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chapter 14: Questions and Answers

Over the last few days, Indigo had begun to rely on Jude being around. She didn’t like how she watched the clock, waiting for him to stop by her class. Didn’t like that Jude’s was the last text she read at night, and the first she read in the morning. The last few days he’d become overly attentive, and that concerned her. She waited for the moment he’d disappear again without a word, dropping out of her life as quickly as he had dropped in.

Today, however, he seemed content to stay. Like clockwork he appeared at break, with coffee already in hand. Indigo took the paper cup with a wink.

“Glad you remembered extra cream this time,” she said, lifting the lid and peering inside. “Might have had to say ‘no’ otherwise.”

“I’m not going to forget,” Jude teased. “Figure if you say yes to coffee enough times, you’ll forget about ‘maybe’.”

Her smile grew brittle. That was too close to happening already. Indigo knew she could probably start to relax with him – to trust that things might actually work out – but some part of her couldn’t.

She’d felt that way with Cal too.

Coffee in hand, they found a spot in the botany wing, the air around them heavy with the scent of plants and moisture. Jude sipped his coffee, talking about the day’s tech support calls, and the frustrations of having to overhaul the Registrar’s server for the third time this year. Indigo smiled and nodded, making helpful noises of agreement and concern. She did it without even being aware she did. It was second nature to let someone else take the stage. All the while, her mind’s eye drifted to another time. She couldn’t help but compare the two of them – to wonder why she should expect this relationship to turn out any better than her last had. She could imagine Shireese’s answer – “Because this is Jude, and not Cal” – but it was a faint echo compared to her memories.

She’d been attending a fundraiser with a middle-aged banker, the room full of people with too much money and too few interests to fill up their time. They’d been assigned by table: Indigo and her date next to Cal and his wife. Fiona was a patron, and she chattered on about the charity’s work with inner city communities, and how rewarding she found the programs they supported.

Indigo, dressed in a velvet gown, smiled and nodded, asking polite questions while her mind seethed. She hated people like this: the rich who’d been born to it, those whose privilege had been assured by birth. Fiona Martel-Woodrow, with her veneered teeth and bobbed hair, was a lady who lunched, her understanding of poverty limited to the bad neighborhoods she saw on television.

‘F*ck you,’ Indigo thought, but didn’t say.

People like Fiona were worse than ignorant, they were oblivious. They were the cause of the system they claimed to want to fix. As the meal continued, Indigo’s ember of discontent grew into hot indignation. By the time the second course had been served, a plan had begun to smoulder in Indigo’s mind, excitement rising before she’d even considered the consequences.

She glanced at the man sitting on her right side: the banker was shovelling in mouthfuls of food, bits of it dripping onto a coat that cost more than a month's rent. Indigo turned to the left: Fiona’s husband sat next to her, seated between Indigo and his wife. He had longish blond hair and sad eyes. He was staring dully down at his plate, scraping the fork irritably on the tablecloth. When conversation veered toward him, he nodded but didn’t respond. He might tolerate Fiona’s high-pitched chatter, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. Sensing Indigo’s gaze, his eyes, brown like amber, flicked up, glaring at her. Indigo didn’t turn away.

‘Yes,’ she thought with a smile. ‘You’ll do perfectly.’

Indigo smiled in remembrance and Jude smiled back. He was still describing the challenge of the prerequisite system while she was back nearly two years before.

“So Irene called me,” Jude said, “but I honestly have no time for her shit. You’d think that she’d realize that every time the program crashes and she reloads it all, she needs to reload my patch too…”

Indigo had spent the evening focused on Cal, the two of them falling into conversation almost immediately. He was good-looking, of course, but that wasn’t what interested her. It was the thought of punishing his wife. By the time dinner had ended, Cal was touching her under the table, his hand roving over the soft flesh of her leg, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“Come outside with me,” he growled.

She raised a brow.

“I don’t do things like this.”

Indigo sighed, and Jude leaned closer.

“…and Irene thought we could rewire it all, but we don’t have the time to do that either. She just doesn’t get that. She just thinks it’s a quick repair when really…”

Indigo nodded, murmuring her agreement.

Cal called Indigo the next day, the two of them meeting up at his university office. He f*cked her on his desk, and her sense of satisfaction convinced Indigo she’d almost enjoyed it. She left feeling a rare contentment. Fiona Martel-Woodrow might have more money than she could count, but she had no idea how the real world worked.

“…the Tech Department is starting to make some staffing changes,” Jude explained, grinning impishly. “Might change a lot of things, actually…”

“Interesting,” she mumbled.

Indigo was surprised when Cal phoned a week later, begging to see her again. He swore he hadn’t slept since meeting her. That their connection had changed him. That he had tried to deny himself, but he couldn’t.

Cal was desperate and panicked. A man obsessed.

“… and so Lissa has decided to start using magical elves rather than technicians. It’s pretty cool actually, since you don’t have to pay them or give them health benefits…”

“Mm-hmmm?”

They met twice more that month, the one-night stand exploding into an outright affair. Cal was consumed by his need for her, his fixation growing by the day. Indigo found herself more focused on Cal than his wife. She didn’t WANT to be caught anymore. She wanted to have Cal for her own.

“…and it turns out the elves can climb into the mainframe servers, and pick out the innards with their bare hands.”

“Really,” Indigo sighed.

Jude’s explanation stopped, his smile fading. For several seconds he didn’t speak.

“Where are you, Indigo?” he finally asked. “’Cause it isn’t here.”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled.

Jude frowned. Seeing it, Indigo sat up straighter. Cal’s smirking face was abruptly gone, replaced by Jude’s concern.

“Sorry,” Indigo said warily. “What were you saying?”

He slid closer, his fingers trailing up her arm, making her shiver. Close like this, Jude was the only thing she could see.

“I’m talking,” he said gently, “and you’re not listening to a word.” His fingers traced patterns over the flesh of her arm, her skin rising in goosebumps. “Are you okay today?”

“I um… I just have things on my mind.”

Jude’s his hand slid higher, brushing over her shoulder and combing through her hair.

“How’s your film project going?”

She glanced down at her lap, plucking at the frayed seam of her jeans.

“Okay, I guess,” she muttered. “Put in the footage from this weekend, but I’m still missing a bunch of time.” His hand moved deeper into her hair, massaging the muscles of her neck and scalp. She sighed, letting the motion of his fingers pull her closer, tension easing. “God,” she moaned, eyes closing, “that feels good.”

She felt rather than saw him move closer. Suddenly Jude’s mouth was against hers, his lips teasing her into responding. Indigo gasped at the feeling of kissing him again. She’d held back the last few days, but now the fire between them was alight. His fingers tightened in her hair, the other hand pulling her nearer, tongue plundering her mouth. The embrace grew, Indigo’s hands tugging at his clothes. Without warning, the door near the far end of the corridor opened. They broke apart, laughing. Indigo pulled back, straightening her shirt and brushing hasty fingers through her hair. Jude watched her with hooded eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

She giggled, trying to think of a teasing retort and failing. She’d been waiting for it to happen too. When she glanced back up, Jude’s expression had altered. The desire was still there, but now it was tempered by worry.

“What…?”

Jude reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small plastic rectangle and holding it out to her.

“I um, I wasn’t sure I should give this to you or not.”

Indigo stared at the small jump drive in his fingers.

“What is this?” she asked in concern.

“It’s some answers,” he said, dropping it into her waiting palm. “Pictures from the public archives… names and things.” She stared at the drive in her hand, chest tight. This was another piece of her life, laid bare for him. He was still here. “I um, I found something else too,” he added. “An address.”

“For who?” she gasped, certainty gripping her before he’d even said the words.

“For your mom,” he answered. “She’s still in—”

“You what?” Indigo cried, stumbling to her feet. “Why?!? Why did you do that?!?”

“I don’t know,” he said, standing up beside her. “I just figured, you know, if you ever wanted it.”

“F*ck!” Indigo yelped. “What would I do if I saw her, Jude?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “but at least now you have the chance.”

Drive in hand, Indigo turned and ran.

: : : : : : : : : :

The apartment where Elliot lived had an aging, though effective, security system. Without a code or key, you couldn’t get in, and the front entrance was covered by three cameras. As long as you were in the building, you were fine. The main issue was that parking was on the street. This was no problem most of the year.

Lately, however, it’d been a nightmare.

When Elliot headed to work early in the morning and came home by five, he could always find a spot. But one week a month, he worked the late shift, getting home after ten. That meant circling the block, searching for a space.

Today was one of those days.

His bad mood had started even before he’d left work. He’d received two calls from Mrs. Henderson, asking him to change her account information, then calling back again, and doing the same thing. Elliot sighed, talking her through the process. She might have a terrible memory, but her generous investments more than made up for the nuisance. The next issue had been a photocopier jam. He’d spent twenty minutes on it before unplugging it and leaving a handwritten note. He’d been about to leave the office when the phone rang. He glanced at his watch – already late – then picked up the receiver.

“Elliot Baird,” he said tiredly.

No one answered.

Frowning, he hung up the phone, his eyes moving through the empty office. This week had been screwing with his head, and a part of him regretted asking Jude to leave. Truth was, he didn’t like living alone, and the last few days, with the strange happenings, had made that even worse. Elliot hung up the phone, pulling on his coat and grabbing his car keys from his pocket.

“Get it together, man,” he muttered, heading to the parking garage.

He blasted the radio on the way home, trying to force his nerves away. Partway there, the eleven o’clock news update came on. Francesca Williams, the new police commissioner, had made another speech about getting tough on crime, asking the mayor to increase her budget in order to do it. Elliot’s gaze moved down the streets as he drove: the closed-up businesses and boarded-up buildings, the people sleeping in boxes in the alleys.

‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘it’s time for a change.’

Reaching his apartment building, he found that the parking spot he was hoping to use was already taken. A sedan with tinted windows was parked there tonight. He swore, driving a block further, temper rising. He parked under a street lamp, wishing he’d brought his gloves and hat. It was cold out, and as he climbed from the car, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

He began to walk.

The street was empty, leafless trees like skeletal hands overhead. With the temperature dropping, there was a sharpness to the air, the hint that snow would come before morning. Elliot turned up his collar, tucked his nose down. Nearing the alley, he heard someone walking behind him. He shifted to the side, giving them room to pass.

The footsteps grew nearer, heels clicking on sidewalk.

Elliot looked over his shoulder just as he reached the mouth of the alley, wondering if someone was pacing him. He frowned in recognition. The man was tall and broad, with a football player’s build. It was, he realized, one of the potential clients he had met with earlier this week. Someone who’d asked about placing an investment, but never called him back.

“Hey,” Elliot said in surprise. “Don’t I know you?”

The man lunged, his motion so inexplicably fast for his size, Elliot didn’t even think to shout. He was propelled into the shadows of the alley, his head slamming against the brick wall, leaving him stunned. He stumbled, and the man attacked again, a steely fist crashing into his jaw. Elliot landed on his back with a thud, breath gone.

The man became calm and businesslike, walking forward and crouching next to Elliot, as if about to help him upright. Elliot gulped like a fish, trying to catch his breath and failing. There was blood in his mouth and eyes, ears ringing. As he watched, the man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a blade.

“The King has ways of dealing with people who talk,” he said calmly. One hand grasped Elliot’s throat, the other, holding the knife, moving in.

Winded, Elliot tried to scream, but the blade was faster.