Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
AVEN
Three weeks in Langston’s basement office, and I’d almost convinced myself this arrangement might work.
Almost. The money envelope I found the third morning for the coffee maker bought me enough breathing room to make the minimum payments on my five credit cards.
I shut down the ancient computer, watching as the screen blinked to black, taking my neat spreadsheet of processed files with it.
Seventy-eight more boxes to go. At my current pace, I’d be done sometime in the next century.
“Night, Aven!” Martinez said from the top of the stairs. He’d lingered later than usual, probably hoping for one more cup of my Brazilian blend before heading home.
“Night!” I replied, adjusting the scarf draped over my desk lamp.
In just three weeks, I had turned the basement into something almost homey. If I squinted and ignored the fact that it was still a basement.
I grabbed my tote bag, my empty lunch container, thanks to Tamika “borrowing” half my sandwich.
The notebook where I tracked both work progress and personal budgeting, and the dog-eared paperback I’d been reading during lunch breaks.
The novel was set in Argentina, which was like tempting fate, but I couldn’t put it down.
Something about revisiting places through fiction felt safer than actual memories.
The main office was dark when I climbed the stairs.
Everyone else was already gone for the day.
Langston’s light was off too, his door firmly closed.
Ever since he left the envelope, he’d been more distant, limiting our interactions to brief professional exchanges.
The money helped more than he knew, but the awkwardness that followed almost wasn’t worth it. Almost.
I slid my key card through the reader, letting myself out the back entrance, heading to the employee parking lot. The security light flickered on as I stepped outside. My heels clicked against the asphalt, echoing in the empty lot. It was Friday evening, and I was the last to leave again.
My car, Raina’s old Honda, which she “generously” fronted me for exactly the amount of my first three paychecks, sat at the far end of the lot alone under a streetlight. As I approached, something white caught my eye perched delicately on the windshield wiper, waiting for me.
My steps slowed, then stopped altogether ten feet from the car. The air around me went still, sounds muffling as if someone pressed pause on the world.
No.
My lungs forgot how to work; air stalled in my chest as my pulse quickened. It had to be a coincidence. Just a random paper crane someone left. Maybe one of the office kids, Reed’s daughter, had visited earlier today.
Yet, my hands were already shaking, palms suddenly slick with sweat as memories crashed over me like a wave, dragging me under.
The first crane appeared on my pillow in Lima the morning after I’d had dinner with Leo, a perfectly folded white crane, its wings spread as if preparing for flight.
I’d thought it was a sweet, charming gesture from the handsome Peruvian tour guide with intense eyes and careful hands.
He’d mentioned origami over drinks and appetizers, how his Japanese grandmother had taught him when he was young.
I’d been impressed by the cultural blend, his ability to speak four languages, and his knowledge of the history of every building we passed.
I’d slept with him that night, drunk on pisco sours and the exhilaration of being desired by a beautiful stranger in a foreign country.
He’d whispered things against my skin in a mixture of Spanish and Japanese.
I assumed the crane was a thank you, a delicate memento of a night I thought would be our only one.
The second crane showed up three days later, outside my room door. I hadn’t given Leo my room number.
By the third crane left on my backpack while I was swimming at a beach two towns over, the charm had curdled into something sour. The fourth was tucked into my passport when I stopped for lunch after crossing the border into Bolivia, fear had settled deep in my gut, a constant companion.
They kept coming — outside a café in La Paz, on the sink in a public bathroom in Cusco, balanced on my shoe after I’d removed them for a temple visit. It was always the same perfect white crane, always in places he shouldn’t have known to find me.
“You are my destiny. The crane always finds its way home.” He texted from a new number after I’d blocked his third.
The memory of his voice, soft, precise, each word carefully chosen, sent goosebumps racing up my arms. I’d fled Argentina after finding a crane hanging from the ceiling fan, slowly rotating above my bed while I slept in Buenos Aires.
Now I was staring at an identical crane in a parking lot in my hometown, three thousand miles and an entire continent away from where I last saw Leo.
I forced myself to approach the car. My breath came in shallow gasps, and my eyes darted around the empty lot. Had he followed me back from South America? Was he watching me right now?
With trembling fingers, I picked up the crane, examining the folds. It was his work; I’d recognize it anywhere. The same technique, the same pressed edges done with a fingernail rather than folded carelessly. I spun in a circle, scanning the parking lot.
“Hello?” My voice cracked on the word, sounding small and frightened in the vast emptiness of the lot.
Only silence answered me.
I fumbled with my keys, dropping them twice before managing to unlock the car door. Once inside, I slammed it shut and hit the lock button repeatedly, as if it would protect me better than once. The crane sat on my passenger seat, inoffensive yet terrifying in its perfect simplicity.
It was paper, just a folded piece of paper. It could be anyone. It could be a coincidence. I rationalized, but my racing heart knew better. I knew his work. Leo had found me, as he promised.
I was paranoid driving home, constantly checking the rearview mirror, searching for headlights that followed too closely or turned when I turned. I took three wrong turns deliberately, doubling back and circling blocks before finally heading to Raina’s.
An ocean and half a continent separated me from Argentina. There was no way Leo tracked me here to this specific town or parking lot.
Yet as I gathered my things to head inside, my gaze fell on the white crane again. I snatched the crane, intending to throw it away, but something stopped me. Evidence, I’d need proof. I dropped it into my purse instead. Unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching me.
I arrived early the next morning, hoping the routine of data entry would calm the jitters that kept me up most of the night.
The basement felt like a sanctuary after hours of jumping at every creak in Raina’s house, after checking window locks, and wedging a chair under my bedroom doorknob like some paranoid character in a bad thriller.
I was being ridiculous. One paper crane didn’t mean Leo had found me.
It was probably a weird coincidence, my travel-fried brain making connections that weren’t there.
I set my fresh cup of coffee on the desk, my second already this morning, and wiggled the mouse to wake up the ancient computer.
The database program loaded with its usual sluggishness, giving me time to pull the next batch of files from the cabinet. I’d developed a system over the past weeks. It was mind-numbing work, but after last night, mind numbing sounded pretty appealing.
My world stopped when I opened my desk drawer for a pen. Between paper clips and sticky notes was another paper crane.
“No, no, no.” I stood abruptly. My coffee mug slipped, crashing to the concrete floor, hot liquid splashing up to my ankles. I barely registered the heat or the noise, eyes locked on the delicate paper bird.
Leo had appeared the second day, “coincidentally” staying at the same hostel.
His smile when he spotted me had sent warning bells ringing, but I’d ignored them, telling myself I was overreacting.
The world was small. Not to mention, he was a tour guide, so it made sense we would have crossed paths multiple times.
“The universe wants us together,” he’d said, presenting me with a pressed crane tucked into a handmade card.
Now, staring at the identical bird in my desk drawer, a drawer I knew was empty of anything but office supplies yesterday, sent a cold dread sliding down my spine.
I slammed the drawer shut, breathing hard, barely noticing the wet spots on my legs.
He was here. Somehow, he was here inside this building, inside my workspace.
The thought made my stomach lurch. I grabbed several tissues from the box on my desk, blotting at the coffee spill while my mind raced.
Should I tell Langston? What would I say?
“Hey, boss, I need you to deal with my international stalker now too.”
I gathered the broken pieces of the mug through the fog of panic. I needed to calm down. Think logically. There had to be another explanation. Maybe—
My email pinged with a message from Tamika. Staff meeting in ten. Bring your data report.
Shit. The weekly review. I completely forgot.
I blew out air. I couldn’t fall apart now.
I’d get through the meeting, then figure out what to do about the crane.
Maybe I’d talk to Martinez. He was ex-police and might know how to handle this kind of situation without making me sound completely unhinged.
After dumping the broken mug in the trash, I deliberately avoided looking at the drawer as I grabbed my notebook and headed upstairs.
Upstairs, the office was busy, as everyone headed to the conference room for the meeting.
Friday morning energy was amplified by the prospect of the weekend.
I nodded at Reed as I passed his desk, forcing a smile.