Chapter Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Eight
Later that afternoon, I accompanied Ms. Crenshaw to the promised meeting in Investor Relations.
It took place in a conference room that looked normal enough—a dozen black-robed acolytes, cowls drawn up, sitting around a long table with Ms. Crenshaw and Mr. Samuels at its head—until everything disappeared with a nauseating snap and we were left floating in an endless expanse of darkness.
I’d been seated against the wall, safely out of the way, and now I was off by myself, staring down into an infinite void that yawned beneath my dangling feet.
I gripped the edges of my chair so hard the plastic creaked, and I took deep, frantic breaths as I tried not to scream.
Things only went downhill from there. A series of powerful and harrowing beings dropped by, looming out of the darkness—or, in one memorable instance, enfolding us all within the rippling bulk of its gelatinous body—so they could be reassured that Dark Enterprises had everything under control.
Each of them had a stake in our company, some dating back to when we were just a spunky startup with dreams of world domination, and they all expected a substantial return on their investments.
Failure to comply would lead to corporate restructuring indistinguishable from mass death.
Cowering helplessly on my little chair, I knew instinctively that if any of these entities turned the full weight of their attention on me, I was finished.
As a result, I only registered bits and pieces of the spiel that Ms. Crenshaw and Mr. Samuels repeated for each investor: a rogue Abomination and the looming destruction of our planet were little more than fleeting distractions; all promised deliverables were guaranteed to arrive on schedule; we appreciated their forbearance; et cetera.
It came as a brutally disorienting shock when the meeting ended and the bland conference room reasserted itself around us.
My soft whimpers and distressed mewls became embarrassingly noticeable, as did the fact that I’d sweated through my cardigan.
I cringed as I waited for the outpouring of collective disdain, but as acolytes rose from their seats and threw back their cowls, several gave me wry smiles or looks of commiseration instead.
One guy even stopped on his way out of the room to give me a bracing clap on the shoulder.
“Not bad, kid,” he said in a gravelly, Bronx-accented voice.
“I had to change my underpants after my first time in one of these meetings.”
Genuinely uncertain of the state of my own underpants, I offered a weak smile as I tried to unclench my hands from both sides of my chair.
He moved on along with the rest of the acolytes while Ms. Crenshaw and Mr. Samuels remained at the table, talking quietly.
Both paused and watched me when I finally managed to stand.
“I’m impressed, Mr. Harris,” the plump man said, face creasing in a smile. “I thought when Margaret brought you along that we would find you passed out in a pool of your own vomit, but you managed to keep your wits about you.”
For her part, my boss studied me expressionlessly as she screwed the cap back onto her fountain pen.
“You did well, Colin,” she conceded. “Normally we would ease you into a meeting like this, but the fact that you remained conscious and at least minimally aware says something about your potential.” From her, that was the equivalent of an enthusiastic high five.
“I’m going to stay here for another few minutes, but you can go back upstairs. I want updates from both HR and R&D.”
Nodding, I stumbled out of the room and back to the elevators, feeling wrung out like a damp towel.
I spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to think about the horrors I’d witnessed in that conference room while forcing Sunil to send me an endless series of updates, just for fun.
By five o’clock, I was able to report to Ms. Crenshaw that Human Resources had delivered all the requested materials to R&D.
Work on the honey trap could proceed as planned.
When I met Lex in the lobby, employees were cautiously exiting the building as if The-One-Who-Hungers was waiting outside. For all they knew, it was. “I guess we’ll have to walk to my place,” I said glumly as I joined them not far from the elevators.
Adjusting the weathered backpack hanging from their shoulders, Lex snorted. “Walk. Right. I have a car, dude.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. It’s in the parking garage.”
“There’s a parking garage?”
Lex pointed to an unobtrusive door set into one obsidian wall. “Down there. C’mon.”
Sure enough, a standard, run-of-the-mill parking garage sat under the lobby, complete with creepy, flickering fluorescent lights and vehicles crouched patiently in the near-gloom.
Lex’s car was very much on-brand for them, an ancient AMC Pacer painted a violent shade of green with disintegrating upholstery patched with duct tape.
It was punk rock in car form, though the way it rattled and wheezed when Lex started it up suggested we might not make it more than a couple of blocks.
Full-throated screams immediately blasted from the speakers.
It was supposed to be music, I realized, though it sounded the way I imagined Hell felt.
With Lex drumming on the steering wheel and shaking their mohawk along with the horrible noise, we crept out of the garage and onto the empty streets of Midtown.
I offered a few basic directions, then sank back into my seat and stared through the window, brooding.
Not about Eric, though. Nope. I was absolutely done thinking about him and the fact that he belonged to an organization that hunted down and murdered people like me, or about the fact that he’d wriggled his way into my life under false pretenses and then exploited my sad loneliness to pump me for information, or about the fourteen times he’d called me in the past few hours.
And I certainly wasn’t thinking about the way his body had felt under my hands, the intoxicating dichotomy between soft skin and hard muscle, the dark hair dusting his perfect chest—
Dammit.
Rather desperately, I forced my mind onto a different topic: Ms. Crenshaw.
She’d been more forthcoming with me today than ever before, going so far as to explain Management’s demands before entrusting me with motivating HR.
She hadn’t needed me at the meeting with the company’s investors, but she’d brought me along.
It was almost as if she was pulling back the veil a little, trusting me a smidgen more.
Admittedly, the timing wasn’t ideal—I probably had mere days to enjoy this newfound favor—but it was an intriguing development all the same.
Eventually, we pulled up in front of my apartment building, the car growing quiet with a final rattling shudder.
Lex grunted a little as they swung their backpack onto one shoulder, and I was sure I heard stitches pop under the weight of the stone tablet inside.
“I had a thought about talking to your roommate,” they said as I unlocked the front door of the building and ushered them inside.
“You know if we tell her about Dark Enterprises, she’s in danger, right?
Our NDAs specifically prohibit employees from talking about the company. ”
Shuffling into the elevator, I sighed. “Yes, I know. But what else can we do? We need her help.”
“I have an idea. Just follow my lead.”
When we got to the apartment, the living room was still and empty. “Amira?” I called. Long moments passed before her bedroom door opened and she came shuffling into view, yawning and running her hands through her tousled hair.
“Please don’t tell me you went back to work again,” she murmured sleepily.
Only then did she register the fact that I wasn’t alone.
“Oh. Um. Hi.” Lex offered an ironic salute in greeting as the two of them sized each other up.
With her dark brown skin, petite frame, and Powerpuff Girls tank top, Amira made an interesting contrast to Lex’s pale, stocky form, baggy black T-shirt, and numerous facial piercings.
What struck me, however, was the improbable fact that Lex’s newly dyed mohawk was the exact shade of magenta as the streak winding its way through Amira’s curls.
“This is Lex. They work with me. Lex, this is Amira, my best friend in the whole world.”
Amira glanced at me, her wariness softening a little. “Hi, Lex,” she murmured. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hi,” Lex mumbled, ducking their head. With some effort, they swung the backpack off their shoulders and set it down on the floor with a heavy thunk.
Then they reached into a pocket of their ripped jeans and produced a folded brochure.
“Oh no,” they said loudly as they tossed it toward Amira, “I dropped something.” The glossy pages fluttered to the floor at her feet.
Amira and I both stared at Lex. “Did you want me to…get that for you?” she asked uncertainly, starting to bend down.
Lex nodded. “Yes,” they said in a very strange tone. “And perhaps look at it as well.” Then they winked several times.
“Are you having a stroke?” I asked, concerned. “Can you smell burnt toast?”
Lex scowled at me.
Holding the brochure in her hands, Amira studied one side before turning it over. “What’s Dark Enterprises?”
Feeling a little like I’d been punched in the solar plexus by the unexpected question, I fumbled for an answer. “Uh, it’s—”
“I don’t know,” Lex interrupted, giving me a meaningful look. “What does the brochure say?”