“Jesus, Fallon. What the fuck? Are you okay?”
Holding up a finger, I drain the glass. “No. Not at all.” Thankful that the shaking is leaving my voice, I say, “Some assholes in masks just chased me out of the office.”
“Guys in masks? Girl, it’s someone playing a prank. It's probably Keith and his jock buddies. He’s in love with you. You need to relax.”
“No! I’m fucking serious. They had knives!” My voice, somewhere between a whisper and a yell, causes others in the restaurant to look over at our table. Several controlled breaths later –my therapist would be so proud– I say, “They were right on our floor. They chased me down the stairs, and then suddenly they were gone. That's right, I said stairs! I had to run down ten flights of stairs in these fucking heels.”
“Well, shit. Okay, tell me what these masks looked like,” Quinn demands.
As I describe the realistic skulls, horns, runes and blacked out parts, her brows shoot up near her hairline, her eyes widening. Then her features turn thoughtful.
“What?” The look on her face has me terrified of what she’s going to say.
She digs out her phone and taps at the screen before turning a still of a video toward me. “Did they look like this?”
Adrenaline spikes again as I look into the faces of the men who just scared the living hell out of me. The top of the screen reads the latest news story:Cerberus.
What the hell? My confused gaze meets hers as I nod silently.
“Didn't you watch the end of their last video where they finally showed themselves?” She pauses a moment before adding. “Well, they kind of showed themselves.”
“No, I listened to the audio, but I was doing something else so I didn’t realize it was different this time…” I had been too focused on the incriminating evidence on Councilman Rogers and responding to the hundreds of emails to do more than play the audio in the background of my work. “I figured it was another blacked out screen with the warped voice like usual.”
“Fallon, maybe you were at the wrong place at the wrong time? Are you moonlighting as a criminal that I don't know about?” Her eyes widen as her face pales. “You don’t think…”
“Nope, don’t say it.” I glance around to make sure we aren’t being overheard. My mind wanders back to that night eleven years ago. Quinn and I have been close since we were teens, both protecting each other's secrets. We rarely speak of the skeletons in our closets, but we each have a few. Some of those skeletons carry consequences heavier than we dare to acknowledge. “It can’t be that. We are the only two that know about that. I have no fucking clue what they want. It can’t actually be them. It’s got to be someone fucking with me. Right?” I need another drink. I’m not sure why, but I withhold everything that happened at the club Friday. Fear and lust combined have created the most confusing thoughts; thoughts I am not ready to share or even process right now. Despite what just happened, I still feel the heat from the first encounterand these two images are at war inside of me. Any rational human being would say I was crazy to still feel any kind of pull toward these guys.
“Maybe we need to call the police.” Her eyes dart between my own, taking in my reaction, and more importantly, my hesitation.
“No.” I bite my lip as I shake my head. The blood pounding in my ears is starting to subside. “If it was a prank, and I got the police involved, Dad would be pissed. Plus, since when have the police ever done you and me any favors?”
She pauses for several beats before determination washes over her features. “Okay. Well, good thing I work in the department that I do. I will pull the cameras and figure out who they are. There is no way they navigated Helix and weren't caught on camera. I have a few other things I can do if they had their phones on them.” She pauses to take a drink of her wine before continuing. “After all this time, this is the best lead we’ve had at finding Cerberus. Though if they’re messing with you, I’m not sure they’re going to be open to helping us…”
I know the look on her face; it is the same one she has when she is determined to figure out a new code or puzzle. “I don't know…” I shrug looking over the menu, though I barely take in what I am reading because my thoughts are so scattered. “But it might be worth a shot. It’s another good reason not to involve the police.”
“But if it is Keith, can we please get him back in some super-epic way?”
“It’s not. I am telling you, something was different about these guys.”
She gives me a sympathetic look while waving down the wait staff. “More wine, please.” Pausing, she looks at me for a moment, then back to the server now standing beside the table. “Actually, leave the bottle.”
I wake after a fitful night. I’m a mess of nerves, constantly looking over my shoulder. Tuesday morning, I trudge toward a charming office building on the edge of town. It used to be a large home but was converted into a private counseling center some years back. I climb the worn brick stairs to the second-floor entrance. These stairs are gorgeous and unique, especially because they climb up the outside of the home to a massive porch; but fuck do they suck in icy and rainy weather.
These walls hold more of my secrets and agony than I care to admit; and yet every time I enter, it’s like wrapping up in my old fuzzy blanket and being safe from the world for a moment. I remember deciding to go to my first session, when everything became too much. Taking that step to deal with my shit rather than allowing it to implode what was left of my life and self-esteem was just what I needed. I sit in the waiting room knowing Jacy will get me shortly for my session.
My phone dings in the silence. I glance down and see a message from an unknown number. Tapping it open, my heart stutters to a halt. Looking up at me from that harmless screen is the image of a skull mask, the bottom half coated in black, dark eyes searing out as if they see right through me.
Unknown number:We see you Fallon Helix.
A wave of apprehension washes over me, making my breath catch as I glance around the empty lobby. When I look back down it’s gone. The image, the message, all of it. What the fuck?
“Fallon.” I jerk when I hear my name, despite her soft tone and voice like honey. I see her eyes zero in on my reaction. Don’t get me wrong, therapy saved my life, but fuck is it hard. Here we go.
I power down my phone before I stand and pick up my coffee cup. Giving her a mock salute and forcing a smirk, I follow Jacy Clemmings to her office at the end of the hall. Sinking onto the soft gray couch, I absorb her office as she turns on the white noise machine that sits outside of her door so that our conversation has an added layer of privacy. The paintings and sculptures around the office are all in gentle shades of blue and green, adding a calming ambiance to the room.
Jacy pads quietly across the rug in her green flats; her black harem pants and cardigan sway with her movements, while her several necklaces and bangles clang together. A walking conundrum with her soft clothes and bright loud accessories. I have a fondness for quirky.
“Water?” Jacy asks as she takes the pitcher from the small refrigerator by her desk.
