“I know. I’ve watched you getting depressed and I knew I was responsible. I just didn’t know how to stop lying. I wanted you to have no one else, so that you would need me,” Zachary admits. “This isn’t like me, Sophie. I haven’t been the same since I got home. I’m really fucked up in the head… but I do love you.”
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I try to fight back my anger, shock, indignation, and above all, overwhelming relief. He never stopped writing to me. Unshed tears of joy replace my tears of rage, but there is no time to let them fall. Once I break the seal and let a few tears slip, I’ll never be able to withhold the rest. Besides, I won’t give Zachary the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
Lifting my chin proudly, I glare at him while mentally planning my trip to California. I don’t care if I lose my job—Cole is all that matters now. I inwardly calculate how many of my belongings I can quickly grab before rushing out of Zachary’s apartment. It’s been a while since I had to abandon ship in a hurry, but I’m pretty sure I remember how it’s done. I just need to stuff some clothes into a backpack, and…
“I have all the letters,” Zack promises. “I always meant to give them to you, but—”
It’s easy to ignore Zack as I rush around and begin packing. A pair of jeans and a few tops, some underwear, and a bra. Just the essentials. A toothbrush, a hairbrush, a razor. Everything else should already be in my purse.
“Sophie?” Zachary sounds genuinely guilty now as he clears his throat. “This might be a bad time to bring this up, but I think I saw something about your brother on the news recently.”
“He’s always on the news,” I say in annoyance as I sling my backpack over my shoulder. There. Done. All packed, in record time.
“It was different. I think he was hospitalized.”
I am halfway to the door of our apartment when I swivel around. “You didn’t think it was important to tell me this sooner?”
“I thought you would have seen it. I know you’ve been spending time at Starbucks lately…”
The fact is, I haven’t been to any coffee shops. I’ve been working late, and lying about my whereabouts. I frown deeply. “You know I don’t watch television, Zachary.”
“I didn’t take it seriously at the time. You know those Hollywood types and their drugs and rehab. It’s always drama with celebrities on the West Coast.”
“Cole isn’t a celebrity. He’s an architect.”
“He’s a celebrity architect, Soph. But if you think something is really wrong, I will do whatever I can to help out.”
Considering this for a second, I nod. “Get me your phone,” I demand. Zack scrambles in his pockets for his phone, but realizes he left it in his jacket, and has to limp over to the closet.
It may have been a while since I was last in the same room with my brother, but it’s been even longer since I’ve touched a device that could connect me to the Internet. I was banned from going online for years after I was caught hacking, but even after the ban was lifted, my employers thought it best that I do all my work with a paper and pencil. It was safer.
They wouldn’t even let me have a landline.
For the longest time, I thought I needed this restriction. I thought it was healthy.
I was an addict, after all, and putting a keyboard in my hands gave me way more power than any one girl is supposed to have. It was worse than giving Zack, and all the members of his squadron, fully-loaded, high-powered assault rifles. It took me a while to detox from the thrill of my cybercrimes, but I was reformed and I had repented. Besides, I enjoyed my new job, and they certainly paid me well enough.
When Zack returns from the closet with his cell phone, he extends his hand containing the slender object toward me. I stare at it warily, like an alcoholic looking at a gorgeous, perfectly mixed cocktail. I am about to reach out and take it, but when my fingers are a few inches from the tiny piece of technology, I hesitate and withdraw.
No. There are other ways to get information. I can find out what I need to know while getting away from here. Heading to the door of our apartment, I unlock the bolt and turn the doorknob so I can march out into the hallway.
“Wait!” Zack calls, limping after me in his sweatpants.
I see it then, at our neighbor’s doorstep. A newspaper. Stooping to snatch it off the floor, I quickly rifle through to the business section. I am scanning through the pages rapidly when I see Zack pointing to the newspapers in my left hand. His face is ashen and his eyes are wide.
“Soph…” he breathes.
My forehead creases as I turn back to the front page. The front page of all the sections. For a moment, the hallway spins around me as the headline grows blurry in my eyes. I stare at the letters so hard that I can see the molecules of ink staining the cream-colored newsprint. I can’t seem to focus on the individual words. In a caffeinated frenzy, my eyes dart around the paper like it is an encrypted message, and each symbol and image is a clue to decipher.
I feel suddenly weightless; the sentences on the page are alive and malicious.
The words swirl around in a maelstrom of black ink, and I know that they want to drown me.
VISIONARY CEO MURDERED IN HOSPITAL HE BUILT
Cole Hunter, the prodigy architect, was known for his cutting-edge designs and is responsible for hundreds of landmark buildings all over the world. He was not even thirty years old when he was gunned down late last night…
The paper seems suddenly very heavy, as though all
