Wyland, after an uncomfortable night in an unfamiliar bed, with heavy thoughts and what felt like twenty tons of guilt and embarrassment weighing on his chest, got up and went back to New Scotland Yard. He felt like the courage he had felt last night had dissolved completely, with regret and embarrassment left behind.
Connie was there, and seemed relieved to see Wyland at her office door. She smiled sheepishly, and apologized for the previous night. She said she had been "unprofessional", a term that Wyland despised. Professionalism, in Wyland's mind, was simply a way to maintain hierarchies and keep minions in their place. It was a mechanism of social control. It had no place in love or lust, whatever this had been.
Wyland stopped her from making more awkward excuses by gently grabbing her shoulders, sitting her down, and telling her his story. A story he'd never told anyone before. He told her of early successes, a bright, good-looking and promising student with a beautiful fiance, who had, one day, lost damn near everything, and hadn't really regained it since. He didn't know why it happened, but it wasn't her fault. He was cursed to fail; at love, at work, at life.
Connie listened intently, with a deep caring in her eyes. After he finished, tears streamed down her face as she said "Oh god, Wy, I had no idea. I'm so sorry." Wyland was extremely relieved to see that she genuinely believed him.
Then he said "I have to find out what this curse is. I don't care if I die in the process. All there is left for me is to solve this... maybe I can get my life back if I do, and if not, I haven't really lost much. You can help me. You're the only person who can help me."
She sighed, a deep, rattling sigh, and nodded silently. She pulled up the files on Crom and Oliver, printed them and handed them to Wyland. "Please destroy these once you've memorized them, I'm not really supposed to do this."
She continued "There's something else. A work acquaintance of theirs, Stephen McAlerod, was killed yesterday morning, in a most unlikely fashion. An old satellite fell on the house where he and his mother were staying. A Russian satellite with a hot nuclear core. We had to evacuate half the bloody town of Winterbourne. He and his mother were the only casualties, though it started several fires, and several people are still being monitored for radiation exposure." She went quiet, staring out the window, though there wasn't much of a view.
After a while, she continued "I... I heard about it this morning. My boss wants to reopen the case, but we haven't yet. These idiots are dangerous. They're trying to figure out a way to bring them in without allowing them to speak. Tranqs and tasers, we're thinking. They're deathly afraid of these little cunts." She crossed her arms, and shook her head. "Stupid people with power are the worst kind. That's why we don't allow many guns here. It's the stupid ones that ruined it for everyone else. You Yanks would do well to learn that."
After her little commentary, she went back to professional mode. "We pulled Mr. McAlerod's comms history, sorry, um... e-mails, phone calls and such." Wyland nodded, he knew what she meant the first time. She went on "I haven't had time to look at them, but I had the copy center make you up a copy." She handed him a thick manila envelope. "what's immediately apparent is that he knew he was cursed."
"The Cunninghill brothers are currently at work, in a quarry outside Lanark, Scotland. It's all in the case files. Mr. McAlerod left the site a little more than a week ago. An eyewitness in Winterbourne reported that he arrived there the next day looking quite ill, and barely left the house once he arrived. There's quite an extensive internet record in there, I think that's all he did in his final days was search the internet. He had booked a plane ticket stateside, to Detroit, and was slated to leave today."
She looked exceptionally competent and professional as she briefed Wyland, and he could feel the lust for her welling up in him again, and had to stifle it, beat it down, and maintain a calm demeanor. All he wanted to do was grab her and passionately kiss her, but he didn't. He just sat there listening to her, until finally, she dropped another large envelope in his lap. "A copy of all our... more esoteric research associated with the case. I assume you're already familiar with most of it. We will move on the Cunninghills within the next few days, we're still coordinating with the northern police force in Edinburgh. Be careful and stay out of the way."
"Thanks" Wyland said as he stacked everything in his shoulder bag, an old leather case that reminded him of a large purse. He probably would have taken crap for wearing a man purse from his friends, except he never really had any good friends to give him shit like that.
He stood up, and puffed his chest out, trying to look brave and determined, but she could see the fear in his eyes. She smiled at him again, a sexy, sultry smile. He was really going to do this, and she knew she would never see him again, at least not alive. The thought was nostalgic, somehow, like watching a warrior march off to a battle he was sure to lose, but did so anyway, for honor and glory, for king and country. She thought it was excruciatingly sexy of him. She felt like it was 1939, and war was coming, and nobody knew just how bad it might get.
He turned to go, but she stopped him, grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. "Good luck" she said sincerely, then kissed him, deeply and passionately. He tasted salt as a tear fell to their lips. He could feel her slender frame against him, and the warmth of soft skin beneath the silk shirt she was wearing. They lingered there for a moment, breathing each others' air and tasting each others' lips, then they finished, her lips grabbing his as they broke off. Wyland looked at the ground, shouldered his bag, said "thanks again" and left.
After grabbing lunch, Wyland purchased a self defense taser and some duct tape, then boarded the train at King's Cross, bound for Edinburgh. He felt like the weight had been lifted, like he was going to his death with a clean conscience.
No comments:
Post a Comment