Chapter Two

24 HOURS EARLIER

"You know this isn't fair, Peter."

Eden's middle-aged employer fingered the edges of his grease-spattered apron. Staring uneasily at the grimy floors of the kitchen, he purposely avoided looking in the eyes of his employee. Her back-and-forth pacing was beginning to make him a little queasy. Scratching at the back of his neck and flicking away the guilty sweat trickling down, he tried to reason with her.

"Eden, I'm sorry, but my decision's final," he began. His bushy mustache wiggled under his bulbous nose as he sniffed. "I gave you a couple of chances after you came in late a few times. You acted up the other night. We can't afford to have you scaring away any more of our customers."

"Acting up? I don't care how regular of a client Mr. Paisley is. That creep grabbed a handful of my left tit! All I did was defend myself and knock him on his ass. I could have done a lot worse. Besides, someone got it on camera. The video's going viral. If anything, I'm bringing you publicity and deserve a bonus."

To make her point, the woman yanked open the door to the dining area. Jabbing a finger at the bustling atmosphere of the fully-occupied diner, she finished bitterly, "I would appreciate it if you didn't give me any of your crap."

"Don't start with me, Eden. You're a good waitress, but you're too tense. You need to learn how to go with the flow a little more. I'm sure you'll find something else soon enough."

"That was textbook sexual harassment! You know what? I could sue you for this," she blurted. Her face instantly blushed when she saw the smug expression on her employer's face.

It was an unspoken understanding. Both knew perfectly well it was an empty threat. She wasn't about to take anyone to court over a waitress job that barely dished out the state of New York's minimum wage. She swallowed her smart remarks, doing her best to ignore the shaking heads of the line cooks.

They had their backs turned away from her. They pretended not to listen and continued their duties amidst the drama. Hanging her head in defeat, she marched towards the employee lockers and began to empty out her belongings. She pulled on an old jacket and slid her purse onto her shoulder, stomping towards the exit.

"Eden, wait."

"Yes?"

She spun around, her round eyes glimmering with hope.

"Do you want to bring home one of the cornbread muffins you like so much? This one's on the house, free of charge."

Fuming, she rolled her eyes and stormed out the rear door of the diner.

"You know what, Peter, you keep that muffin to yourself. Do me a favor and shove it up your ass."

The door slammed shut in her face, inches from her nose.

"Your muffin was dry and bland as hell!" she barked at the closed door. "I've had better!"

As Eden held her jacket close to her body, a cloud of fluffy stuffing wheezed out from the parka. She trudged across the slushy snow coating the sidewalks of Bedford Avenue. It was taking everything in her to stay stable. The struggle to stay warm was the only thing preventing her from shattering. Crying wouldn't have made her feel better. The gusty winds of the harsh Brooklyn winter would have frozen her tears solid.

Eden stopped in front of an elderly vendor with a toothy smile. The fragrant steam wafting from his cart grabbed her attention. She decided to treat herself to a falafel pita sandwich and plopped down on a ledge across the mobile eatery. Her mouth was watering, and she greedily bit into her food. The sandwich was too hot, and she finally lost control. Eden's eyes welled up with tears. The flavor of the Middle Eastern dish was lost on her scorched taste buds as she angrily threw the meal away from her.

"Great," she muttered sarcastically, scowling at her sandwich. She had scattered it across the pavement.

"Is it okay if I sit here?"

Eden inched aside, smiling weakly at a dark-haired woman rolling up next to her, pushing a grocery cart filled with junk.

"Of course."

The stranger raked a hand through her brusquely chopped pixie cut as she settled next to Eden. She stuffed a hand into the pocket of her flimsy windbreaker, producing a half-crushed box of Newports. Slipping a cigarette between her chapped lips, she offered one to Eden.

"Want one? Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you've had a rough day."

Eden hadn't smoked since high school, and even then, she only blackened her young lungs to fit in with the cool kids. But with her life going to hell at this point, she desperately needed a vice to keep her head from imploding. Shrugging, she gladly accepted a cigarette, allowing the stranger to light up for her.

"Thanks. Are you hungry?"

"Always. Anything helps."

Eden handed her a crumpled five-dollar bill as a slight wave of smoke drifted out of her lips.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. You know, if you need to vent or anything, I'm all ears."

"Um, that's all right."

"You don't have to be uncomfortable about my situation. We've all got problems. Let me guess. It's around two in the afternoon now, and you're cruising the streets with a bunch of your stuff. Did you just get canned?"

"You must be a detective," Eden quipped, nodding. "I won't miss getting boils on my arms from the deep fryer or scrubbing vomit off the countertops. It was a shitty job, but it paid money."

"I understand. I worked in telemarketing for a while, but I was let go. Long story short, I lived paycheck to paycheck and student loans were killing me. Next thing you know, here I am."

"That's tough."

"Wait a second. I know you. You're that girl from that video, aren't you? One of my friends showed it to me when I crashed at his place yesterday. You made the front page of World Star. With good reason – that dude sailed! Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"The martial arts club I joined back in high school paid off, I guess. I took some free self-defense classes at Hard Knocks Gym down at 5th too," said Eden pointedly, crushing the cigarette stub under her sneakers. "It ended up getting me fired. I keep wanting to feel some remorse, but I don't. You know what? If I could rewind time to that day, I'd do the same thing. The only difference is, this time, we'd both get locked up."

"That's why you got fired?" the stranger asked, tutting disapprovingly. "That's low. I'm sorry, you want another cig?"

"No, I'm good, thanks," Eden declined, her shoulders sagging. "It wouldn't be so bad if I were on my own. You know me. Well, I guess you don't, but I'm the queen of bouncing back. It's tough this time, though. Dad's cancer has spread to his stomach. His medical bills are piling up. My sister Janine's tuition fees are due in two weeks."

The stranger listened to her quietly, inserting appropriate "mms" and "ahs" at the correct moments as Eden unloaded her thoughts.

"I moonlight as a cleaner at a department store. I babysit for one of my neighbors too, but that's just on Tuesdays and weekends. The job at the diner was our main bread and butter."

"Do you ever sleep? I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, either. I wish there were something I could do to help you, but I've only got good vibes to spread around."

"Thanks for listening. I feel a little better, I suppose," mumbled Eden, exhaling glumly. She reached into her purse for her thermos and began wrestling with the busted lid. "It's just been...ah, crap."

She'd yanked a little too hard. Coffee spurted out of her thermos, spraying onto her clothes. The stranger frowned and began rummaging through her cart. She handed Eden a crumpled flier to mop up the coffee bleeding onto her jeans.

"I think I pissed off a god of fortune today or something."

Eden flattened the flier between her fingertips, but just as she began sweeping it against her damp thigh, something caught her eye. As she reread the obscure wording on the flier, a single, inquisitive eyebrow began rising.

"Where'd you get this? Can I keep it?"

"Sure. A man was handing them out at Empire Boulevard." The stranger snorted. "I'm pretty sure that thing's a..."

"Hey, thanks for everything. I have to go now. Take care!"

"...scam." By the time the stranger completed her sentence, Eden had already disappeared around the corner.

Eden hopped off the bus and looked thoughtfully at a flier she must have read over a hundred times. She walked toward a narrow, four-story building wedged between two lofty skyscrapers. With all the upscale boutiques and modern office towers lining Hawthorne Road, the building appeared strikingly ordinary. An old, hand-painted sign bore a single word in faded crimson – TerraMates.

Eden supposed they were going for function over style. As she crept closer to the building and peeked through the sealed blinds of a window, beads of perspiration collected on her forehead.

Part of her wanted to turn around and walk back to the bus stop without even going into the building. Another part that dominated her thinking urged her to stay. It wasn't like she was born yesterday. In this part of town, matchmaking was nothing like reality television.

Candidates weren't paired up based on mutual hobbies and interests. You were filed into separate categories based on your physical description, the size of your chest, and you were shipped off to the highest bidder. Her head spun thinking about the danger.

At the same time, an image of her father appeared in her mind's eye. They had said their goodbyes before she left for work that morning.

Cancer had reduced his sturdy build to a sad, bedridden shadow of himself. Sallow skin clung to his bones, and the countless rounds of chemotherapy had him struggling to keep his eyes open for more than an hour or two at a time. These were the remnants of a man who had put his professional quarterback aspirations on hold to raise two young girls abandoned by their mother.

And of course, there was Janine – an absolute genius blessed with street smarts and academic intelligence. When Eden was unable to complete community college because their father fell ill, the goal-driven Janine was the only person in the family who stood a chance to escape their family's cycle of poverty.

In the end, Eden was already in front of TerraMates, and she had nowhere else to be at the moment. Perhaps today she would be pleasantly surprised. Was a cultured European gentleman who had lost his wife and was looking for companionship waiting for her? Ignoring the tight knots lacing her stomach, she gently pushed open the front door to the building.

Eden tried not to gawk at her surroundings, but she could feel her chin slowly lowering in amazement. Inside the building was a spotless office with state-of-the-art equipment and floors so white you could check your teeth for lipstick smears off of it. TerraMates agents attended to attractive young women inside straight rows of cubicles.

She hesitated and nervously fiddled with the worn strap of her purse. As she lost her nerve and turned her body back toward the entrance, a woman in a sleek, all-black pantsuit and a bleached, shoulder-length bob caught up to her. She smiled and stretched her arms over the door, barring the exit.

"Welcome to TerraMates. Are you lost?"

"Sorry," said Eden hurriedly. "It looks like you're full. I'll come back another time."

"Nonsense, I'll take care of you personally," said the woman cheerfully, the bangles on her arms jingling as she beckoned her forward. "I'm Jennifer Daley, the director here. Please, follow me."

Eden's forehead wrinkled warily as her eyes drifted back to the door handle. Sucking air in through her teeth, she moved her stubborn feet and followed Ms. Daley to a tubular, glass elevator at the far end of the office. They arrived on the basement floor. Eden watched as they walked past a display of flashing lights behind curtains, ending up at what appeared to be photo booth stations.

"What's your name?"

"Eden. Eden Castle."

"Great, Eden. You're beautiful, by the way. Frank will hold your things for you," Ms. Daley ordered, taking Eden's belongings and shoving them to a skinny man wearing an ill-fitting doctor's coat. "First things first. Let's have your picture taken."

"My picture?" Eden repeated, puzzled. Ms. Daley pulled her behind a curtain and placed her on a seat in front of a white backdrop. Eden brushed a finger across her lips self-consciously and grabbed a handful of her unruly, unwashed hair. "I'm not exactly presentable right now."

It was too late. She heard a camera take a few pictures, and she blinked furiously. She saw spots from the sudden flash of light.

"That will do. Follow me, please."

Eden shook her head, feeling naked without any of the possessions she had brought into the establishment. This was already one of the strangest interviews she had experienced, and this included a prospective employer from Brooklyn Heights, who would only address her breasts. Still, against her better judgment, Eden followed behind Ms. Daley, who was walking to her private office in stiletto heels.

"Please, have a seat."

Eden pulled up a chair opposite to Ms. Daley. Her hands rested uncomfortably on her lap as she looked at a woman whose features were rendered indecipherable from years of botox treatments. Frank entered the room a few moments later, handing the director a clipboard and a thick manila folder. As Frank retired silently to the corner, Ms. Daley skimmed through the contents of the clipboard before finally breaking the silence.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thank you."

"Eden, I take it this is your first time interacting with the matchmaking industry."

"Is it that obvious?" said Eden. She noticed she was jiggling her leg self-consciously and tried to stop it. "I'm not sure how this works, exactly. To be honest, I need the money."

"It looks like you're in luck. How would you feel about being stationed...overseas? There is a gentleman who's willing to pay quite a bit for a natural redhead."

Goose bumps appeared on Eden's covered arms as she listened to the nonchalant objectification coming from the woman's lips. Ms. Daley made it sound like she was offering Eden bonus health and security benefits. Eden opened her mouth to speak, but Ms. Daley, perhaps sensing her reluctance, spoke again.

"I apologize for the bluntness. Sometimes I forget it's everyone else's first time. Here," said Ms. Daley, pulling out a massive contract from a folder and sliding it across the table. "Our agency guarantees your safety and well-being, as well as a complete confidentiality clause."

Ms. Daley's words dwindled to static in Eden's ears as her eyes focused on the total amount in bold, sitting front and center on the first page of the agreement.

"Is this a typo? All these credits up front?" Eden asked in disbelief.

It couldn't be real. With all this money, they'd be able to fly her father to Dallas for the treatment he desperately needed. They could start paying the mortgage on the house again. Janine's tuition bills would be paid. Even better, they would be able to afford a school she deserved. This was too sweet of a treat, and up until this point in her life, they had not existed.

"The contract is real," said Ms. Daley. "That's why I was so forward with you in the first place. If you're not interested, there are plenty of others waiting in line behind you."

Where am I going?, Eden thought to herself. What she said was, "Where do I sign"? She grabbed the fountain pen resting on the table.

Ms. Daley leaned forward eagerly, flipping over page after page as Eden hastily scribbled her signature in circles and across dotted lines. But as Eden was busily signing her initials on the last page, she failed to notice Frank's figure sneaking up behind her.

As soon as Eden lifted the point of the pen off the crisp sheet, she smelled the peculiar scent of rubber and latex. She thrashed her arms but stopped struggling when she felt a sharp prick on the side of her neck.

Within seconds, Eden had slumped over the chair.