Dark Sins

by Charlotte Byrd

  The anxiety that I had felt the whole day leading up to this moment starts to vanish, but something else replaces it. I grab a pack of M&M’s out of the minibar, tearing into it and swallowing handfuls at once even though I'm not particularly hungry.

  I’m greedy for whatever relief I can get.

  I follow it up with a bag of pretzels and potato chips followed by the apple. I can't even imagine how expensive this bill is going to be, but I don't really care.

  Climbing under the covers, I grab my phone and watch YouTube to pass the time, nothing in particular, just something to keep me company.

  I have always reacted this way to stress.

  I feel this energy building up until the moment. And even though it goes generally well, afterward I feel like I can't get up or do anything for a day, except for maybe eat a whole bunch of junk food.

  My flight home isn’t until tomorrow afternoon, giving me some time to sightsee. I know that I should take advantage of it but I can’t drag myself out of bed for another two hours.

  When twilight starts to set, I give myself an ultimatum. You either go now or never.

  Without bothering to change out of my sweats, I meander for a while along the marina. Dante and I have texted a bit, but he’s having a busy day in Salt Lake City and we haven't had a chance to talk.

  After talking to Mom, I call Allison. No one knows my real purpose of being here except for Dante. That's the whole point of being undercover, but I still need to talk to someone to make this low level of anxiety go away.

  Allison answers on the second ring.

  Her voice is upbeat and happy-go-lucky. That is until she hears me and I remind her of the fact that I'm in Seattle.

  "You forgot?" I laugh. ”How could you forget that I'm over here?"

  "I don't know. I have my own life. So, the interview was today?"

  “Yeah.” I nod even though she can't see me.

  "How did it go?"

  "Actually pretty well, but then again, I'm not really sure if I'm a great judge of what makes for a good interview," I say, purposely being vague about the details. I do mention that it’s a company that makes microprocessors and the job is for an administrative assistant.

  "Why are you applying for this job again? I thought you wanted to be a journalist,” she says after a long pause.

  "Well, they’re hiring and the pay is good,” I lie.

  We talk a little bit longer and I notice that Allison is in a particularly good mood. I fill her in on some aspects of the job and what it entails and she harps on the fact that if I get it, I won't live in New York and we won't be able to hang out as much.

  I promise her that there's a very slim chance of me actually getting it, but we will always be in touch no matter what.

  "So how's everything with work? What have you been up to?" I ask.

  I can feel her shrugging and I also have known her long enough to know that something's up.

  "What's going on?" I ask.

  "I'm still in the Hamptons," Allison says.

  "What are you talking about? How?”

  "Richard and I have been kind of hanging out."

  "What about your job?” I ask, shaking my head.

  "Well, I took some time off. I had a bunch of days saved up and I don't know, I just want to see where this goes."

  "Wow, you never take time off.” I laugh. "You're just this Energizer bunny who works and works and works."

  "I know, but I thought that it'd be good if I change some aspect of my personality."

  "You mean for Richard?” I regret this as soon as I say it, but it’s too late.

  "No, I didn't say that," she snaps.

  "How has it been?" I ask. "Do you like him?”

  "Girl, I think I love him."

  There's a long pause as I try to process that information.

  Love.

  My friend Allison has always been so easy-going and casual. Unable to commit, perhaps would be a better way of putting it, and here she is actually talking about love.

  “Richard is just so fun, you know? And he's so easy to be with."

  "Having a lot of money helps."

  "No, that's not true. I've been with other guys, and maybe they weren't as rich, but they were more than comfortable and they were just so stressed out, everything worried them. And with Richard, he's just so at ease with what he does, with who he is. It really just makes life much more easy-going, you know?”

  "You're not going to quit your job, are you?” I ask. I hate how unkind and unsupportive I’m being but I can’t help but be skeptical.

  "No, not at all. Who do you think I am? I worked really hard to get where I am and I love what I do. I don't love everyone I work with, of course, but you know how that goes."

  "So how much more time off are you taking?"

  "I'm not so sure.” She says. "I had a week. I'm almost at that, I have some more sick days, but I’ve got to go back to work. It’s fine, I mean, I don't mind. It has just been so fun. I didn't realize this was a vacation that I needed until I actually took it."

  We talk for a little while until she says she has to go and I ask her to stay in touch. We usually text once or twice a day, but now I have so much more that I have to know.

  I wonder where all of this is going to go for her and Richard and I hope to God that he's real and he's not just here to hurt her feelings.

  I see a Starbucks on the corner and the glow of the warm, almost candlelight atmosphere draws me in. Inside, planning to get some tea, I stand leaning over the display tray and marvel at all the different choices of desserts and baked goods that they have.

  "Jacqueline?" someone asks.

  I turn around, certain that they're making a mistake. I don't know anyone here. Well, except for the receptionist and Vasko. This voice belongs to someone else.

  "Jacqueline Archer?"

  He's standing a few feet away from me, separated by three other people but suddenly, I'm transported back in time to high school and to the one guy who made it bearable.

  17

  Jacqueline

  "Noah?" I ask, saying his name to make sure that I have it right.

  This can't be him! He’s not the one who's standing before me.

  It's my turn to order and I don't want to hold people up, so I place it with a sense of fluster and disorientation.

  Everyone seems patient, but I kick myself for forgetting the muffin that I had wanted to get.

  “What…what are you doing here?" I ask.

  Noah is tall and broad shouldered with the kind of hairstyle that Brad Pitt had in the movie Fury; short on the sides and kind of long at the front.

  He's fit and well put together and his skin is a little bit tanned despite the fact that this is the Pacific Northwest and under almost permanent cloud cover.

  When he hugs me and pulls me close, I remember what he smelled like when we danced at prom. I don't know what the cologne is called but it's this undeniable Noah smell.

  "What are you doing here?" I ask, looking him up and down. He’s dressed in a loose pair of jeans and a hoodie with a satchel draped across his body.

  "You mean in this coffee shop? Getting coffee.” He flashes a smile and I melt a little.

  "In Seattle,” I clarify.

  "I moved here about seven years ago.” He looks straight at me with his piercing green eyes.

  When Noah moves, I notice that he's not wearing a wedding ring. That could mean he’s not married or just that he’s not one to wear a ring. Wedding rings aren’t really a requirement anymore, for men or women.

  After ordering a black coffee and asking if I have a few minutes to chat, I nod and we grab a seat by the window.

  Noah Robacheck and I have been friends since the ninth grade when his parents divorced and he and his mom moved to my school district. We were on the newspaper together and he helped me with math problems.

  He was always good at that kind of thing. English was not his strong suit and I remember rewriting his papers
in their entirety on a couple of occasions. It was easier to do that than to edit them to something good.

  “So, how are you doing? How do you like living out here?” I ask.

  "I like it a lot. It’s not so formal like it is back home. No suits and ties required to have a proper job, so that's always appreciated."

  "And what do you do for a living?" I ask.

  "I do a lot of contract work, for Microsoft and a few other companies. I'm actually working on my own startup in my spare time, putting in a lot of hours."

  "Cool," I nod, "that sounds interesting. What kind of startup?"

  "Oh, it's a gaming app. I'll have to show it to you, it's kind of like Animal Crossing. I'll have to show it to you some time; it's pretty fun."

  “I'd like that," I say, looking down at the floor.

  "And you? Can't imagine you working in computers.” He moves a little closer. My heart skips a beat.

  "Hey, I love the internet as much as anyone else,” I joke.

  "Let me reiterate my statement. I can’t imagine you working in computers."

  I laugh. I tell him about finishing my master's degree and applying for a position here. "That's why I'm actually out here, flew out for a job interview."

  "When do you hear back?"

  "I don't know. So far, very few people have gotten back to me. So, I’m thinking… never?"

  “Any of them would be lucky to have you,” Noah says, focusing his eyes on mine.

  From the way he says it, I can sense that there's something more going on or perhaps something more that he wants to be going on between us.

  We talk a little bit about the past, glossing over the big thing that led to our falling out, for now anyway. Everything is very friendly, above board, on the up-and-up, just the way that it should be.

  But my memories of that time have not diminished with the years.

  I remember exactly what it was like and how I felt when he did what he did. But I try to keep things positive. I would be lying to say that it wasn't nice to see him.

  We talk for a little while. Noah tells me that he lives right around the corner in a condo not too far away. I tell him how much I enjoyed seeing what little I saw of Seattle and he offers to show me around tomorrow morning before my flight.

  I'm tempted to say no. That would be the easy answer but something stops me. Something about the past requires an answer and I need to know and perhaps letting him show me around will help.

  "What are you doing tonight?" Noah asks out of the blue. "Let's grab some dinner."

  "What about your work?"

  "That can wait. I work so many hours, it would be nice to have a reason to take a break. There's a great seafood restaurant around here. Another that’s vegetarian and Indian, whatever you want. Come on, I want to catch up for real."

  We meet up an hour later, after I have a chance to change out of my sweats and into a pair of jeans and a nice top.

  It’s nothing flashy. It’s nothing that says that I'm actually trying to impress anyone.

  Despite all of the years that we haven’t seen each other, I don’t feel the need to try to impress Noah. I don’t feel intimidated. I’m not trying to be this better version of myself that doesn’t really exist.

  He gave me the location of a place in the Queen Anne district and I give the driver the address. On the ride over, I look Noah up on social media. I check Facebook, Instagram, even TikTok. But I don’t find any information.

  That's why I was never able to find out what he was up to before.

  That’s why none of the friends that I had from high school knew either.

  He just sort of vanished. We heard stories about him, of course.

  Apparently, he was traveling the world, living out of a backpack, hiking and climbing mountains.

  Usually, when you do those things, you post pictures and videos and share your experiences with family and friends back home, not Noah.

  He never shared. He always kept things private.

  Suddenly, I realize just how special it is that we found each other again.

  18

  Dante

  I land in Salt Lake City and there's not a single cloud. The air is clear and easier to breathe, and out in the distance, the mountains scrape the sky. The sun beams down warm, but not at all oppressive. There's no humidity and my hair immediately starts to feel cleaner and nicer to the touch. My skin on the other hand feels a little dry and my mouth is practically parched.

  I've never been to Salt Lake City and I'm here to meet with a startup company that makes a photo and video app for social media. I've received their initial proposal, gone through it, but I'm here to meet them and make sure that they're worthy of our investment.

  The woman who meets me is personable and nice. She reminds me a lot of Marguerite, and I like her straightforward nature. I get to know her a little bit personally.

  She tells me that she's the mother of three kids, and her husband works in the startup as well, but it's her idea and she's the CEO. She doesn't put on airs like a lot of people do, or try to impress me with their office.

  In fact, what I find particularly curious is the fact that it's a pretty small space that doesn't seem to cost that much in rent. It's this kind of money saving approach, especially in a computer startup where every cent counts, that will go a long way in making them successful.

  I am ready to recommend her for investment, even before our conversation is over. She knows all the numbers. She knows exactly how much they make, how much it costs to acquire a customer, their profit loss statements. The assessments for growth in the future are measured and based on reality and previous investments into advertising and marketing.

  After the meeting, I take a stroll around the city, around the downtown area, and go to a restaurant that she had recommended.

  After all of my years alone I've gotten used to eating in restaurants by myself, and in fact, I cherish it. It gives me a little bit of quiet time and I don't particularly enjoy talking while eating anyway.

  I text with Jacqueline a little bit, going back and forth. Her interview seemed to have gone well. I plan on calling her when I'm done but for now I just want some time to think.

  I have a decision to make. My brother's not making it easy and the end of the month is approaching quite quickly. I know that my mother will not let up, so I don't have much of a choice.

  I have done these kinds of jobs with my brother many times before. They're always dangerous, and more than a little bit immoral, but it was a way to keep my gambling from getting out of control.

  But what about now? Now I'd be doing it to pay off a debt that I took on for a very good reason.

  I know that talking to my mother is useless. She won't take an explanation or anything as an option and I can't very well tell her what I'm going to do to get the money, because that's just not something that we can talk about.

  After dinner I decide to go on a drive. I have a rental car and I feel like I need to get out of this place. I've always found it easy to relax behind the wheel. Put on some music, or maybe nothing at all, and just unwind.

  I let my mind wander. I drive for a long time, twenty miles in one direction and twenty in another. I’m going nowhere in particular, but headed initially toward the mountains.

  It's easy to lose your train of thought when you're driving and so I talk out loud to myself. I try to make sense of my choices.

  I try to make sense of this thing I have inherited from my father.

  Everyone thinks that he's a charming, fascinating man, the life of the party, a great writer, but besides the gambling, which is his not-so-secret secret, there's the actual secret that he keeps.

  Lincoln and I are the only ones who know the truth.

  When he told us what it is that he actually does for a living, I didn't believe it at first.

  I didn't want to.

  But he put us through a training program. It wasn't so much telling, but showing, and by the time we were done, it was too
late.

  We were in too deep.

  Besides, we were stupid teenagers and we thought that something like that would be fun.

  I pull out the burner phone from my pocket. I got it before I came here. I paid for it in cash and its sole purpose is to give me directions to the site and then be disposed of after without a trace.

  I drive down into a convoluted suburb of Salt Lake City, following various leafy streets toward the cul-de-sac, one of many, but one particular one. It's the middle of the day and the last place and time when something like this could or would happen. That is exactly the point.

  I'm wearing a baseball hat and jogging attire. I park two streets over and I find the weapon underneath the front passenger seat, tucked tightly below, just where I expect it to be. This is a rental car, but this part has been arranged. Lincoln has always been good at the planning. It's when the execution of the plan gets involved that he tends to make mistakes.

  That's my strong suit.

  I tuck the gun into the back of my waistband. I'm wearing tight cycling shorts underneath my loose-fitting running shorts, all because weapons tend to fall out of loose waistbands.

  I pull my loose-fitting T-shirt over it along with a hoodie to cover my face. The whole point is to come in and get out of the situation without anyone noticing, to be invisible.

  The house is the gray one on the left side of the cul-de-sac. They're all very similar, except this one's got white trim around the windows. I double-check the address. Everything is a go.

  This is the right location.

  The next stop is to go to the back and make sure that the window is open.

  If it's not, then I can still call this off. I could tell him that he had not done his job in planning the job. I'm half-hoping that's the case.

  I need a way out.

  I walk around the house, carefully looking over my shoulder to make sure no one is around. On the back porch, I see that the screen has already been removed.