"Fine, I'll book you an Uber." Aadesh needed some space. Now the adrenaline from his performance had run out, all he wanted was to be alone.
~~~
In the darkness of the bedroom, Aadesh couldn't tell if Nadia was still awake, and it was only when he slipped in between the cool sheets and she turned onto her side that he knew.
"Sorry about Steve. I know he can be —"
"It's fine." She rolled onto her back, her outline barely illuminated by the sliver of light emerging between the door and the frame. He hoped Steve would remember to turn the light off before he left. It was probably rude not to wait until he had left before going to bed, but he was too tired to care.
"Addy?" her voice emanated from the dark. "Do you think we can finally get rid of some of your junk? There's barely room to move in here. It's just collecting dust anyway."
"I'll get around to it," he said reluctantly. He was a hoarder — she was a minimalist. If she wasn't so gorgeous, he would probably have told her to get lost by now, but the little voice in his head that told him she was way too good for him, and soon, she would realize it, wouldn't let him give up on her. He had carefully curated his stuff since he was a teen and was proud of his little trinkets. There was no way he was getting rid of his remote control R2-D2, and he would never give up his Hellraiser puzzle box, even for a beautiful woman.
It was quiet now, and he had no idea how Nadia was so silent. He couldn't hear her breath, and she didn't move. She never snored. She always moaned about his 'loud, nasally breathing,' as she described it. One minute he was so tired he thought he would fall straight to sleep, and the minute he had the chance, he was wide awake. Why did this always happen?
When he closed his eyes, he saw images of the video flicker in and out of view. One image stuck more than the others, the victim in the video. He did not know who this person was. Maybe a father, brother, uncle, or just an actor. Was someone out there missing him? The footage could be old for all he knew. Well, he couldn't sleep, so he may as well do some research.
Even whilst scrolling through his phone, the face of the man as he was being cut into, kept flashing up in the darkness, like a scene from a slasher flick. He'd seen some shit before, like when he and Steve worked their way through the twenty most disturbing films list. This was different.
He pulled up his search engine to see if there was any public record of this crime. It took him a moment to decide what to put in the search box. Man, video, stabbed. No, not specific enough. Man tied to chair, video, cut up. That would do for a start. There was nothing official. No mention of it on any news sources. All he could find was a discussion thread on a website, and a link to a group.
Let's find this sick fuck. Who's in?
It was probably idiotic, but he'd always had a desire, deep down, to solve crimes. If he wasn't such a wuss, he maybe would have tried to be a homicide detective, but for some reason that idea seemed fanciful, like the kind of dream career a teenager would want, but when they inevitably realized the competition was impossibly high, would give up on. Fuck it. He was all in.
Chapter Three
MAPLE RIDGE-
BRITISH COLUMBIA
"Martin. I hope you can appreciate we have done all we can for you, but at the end of the day, we are a business. We've tried to work around your appointments, and your sick leave, but there is only so much we can do, you know. I liaised with HR, and they have already made exceptions for the number of absences. You need to want to help yourself."
His boss looked at him from across the desk with pity, almost like she might cry. Only a year ago, he had been her boss. It was fine, and he was glad to be done with it all. For the last few weeks, maybe even months if he was being honest, he knew his days were numbered.
"I understand." There was nothing left to say. He had the money from his father's will, and his severance pay, and now he could hold up in the house his parents had left him and avoid people for a while. No pretending to keep it together. Not having to smile when he felt like jumping off the office roof. No early mornings when getting out of bed seemed impossible. "Do you mind if I collect my stuff later? I'd like to go home."
"That's absolutely fine. Whatever you need." She leaned across the desk and squeezed his forearm. He forced a smile. She was a good boss who genuinely cared about her staff, anyone could see that. It seemed strange that apart from when he came back to collect the things from his desk, he'd probably barely see her, or anyone from the office again, unless he bumped into them in the street.
It was probably for the best. The whole thing was humiliating. He was hurtling towards forty-years-old, yet his last remaining parent dying broke him in two, until he was no longer a man, just a quivering ball of anxiety that could barely convince himself to leave the house in the morning, and just couldn't stop crying.
He walked across the stretch of blue carpet from the presentation room for the last time, past the sleek rectangular desk, and stylish yet uncomfortable chairs. He wouldn't
