by Beth Ryan
“Mr. Hall.” My voice was quiet and laced with threat. “I have never once had a disappointed customer, despite my techniques. I have never once run into trouble with the law, though it doesn’t appear the same could be said for you. I would appreciate it if you would sit down now, and take care to follow my instructions. Otherwise, you will find I am not unwilling to toss you into the streets to fend against all the other common rats I know.”
I was much better at intimidation than he was, towering over him and crowding into his space. I had the advantage in both height and words. It was my house, my profile procedures, and my right as a citizen to call in the police for any reason whatsoever.
He seemed to realize that after a moment. I could see the hesitation in his eyes, clear as day.
“Please, take a seat.” I waved toward the bed again. “Unless you’d like to storm out like a child, which you are more than welcome to do.”
That did the trick. There was something about suggesting he was a child that changed his demeanor. The moment I said the words, his body language shifted from demanding and obstinate to defensive, yet pliable. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t say another word either. He bounced a bit little when he flopped back onto the corner of the bed, arms crossed. He looked every bit the petulant child I had suggested he was.
Inwardly, I was crowing. It was always nice to shut down the people who dared to suggest I wasn’t the best at what I did. Even better, we’d gotten past a bump in the road I’d known was coming. The differences between our worlds, the way we were raised and the way we approached things, were problematic. I’d won the first round of disagreements, though, and I had an arsenal of verbal weapons prepared for when he stepped out of line again.
I took my time shifting on the bed, wiggling to get comfortable. I hid any triumph I felt at winning our argument as well. Gloating didn’t look good in the face of a new client, and I knew better. So I made myself comfortable, still holding that unlit cigarette between my fingers, waving my hands around as I spoke.
“The game we’re going to play is called Lies,” I told him. He turned toward me with a raised eyebrow, and I spread my hands in defense. “I know, it’s not creative. I’m not here to paint sunsets, though. I’m here to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible. The game is as basic as it sounds. I ask you a personal question, and you give me a white lie in return. Got it?”
He nodded. I flashed him a brilliant grin, and the cigarette found its way between my lips. I lit it and then ‘readjusted’ my glasses. The new profile appeared over top the first one. I tapped the glass screen to select the secondary profile. Cooper noticed nothing.
I wondered, not for the first time, how everyone went through life not noticing the little details that were so obvious to me. It seemed terribly dull.
“If I ask something you think could get anyone in trouble, you say ‘pass,’ and I’ll move on. No questions asked, no speculations made,” I added. It was a vow I’d give often throughout my career. “Ready? Okay, first question. Your favorite color?”
“Blue,” he said without hesitation.
The credit balance above his photo increased a full credit too much. I frowned at him through the translucent screen.
“Nope,” I said, pointing the glowing end of my cigarette at him. “That’s the truth. Try again.”
“How would you know the difference?”
I didn’t bother replying. We’d just finished confirming that I was the best as my job. It was silly to argue over something as basic as a favorite color. I always began with that question because it was the easiest thing in the world to lie about. Well, for everyone except Cooper Hall, it seemed.
He glared daggers at me from across the bed. I did not relent. The chips were the best lie detectors in the world. If they said that blue was Cooper’s favorite color, then I knew it must be true.
“You can’t tell the difference, can you?” he sneered, rather than backing down. “You just like pretending you’re smarter than everyone else. This is my life at stake, and you’re using me to entertain yourself.”
My jaw clenched and I met his dark gaze with one of my own. We were treading into very dangerous water now, his words less careful than they’d been before. His expression faltered under the weight of my anger for only a moment before redoubling. I was reminded, then, that I’d brought this on myself. It was clear as day that my new client was a self-contained kind of person. Though I’d never had the displeasure of working with someone with his background before, that didn’t change human nature.
I’d smashed through the barriers he’d drawn around himself by offering comfort. I’d crossed lines I never should have crossed. Now I was paying the price for my reckless actions and I deserved nothing less.
“Are you like this with everyone?” He spat the words out when it became clear that I wasn’t going to acknowledge his accusations.
“This patient?” I drawled. “Yes, Cooper, of course. I adore when people like you believe they have a right to doubt my abilities. All my clients come to me for help, demanding things they know nothing about and questioning my expertise. They all enjoy treading the dangerous waters of unconsidered conversation. So, naturally, I’m just this patient with all of them.”
My tone didn’t jive with the easy-going facade I’d been using before, but it was necessary. I had to restore the wall of authority between us before he got both of us killed with his careless words.
This was a perfect example of why I drew lines between my professional and personal life. Nothing good ever came from a client who thought they could challenge my authority.
“You can hate me all you like, but I’ve decided you’re worth helping. That doesn’t happen too often, Mr. Hall.” I evened my tone and went back to the easy-going persona I’d worn since he arrived. “I’ve never once placed a client in danger, because I have never once sent a client out into the world under-prepared. My technique might be unorthodox, but I can promise you’ll never be in better hands.”
“I see,” Cooper said. To my surprise, his gaze turned to my desk. He looked contemplative, staring at the dark screen like it was playing the most fascinating film he’d ever seen. Then he sat down on the corner of the bed again. His tone was cooler than before, but he seemed to settle back into his skin. It was like my words had a physical effect on his attitude. “Go on, then. Ask me things.”
“What is your favorite color?” I asked again.
My eyes drifted to the window as I waited for the answer. I wished it would rain. The stench around us always settled down when it rained. It almost smelled nice afterward. Clean.
“Red,” Cooper announced after a moment of deliberation. He said the word like an announcement, using all the pomp and glory of a man who’d been introduced to crowds of well-dressed people in just the same way. “My favorite color is red.”
The credit counter ticked up with the value a partial credit. A white lie, just what we needed to keep the profilers from noticing the the duplicated and overwritten profile and pulling it to check the creation date. We’d need more than that, but it was a start.
“Alright, good.” I relaxed a little more, enjoying the last of my cigarette now that our bickering seemed to be over. “Your favorite animal?”
“Birds,” Cooper shot out. The bed squeaked and groaned. I glanced over to find him settling back against the wall, legs stretched out across the end of the bed. Our knees brushed as he shifted. We both ignored it. I looked away from him, using the screen in my vision to confirm if birds were really Cooper’s favorite animal. They weren’t.
“Next up,” I said, one last drag from the cigarette causing me to pause. I put it out on the tray beside the bed. Like the ashtray at the window, it was almost overflowing with used butts and cold ash. “Where are you from?”
“New York,” Cooper said. It was automatic, and the counter barely moved half a credit.
That was a bit more than a white lie, then. It was probably something he
lied about more than once. Maybe something that would lead me to the truth of who he was. I tried my best not to think too hard about it.
“How about your personal relationships? Tell me, Cooper, what is your mother’s name?”
“Clarice.”
“Clarice who?” I prompted, watching those whiskey-brown eyes look skyward with impatience.
All he would see above us were the mold stains on the ceiling and the inconspicuous marks that tracked its growth. One for each year I’d lived in this gods-forsaken place.
“Clarice Jones.” Cooper frowned. Before I could think of my next question, he turned his gaze and the tables on me. “What’s your favorite color?”
“This isn’t about me.” I said, picking at the threadbare knee of my jeans without much thought. Clients always did this. I suspected they wanted to try their hand at my job. I suspected they felt threatened by my uncanny ability to tell a truth from a lie and wanted to test themselves. Amateurs. “But it’s brown, if you must know. Do you have siblings?”
“Yes,” Cooper said. It was instinctual.
The ticker raised and so did my eyebrow. He flushed. I enjoyed the flustered look he wore for a brief moment. Then he continued.
“My sister, Ali, died when I was eight. My brother is out there somewhere, but we don’t get along.”
His hands were moving as he spoke, his left pointer finger sliding down his right palm. He didn’t seem to notice he had the nervous tic, but I caught everything and I was starting to notice a pattern. I cast the thought away before I could examine it. I didn’t need to see the pattern. Knowing his tells would only complicate things for both of us.
Something in his statement held enough truth to raise the credit counter by five. I didn’t admonish him for revealing so much of himself though. It was always good to intersperse the little lies with bigger truths. It looked more natural on the records and made things harder to trace. I kept going, pressing Cooper for the innocuous lies we needed and trying to ignore any traces of the puzzle I already knew was forming in my mind.
“Do you have any irrational fears?”
“Yes.” The word came out so fast, I thought it had to be the truth, but when I checked his account, I found that he really didn’t believe he had any. His leg had started bouncing, though, in that anxious way I’d noticed before.
So there were fears, that was clear. They just weren’t of the irrational sort.
“What kind of irrational fears?” I asked.
He stopped long enough to actually consider the question. I was pleased at this. It was a positive sign. It was all well and good to be able to improvise during a conversation, to mislead and omit to change how the truth looked. It was another thing altogether to do so without looking like it was rehearsed. People didn’t just say things anymore. Not like they used to, back when speech really had been free. He’d been too quick with his answers so far, and it was nice to see him considering his words.
“The dark frightens me, though I know it shouldn’t,” he whispered. His answer seemed to come from a place of honesty, and I was surprised to watch his account continue to sit at five credits as the worth of his white lies canceled themselves out against whatever nugget of truth was hidden in the statement. “When I was a child, I often crawled into bed beside my brother because I was so scared of being alone. I don’t think I ever grew out of that.”
“Do you play sports?” I was quick to ask, unnerved by the tone in his voice.
The story he’d told felt too real, and I didn’t want him delving deeper into it. The longer he talked, the more frightened I became that he might reveal something of himself that I could understand despite the lies. Something he couldn’t take back.
Asking about sports seemed like the easiest thing to do to break the tension in the room. He didn’t look like the kind of person who would play the rougher street games that passed for sport these days. However, there was no way of knowing what children in a sanctuary did with their free time.
“All the time,” he said, and I smiled at the evasive nature of his answer. It gave away nothing, and still added a fraction of a credit to his account.
“That’s the kind of answer we need,” I told him with an approving nod. “Do you have someone special in your life, Cooper?”
“Hardly,” he scoffed.
I pressed my lips together as I saw the truth in his words for my own eyes. One step forward and twenty steps back with this kid.
“Try again.” I said. “Cooper, are you dating anyone?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he replied. His tone was odd, something I hadn’t heard before. The account balance still hadn’t changed, and the odd look in his eye was throwing me off.
I tried to meet his gaze, to piece it all together, and he looked away with flushed cheeks.
“I mean, yes. I have my eye on someone. Special. Someone special.”
“What was your favorite subject in school?” I asked, pushing through. There was still a faint blush across his cheeks, and I got the distinct impression that he’d been embarrassed by either the question or his answer. I wanted to comment on it, to dig further and find out why he’d been tripped up by that question out of everything I’d asked so far. He’d sounded like he was flirting at first. Yet, he didn’t look like the kind who tossed out lines on a regular basis.
Just then, he looked like he’d eaten something sour and couldn’t get the taste out of his mouth. “History,” he said.
This time, it was a white lie. I was relieved to know that he was still capable of them. I nodded, shifted on the bed a bit, and flicked through the mental list of questions I had built up over the years.
“Hobbies?” I asked at last. He still wasn’t meeting my eye, and I knew that wasn’t a good sign.
When he didn’t answer right away, I became worried, and leaned forward to try and catch whatever expression was on his face. It wasn’t a hard question. I’d chosen to move back to easier subjects on purpose, to ease his mind and keep him from having a chance to say something conspicuous. When I couldn’t get him to look at me, my leg began to bounce as I awaited his answer. I knew from the extended silence that it wasn’t going to be something simple.
“Smoking like a chimney and pretending I’m better than everyone else,” Cooper replied at last. There was a twist to his smile that hinted at self-congratulations.
I fought down the startled laugh that threatened to bubble out of me. I wasn’t offended by his mockery. In fact, I found that more charming than his odd attempt at flirting. There was no point in letting him know that, though. There were lines that I couldn’t cross. Lines that I could now see he was trying to cross in his own quiet way.
I followed his gaze to the blue cigarette package on my sill and the two ashtrays in my room. I had to admit he might have a point. Even thinking about the empty cigarette pack had me craving another. The ritual of smoking, the steady inhale and exhale, always served to calm my nerves.
His leg brushed up against mine, and the room was too small. I jumped off the bed, decision made. We couldn’t stay in my room, on my bed, when there was an empty pack of cigarettes that needed to be replaced.
“Cooper,” I addressed him with all the charm and confidence I could muster without looking him in the eye. I grabbed my coat off the upturned bucket and swung it around my shoulders with a flourish. “We’re going out.”
10
I focused more on pulling my shoes on than looking at the silent Mr. Hall. When I did bother to look up at him again, I discovered a deer-in-the-headlights expression marring his face. His brown eyes really added to the effect. They were so big and wide it was almost comical. I huffed out a breath of frustration and set my shoulders, ready for the next round of arguments. I didn’t have to wait long.
“Why?” he asked, that petulant tone returning to his voice. He couldn’t fool me, though. I could see the hint of panic hiding just beneath the surface.
“Because you make my head hurt, and I
need some fresh air,” I answered.
“Fresh air,” he scoffed, though he didn’t say anything else.
My hand ran through my flop of hair again as I fought down the urge to point out how rude he was. It wasn’t my fault that fresh air meant something different outside the forcefields of the sanctuaries.
Rather than continue to argue, I left through the door without looking back. I took the stairs with more patience than I ever had before, careful to keep the drywall dust from choking me to death again. Even with half a flight of stairs between us, I could still hear the words that Cooper muttered at my back.
“Yeah, hate you too,” I called over my shoulder.
Like the thump from his jacket before, I politely ignored the rude comment that followed. I snagged an old fedora off the rack near the door and set it on my head while I waited for him to make his way down. Then I held the door open with a mocking bow.
He didn’t bother to thank me. I didn’t bother to feel hurt.
We wandered down the streets of the old city at a leisurely pace. I noted every time Cooper jumped or flinched at a loud noise. His reluctance to be out in plain sight was palpable. He also seemed to be watching for something, or someone. Every alley we passed, he peered down. Every car that passed us had his eyes narrowing to pick out the features of those at the wheel.
We walked in silence, though I knew I should be quizzing him on more questions or making small talk that involved using his name. I’d always enjoyed the quiet, though. So I settled for shoving my hands into the pockets of my coat and watching from the corner of my eye as Cooper pretended he belonged to this city, when it was painfully obvious he did not.
Like he had a magical power to know just what might ruin the moment, Cooper cleared his throat. I gave him a pointed glare even as he opened his mouth to speak. By some miracle, he seemed to understand the message I was sending, and his mouth snapped shut again. However, after a moment of consideration, he still managed to break the quiet peace between us.
