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About an hour after Bret left, the office was a ghost town. It was strange, sitting in the empty place. I’d gotten used to the bustle of people around.
A knock at the door made me jump. It opened a crack and Hal looked inside.
“Excuse me,” he said, an ugly frown on his face, his shoulders tense. “I didn’t mean to startle you. But, uh, we have a situation.”
My stomach felt like it dropped into my feet, and I pushed back from my desk. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s here to see you,” Hal said, straightening up. “I have him waiting in the conference room.”
Hal didn’t need to specify. I knew exactly who he meant—the one man we told him to watch out for.
“You let him in?” I asked.
“He’s alone,” Hal said. “And unarmed.” He hesitated, and grinned sheepishly. “I frisked him. He let me.”
I laughed, and it sounded shrill and nervous. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “but you’d better go talk to him, or I can send him away if you want. Whatever you think is best.”
“I’ll go,” I said, and came around the desk. “Are you sure he’s unarmed?” I felt insane, saying that question out loud. The idea that someone would come into my office with a gun was horrifying—and yet it was a real concern, something I had to actually think about. I didn’t understand how I’d gotten to this place in my life.
“I swear,” Hal said, and his face got serious again. “I’ll be in the room, if you want.”
“No,” I said quickly. “No, just wait outside the door, please. And thank you.”
He nodded once and stepped aside.
I straightened my blouse and walked past him, chin up, trying not to show exactly how freaked out I felt. We hadn’t heard from Zeke since the factory, despite the little warnings he’d sent. I thought about him every day, especially since he ripped my apartment to pieces, and sometimes at night I dreamed about him hurting me in elaborate and horrible ways. He’d have these machines designed to pull my body to pieces—to stretch my limbs until they popped. I had that dream once a week since this all started, and I couldn’t shake the feeling it left with me.
I thought about calling Bret, but he’d make me promise to wait, and I didn’t think I could. There was no way I’d sit around in this office knowing that Zeke was nearby, and he could break down my door and hurt me at any moment. Hal helped take the sting of the fear away, but not entirely, and not enough to make me slow down.
I waited outside the conference room door and sent a text to Bret. Zeke is here. Wants to talk. I’m fine, Hal’s still around. Come back ASAP.
That wasn’t fair. I knew he’d flip. But there was no going back now. I hit send, took a deep breath, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Zeke sat at the head of the table. He smiled as I entered, showing way too many teeth. He wore a cheap black suit and a plain tan folder sat on the desk in front of him. He stood and nodded to me.
“Thanks for coming to meet with me,” he said. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to come alone.”
I forced myself to smile. I couldn’t let him see how frightened I was—otherwise, he’d pounce, like a shark in bloody water.
“I figured if you came all the way here, you had a good reason,” I said, and gestured toward the chairs. “Take a seat. What can I do for you?”
I walked over and sat on the left side of the table, two chairs away from him. He smiled a little and didn’t seem to notice. He drifted around and took the chair opposite me, and I pulled my feet back in, making sure I didn’t touch him accidentally. Having him right across from me was like sticking my hand in a catfish-infested muddy lake and hoping their slimy scales wouldn’t brush up against my skin.
“I want to say that you’ve been more than fair so far,” he said, still beaming that smarmy, awful smile. I wanted to wipe it off his face. I wanted to scream, you ripped my apartment to shreds, you sick bastard, but I only smiled back.
“Yes, well, you’ve put us in a very awkward position.” I tapped my fingers on the table. “And I’m still waiting on that documentation.”
He laughed and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his head, smile turning into a tight-lipped stare.
“We both know there’s no documentation,” he said slowly and I felt the hair on my arms prickle. There was no way he’d admit that openly and without prompting—unless he had something even more damaging. I looked down at the folder in front of me, and god, I didn’t want him to open it.
