Chapter 24
Tuesdays are the worst days after Sundays. I don’t know why that is, but I know it’s a scientific fact.
And today is the kind of Tuesday that slowly eats at your patience until all you want is hard liquor and a long nap.
I’m tucked into a rented cubicle on the second floor of a shared workspace.
The cheap laminate desk is sticky, and the walls are too thin.
It’s a hub for freelancers and remote employees who need social interaction.
They’ve built their little cliques, making a schedule so they can eat lunch together.
It’s cute… In a debilitating sort of way.
I don’t belong. I’m here because Roo needed eyes on a man three cubicles over, and I’m good at being invisible.
A spreadsheet I didn’t make tries to load, but my connection to the mark’s laptop is getting too much interference today. I don’t need to know what he’s doing at his job; I just need to track his hours, and let Roo know when he leaves.
Cold coffee in a pastel yellow mug stares at me like it knows I’m lying about being productive.
But my mind isn’t on the job.
It’s on them.
The voices behind the app.
Because that’s what they are. Voices. Plural. Sometimes they blend, but other times? I see their personalities showing. I’ve started picking apart the different rhythms bleeding through one script, taking turns behind the same mask.
Flirty during one conversation. Gentle the next. Possessive during the day, and protective at night.
And I like it.
I like the variation. The unpredictability. The edge.
I open the app for the eighty-third time today, and I’m honestly thankful to know it’s a real person I’m talking to… Because how would I explain to Roo that I’m sort of falling for an AI boyfriend she sort of hooked me up with? And, oh my god, what if my mom found out? Or my boss…?
This could actually be a monumental disaster if it weren’t a real person.
I’d fuck up Roo’s precious closet if that happened.
Eris:
Tell me your name.
Locke:
Which one?
There it is again. That shift I couldn’t see before. The plural disguised as a singular.
Eris:
The one talking to me right now.
I know there’s more than one of you.
I’ve noticed the pauses grow longer when I push for information.
Locke:
Does it change anything?
Eris:
Yes, and no.
It makes this real.
It makes you real.
For a second, I think I’ve scared him—them—off. But I need something before I go off the deep end and dig up information on my own. That feels like something that’ll piss me off. I’d rather hear it from the source.
Locke:
We weren’t supposed to use names.
That was the deal.
The fantasy.
Eris:
Screw the fantasy.
Tell me who you are.
Locke:
Right now?
Eris:
No. Tomorrow.
Yes, now!
I hold my breath, my stomach fills with acrobatic butterflies, their aerial assaults making me slightly… Nauseous. Holy fuck. I’m… Nervous?
Locke:
They call me Whisper.
They being Hollow and Cipher.
The honesty hits me like a bucket of cold water, jolting my system and causing me to bolt upright in my chair. There’s finally a name where a ghost has been.
It’s a username, but it’s still more than I had this morning.
This level of optimism is ridiculous, and not really my thing. It’s more Roo than me, though that doesn’t stop me from fighting a grin.
I bite my lower lip as I think through how to respond; I want more information. Like all of it… But what do I ask for first? Or second, I suppose.
My phone buzzes again, and I frown when I see it’s not from HimLock. It’s just another fucking text from an unsaved number.
I refuse to add him to my contacts because he doesn’t deserve to take up any more space in my life.
Probably Daniel:
You look lonely at your desk.
A photo immediately pops into the text thread.
It’s me, sitting here in this cubicle on the second floor…
From the building across the street, if I have to guess based on the angle.
He’s zoomed in enough to make it grainy, but I can make out the color of my coffee mug, just a small blip of yellow in my hand.
Bzzzt.
Probably Daniel:
You used to smile when I showed up.
Bzzzt.
Probably Daniel:
I’m so close, Anna.
Bzzzt.
Probably Daniel:
You should have left me a key to your new apartment.
My stomach doesn’t drop… No. My temper fucking rises, twisting in my gut until rage claws at my throat.
He’s not supposed to be here.
Not this close.
Not while I’m working.
I stand too fast, knocking my chair over as I grab my phone, and walk out of the second floor like I’ve got an emergency. I move past the kitchenette, past a group of quiet coworkers who don’t even look up, and take the stairs two at a time until I hit the ground floor.
There are less people down here, and it’s easier to hide what I’m about to do.
I duck into the print room, and my pulse kicks against the side of my throat, but it’s not fear.
It’s fury.
He’s just blown my cover.
The hairs on the back of my neck lift a moment before there’s a knock on the trim around the open doorway.
“Hey, baby,” Daniel purrs, leaning in against the threshold, blocking the exit.
He looks exactly the same as he did the day I left him in his apartment, except today, he wears a practiced smile. It’s the kind narcissists learn in Manipulation 101 or some shit. He’s turned the fake charm to max, but it still rots away at the edges of his cold eyes like necrotic tissue.
“You weren’t answering my texts,” he says, like we’re mid-conversation.
“Because I don’t want to.” I circle the room until there’s a counter between us, disgust turning my lips down as I glare at him. “I dumped you. This isn’t a we anymore. You need to leave.”
He tilts his head. “That’s rude, Anna. You used to be sweeter.”
“Sweeter?” I give a snort-laugh-combo, my body malfunctioning at the absolute absurdity of his impression of me. “You’ve been stalking me for weeks. If you wanted me to keep being sweet, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you started stalking. Me.”
I raise my voice on the last two words, and he takes a step forward. I move one foot to the left, toward the other side of the table where there are things that can be used as weapons.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he says. “About us.”
I unlock my phone, keeping it just out of sight, under the counter. My thumbs fly across the keyboard without looking, trusting my memory until I can glance down.
Eris:
Send Roo. He’s here.
The reply hits almost instantly. I take another step to the left, purposefully bumping my knee so I can look at my screen.
Locke:
Where?
I want to roll my eyes and screech, but I remain calm on the outside. It shouldn’t matter where; they already know the where and the who.
Eris:
First floor. Print room. Call Roo.
Daniel reaches across the corner of the table, fingers brushing my arm as if he has any right to touch me. I can see a pair of scissors getting closer to me with every step I take. Two more, and I can safely lunge for them.
“Don’t,” I snap quietly, letting a little rage seep into my voice. “You need to leave.”
“You need to remember who you belong to,” he seethes, burning gaze locked on me. “I don’t care who you’ve been playing with. Today, you’re coming home.”
My phone buzzes in my hand once more, and I pull the same move. Step left, bump knee, look down. Another message sits on my screen.
Locke:
Security is on the way.
Footsteps echo down the hall. Two guards appear, confused but alert… Ready enough to deal with trouble even though they have no idea what’s happening.
Daniel freezes, his entire body rigid. “When did you call them?”
I don’t entertain him with an answer. I just slide backward, my spine hitting a copy machine, and I use it like a wall to anchor myself, ready to lunge if this goes to shit.
He looks from the security guards to me, weighing his options before his smile flickers. “This isn’t a game you want to play with me, Anna.”
Daniel turns and walks out like he owns the building and the guards are here to protect him.
I stay still until the hallway goes quiet, all footsteps and sound gone. It takes thirty seconds. Maybe more. Then I lean against the counter and open the app.
Eris:
Thank you.
Locke:
I told you I’d protect you.
I’m choosing to overlook the part where I said call a murderous sociopath, and one or all of them ignored my request. But I’ll most likely have some retroactive anger about that later.
Eris:
He sent another photo.
It was from outside the office, in the building across the street.
Locke:
Show me.
I drop the image into our chat, but there’s nothing to be done about it now, other than check the office cameras from across the street. Not that they’ll tell us much.
The dots appear. Disappear. Reappear. Over and over and over again.
Locke:
He’s getting reckless. That’s good.
Eris:
How is that good?
I agree with them, but I’m not ready to say that yet.
Locke:
Because people make mistakes when they stop pretending they’re sane.
Eris:
What if he tries something?
What if he’s already inside?
Locke:
He’s not inside your apartment or any of your accounts.
We’re watching.
I stare at that admission, and a photo comes through from the HimLock side of the app. It’s the office, from the same angle as Daniel’s, except he’s on the edge of it too, being escorted out the door by security… Which means whoever these mystery app guys are, they’re definitely following me too.
I redirect myself and file the rest of that thought away for later.
Eris:
We’re? How many of you are watching?
Locke:
I meant I’m. Auto-correct.
But it isn’t. And we both know it.
Eris:
Sure… Autocorrect. Of course.
Who am I talking to now?
I want to know who’s lying to me.
And I’d like to know how long you all plan to keep lying to me…?
I lock my phone, sink into the chair in the printer room, and breathe through the silence that creeps along my ribs.
I’m not scared.
I’m fucking pissed.
Because Daniel was here, the job is blown, and I’m surrounded by cameras I didn’t install.
But I’m also not alone.
And somehow, that’s worse.