Back in the Fray
Second special note: Thank you for your patience and loving forebearance through this tumultuous summer. We were forced to take a brief break from our novella due to the vicissitudes of life. Thank you for returning now that we are back on track!
Faye rubbed her eyes and stared at the screen. Her face, sallow in the pale glow of the monitor, registered her frustration.
Nothing. Still nothing. She scanned the archives of the Boston Public Library's periodicals department. No newspaper follow-up to the investigation of Lily Waterbury's death. And what stories she could find were sentimental, vague and oddly homogenous. Every detail repeated, in paper after paper, with startling regularity. An accident? Impossible. Someone had controlled how the death of Mrs. Waterbury was reported so many years ago. Someone who could control the press. It gave her a chill to contemplate that kind of power.
She hit 'enter.' The next notice appeared. The Cincinnati Plain Dealer. Same story. The Sacramento Bee. Same story. The Los Angeles Herald. Same story. And on and on as she scrolled.
Faye sighed, pushed back from the computer table, and padded softly to the refrigerator. In her tiny studio apartment, the refrigerator shared space with the bed and couch. "It's your one-stop shop for living accommodations," she had kidded herself somberly when she moved in. But this was where they wanted her. She would be safe here, they promised.
Pouring a glass of raspberry-flavored kefir, she contemplated how her life had changed in the last few months. Everything altered after Will and Laura left Chicago - a slow decline from the night of the break-in. Mike had told her too much. A marked woman, she sighed inwardly, a melodramatic knuckle pressed to brow.
And she had maintained her silence. She fabricated the account of her affair with Mike, an act that that marked the death of the Girls with Glasses. She never was able to patch things up with them. So when the second attack came - an attempt to run her down while riding her bicycle down a quiet suburban street - she turned again to Mike for help.
They gave her a new name - Margot Kessler - and transplanted her to Boston. They told her the seedy apartment near Comm Ave was part of the low-profile disguise, but she guessed they just wanted to save on initial costs for rent. Grad school gave way to a less-than-glamorous position editing text for a Web developer. When she saw her first paycheck, she was grateful for the cheap rent for her cramped apartment.
She sipped the thick, tangy beverage, and wandered about the space. In constricted quarters, one had to use one's imagination. Maintaining her anonymity, Faye seldom left her studio. She didn't want to be seen. She didn't want to make herself vulnerable. It was so easy to fade back into the woodwork, a girl who betrayed her friends, succumbed to the pressure of grad school, and simply disappeared. An easy story. Oh, so believable.
But even a 'disappeared' woman needs a hobby. Faye had found one in the Waterbury mystery. It was less than prudent to continue her research, but what else had she in her life?
And a maddening mystery it was. All the stories surrounding Lily's death were identical. No resolution. Her body was never found. In fact, there was never any follow-up report. After the typically histrionic and theatrical memorial, the case was never solved, never reopened, and the question of the circumstances of her disappearance was never again raised in the press.
Faye returned to her chair.
Plain-Dealer. Same story. Faye reached to hit 'enter,' then stopped. A small variation. This story had an accompanying photo she had seen nowhere else. A thin, elegant young man, standing behind a podium. The grainy black-and-white photo couldn't obscure his deep grief. "Philip Huffmann," the caption read, "one of the eulogists for Lily Waterbury."
Philip Huffmann. That was a name she hadn't seen before.
She turned to her folder on Waterbury. Lists of staff members, shareholders, friends and associates. Lists going back twenty-five years. No Philip Huffmann. She turned back to the computer.
Exiting the archive, Faye returned to the keyword search. "Philip Huffmann," she typed. She clicked on the first entry. A newspaper story from the year prior to Lily's death. It was a society feature from the Denver Post recounting a recent Waterbury shareholders dinner.
Faye scanned down the page for more information and blinked in amazement. The location of the affair: a mountain-high resort in Beaver Creek, Colorado.
After printing down the page, Faye returned to the index and clicked on the next entry. Another society page. The Orlando Sentinel, a few months after the Beaver Creek affair. Simon and Lily aboard the newly christened "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride at Disney World in Orlando, Florida. Faye peered at the picture. Just over Simon's right shoulder, there was Philip again. A grainy face, but the aquiline nose and strong but elegant features were unmistakable.
And oddly familiar. As she squinted at the photo, Faye felt an eerie sense of déjà vu. A recognition, but out of context. Who was this oddly familiar, oddly memorable face?
Faye looked for more entries and came up empty. Philip Huffmann, it seems, appeared only as a brief blip on the radar. A few fuzzy images on newsprint, a mention of a name. Then, seemingly, he ceased to exist - just as Lily had. And just as Faye - now Margot - had.
And even more interestingly, he disappeared - without a trace, without a body - not long after Lily had made her exit.
Faye knew this wasn't over. She needed to know more.
She needed help.
She needed vampyr.
*************
Vesper carefully tapped her slim cigarette on the desk and coaxed flame from her silver lighter with a perfectly crafted nail. She inhaled the smoke, luxuriating in its heady warmth, and smiled a long, slow, relaxed smile.
What would Nina Kellogg have said, to see her smoking on Waterbury property? In her short reign, Nina had legislated a new non-smoking policy for the entire Waterbury building. One of Vesper's first changes during her triumphant return to power had been to repeal the ban. Nina, from the administrative hell of Public Relations Project Management, must surely be cursing Vesper's soul.
As if Vesper cared. She'd been places Nina never had and never would. She'd stared down the devil and bluffed him to boot. And she'd triumphed. Not yet, not completely - but soon.
And here she was, nearly a month after that harrowing night at the Paramount, back on top. She'd regained her professional power. She'd contained the disaster that was Chad Bismarck by slowly addicting him to sedatives. Even her cunning bob had grown out to a shimmering, sleek shoulder-length coif - granting her the power of feminine appeal.
Vesper almost purred to recall her triumph that fateful night. For a split-second, she assumed it was all over. Simon had frozen with disbelief at the sight of her, a blank stare of confusion on his wrinkled but cherubic face.
She had to think fast. Substantial losses, she explained. Investments gone awry. She had placed her faith in Internet stock, only to lose it all.
Not entirely plausible, but Simon had bought it. With reservations, though.
His first impulse had been to fire her outright - as if her tenuous and degrading position at Waterbury was worth retaining. She was an embarrassment to the company, he told her. Had she 'serviced' Waterbury clients? Had she been recognized?
As Simon fumed, Vesper thought. Quickly. She'd always had a sixth sense for detecting the critical moments - the moments when absolute risk was required, when potential gains outweighed possible losses. She also knew she had no option.
So she began in slow, measured tones.
"Simon, I understand your concern. But I assure you, you needn't worry. In fact, worry is not an option. I've been discrete in my secondary career, but I feel it's time to return to my mainline. So I've some conditions to set. I'd like to return to my old duties. I'd like to return to my old office. And I'd like a raise."
She paused and smiled. Waterbury turned beet red, and emitted a short barking laugh.
"Before you respond, my dear, I feel it incumbent upon me to remind you that I have nothing to lose. And you have everything to lose. And with what I know, I would gladly bring you down - even if it meant going down with you."
Simon sputtered. "You ... you wouldn't!"
"Oh, I assure you, my dear, I most certainly would. I have no choice. Why, it's been all I can do to keep Shilah and me in pins and notions." She turned to leave, and then paused at the door. "Sorry to cancel your little party in this way. But I really think you should take some time to consider my offer. You know where you can reach me."
As she shut the door behind her, Vesper paused in the hall to catch her breath. She felt the knob tug insistently beneath her hand, and turned to see Simon glowering at her.
"Let's deal," he muttered.
Vesper still felt the flush of triumph and the waves of relief as she recalled that dark night, nearly one month ago. She'd gambled and won. She reached for the phone.
"Veronica, darling? Can you send in Nina. I need her to take dictation."
She smiled and lit up.
*************
Faye leaned into the screen, as if her proximity to the machine would shield her from prying eyes. But prying eyes were everywhere in cyberspace.
Typing in the URL, she suddenly stopped. Damn, she thought. What was the URL? It had been so long since she had logged on. She feared her lines were tapped, her communications monitored, so she had stayed away. But now she needed to reestablish contact.
Finally, her memory hiccuped, and the address came to her. Her long-lost chat. She logged in:
Character Name: bijou
Character Password: ********
Entering the chat, she got straight to business.
you say, "vampyr, are you there?"
A pause. Words filed past.
vampyr says, "bijou! at long last! where have you been, love of my life?"
you say, "cannot tell. through the looking-glass."
vampyr says, "stay away from the mushrooms. one side makes you small."
you say, "i couldn't get much smaller."
vampyr says, "poor small bijou. little jewel."
you say, "i need your help. but not here."
vampyr says, "i'm logging off. goodbye."
Faye logged off, and waited. vampyr would take care of things.
**********
Will waited under the willow. It was all a mystery and he loved mystery. Meet me in the Japanese tea garden. Beneath the willow. Faye has a package for you.
Will had not heard from Faye in months. Her aunt and uncle didn't even know where she was. And then this mysterious stranger, promising mysterious packages. It was all too thrilling.
The phone call had been short. Will tried to get more details, but the mysterious stranger dictated the time and place for the meeting and abruptly hung up. Caller-ID had registered the number, but no name. Will recognized the area code. It came from somewhere in Silicon Valley. Who did Faye know in Silicon Valley?
Will leaned against the trunk and sighed, basking in the golden afternoon. He surveyed the landscape. Carefully manicured lawns, precisely planted flowers. And water, water everywhere. He felt a moment of déjà vu as he recalled the Huntington Library.
And then he spotted him. The mysterious stranger.
He looked as all mysterious strangers should. Slim, pale, almost luminescent in his whiteness. The stranger blinked in the bright sun, clearly a creature of the night and dark places. His ivory face was crowned by a shock of thick black hair that trailed downward to a neatly trimmed beard, the spiky hair on top of his head tipped in silver.
He sighted Will immediately and slowly sauntered toward him. The sun reflected in the small oval frames, hiding his eyes. As he stepped into the shade of the willow, his eyes opened wide, revealing changeable hazel lined in long, dark lashes.
"bijou sent me."
Will gawked and then remembered. Bijou was the password.
"Yes," Will responded uncertainly.
"i have materials for you."
"Thank you," Will answered brightly, taking the package. "So, you come here often?" he quipped.
vampyr looked around nervously. "be careful with that. you shouldn't have it."
Will opened a battered manila envelope and pulled out a sheaf of printouts, newspaper clippings and lists. He blinked as he examined the materials. They were reports from the investigation of Lily Waterbury's death. FBI files. As in 'top secret.'
"Where did you get these," Will yelped, grasping vampyr's arm.
vampyr pulled Will behind the willow into the bushes. "shut your fucking mouth! this is sensitive, okay?"
Oh, Will thought to himself. A hacker. How thrilling!
He leafed through the files, reading snatches from various pages. ... body never recovered ... husband out of country ... no witnesses.
Then he froze.
... Centralia ...
As he began to read further, vampyr pulled the file from him. "bijou said you should look at this" - his finger stabbed at a name, Philip Huffmann.
Will stared at the name quizzically.
"he's all through the file," vampyr continued, and directed Will to some newspaper clippings at the back. He pointed out a small grainy black-and-white photo. A man standing before a podium, apparently in grief. Will nearly dropped the file.
"Sebastian Moffat!"
*************
The dog days had dragged on, and Laura finally found herself doing the inevitable, packing to leave. Nashville awaited. It was time to meet her destiny.
Ugh, she thought, kitchenwares. I hate packing kitchenwares. She saved them for last, when the stress of packing rendered her numb.
Contemplating her impending move, Laura had the mental image of a cartoon cat being thrown out of the house in the middle of the night. Paws spread, claws out, gripping the doorjamb, legs stiff with resistance. No coaxing this kitty.
She reached for another glass, wrapped it in newspaper and placed it in the box. Just as she reached for another, the phone rang.
A break. At last.
"Dial residence ..."
"Laura, it's me!"
"Will?"
"I need you. Everything's changed. How soon can you be in California?"
Be sure to tune in on Thursday, August 12,
(Really! We promise!)
for the
eye-popping and astounding
Chapter 31
of
THE WEBSERIAL
Oh, foo on you all! Only two of our readers (intrepid and imaginative souls, they) dared enter our trivia contest. And so -- they win! The both of them!! (If you'd known it was so easy to win, you would've entered, too. Right?)
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