Stealing Away

by Harley Fox

  She had so many opportunities to fuck everything up before last night. So why didn’t she? She could have destroyed things in the middle of the night, or killed me, or poisoned our food. She could have sabotaged Julian’s work, but she didn’t. She made him better. His last finished replica is indistinguishable from the original he was working from. And all in a few days! Persephone didn’t have to do that. But she did.

  She did. She worked here and she lived here, with us. She fit in. And as much as Edward might have ragged on her and threatened her, he knows that she fit in here too. She wrecked that crate, sure, but that was just a reaction to Edward saying he was going up to check the air conditioner. It was a coincidence. She could have done so much more than knock over a single crate in the middle of the day.

  I close the book, not having turned any pages since I opened it up again. Julian’s sitting at his workstation, and Rebekka’s nowhere to be found. How long have I been sitting here? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Nothing matters anymore. We’re just going to make this deal happen tomorrow and then we’ll start on our next job and then we’ll just continue doing that, doing the same thing, over and over again.

  Standing up, I toss the book back among its family and leave the common area. I need to stretch my legs. Move around. At first I head toward the door to go outside, but it makes me think of Persephone and so I turn, instead deciding to weave my way through these tight wooden corridors, objects of our own creation. It would be easy to get lost among these crates. I go from narrow path to narrow path, meandering, without really paying attention to where I’m headed.

  But then I hear some sounds. Strange sounds. I stop, listening. I look around and realize I’m close to a corner of the warehouse. Edward’s corner. I can’t quite make out what the sounds are, so I move more quietly toward the entrance of his quarters. When I get there I peek around the corner and look inside.

  There, sitting on his bed, is Edward. He’s the one making the sounds. He’s got his head down, and in his hand is a framed picture I’ve never seen before. It’s of three people, standing together in front of a house. Edward, a woman around his age, and a little girl. And the little girl looks very familiar …

  “Edward?”

  He starts, snorting, pulling wet snot back up into his nose.

  “Ah, Marc.” Edward stuffs the picture under his pillow before standing up, wiping his eyes. They’re red and puffy. He looks at me, tries to assume an air of confidence, of power, but it’s a thin mask that doesn’t quite cover up the emotions underneath.

  “Who was in that picture?”

  “No one,” Edward says, too quickly. “I mean … what are you doing in my personal quarters? Get out of here!”

  “Was that who I think it was?”

  “What? No.” He wipes his eyes again, not quite looking in mine. “I told you, get the fuck out of here. Unless you want to get your ass kicked.”

  “Edward,” I start, but he takes a step toward me, lifting his fists.

  “I told you to get out of here!”

  His fists are in my face, and now he’s meeting my eyes. The same angry, defiant Edward. Always ready to fight. I don’t lift my fists, or try to fight him back, or even try to defend myself. The man I’ve been following for two years now looks so small to me. So petty.

  Instead I just turn and walk away. Edward doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to call me back. I leave his corner, meandering through the corridors again. This place is like a prison to me now. Like how Persephone must have felt. I look over at the stairs leading up to the catwalk, and decide to head there.

  It’s a few minutes before I make my way to the metal stairs. As I climb up I’m reminded of catching Persephone up here the first time. She was actually up here to sabotage the A/C unit. But you know what? I honestly don’t care. If I were in her position, I would have done the same. Instead we made love for the first time. It was sudden and unexpected, but it felt so right. After that, everything changed.

  And still hasn’t changed back.

  I reach the top, where it’s hotter than down below. I can hear the whining of the air conditioner, louder up here. Walking over to it, I see it rattle within its metal casing. I hunker down and stare at the two bolts sitting on the metal grating that makes up the floor.

  My eyes focus beyond them and I look down at the maze of wooden crates we’ve created, spanning the entire floor area of the warehouse. There’s the large, open space of the common area. Julian’s sitting at his workstation, carefully carving at some plaster figurine. A movement down one corridor catches my eye and I see the top of Rebekka’s head make its way toward the common area. Watching, I see her appear at the doorway and walk in, approach Julian from behind, stop. Julian stops working, but he doesn’t turn to look at her. I think she’s talking, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. Now Julian responds. They talk for a bit. Not fight, talk. Finally Rebekka puts a hand on Julian’s shoulder, and he lifts his hand up to squeeze hers. Then she pulls away and leaves while Julian resumes his work.

  The muscles on my face feel different and I’m surprised to realize I’m smiling. It looks like things are getting better for them. I’m glad. They work well together, those two. It would be a shame for their relationship to end.

  A knife pierces my heart and it’s a struggle to ignore it. But I do the best I can. Swallowing the painful tightness in my throat, I stand back up and look around. The door to the outside balcony is there, and even though it sends another knife of remembrance through my chest I still go over and open it up, stepping outside.

  The sun is blinding out here and it’s a thousand times hotter than it is inside, but I stick it out, letting the door shut closed behind me. I squint against the bright light. This is where I took Persephone the first night she was here. At night, all you can see is stars. During the day, all you can see is sand. Sand, a million miles of sand.

  My eyes are getting used to the sunlight and now I can stare out at the horizon. The long, never-ending thing that stretches as far to either side as you can imagine. It’s the same no matter where I look. No matter how far out I try to strain my vision, all I can see is the same thing. Miles and miles of predictability. And while before this might have made me feel free, now all it does is make me feel sad.

  I pull in a sigh through my nose and let it out. Without any fanfare I turn and open the door, walking back inside. That empty place inside of me, the one that Persephone had filled so easily? Well, it’s getting replaced by something else: dread. Despondence. Everything in my life is changing, and I’m just staying the same.

  Persephone

  “I’m fired?”

  I’m staring at Dr. Coolidge, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead she glares at me and leaves the cafeteria, heading through the foyer back to her office.

  Fired. I’m fired. I can’t believe it. Getting this job was hard enough. How do I get another one without a recommendation? How do I explain to a future employer why my previous job ended? I can’t. I’m stuck. Back to where I was when I graduated, or worse.

  I look around the foyer at all the people walking, talking among themselves. Excited families looking forward to seeing dinosaur bones and thousand-year-old vases.

  I head off to join them. If I’m fired, then I’m fired. But that doesn’t mean Dr. Coolidge can stop me from enjoying the museum one last time.

  I walk up the stairs to the fourth floor, and step out amid my favorite sections. As I make my way through the crowds and look at the items on display, I recognize the ones that Marc and everybody else traded for replicas. There they sit, looking as normal as ever. A vase here, some ancient coins there. The patrons simply glance at the items, read the placard, and move on. They have no idea that what they’re looking at is a fake.

  So then what does it matter? Why not just have everything here be fake?

  It matters because for the people who can tell, the real thing is that much better than something made up. Like real butter instead of th
at fake stuff. Or a tan from the sun instead of something that was just sprayed on.

  Or like real love.

  I stop in front of the Forbidden Necklace, not even aware I was heading for it. This is where Marc and I first met. This is where we struck up a conversation. And this is the first real artifact I had Julian work on to better his skill.

  At a glance, it’s hard to believe that what I’m looking at is a replica. But if you know where to look … that third stone from the right, for instance, is cut at the wrong angle. And the roughing on some of the edges is a bit too harsh. The one he made in the warehouse is much better. I remember working on it, focusing hard. Living within that little make-believe family, with my make-believe lover. It was all fake, though. Every part of it.

  Wasn’t it?

  I take a step back, and then another. Turning, I walk away from the Forbidden Necklace. Or, rather, what’s currently passing for it. I stride through the crowds, snaking in between people, picking up speed. By the time I get to the stairs I’m practically running.

  I make it down and head to the employee lounge, walking through the door in the direction of my locker to get my stuff. I’m so focused in fact, that I don’t hear my name being called the first time.

  “Hey! Persephone! Perse!”

  I look around and see Kiara standing in a circle with Abigail, Malik, and Henry. They’re all looking at me, but Kiara’s the one with something like icy daggers in her eyes.

  “We heard you ran away because work was making de wittle baby too stwessed!”

  Both Abigail and Malik laugh at Kiara’s baby voice, and I see Henry crack a smile, but he looks uncertain too.

  “It’s good to see you, Perse,” he says, his eyes dropping from my face to my body before coming back up again. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “What were you doing while you were gone, Perse?” Kiara asks. “Drinking your troubles away? Making out with random dudes at a bar again? Seeing how many things they could fit in a Perse?”

  I close my locker door, slinging a bag containing the few things I have over my shoulder. Then I walk over to the group, staring at Kiara the entire time.

  “Yeah, you know what I think she did?” Kiara asks the group as I slowly make my way to her. “I mean it’s obvious, isn’t it? Ol’ Perse here just did what she does best: opened up those legs of hers and took in as many hard dicks as she could ge—”

  Kiara, unfortunately, isn’t able to finish her speech due to my fist connecting with her jaw.

  “Oof!”

  “Whoa!” The rest of them shout in surprise as Kiara crumples to the ground like a sack of shit.

  “Holy fuck, Perse!” Henry shouts. I lift my eyes to him.

  “Do not call me that!” I say through gritted teeth. “And learn to read signs, you pervert. When a woman’s not interested in you, that means it’s time to chase somebody else’s tail.”

  Kiara isn’t moving. I hike the bag up on my shoulder again and step over her on my way out of the employee lounge. The last thing I hear from inside is Abigail calling Kiara’s name. It only makes me smile.

  Now that those bridges are burned, it’s time to find out what I can from Dr. Coolidge. I don’t know if I’m going to have to threaten her with blackmail or what, but I’ve got a plan on my mind and nothing is going to get in my way.

  Luckily for me, when I approach Dr. Coolidge’s open office door I can overhear a phone conversation. I stop outside of her view and listen.

  “Yes, they agreed to half the price … No, no, it’s in the middle of nowhere. I got lost last time looking for it … Yes, I’ve got the directions here. I’m printing them off. Yes … no, I think separate cars should be fine …”

  I hear the sound of a printer going and it makes my eyebrow raise. I look around the hallway, searching. Finally, I find what I want: down at the far end of the hallway I just came down is a red fire alarm. The printer stops its noises. I turn around and walk casually to the alarm then, making sure no one’s looking. I grab onto the red handle and pull.

  Immediately the overhead alarm sounds and I can hear the din of the crowd in the foyer falter. A second later the overhead speakers crackle and come to life.

  “Please calmly make your way to the front entrance. This is not a drill. Please make your way to the front entrance in a calm and orderly manner.”

  I look over to see Dr. Coolidge walk briskly from her office, past the hallway where I stand, and out of sight. My heart leaps in my throat as I quickly go back and slip inside. But the first thing I notice is that the printer tray is empty. Fuck. Maybe I acted too soon. That was my only shot. And she told me to leave over half an hour ago. Come on, think Persephone, think!

  I walk around her office, going behind her desk. Her computer monitor is off, but I can see from the light on the computer tower under her desk that it’s still on. I hit the power button on the monitor and a second later it blinks to life, showing her blank Desktop. No open windows, nothing.

  She mentioned a map. I grab the mouse and open up Google Chrome, then type in the address to Google Maps. When I click on the directions icon, I see it there in the recent history: two coordinates, latitude and longitude, not even an address. That must be it. I click on it and the driving directions are displayed. Quickly hitting Ctrl-P, I select for the directions to print and hear the printer immediately start up its job.

  It’s a long thirty seconds for the pages to print, and the whole time I think Dr. Coolidge is going to come back in here and bust me. But they finish, and I grab the hot paper off of the tray, shut down the browser window, and turn off the monitor. With all trace of me being here now gone, I skirt around her desk and leave the office, quickly striding to the front foyer as I fold up the pages and stuff them in my bag.

  As I step into the now-empty space, a man calls out to me.

  “Hey! There’s a fire alarm, you should be out of here!”

  “I was in the bathroom!” I shout back without looking at him. I leave the foyer, make it through the front entrance, and step out into bright summertime daylight.

  The first thing I see is Dr. Coolidge, talking with the curator down at the bottom of the steps. I turn to the side and try to hide behind crowds of people, making my way to the side. I don’t think she saw me. If she did, she’s making no indication. Around and past people, I get behind Dr. Coolidge and finally reach the sidewalk, where I promptly turn away from her and walk in the opposite direction. At the first side street I reach I turn down it, then flatten my back against the brick wall and wait for my heart to slow down to its normal pace.

  Holy fuck, that was exhilarating.

  The first place I look for when I finally get my breath back is a car rental place. I don’t have one of my own—one of the many advantages of living in a city—and I need a way to get to the warehouse.

  I search for one on my phone and it’s only a twenty-minute walk away. When I get there I feel more determined than ever. The man behind the counter is friendly enough. I don’t tell him that I’m planning on driving his vehicle five hours into the desert. Somehow I don’t think he’d appreciate it.

  The transaction is easy enough, and when I toss my bag onto the passenger seat and climb behind the wheel I feel free. Dropping it into drive I’m off, down the streets, heading south into the desert. It’s five o’clock now. Once I pass the city border I pull over at the side of the highway in order to pull the directions out of my bag. I look them over, memorize them. It’s straightforward for the first half, but then there’s no road and it gets tricky. I need to hurry if I’m going to make the most of the daylight. I toss the sheets down on the seat and pull back onto the highway, Marc never far from my mind.

  The ride is straight, boring. After the first half hour I turn on the radio and listen to some music. The sun to my right is starting to go down. There are fewer cars out here, and definitely no cities or towns, so I’m not too conservative about my speed. I’m going over seventy miles an hour, approaching eighty a
nd making good time. Any cars that pass in the other direction look like they’re standing still. All I can think about is Marc and the warehouse.

  I’ve been out for an hour and a half when the radio signal starts to turn to static. I flip the station but it’s the same thing. Click. Click. Click. Finally I just turn it off. The silence isn’t so bad. The sun is approaching the horizon.

  Half an hour later I reach the point in the directions that tell me to turn off the road. I slow down, turning my wheel and trading the safety and relative comfort of a paved roadway for the ruggedness and lack of traction that only sand can provide. It’s fairly hard-packed, a road made only by the coming and going of other cars. It’s here that the going is much slower, with me checking the directions much more often to make sure I’m not veering off course.

  The sun reaches the horizon and the rays of light, visible to my right and in my rearview mirror, become glorious. Gorgeous streaks of red, yellow, orange, violet all combine to create a spectacular light show that undulates with every passing second. Unfortunately, it also means a lack of visibility. It’s not long before I have to turn on the car’s headlights, and before I know it the sun shines its final farewell and disappears behind the horizon.

  Now it’s dark. And even though I got a glimpse of the dark desert when I was out at the warehouse, I’ve never actually experienced real dark, the kind of dark that can make you lose a sense of time and space. These things can scare you. And when you’re a woman out on your own in a rented car in the middle of the desert, which nobody knows about?

  Well, let’s just say I’m gripping the wheel pretty hard right now.

  I’m going slowly. Checking the directions compulsively. There are clouds in the night sky, which means the stars are hardly out. My main source of illumination is coming from the headlights, which isn’t that comforting to think about.