I SAT IN A comfy chair under a window, trying to concentrate. It didn’t work. It seemed as if every word that had been spoken to me over the past few days blew through my thoughts like lights from a disco ball. Frustrated, I rose from my seat and found the nearest bathroom. Pushing the door open, I moved to stand in front of the mirror. I stared at my reflection. Deep circles hung under overly wide eyes. Sallow skin looked all the paler under dirty black hair. My clothes looked as if they had been slept in by multiple people. My stomach growled loudly. And my mouth was so dry that my tongue stuck to the roof.
I was a mess. But I wasn’t crazy. Not like they thought I was. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Bender, no one would ever have dreamed of thinking it. They would have seen the truth. That I was on a hunt. And that my ending inched closer and closer every minute.
I splashed cold water on my face and did what I could with my hair. Tucking in my shirt, I looked at myself again. With a grunt, I left the bathroom and saw a vending machine nestled in the corner. My mouth watered. I hit it up, but the best I could do was some Lance crackers. Stuffing two in my mouth, I returned to the same seat. I intended to use the Wi-Fi on my phone and search the internet with a new eye. When I’d done my research earlier, I’d never imagined that this story would grow so spectacular.
For some reason, I checked my email first. As I scanned through the junk, I noticed a message from my mother. I’d almost forgotten that she even had an account. I expected it to be some innocuous note about a little-known third cousin, but I was horribly wrong.
Dear Theodore,
Where are you? I called you five times now but the recording said your phone has been disconnected. I saw the news on Fox 5. The police are looking for you. And a woman came to my apartment. I thought she might be a detective but she didn’t look like it. She started asking me questions about you. And that Bender woman. That dancer. I told you to stay away from her. I don’t know what else I can do. I need to know that you’re okay. Call me, please.
Love, Your Mother
“Nononono.”
I reread the note three times before responding.
Mom, I can’t call right now. My phone is out of charge. Everything’s fine. I promise. But I need to know who the woman was that came to your house. What was her name? Please get back to me immediately.
I hit send and realized I had been holding my breath. When I exhaled, I guess I started to talk to myself.
“What the hell?”
“Shhhh,” someone hissed.
I turned and saw a guy, who looked homeless, sitting at the desktop computers nearby. I hadn’t noticed him before, but now he was glaring at me.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
It was Cassandra, or someone working with her. She’d started working on her documentary. Honestly, I’d thought it was a warning, a threat. I’d never imagined she’d really make a movie about me. Strangely, for just a second, it felt sort of … exciting. An entire documentary about me. That thought vanished quickly.
I leaned in and hit refresh on my email. There was no response. I hit it again and again and again, for how long I have no idea. Maybe a minute. Maybe an hour. Time seemed to have both stopped and careened forward.
Finally, her response popped onto the screen. I opened it, and it was even worse than I could have expected.
Dear Theo,
I’m glad that you’re well. Please call me as soon as you can. I don’t know if she gave me her name, but she was a tall woman, like a man. Had this giant bunch of yellow hair on top of her head. Like someone from the islands. I think she was lying, because she told me she was working for that famous director. You know the one? Or maybe it was his daughter. Yeah, that was it. That famous director’s daughter. Once she said that, I asked her to leave. She was probably one of those crazy hackers that watch the news and try to take advantage of the elderly. Please call me. I’m worried.
Love, Your Mother.
I couldn’t move. It had been Zora. She’d interviewed my mother. She was investigating me. For Cassandra. My eyes closed, and I remembered what she’d said on the phone. That she had moved on already.
“Shit,” I whispered.
And the homeless guy growled.