the time I left in the evening and returned this morning.”
“What are you babbling about?” he asked. “I’m referring to the tasks I set for you. Did you complete all of them?”
So he wasn’t upset about the mess. Teagan was relieved and yet confused. If he hadn’t noticed the change in his apartment what was it that brought him here in such an urgent state?
“I did everything you asked me to,” she answered. “I followed your instructions perfectly.”
“You’re sure of that?” he asked. “You couldn’t have forgotten anything?”
What put that odd light in his eyes, Teagan wondered. Was this some kind of trap? Another one of his tests? Well if it was, she was fairly confident she could pass it. “I’m positive I did everything,” she said firmly, looking him in the eye. A sudden thought came to mind. “Maybe,” she said casually, “you could tell me specifically what it is you’re so concerned about my having carried out properly.”
He didn’t take the bait. “Repeat back to me all of your actions both times you visited my apartment during the last twenty-four hours.”
Teagan sighed. “I arrived a few minutes before seven-thirty,” she began. One at a time, she ticked off for him all of the tasks she had carried out last night. “This morning,” she continued, “things were slightly different. When I showed up I found there had been a tear sliced into the rug and a table had been overturned—”
“I’m aware of those things,” he interrupted. “Skip that part.”
So Teagan went on to describe how she had undone all of her work of the night before and had slipped out of the apartment again.
“Is that all?” he questioned slowly.
Teagan didn’t understand the importance he seemed to place on her answer. He was trying to appear controlled, but she sensed a deep restlessness stirring beneath his surface. It reminded her of their more violent encounters in the past and made her anxious to see him on his way.
“Yes, that’s all,” she said. “Except the part you didn’t want to hear about, where I cleaned up the broken statue and searched the rooms for intruders. And shut the window.”
“What?” he asked. “There was an open window?” For a moment he had seemed to be relaxing, as if some inner fear had been laid to rest. Now he was alert again, and a tense note had slipped into his voice.
“Yes, there was a draft coming from behind the drapes in the den. I saw there was an open window, and I closed it. Nothing else happened.”
He appeared far from reassured. In fact, something flickered in his eyes—something Teagan could almost call fear—or concern at least. She didn’t want to know what could make a man like Sir afraid.
“Listen,” she said uneasily. “I’ve told you all I can. I’m sorry, but I think you’re going to have to go now. And I would really prefer you didn’t come to my apartment again. It’s outside our agreement, remember?”
Her words must have drawn him away from whatever problem was distracting him because he finally appeared to notice his surroundings. He looked around him with a critical eye. “You live here?” he asked. For once there was no touch of mockery in his tone. Teagan could see him taking in the rusted plumbing, the sagging bed, and the stained walls.
“Quite comfortably,” she said, feeling defensive of her new home. “I find it a little more pleasant than sleeping under the sky. Now, if you don’t mind…”
He didn’t take
the hint. Dragging up a rickety chair, he invited himself to sit, propping his shoes up on another chair. They were fine shoes and looked as out of place as could be amid their unimpressive surroundings—much like their owner. Teagan didn’t know if it was the way he perused her apartment or simply his presence that suddenly made her tiny little space less homey. Either way, she was eager to be rid of him and his condescending looks.
“You know, you could do better,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “I pay well enough to afford you a safer—and cleaner—atmosphere to sleep in at night.”
Teagan stiffened. “My atmosphere is perfectly pleasant and my sleep is none of your business.” As if to mock her defense, a small brown mouse suddenly skittered across the floor to disappear beneath the minifridge. Teagan sniffed. “Just need one or two traps around here,” she said, “and I’ll have the place cleared out in no time.”
One of her neighbors, in the next apartment over, chose that very moment to let out a loud peal of laughter and to throw something hard against the thin wall dividing their apartments. Teagan winced at the noisy thunk, and avoided Sir’s pointed look. There was nothing wrong with this place—nothing that wouldn’t quickly feel righted the moment he was gone.
Aloud, she excused, “The neighbors are a bit boisterous. Happy people. They keep…happy, day and night.” So much so, I hardly get a wink of sleep. She kept the thought to herself. “So you see,” she added, “I’m surrounded by good company, an excellent, sturdy roof overhead, and my kitchen cabinets are stocked to overflowing.”
He smirked. “Indeed. You live in plenty.”
Teagan frowned. “What’s that? Sarcasm? You know, if you think you’re too good to grace my impoverished doorway—”
He held up a hand, forestalling her. “Forgive me. I see I’ve overstepped the bounds of courtesy.”
