Eleven
Fisher
I had left hastily, not wanting to engage with Jade any more than was necessary.
I wasn’t concerned that she would change my mind. Nothing would change my mind. But I didn’t necessarily want to spar with her either.
But the way I was feeling, I didn’t know how that would turn out, and I didn’t want her to see me when I wasn’t in complete control, didn’t present my best self.
I wondered why.
It was nonsensical, something that shouldn’t have even rated as a concern, but it did. And I didn’t know why. Or, more honestly, I wouldn’t admit why.
It said a lot, though, more than I even wanted to acknowledge that I was thinking of her now.
I had so many other things that should have been occupying my mind. What I had discovered about Michael Murphy. What I hadn’t discovered. What I should do next.
Those thoughts were there, but instead of being the center of my focus as they would have been before, the thing that drove me, propelled each and every step, this was different. They were there, but they were in the periphery. And instead of focusing on my task, my mind kept being tugged back to her, the sincerity of her words, the earnestness in her expression.
For some reason I couldn’t quite shake them, and I didn’t like that, didn’t understand it.
“Get your shit together, Fisher,” I muttered.
The admonition didn’t work, not fully, but it gave me enough of a jolt to focus on what I was doing.
I drove the nondescript sedan to my secondary location and then switched vehicles.
The SUV was slightly more conspicuous, but it had space for the equipment that I might need, and provided more maneuverability than the sedan.
It also hadn’t been seen anywhere near the hotel, so if, as Jade seemed to think was the case, they had spotted me, they wouldn’t be expecting this vehicle.
I checked the back, saw everything I might need, and satisfied with what I had, I got into the car.
But I didn’t leave immediately.
Instead I sat, pondering.
I’d had a rough idea of what I wanted to do, and how I would do it, but today had changed things whether I liked it or not. Which meant I needed to decide whether to continue with the plan or shift on the fly and go with a different approach.
As I considered, I tried to keep Jade out of my mind, not think about her and what she might want. And I did a very good job of it.
But still, though Jade wasn’t exactly guiding my decisions, I could admit that I had thought of her.
Perhaps she had been onto something.
Even at that thought, my mind wanted to rebel, but I kept myself focused, pondered the possibilities that were in front of me.
From what I had seen so far, the Murphys didn’t live an ostentatious life, not really. But they had things, connections that knitted them together, and that knitted others to them.
It was one of the things I hated most about them, one of the things that made me so envious I was ashamed.
But that source of strength and connection was also a source of great weakness.
Yes they had connections that I’d never had and never would, but they also had weaknesses that I’d never had and never would, and they were there for me to exploit.
The hotel, the pub, the compound that Patrick lived in and that seemed to me to serve as their family base.
All of them were ripe for the picking.
I just had to choose.
I sat silent, my only movement the rhythmic tap of my fingers against the steering wheel.
I didn’t know how long I sat, a few minutes, maybe a bit more, but finally, inspiration struck.
I cranked up the SUV and left the garage.
Jade
I thought I would go crazy with the nerves that made it impossible for me to focus on anything else.
I was stuck here, trying to keep my wits about me, when there was no possible way I could do so.
Not when I didn’t know what Fisher was up to and had no way of finding out.
That was the part that really messed with my mind. I hated not knowing things, hated not having the ability to try to find them out.
But with Fisher I was completely in the dark, stuck in this nice house that was starting to suffocate, left with my own thoughts, which could be a nightmare of their own.
I had paced the entire length of the house twice, and had even given in to temptation and gone into Fisher’s quarters.
I wasn’t sure how long he had been here, but he hadn’t made any attempt to personalize the place. There was nothing to indicate anything at all about him, except for the fact that he seemed a little OCD about the way his clothes were folded.
Otherwise, there was nothing, no personality, nothing that gave me any insight at all into him. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t like he would have kept his diary lying open on the nightstand, but I’d felt compelled to look.
Once I had done that and then paced the house yet again, I went back to the living room and plopped down on the couch, frustrated, exasperated, but not having any outlet for those feelings.
There was nothing I could do.
Wait, that wasn’t exactly true. There was something I could do, but it would involve the final destruction of my life as I had known it, putting the only people I cared about in even more danger than I already had, and betraying Fisher.
That last thought made me shudder, the ridiculousness of it not in any way lessened by the truth of it. Betraying Fisher should have been an oxymoron.
What he had done, what I knew he planned to do, even without the specifics, was nothing good.
And yet, I felt a kinship with him.
I gripped the armrest of the couch, wanting to get up from it, scream, break things. I didn’t though. I just stayed where I sat, knowing that this was my responsibility, my fault, and freaking out wouldn’t help anything.
I also knew that my hypocrisy was sickening. I had betrayed Nya, had essentially tossed over the person I counted as most important in my life for a stranger, and one who I was pretty sure had bad intentions.
A stranger I cared about anyway.
I wanted to scream at the situation, throw my hands up in despair, but I didn’t do any of those things.
Instead I reached for the television remote.
I wouldn’t necessarily say that I enjoyed television all that much, but it sometimes proved to be a soothing distraction from the thoughts that constantly bombarded my mind.
Seeking just that, I turned on the television. But rather than some mindless sitcom or a stupid drama that I could poke holes in, I was greeted with a special report.
I hadn’t even heard what the television said but a chill raced down my spine and right back up again.
I watched, my eyes struggling to interpret what I had seen, and once they had, an eerie feeling, a sick one, one of déjà vu came over me.
M. Lounge and Hotel was on fire.
And I knew who had set it.