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TWENTY-FOUR
TRISTAN
Instead of wasting more time combing through electronic files that meant nothing to me, I took to the streets in search of meaning. I’d slipped out before Morgan woke again this morning, as it was far easier to focus throughout the day if I didn’t speak with her first.
If I had, I would have been thinking about the soft moans that broke through her lips as she arched her back on the mattress, pressing her body against me.
And there I went again, letting my mind wander and stirring my dick.
I refocused on my surroundings, on the architectural giants built of concrete and steel, each grander in design and height than the last. Other pedestrians pushed past me, a few here or there checking my shoulder. Cars rushed to and fro only feet away on the busy street.
Below, discarded gum and crumpled flyers surrounded a trashcan at the edge of manicured hedges. Above, billowing gray formations hung heavy in the sky, a blanket of clouds threatening rain. I could smell it, too—the looming storm. It made the air fresh, invigorating even.
After taking in the sights and not recognizing anything from this block, I ran through my growing mental list of who I was.
My name was Tristan. I did not have a wife. I no longer felt like anyone was following me, and I dismissed my earlier assumption that I was—or was being hunted by—some sort of spy.
My mother had curly black hair.
I was a blue-collar worker with a vest. I had fancy clothes. I had a troll USB drive and the key to an old car. The flip flops were growing on me. And I had an aversion to egg salad.
Morgan had met me before I’d lost my memory. The version she’d seen then hadn’t prevented her from kissing me back last night, which meant when I did recover more of myself, she wouldn’t run because of who I was.
Or at least I hoped not. Maybe the idea of the two of us together was more plausible than I’d previously allowed myself to consider.
A pang of hunger twisted in my gut. The rich bass pulse of a stereo system reverberated in my chest as another car flew by. I paused where I was. Did I like the pounding beat? I wasn’t certain. But I was certain that it was time to eat.
I swung by the Indian restaurant from last night and picked up a double order of samosas, then made my way toward the Lacuna building.
I didn’t know what time Morgan ate lunch, or if it’d be possible to see her, but I didn’t mind leaving the food there if necessary. I’d already written her name on the bag just in case. I’d promised to make up for dropping the food last night, and that was exactly what I intended to do.
The memory of her body wrapped around me filled my head. And there went my dick again.
When I arrived at the Lacuna building, a revolving door delivered me into an enormous lobby with ornate curved staircases, a balcony, and a ridiculous chandelier. An unsettling sense clenched my guts, and it probably wasn’t simply hunger. Throbbing pain settled into my temple. It didn’t feel like nerves over seeing Morgan…it felt like something else.
I ignored the unpleasant sensations and continued onward. My flip flops squished and squeaked on the tile floor as I made my way to the front desk.
A severe woman with a tight bun behind the desk greeted me with a blank expression. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for the cast ofWhat the What?,” I said.
“Sign in on the sheet,” she said, pointing to a clipboard.
In the line marked name, I wroteTristan,since it was all I had to give.
“Elevator’s straight back.” She hitched a thumb over her shoulder then handed me a lanyard. “You’re looking for the third floor. There’ll be signs there to follow.”
She didn’t even ask who I was here to see or what my business was.
It bothered me that there was no security check of any kind. What if I’d been here to cause harm? What if I’d been stalking one of the contestants or the host? Given the live nature of Morgan’s show, fanatics would know exactly when and where to find them. Those same fanatics would have skewed views of the contestants’ personalities, too, possibly making Morgan a target.
Gritting my teeth, I made my way to the elevator and jabbed the button.
If I never remembered who I was, and I needed to make a living with what I knew now, I would never work in a place like this.
The doors opened on the third floor. I stepped out and made my way down the hall following the paper signs taped to the wall marked WTW.
At a juncture in the halls, I could see the craft services table outside doors marked WTW. Morgan had to be in one of those. I glanced down the other direction to see if anyone was coming.
