by Fae York
Her phone responded in a feminine, slightly-alien sounding voice, “Incoming call from . . . Meredith Jane.”
Emelia smiled. Meredith Jane never went by just “Meredith” because, she claimed, “Meredith sounds simple and irresponsible. Meredith Jane sounds ladylike and sophisticated.”
Meredith Jane had grown up with Emelia’s grandmother, Adelle. As long as she could remember, Emelia had been curious about their friendship because Adelle was always so proper and serious, while Meredith Jane was flirty and playful. They were exact opposites in nearly every way, but they adored each other all the same.
When Adelle had died nearly thirteen years ago, Meredith Jane had become something of a surrogate grandmother to Emelia. And, truth be told, Emelia had had a much easier time relating to the little, bubbly woman than she had with her own stern, serious grandmother. Meredith Jane usually called once a week and always had fun tales to regale.
As Emelia glanced at her wristwatch, she calculated how much time before the ball. She didn’t have the time to pause for even a few minutes to chat with her grandmother’s best friend.
So, when her phone asked, “Shall I answer the call?” Emelia answered, “Allow to go to voicemail.” About a minute later, her phone spoke up, “You have one voicemail, received from Meredith Jane.”
“Play message.”
“Certainly. Playing message from Meredith Jane.”
There was a pause then Meredith Jane’s voice came in through the stereo system, “Hello, Mimi Girl—” Emelia smiled. “Mimi Girl” was one of her favorite childhood nicknames, but now only Meredith Jane ever used it. “—I’m checking in to see how my lovely girl is doing. I have a very interesting, well, maybe interesting isn’t the right word. It’s more like—I don’t know what the word is. I have a sad story to share with you, but it’s not sad-sad, it’s just, I don’t know, Mimi Girl. It’s a story; let’s just say that! I hope you’re doing well and that you can give me a call when you have a few moments to spare. I know you have a super hectic schedule, so I value whatever time you can share with me. I love you, Mimi Girl. Be well.”
The messaged beeped as it ended. That was odd, Emelia thought. What was this story that Meredith Jane had to tell? Emelia made a mental note to call her back tomorrow morning. Right now, she had better get ready for her night at the Plume.
☐ ☐ ☐
After a luxuriously long soak in the tub, Emelia emerged pink-skinned and silky. She twisted her hair and pinned it atop her head, leaving a few tendrils purposely loose, curling them into small, dainty spirals, perfectly positioned.
Mimicking the “smoky eye” effect she had seen Janean wear at the last formal event, Emelia carefully applied her eyeshadow. With a practiced movement she pulled some blush along her cheekbone, and, as a finishing touch, applied some glossy, deep red lipstick to her lips. She patted her hair a couple times to replace some escaped strands then nodded once in approval at her reflection.
Emelia retrieved her heirloom diamond earrings—a gift from Adelle delivered by Meredith Jane to Emelia when she turned age eighteen. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at the thought, as the earrings had originally been a gift from her father to her mother to commemorate their tenth anniversary. It was also the day that they died; a drunk driver ran a red light and careened into their car, killing them both instantly.
Emelia could still remember the last words her mother had spoken to her. That night, before her mother got into the car she said, ‘You are my greatest joy, Emelia. I love you until the ends of all time, my dove.” The earrings were all that she had left of her—but now was not the time to get emotional. She had worked hard on her makeup and the sooner she could get this party behind her, the better.
4 The Plume
“We’re here, Ms. Plater,” the driver said as he opened the rear door in front of the gorgeous hotel, The Jefferson. Plume was just inside on the ground floor. In that moment, she was just a short walk from Scott Circle Park in one direction and a few minutes’ drive to The White House in the other. D.C. really was a wonderful place to live.
The doorman smiled at her and nodded once, bowing slightly and sweeping his arm to the side as he opened the golden door for her.
“Thank you,” Emelia said as she passed by him. She felt like a princess, momentarily forgetting her wariness about walking into yet another party alone. Emelia simply took in the sights, the sounds, and the smells of the experience and allowed herself to be fully present.
Gracefully placing one foot in front of the other, Emelia stepped into the vestibule and glanced to each side, smiling when she spied the two bins flanking the interior doors. Full of elegant black umbrellas edged in gold and sporting classy curved wooden handles, the bins were always at the ready for the hotel’s important guests in case of rain. The space was an all-glass enclosure with one-foot squares of glass seemingly stacked one upon the other amongst a grid, lined out with that same mysteriously wonderful black onyx-like material.
Emelia hesitated in front of the other golden double doors, admiring the exquisite, square stone columns standing like sentinels beside the next set of doors, their tops crowned with carvings that seemingly mimicked the potted plants outside. Surrounding the doorway, the stone was elegantly carved in scrolling vines, leaves, and flowers. After gazing around for a little longer than necessary, she shook herself back to reality.
Realizing she had come to a complete standstill in the entrance and was gawking about like a tourist, Emelia grew serious and put her professional face on. She’d done things like this before, rarely willingly, but Emelia was a forensic analyst, dammit, and wouldn’t let her complete aversion to large social gatherings get in the way of having a good time—or, at least, a not terrible time.
Emelia was still nervous though. If Jay hadn’t insisted she come, it was highly likely tonight would’ve been another night with the Hallmark Channel and a glass of chardonnay, or at least a quiet one spent reading research journals. However, Jay was her boss and she liked her job too much to be the only invitee not to come. Emelia wondered how long that resolve would hold once she actually entered the building.
The lobby of The Jefferson was an elegant, stylish space originally designed to be luxury residential apartments for the elite of Washington in 1923. Emelia had always been a fan of that era, and on any other day she would have liked to just sit and read a book in that lobby. Unfortunately, Emelia couldn’t hide from her social obligations by putting her nose in a novel and admiring the architecture right now. She reminded herself that at least the food would be good and the bar would be open, those twin comforts should buoy her through the unpleasant small talk and hobnobbing she was supposed to engage in. Taking a deep breath, Emelia walked into the restaurant. Awkwardly standing in the doorway of Plume, she glanced around the restaurant for someone familiar—or at least the appetizer table—when she heard her name called.
Emelia turned hesitantly to discover her boss rushing toward her, arm outstretched for a firm and welcoming handshake. He always reminded her of a dad, or maybe a cool uncle. Maybe not her dad or cool uncle, but there was a certain sense of comfort and familiarity in his presence.
She smiled and shook the hand. “Hello, Jay. So good to see you.”
He grinned. “You look a bit like a deer in the headlights, Emelia.”
“Caught me.” She fought a blush.
Jay Gatlin, and the other high-level directors of her department, considered her to be their protégé. He discovered her when Emelia was still a grad student and offered her a job before she finished her dissertation. Apparently, her work was impressive enough to convince the rest of them, and now she’d occasionally be trotted out at gatherings like this, the “whiz kid” of the forensics department.
“Don’t worry, I won’t force you to talk to too many people.” Jay winked. He knew how hard these events were for her, at least. “Just remember the FBI motto: Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity.”
“I’m not su
re how that really applies to me talking to these tables full of politicians, Jay.”
“What are you talking about? It’s a list of all the things you have that they don’t!” He grinned and escorted her over to a table full of old, white men. He was definitely screwing with her at this point. Thankfully, the senators were too far embroiled in a conversation about Noah Thicke to manage more than polite greetings. Emelia could only catch bits of what they were saying, but it would have been awkward to hover and eavesdrop.
“I didn’t know Thicke was such a big deal,” she said after they walked away from the table.
Jay’s expression turned serious for a second. “He’s apparently considering getting into politics. This isn’t public knowledge, but he’s been talking to members of Congress from both parties about some sort of upcoming disaster. The whole thing reeks of self-serving bullshit to me. People don’t foretell the future. Something about that guy doesn’t add up.”
Surprised at Jay’s reaction, Emelia murmured some words of agreement, but couldn’t press the subject before they got to the next table. Unfortunately, the subsequent conversations of the night weren’t nearly as intriguing, and mostly involved the same kind of superficial “I watched CSI once” level of discussion on forensics that Emelia loathed. Yes, sometimes she did analyze blood samples. No, the evidence was rarely as conclusive as police procedurals made them out to be.
To her credit, Emelia managed to keep the polite smile on her face the entire time, bolstered by the promise of a delicious dinner, her favorite part of these events.
It was a multi-course affair far beyond anything Emelia’s modest salary could afford. Chestnut soup, a salad that had more exotic greens and vibrant colors than Emelia had ever seen on one plate, a choice of either beef tartare or roasted duck, Lemon Blueberry Sable Breton for dessert, and a daintily wrapped chocolate truffle for the road. It was, unsurprisingly, incredibly delicious, and Emelia almost forgave Jay for making her come. Unfortunately, after dinner came another wave of agonizing conversation. Eventually she found the opportunity to slip away to her second favorite part of these affairs: the open bar.
Emelia wasn’t a heavy drinker—a few misadventures as an undergrad saw to that—but nights like these called for more liquid courage than she normally imbibed. Emelia sidled up to the bar and quickly ordered a double screwdriver. She sat for a few drinks in silence, thinking about calling her ride and slipping out without anyone noticing.
“Rough night? I hate these parties too.”
Emelia jumped a little at the unexpected voice behind her. A man slightly older than she and wearing a nicely tailored suit with jet black hair and deep blue eyes took the stool next to her, either not sensing or outright ignoring her discomfort.
Emelia took a sip of her drink and hoped he wouldn’t continue talking. He ordered a craft beer, some local microbrew Emelia had never heard of, and—to her dismay—took it upon himself to get the introductions out of the way.
“Name’s . . . ah, Aleph. Don’t mean to pry, but you’re the woman from forensics who works under Jay Gatlin, right? Ms. Plater?”
Tired from a night of similar conversational setups, Emelia’s response was punchier than she intended. “Yeah, that’s me. Emelia Plater, forensics woman extraordinaire. The hell kinda name is Aleph? You a wizard or something?”
It was a lame, petty line, one Emelia immediately regretted, and one she wouldn’t have said if she hadn’t had a few drinks before. To her surprise, however, he smiled. “Actually, I’ve heard that one before. Not exactly a popular baby name these days, I know.” Emelia wasn’t sure it was a popular baby name at any point but decided to let it rest.
“Uh, sure. What can I help you with, Mr. Aleph? I haven’t seen you at one of these things before. You with the FBI or . . .?”
“Not FBI, just a fan. I was actually talking to Mr. Gatlin earlier and he told me you’d be the one to bug. Forensic science fascinates me. I knew someone who used to work on cases like yours, and I thought I could pick your brain a little.”
“Oh really? Maybe I know them.” This was entirely untrue. Emelia barely remembered the names of the people she currently worked with, not to mention others that worked at the FBI, but getting names was an old FBI habit of hers.
“Hm, you ever know a Mrs. Tanner? She might’ve left before your time.”
“Sorry, I don’t think I knew her.” She said truthfully. “Anyway, what would you like to know about my job? If you’ve been talking to Jay, I assume you know how great he thinks I am.”
“Oh, he did mention your greatness, and I’m liable to believe him. I’m not privy to all the details but it sounds like you made some important headway on a couple cases related to national security.”
Emelia snorted. “Sure, but most of my work is less exciting than that. I’ve spent the last week and a half doing almost nothing but dental records.”
“Dental records, huh? Tell me how you do that. I’m familiar with the idea, but the technology is lost on me.”
The conversation went surprisingly smooth after that. For what it was worth, this Aleph guy seemed like he had genuine interest in what Emelia was saying, and she was happy enough to indulge him after a night of awkward small talk. He seemed slightly cagey about his own job, but from the bits and pieces she picked up, Emelia surmised he worked in something classified, possibly for the Department of Defense.
Their conversation was interrupted as a small glass ornament from the chandelier overhead crashed onto the bar, narrowly missing both of them.
“Ah, I’ve been here too long,” Aleph said as he dusted himself off and checked his watch, seemingly oblivious to his near death. “I’d love to continue this conversation another time. Would you mind giving me your number?” he asked, standing up from his chair.
To her surprise, Emelia agreed, and gave him her number. Maybe it was the screwdrivers talking, maybe it was because she thought he was handsome—if a little old for her taste—or maybe it was just because Emelia was exhausted and didn’t have it in her to say no after a long night. Regardless, she could always ghost him if she changed her mind. Just as Emelia thought that, another ornament fell and shattered right where Aleph was sitting a few minutes before.
“You really are tempting fate, aren’t you, Mr. Wizard?” she said, playfully.
“Hah, maybe I am. But I’m afraid that’s probably a sign to get out of here. I’ll see you some other time.” And with that, Aleph quickly sped out the door, as if he believed her joke. It was only when he rounded the corner that Emelia realized she didn’t get his number. Feeling slightly foolish, she quickly texted her driver and arranged to go home.
Emelia was in a surprisingly good mood when she got back to her apartment. That might’ve been the alcohol talking, but somehow this was the first party in a long time that wasn’t a complete disaster. She tipped her driver generously and, when she got inside her apartment, managed the bare minimum of getting into her pajamas before collapsing into bed and falling asleep immediately.
☐ ☐ ☐
Every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven.
Don't you know each cloud contains pennies from heaven?
The lyrics of the song danced mistily through Emelia’s consciousness, the rich voice awakening something deep inside her. The music was crackly with static and tinny, like it was coming from an old-time radio.
You'll find your fortune's fallin' all over the town.
Be sure that your umbrella is upside down.
Emelia wandered through a strange house, passing room after room, each containing something more bizarre than the last. She stopped in front of an open door and saw Gavin being promoted to Senior Forensic Technician for his work done on a Doe case . . . At the next door, she found her grandfather and grandmother, their youth restored, dancing in the kitchen . . . At the last door, Noah Thicke stood surrounded by umbrellas that were full of coins falling upward. That made some sort of sense, given the fact that Frank Sinatra’s �
�Pennies from Heaven” was playing somewhere overhead.
Trade them for a package of sunshine and flowers.
If you want the things you love, you must have showers.
Emelia heard footsteps and turned just as a man raced by. When he passed, he brushed her arm in a way that felt strangely familiar. For a moment she thought that she might know him, but he had come and gone so quickly that his face was just a blur. As he raced away, Emelia studied him, trying to place him, but it was too hard to deduce anything from his retreating figure. The man kept looking at his watch, turning his head to the side every few seconds as though pursued by an unseen enemy.
When he was no more than a speck in the distance, the man stopped suddenly and turned. Emelia still couldn’t see his face. Squinting with all her might didn’t help either, why couldn’t she see his face?
“Emelia,” the man shouted.
She was so sure that she knew him, but from where? Emelia wanted to respond, to tell him to come back, but she couldn’t get out a single word. It was almost as if someone had sewn her lips together. Emelia motioned that he should come toward her, but just then the music stopped. The man’s all-too-familiar voice echoed through the air, cooing the words to the song that she had not heard since before her mother’s death.
You were made because I love you.
I was made because you love me.
We came to here, to this place, to now,
because that is what was meant to be.
Forever and a day, I will love you
until the ends of all time.
I was made because you love me.
And you were made because you are mine.
With the last line, the dream faded out and Emelia shot up in bed, drenched in sweat.
3:33 am.
Outside her window, a wild storm raged, the swirling winds twisting and turning like her upset stomach. She shouldn’t have downed the first double screwdriver, much less the second or third. Her head was pounding louder than the thunder.
