Page 89 of The Triangle

Back inside Alec disappears into the office and I follow him, but don’t enter. Just lean against the doorjamb for a moment, watching him take off his coat and unbutton his shirtsleeves, thinking as I stare down at my feet.

Something feels off and I can’t put my finger on it. Like I’m still very much missing something.

Which I know is true because I do not remember what happened that night I got hurt. I know parts of it. I was sent to kill someone, but it wasn’t Jimmy Sotoro because I have no idea who this Jimmy guy is.

At least I don’t remember him right now.

God, am I insane? What’s wrong with me?

You got pushed off a building, Christine. Hit your head, went unconscious, seventeen stitches.

My hand goes up to feel them again. Like there are answers underneath the skin and the sutures are holding them hostage.

Alec lets out a long sigh and when I look up at him, he’s facing me, holding the little metal box. His eyes meet mine as he snaps open the lid and turns it in his hand so I can see the diamond.

Funny thing about diamonds. The more carats they have the heavier they get. But they don’t get proportionally bigger in size. So this seven-carat diamond could conceivably be mounted in a ring or a pendant and not look much bigger than one that’s four carats.

To be sure, four carats set in a ring is pretentious. Unless you’re married to a billionaire or an actual reigning monarch, no one will believe it’s real.

“When?” Alec asks.

I shrug. “Right after you hid it away.”

“How come?”

“I dunno.” I say automatically, but I actually don’t know. “Ask Danny.”

“Because you don’t remember?” Alec asks.

“I… I guess not,” I admit.

“Do you remember why?”

I do. Very clearly. “No,” I lie.

“Nunu,” he says, snapping the lid closed. My eyes track to the etched triangle on the lid. Funny thing about triangles. They always have three sides, but they are not always equal. Yet the interior angles always add up to the same one hundred and eighty degrees, no matter what.

They can be balanced, but small changes throw the whole dynamic out of equilibrium.

A circle is always three hundred and sixty degrees, so you think, well, that adds up to something predictable too. True. But there’s no sides in a circle unless you cut it up into triangles. And a square has angles, and sides, and all those angles are always ninety degrees. And even though a square can never be a circle, the parts always equal the whole three hundred and sixty degrees.

A triangle is only ever one half of the whole. It’s inherently missing something.

“What?” I say.

It’s a question begging to be answered. An emptiness begging to be filled.

“Are you keeping something from me?”

Yes.

“No,” I say.

I just don’t know what it is.

“Are you sure?” Alec asks, setting the box down on the desk and walking towards me.

No.