I perched on the edge of the seat to not stain his chair with my blood. It wasn't out of politeness; I didn't want him to see how badly I was bleeding.
He leaned forward, over where I sat, to reach a button on the monitor, distracting me from my injuries again. He swerved the mouse around and clicked an icon. The monitor flickered onto an image of Kitty, lying on a twin bed in a cement-block room. There was nothing but grey to be seen. She could've been next-door or halfway across the world.
I switched my gaze to him.
“I want her released.”
“You know I can't do that. You'd walk.”
I'd known, and yet I'd hoped in spite of it. Kitty was his leverage and I had none.
“You expect me to take this as proof she's alive? This could be days old. She might already be dead. I’m new to this game and nowhere near as old as you probably are, but that doesn't make me stupid.”
He pulled a phone out of his pocket and dialed. “Bring our guest a glass of water.”
Two minutes later, a man walked in, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and placed a glass of water on her table. He wasn't one of the men who was in the room when I’d arrived. Kitty looked up as he walked into her cell but didn't move other than that.
I shrugged. “Doesn't prove anything. Have him bring her a glass of iced tea, with a piece of lime.”
“Lime?”
“Yes. Lime. You want to prove she's alive?” I leaned forward. “You want something from me? You'll do it. Because unless you prove beyond all doubt that she is, we’re done.”
He stared at me for a moment, and whatever he saw there, he believed. It was easy to convince people of something when it was the truth.
He lifted his phone to his ear again and repeated my request. “It'll be a few minutes. They don't have lime.”
“I'm not in a rush.” I folded my hands behind my head and leaned back, blood be damned.
Eight minutes later, the same jean-clad man walked into the room with an iced tea, a lime slice perched on the side of the glass.
Kitty's head popped up, then her whole body seemed to perk up. She looked at the glass and then around the rest of the room.
That's right Kitty, I'm coming for you.
Chapter 15
Locked Up Tight
Last night, after meeting Malokin, I'd gone to bed with a storm shaking the condo's very walls. I'd told myself it was just Mother's hurricane. It wasn't the Universe. When I'd killed the man who was supposed to have lived, the storm had only lasted about forty minutes. This one went on for hours.
The sun was finally shining when I drove to the office that morning. Considering how bad the weather had been, the damage seemed minimal. A few ripped awnings here and there, and some debris and dead branches that had finally lost their grip, but nothing earth shattering.
I parked in the lot and strolled into the building, coffee in one hand and manual in the other. Last night, I’d decided no matter what else I did, I needed to remain calm and take this day-by-day.
I’d locate Kitty and everything would be fine. She wasn’t in the Shangri La, but she looked sound. Everything would work out. For now, I needed to go into the office and act as if nothing was amiss.
I opened the door and found the place in an uproar and a small kernel of fear started to unfurl within me. Don’t get crazy. This probably has nothing to do with you.
Taking a few steps in, I overheard one of the Jinxes say, “How could he have not died?”
And there went my pancakes. I managed to keep them down but it was a fight. Maybe I should start skipping breakfast altogether.
Everyone at the office had already been on edge before. After Kitty disappeared suddenly, without a single goodbye, no one was feeling very secure of late. I'd seen a list of the retirees in the last few years. It was staggering in its numbers. They had a reason to feel like they were hanging over a precipice. Problem was, they couldn't see how deep the fall was. Neither could I, for that matter, but we all felt the chill blowing up from the chasm below.
Still, I hadn't expected this amount of upheaval because I had saved a single life. Again, this was when a manual might come in handy.
They were all gathered around Harold, even employees who preferred their own office space, like the Tooth Fairy and his assistants.
Fate was here too, but he wasn't hovering around anyone for details. He was perched on the side of my desk, eyes only for me as I walked farther into the room.
His stare was condemning, but he couldn't possibly know I'd had anything to do with it. Still, he looked like he not only knew but was royally pissed about it, too.
Ignoring his presence the best anyone could with Fate, I neared the cluster of people questioning Harold. I watched as the slender redhead raised his hands to quiet them down.
“There was a change in plans. Everything was approved.” His words would've been much more believable if he hadn’t had a hitch in his voice.
Crow raised his hand like he was still in grammar school. “But the bird I sent out—”
“I have nothing else to say about it at this point. As I explained, it was just a last minute change.” Harold turned abruptly, walked into his office and slammed the door shut. The sound echoed through the room, followed by the lock clicking into place as everyone was still staring at the spot he'd just occupied.
Scanning the group, Murphy seemed the most likely source for reliable information. He was also standing the farthest away from Fate. With a tug to his arm, I motioned for him to follow me to the outer limits of the room, away from prying ears and a few more feet from the condemning stare.
“What's going on?”
“Someone who was supposed to die last night didn't.” The extent of the calamity he believed this to be was there in the urgent pitch of his voice, but I didn’t understand why.
“So what? Things change all the time,” I said.
“These things don’t. It was a Lock.”
“You're right, I don't get it. What's a Lock?” I crossed my arms, getting slightly defensive. “And don't give me that look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘oh God, the transfer doesn't understand again’ look.” I tried to mimic the way I was sure they said it to each other.
“I don't do that.” His face scowled but then shifted into something closer to doubt. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
His eyes shot over toward Harold's door and his voice dropped another octave as he asked, “As bad as Harold?”
I shrugged and relented on that score. “Not as bad as him but worse than Death.”
“That's not fair.” Murphy took a step back, as if he’d just been put into the ring with Muhammad Ali. “You can't use Death as an example. Do you know he waited over a month once to collect a stubborn soul? Do you know what it's like to compete with that kind of patience?”
I sighed. “I understand. Death is a saint.” Wait, that didn’t sound right. “Maybe not a saint, I don't know. Forget about this.” I waved my hands trying drop the subject. “Just tell me about these Locks.”
Murphy went to perch on the corner of the desk near him before he remembered it was Kitty's. He stopped himself and leaned the other way. “Most things have flexible futures and many possible outcomes. These narrow as the time of events near, but every now and then, there are certain courses that have been set in motion for years and years. They are referred to as Locks. They've been predestined, you know about them way in advance and they never change. You’ll get your orders for a Lock sometimes decades in advance.”