We’re standing in the aisle as the changing scenes on screen lengthen and shorten the shadows around us.
“I need to go.” Her arms spread out for purchase where there is none.
“Wait. Will you just sit down and talk to me? This is ridiculous.” I want to force her into a seat but hesitate.
Turns out I don’t need to.
She looks right at me and says, “For the record, I don’t normally do this.”
Then her knees give out and I catch her a second before she hits the ground.
5
Maggie
Imaginethe worst hangover you’ve ever had. Now take that and multiply it by all the times you stubbed your toe on furniture. Okay, that’s close to how I feel right now.
I groan with the knowledge that whatever happens next is going to suck. I can’t lie in these nice smelling sheets forever. I force my eyes open and wait for everything to come into focus. The bed tilts and I feel like I’m rolling off the edge, though I’m not moving. A smart person would be wary of the water that sits on a bedside table that is not theirs, in a room they don’t recognize. Alas, I chug it down and at least that’s where the comparison to a hangover ends because instantly my body feels better. I grab the second bottle and chug that too because if it’s poisoned at least I’ll die quenched.
I lie back down and study the ceiling. Okay. Now I have the mental capacity to freak out about having no idea where I am. I groan again and recall the last thing to happen. Roe’s eyebrows transitioned from frustration to worry as my world faded to black.
James Roe, who can see me when I’m Under. I groan.
I’m in a tiny but neat guest room painted cornflower blue. Not much space for anything but a full-size bed, with the aforementioned fresh smelling sheets and side table, and an antique dresser with cut flowers on it. I always hope that I’ll be the type of person that goes to the farmer’s market for flowers and organic produce. For now, I have no time for flower arranging between plots for revenge.
For someone who has no clue where she is, I’m awfully content. Content’s not the right word. Neutral? Maybe it’s the sleep or simple domestic prettiness of this room, but I’m oddly calm about everything. It’s interesting considering the one thing I have going for me to stop Zebulund has been completely ruined by an actor who’s seen all my nooks and crannies. I’m in some state of shock. Four years and not a single person has seen me. I can’t think about what this means because if it means the end of me trying to bring down Zebulund then I’ll be drifting purposeless in life. And more people will get hurt.
No. I’ll figure out this Roe business and get back to work. After coffee.
The slanted morning sun shines through the room. I’ve slept for hours. I sit up too fast, clutching for my phone. I’m dressed in an oversized T-shirt that smells like fresh laundry and is most certainly not mine. Two soft voices talk outside the room. Only a small amount of wooziness remains as I make my way toward the door and crack it open. Down a small hallway, Roe sits at a kitchen island, talking to someone out of sight. I could try and find a way to get out of here without being seen or I could just be a grown-up and get this confrontation with Roe over. Ugh. Being an adult is stupid.
The smell of coffee greets me and the decision is made. I all but float on tiptoes following the scent. As I round the corner, Rachel, Roe’s assistant from yesterday, comes into view. I wave self-consciously at her.
“Good morning,” she says sweetly.
I like her, I do. I appreciate her gusto with Roe, but right now I need coffee and she’s blocking the pot.
“Hi,” I say, letting my hair fall in front of my face to block my view of Roe. We don’t exchange introductions. I’m not about to volunteer who I am and I’m sure my whole vibe screams, “I will cut you!”
She moves away from the pot as she sees me approach. People might think we’re sisters, but I’m the evil one. Where she smiles easily, I glower.
“Hey, how’re you feeling?” Roe, who stopped talking at her greeting, stands up and pulls out the chair for me at the bar.
I look at him. I look at the chair. I look back to him. Is it some sort of trap? I turn away toward the counter, reaching out with grabby fingers.
“Coffee.”
“Charming as ever,” he grumbles at my back.
“Just brewed a pot.” Rachel is washing out a mug. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
The cream and sugar are out in special dishes below coffee mugs hanging from hooks above the machine. I decide then and there I’ll never have my life as together as this woman. Roe’s gaze is tangible on my exposed legs as I reach for a cup. When I sneak a glance, he looks away quickly. I shuffle around and get myself a drink all the while feeling the weight of the silence behind me. I bet they’re exchanging little looks and gestures conveying, “You speak.” “No you. You brought her here.” I wonder if he told her about any of it. Probably not. Who’s going to believe him? And I’m not about to back him up out of the goodness of my heart.
My approach for dealing with Roe thus far has been to pretend he doesn’t exist. After I take two hearty gulps, I look to her and ask. “Your place?” Though it obviously is.
She nods.
