In Icarus' Shadow

By Matthew Jones

An aspiring reporter, determined to emerge from her father's shadow, finds herself in trouble when a meeting with a contact turns sour. When a kind stranger comes to her rescue, she enlists his help in uncovering the reasons behind the set up. Hoping to find the story she had been after, the pair stumble upon more than they had bargained for, contending with forces both mundane and... less so.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew Jones
• Release date: Dec 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301978076

Matthew Jones

Matthew Jones is a writer and editor, with a particular interest in military, maritime and transport history. He lives in London.

Book preview

Chapter One

Nadia Lawson raised her collar against the wind as she walked down the street. It was early April, but winter had not quite released its grip. And while she was glad to be done with boots and heavy clothing, it wasn't quite time to put away her jacket just yet, particularly with the day overcast the way it was. Still, the brisk nip carried by the breeze was not nearly enough to keep the sidewalk from being crowded with people; that was how it worked in downtown Ottawa, after all. She was only a few blocks from the Rideau Centre, which was a crowded area no matter what time of the year it was. Stepping out of the solid mass of moving people and up against the wall of a building, she fished around in her pocket and, finding what she was after, produced a note, upon which she had scribbled an address and a time. Referencing a nearby street sign and her watch, she nodded in satisfaction of her timeliness and continued on through the crowds, sidestepping her way around a mother pushing her two children in a stroller with a fond smile at the little ones as they cooed up at her in passing.

Despite having to navigate the crowds, Nadia was excited. Ecstatic, even. She could not believe she had finally gotten a lead on her story. And after months of getting nowhere and stubbornly ignoring the ridicule she received in regards to her work, it was more than welcome. She admitted that the idea of her story was a little far-fetched. Investigating whether some of the 'monster hoaxes' of the past had been deliberately orchestrated to bias the public's opinion against the paranormal was not something most people would take seriously. And it wasn't that she disagreed with the idea either; the witch hunts of the 16th and 17th century were compelling evidence of what could go wrong when a society believed too strongly in the supernatural. But she was determined to make a name for herself as a journalist; and if she uncovered proof that it had all been engineered she would do exactly that.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she came to the corner of a building and saw a mark chalked onto its brick; it was little more than an 'L', for Lawson, drawn in a stark white squeezed in between two different pieces of graffiti, but it was what she had been told to look out for. Retrieving the note from her pocket, she compared the address she had been given to that of the marked building. Satisfied that she was in the right place she pulled a mirror from her opposite pocket, taking a moment to make sure she looked professional. Her raven hair was up in a ponytail and her green eyes had, thankfully, shed the look of being half-asleep that she so detested having in the mornings. Nodding at her reflection she proceeded into the alley, taking a few steadying breaths as she gripped the strap of her camera bag. She saw it was a dead-end right away; and with precious little in it save for some litter and more graffiti. She frowned, but chided herself for being nervous. This was her chance and she would not blow it because she was feeling skittish. Besides, the worst her contact could tell her was that he didn't know anything substantial, and she had definitely heard that before. Besides, there were plenty of people passing by, what could go wrong?

She turned as she heard footsteps scraping across the pavement behind her. A tall, thin man dressed in dirty, patched jeans and a weathered jacket was framed in the entrance of the alleyway, sizing her up. She cleared her throat. Hello? Are you the one who offered to help with my story?

He swaggered into the alley, nodding. Yeah, that's me.

Her breath caught as he continued to approach, accompanied by a sinking feeling in her stomach that told her she may not have thought this through quite as well as she should have. She backed away slowly, keeping at least a foot between herself and the hostile presence of the man. Feeling a need for something in her hands to defend herself with, she slipped the strap of her bag from her shoulder and held it tightly.

That's close enough. She winced at the crack in her voice and the man smirked. She brandished her bag at him and he stopped his approach, although she was practically against the wall as it was. Now tell me what you know, so I can go home.

He shrugged. You want me to spill? Fine. Here's the facts. A buddy of mine stopped by a couple days ago, gave me your name and two hundred bucks, asked me to set you straight about sticking your nose into folks' business. You follow me?

Yeah, I follow you. She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag, but hesitated to swing. Despite the situation she found herself oddly concerned with damaging her camera.

The sound of a man clearing his throat pierced the tension, catching both of their notice. Nadia felt a slight upsurge of hope as she saw the new arrival, a young man who appeared to be of roughly her own age. He was clean, shaven and his clothes actually fit; all of which were positive marks in her book. He was about six feet tall, with a medium build and, though his dirty blond hair and friendly blue eyes did not make for an imposing countenance, she had never been so happy to see a stranger. The thug accosting her, however, was not quite as thrilled by the interruption. He glared reproachfully at the newcomer for a moment before turning fully around to address the issue. Nadia, now behind her would-be assailant, saw the back of the thug's jacket bore a graffiti-style design; which she assumed spelled something, but to her looked basically like an overturned plate of spaghetti.

The man with the pasta-like jacket design scowled down at their uninvited guest. What do you want? We're in the middle of something here.

The young man smiled, a little too cheerfully. Oh, sorry, I hadn't realized. I won't be a minute, honest. You see, I was walking past and I nearly fell over a section of piping. He hefted the object in question into view: a foot and a half of rusted but solid metal. I heard voices and thought I would warn you not to trip over it yourself. You could be seriously hurt from a stumble like that.

Pasta-jacket looked distinctly put out by the veiled threat, but knew when to beat a hasty retreat. Point taken, little man, I'm not sticking around to get my head bashed in. He glared at Nadia. You just stop sticking your nose in other people's business. With that parting remark he edged past the pipe-bearing youth, disappearing around the corner and into the passing crowd. With the immediate danger passed, Nadia used the opportunity for a deep breath of relief.

The man set the pipe down on the ground, careful not to drop it on his foot. He wiped his hands off on his jeans, taking a deep breath of his own as he straightened up. He turned to Nadia, his forced bravado traded for a look of slightly shaken concern. Thank goodness that's over. Are you all right? That is, he didn't hurt you, did he?

She shook her head, slumping against the back wall for a moment to gather herself. No, I'm fine, thank you, Mr...?

He smiled. Carmichael. Thomas Carmichael. But Thomas will do just fine. And you are?

Nadia Lawson. She nodded at his introduction, but frowned as it sank in that her lead hadn't gotten her anywhere. Scuffing the toe of her shoe against the pavement, she sighed and straightened up as well. Well, thanks, Thomas. Sorry, but I have to get home. I've got... well, nothing to do, but it's about the only place I want to be just now.

He looked at her, obviously not following; how could he have, without knowing anything about what she had even been doing in an alley to begin with? What's wrong?

If I told you, you'd laugh.

Thomas smiled encouragingly, miming that she should proceed anyway with his hands. Try me.

She studied him for a moment and decided he meant it. It was worth a shot, at least. I'm a journalist. Or, I want to be one. I'm working on a piece to prove that the paranormal has been intentionally discredited by our media.

He processed this for a moment. Do you have any proof, yet? Or any theories as to why they would go to the trouble of doing that?

She was taken off-guard for a moment as she realized he hadn't begun mocking her. Uh, well, no, not yet. This was my first real lead. Or, I thought it was. She stopped herself and looked him in the eye. Wait. Are you really taking this seriously?

He nodded. Yes, I am. And, if you ask me, you still have a lead.

I do?

Yeah. He's sauntering down the street right now.

Nadia almost kicked herself; she dashed out of the alley, going in the direction the spaghetti-backed man had gone as fast as she could without actually breaking into a run, weaving between the flock of people headed in the same direction she was. Growling quietly to herself, she stood on tip-toe to try and pick her quarry out from amidst the dozens of other people, but without much luck. Coming up on a local bus stop, the masses ahead of her abruptly thinned as a dozen or so sprinted to catch the city bus that pulled up behind her as she passed; and, to her great satisfaction, Pasta-jacket came into view at the same time. Determined not to lose him again, she kept her eyes locked on the back of his head, even as Thomas jogged lightly to catch up to her. As he fell into step beside her, she flashed him a grateful smile before turning back to the matter at hand. Thanks. I wasn't thinking clearly, you're absolutely right. Even if it has nothing to do with my story, something is going on here.

Thomas nodded, seeming a little nervous about the idea of following someone. Yeah, but aren't you going to call the police or something? If that guy was willing to assault you, no questions asked, for two hundred bucks, I'm willing to bet his friends aren't exactly a stand-up bunch.

Nadia shrugged. They would just detain him and ask if I wanted to press charges. The moment I mention my investigation, they'll think it's some kind of prank. Everyone else does.

Her new acquaintance sighed. I have to admit you've got a point. All right, all right, fine. I'm coming with you.

She raised an eyebrow, turning to him for a moment to make sure he saw it. Why?

He threw his hands up in exasperation. Because it's dangerous, that's why!

She grinned, both in gratitude for his help and in amusement at his frustrated worries. Well, then welcome aboard, Mr. Carmichael. Just remember, this is my scoop, so you're working for me.

Thomas rolled his eyes. It's just Thomas. And I'm a volunteer, not your employee.

She laughed and was about to reply when a flurry of movement drew her attention ahead of them. Their quarry had jogged across the street and was fumbling with the door of a red, slightly rusty car. Nadia scowled, knowing her own vehicle was a block away.

Just isn't my day today, she sighed.

No kidding. Any ideas?

She shook her head, but in the process of doing so caught a glimpse of something that changed her mind. Why yes, yes I do. She turned and waved to attract the attention of what she had seen. Taxi!

Thomas chuckled, going around to get in the far side as the car pulled to a stop at the curb. Seeing the driver's enquiring glance in the rear-view mirror, Nadia flashed her most winning smile. We're going where he's going, she informed the man, pointing to the red vehicle across the street. But try not to let him know that, all right?

The cab driver followed the red vehicle like he was a trained professional, through lights, around corners and down the one-way streets the downtown area was infamous for. Nadia was not as impressed by this as Thomas was; it had taken the promise of an extra twenty dollars to convince the driver to follow the car in the first place. Still, nothing could dampen her spirits so long as the hope of progress on her story lay before her. Pasta-jacket drove ahead and if he knew he was being followed he did not show it, taking them on a twisting route through downtown Ottawa. Outside the cab's windows they saw tiny, two-floor heritage buildings built of ageing, rust-coloured brick squashed between modern giants of glass and steel. Nadia smiled to herself, remembering the first time her parents had brought her here and how astounded she had been by the vibrant atmosphere of the area. The old buildings, right alongside the new, displayed colourful signs proclaiming what was within, while old, chipped paint hinted at the building's original purpose. The whole area was a bulletin board of sorts, where anyone and anything could be found, from small shops to large businesses. She caught a glimpse of Parliament Hill through the aisles of steel and brick, its aged but beautiful architecture further showcasing the area's diversity.

But it was hardly the time for sightseeing and they soon passed from the cultural melting pot that was the downtown area. Their pursuit led them, ultimately, to a parking garage, where their unsuspecting lead left his car and got out to continue on foot. Paying the cab driver, the pair followed at a distance, infinitely grateful that this part of town had only the occasional fellow pedestrian to share the sidewalk with; it was much easier to follow someone when you could actually see them from a distance. The area they were in now had been built up around a few warehouses, but when the industries operating the spaces had folded the area had quickly fallen into disrepair. Pasta-Jacket seemed right at home, however, swaggering down the street the way he was.

Thomas could feel himself beginning to sweat as he considered what exactly it was they were doing. It was fairly obvious that they were in one of the city's low-rent areas by this point; their clothes alone marked them as outsiders. Nadia snapped him out of his worried thoughts with a tug on his sleeve, and pointed after their mark. Thomas followed her gesture and saw him entering a run-down motel complex that now seemed to serve as something of a horizontal apartment block. Watching from afar, they saw Pasta-Jacket enter room sixteen and shut the door behind himself, effectively marking the end of their trip.

Nadia drew Thomas into the alley behind the complex, speaking in a stage whisper that absolutely reeked of conspiracy; had anyone actually been able to hear, Thomas was confident they would instantly know the pair were up to something. All right, we've gotten this far. Help me find the window to his room.

Thomas gaped. You can't be serious! We already stick out like sore thumbs here, what are we going to do if somebody sees us? There can't be a cop within six blocks of here!

She put a finger over his mouth, tutting in disapproval. Hush it, would you? Somebody's going to hear you and then where will all of your worrying have gotten us? Now, let's find the window so you can boost me up.

Thomas blinked, taken off-guard by the finger on his mouth. He sighed as he realized he couldn't talk her out of it and instead resolved to get this over with as quickly as possible. Nodding his agreement, he started down the alley with her, counting the windows. Maybe he did worry too much, but he was becoming increasingly convinced that Nadia didn't worry at all.

Chapter Two

Jason growled to himself as he strode to his car, shoving his way through a gaggle of teenagers that found themselves in his path and ignoring the complaints they aimed at his back as he stormed on. He had been stupid, not bringing any kind of insurance when he was hassling the girl. She had been stupid, not giving up when she knew damned well she couldn't get away. That punk with the section of plumbing had been stupid, just for turning up when he did. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And now, just to crown his day, he had to drive all the way across town to some shoddy motel to get his balls busted. He knew that he would probably be missing the two hundred in his wallet before the day was out; that grated on his nerves worst of all.

The drive to the motel was a long one, mostly because of traffic, but he didn't see most of it glaring at the road in front of him the way he was. He swore at a few tailgaters, made a rude gesture or two at select pedestrians and almost felt better by the time he pulled into the parking garage a few blocks from his destination. It didn't last. Walking across the sparsely occupied parking lot of the old motel, he felt the pit in his stomach widening and his courage sliding into its maw. It took a concerted effort to climb the creaking metal stairs to the second floor and a near-Herculean one to knock on the door of room sixteen.

He flinched as the faded green door opened inward, a wide-shouldered silhouette filling the frame in its absence. Jason. Come in.

Jason swallowed, squeezing against the wall's yellowed paint to circumvent the giant as it closed the door behind him. Thanks. How've you been, Ty?

The big man placed one of his frying-pan hands on Jason's shoulder, eliciting a small squeak from his guest. Same as the last time I saw you, a couple days ago. Step into my office.

Jason felt himself being steered along, his host's bass tones still echoing in his throat. With a light push from his host, he found himself seated. Which was for the best, really, since his legs would not stop shaking. So... good, then?

The giant sat opposite him. His desk was a comically tiny thing; it seemed to come up to no higher than his waist. Even the window set into the wall behind his desk was barely noticeable around his massive torso, with only the hint of a cool breeze making it around the veritable landmass that now sat opposite Jason. Glancing at Jason, he idly straightened some papers on his desk. That depends on what you've come to tell me, now doesn't it?

Jason could feel the sweat crawling down his back; he would have been nervous, had he had to tell anyone what he was here to say. The fact that he had to say it to this particular man made it worse. Tyrone Burgess was, in a word, intimidating. It wasn't the way he kept his face and head completely clean-shaven, or the way those stern, brown eyes could pin you like a butterfly. No, the reason was far simpler; the man was enormous. Coming up on eight feet tall, his shoulders scraped either side of a doorway when he passed through one. The rippling muscles under his dark satin skin reinforced what you already knew; this was not a man you wanted angry with you, not if he worked on the shady side of the law. And Tyrone had a history of doing just that.

Jason swallowed again, a lump already formed in his throat. Well... I scared the girl pretty good, Ty.

The man smiled, flashing white teeth. Good. She’s spending a little time in the hospital, then?

Uh, well, no, not exactly. He flinched as Tyrone's expression hardened. But she had help! Some punk kid turned up with a piece of steel piping, the hell was I supposed to do, get my head busted in?

Tyrone sighed; a long, deep sound reminiscent of a dry wind echoing in the bowels of an empty well. So she's not hurt, she walked away with her rescuer and, instead of busting up their little fairy tale, you came crawling back here. That about right, Jason?

Jason swallowed, his throat scraping as he found himself parched. Y-yes... but Tyrone... He stopped as the big man held up a hand.

Before you start spilling your guts trying to get me to let you off, don't. It would only insult me. Do you know why that is, Jason?

No, I don't. Uh, Sir.

It's because I'm not like you. When I send someone like you to handle something, I don't send him alone. Do you know why that is, Jason?

Jason felt some part of him raising rancour at the big man's condescension, but he hastily squashed it down. No Sir, I don't.

To put it bluntly, it's because you're an amateur. So the one I'm mad at, right now, is the man who was supposed to be there to make sure you did the job right.

Jason felt the tiniest ray of hope enter his thoughts; he might just make it out of the room without needing a cast. So... I'm off the hook?

Tyrone chuckled ominously, the rumblings in his chest causing his desk to vibrate. No. Not yet. First, you're going to help me find the man. I don't appreciate it when my business partners fail to hold up their end of a deal.

Jason felt his hopes turn to lead and drop into his gut. Oh... I mean, of course. Where do I go, then?

Right back where you started. Last I heard from him, he had been setting up on a rooftop where he could see the spot you were supposed to meet the lady at. He goes by Mr. Black, but I doubt it's his real name. It doesn't matter, a man can't just disappear. He leaves a trail. I've got some friends looking around for it right now, but you're going to go lend them an extra pair of eyes. You get me?

Jason nodded hastily. Yes Sir, I get you, loud and clear. I'll head over there right now.

Tyrone waved his assurances aside without so much as a glance, already turning his attention to the paperwork on his desk. Get your lips off of my ass, Jason. Move.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thomas ground his forehead into the coarse texture of the aged brick. It hurt, but not nearly as much as the toes of two shoes digging into either of his shoulders. In retrospect, he should really have made Nadia take them off before climbing up to listen at the window. Still, it had been a chore in itself to get her upright and balanced; she had flatly refused to come down without overhearing the entire conversation going on inside room sixteen. He couldn't hear a damned thing, but she kept whispering to herself about some 'Pasta-jacket' and craning herself to get nearer to the window; which was excruciatingly distracting, in all honesty. When she finally signalled that he could put her down, it was all he could do to keep himself from dropping her.

Leaning his back against the wall, he massaged his shoulders gingerly, wincing as his fingers made contact with the dents in his skin. So?

Nadia paced before him, apparently oblivious to his discomfort while gathering her thoughts. Fishing a notepad and pencil out of her camera-bag, she took up a spot beside him up against the wall. Pasta-jacket Jason wasn't supposed to be alone when he cornered me in the alley.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. ...The hell kind of a nickname is Pasta-jacket Jason?

His off-topic question prompted a sigh and Nadia gave him an exasperated look. Oh hush you, just stand there and listen. Now then; Pasta-jacket was supposed to have someone looking out for him when he cornered me. Some... I don't know, he sounded sort of like a hit-man or mercenary. Mr. Black. Obviously an alias, but it's something to go on at least. They didn't say why they needed to keep me from asking questions, but it seems they were pretty keen on it.

He watched her jotting this down as she spoke. All right, so can we get out of here now? We can look for clues on Black's true identity from somewhere a little safer, can't we?

She frowned at him again, resuming her pacing. No! The man Pasta-jacket was talking to, this 'Tyrone' guy said something about where Black was supposed to be during my almost-mugging. A rooftop nearby. He might have left something there.

Thomas fidgeted at the idea of hunting for some hit man’s things on a rooftop. Nadia, look, I get that this story is important to you, but there is no way that rooftop is empty right now. If this Tyrone is pissed at the mercenary for not showing up, he'll have men all over it.

She paused in mid-stride, looking a little sheepish. Oh. Yes, he may have said something about that being the case.

Thomas smiled in relief. Right, so, we have to wait until they're gone, at least. We can at least ask around about his name and get some more information on who we're dealing with in the meantime. We don't have to just sit on our backsides and do nothing.

Nadia poked the raw patch on his forehead with one finger, making him wince. You're patronizing me, but you're right. Fine, we'll go back to my apartment and see what we can find out from there.

He held up his hands in mock-surrender. That's all I ask! Seeming satisfied, she withdrew her finger, just in time for him to pick up on part of what she had said. "Wait... we're going to go back to your place? Why do you keep including me in this?"

She grinned. Hey, you're a volunteer, you can leave anytime you like. But could you really live with yourself if you read in the papers that a talented journalist-to-be had come to an untimely end?

He shook his head in amazement as she walked on ahead of him. He had to admit there was a certain charm in her saucy personality, there was no way he could deny it. Still, her naiveté was going to get her into trouble and he had the feeling she knew it; accepted it, even. The fact that she trusted him enough to make him the one to help keep her out of that trouble made him feel both honoured and frustrated. Sighing, he followed after her with a reluctant smile crawling over his mouth.

The pair found their way to the nearest gas station to locate and make use of a phone. It was approaching evening and their second trip by cab was dominated by the orange-tones and reflexive squinting that comes along with the setting sun, along with a healthy dose of rush hour traffic. Fortunately, they weren't going far by cab. Arriving at their destination, specifically Nadia's light blue Prius, they climbed out of the dark blue car they had been riding in and got into the lighter-toned vehicle. Thomas settled into the passenger side and Nadia almost sighed in relief as she turned the steering wheel in the direction of home.

As she drove, her thoughts turned to what she had to do when she got to her computer. The odds of Mr. Black’s name turning up anything were slim to none and she wasn't expecting to get anywhere that way. No... This was going to take time and research. Two things she didn't have patience for right now, what with her big story dangling just in front of her. She smiled smugly as a better alternative occurred to her.

Thomas, would you mind getting my cellphone out of my purse for me, please?

He blinked, turning from the window to look at her. Uh, sure, but I'll feel a little weird going through a lady's things.

Nadia rolled her eyes. I would do it myself, but my hands are kind of full. Don't worry about it; there isn't anything embarrassing in there to offend your male sensibilities.

Thomas retrieved the bag in question from the floor between them and found her mobile as quickly as he could. Normally she would find his bashful behaviour over this amusing, but just now she was more interested in making her phone call.

All right, good. Now, under my contacts, find my father's number and hold it up to my ear so I can speak to him.

He stared at her, incredulously. You can't be serious. What, you don't have a headset?

Nadia didn't so much as bat an eye. I'm quite serious. I've got savings, but I'm not going to spend my money on anything I don't need to. I know you've done a lot for me today, but this is the last favour, I promise. Now c'mon, help me out here!

Thomas sighed, but did as he was asked. Nadia drummed her fingers against the wheel as the phone rang. She smiled as she heard the line being picked up and her father's voice answering in his usual business-like tones.

Lawson residence.

Daddy, it’s Nadia. You will not believe the day I've had.

Is anything wrong, sweetheart? She smiled again at the concern in his voice.

It almost was, but it's all turned around now. I'll give you the details properly as soon as I've had some time to relax and get everything straight in my head. I'm calling to ask you for a big favour.

Sure enough. Shoot. Oh, wait, hang on. She heard him cover the phone and the muffled sounds of him talking to her mother. Your mother wants me to remind you that if you don't call and tell us what happened... yes, Dear... what almost happened, we'll just call you until you do.

Nadia laughed. Yes, Daddy, I know. Now, are you listening? I want you to get in touch with your friends and contacts from the office to find out everything they know about a man going by the alias 'Mr. Black'. He's based locally, at least at the moment, so hopefully that makes it a little easier.

There was a pause and she could picture her father taking his pen and pad out of the pocket where he always had them. Mr. Black? What sort of work does he do, if I might ask? That should help me narrow it down more than the name would.

He's a mercenary of some kind, usually hired by organized crime, that sort of thing.

This triggered a second pause. Sweet Pea, do I even want to know how you got this name?

She smiled innocently, somewhat glad that her father couldn't see the expression. No, I don't think you do. It's part of the story though, so don't worry, you'll find out anyway.

Her father sighed. All right, all right. I'll put my ear to the ground and get back to you in the morning.

Thank you Daddy. Tell Mom not to worry, I've got someone looking out for me on this one. I love you both and talk to you in the morning.

We love you, too, Nadia. Take care of yourself and... wait, did you say you had someone with you? Someone as in a boy someone?

She giggled. Goodnight, Daddy.

Hanging up the phone and putting it back in her purse, Thomas settled back in his seat. You sound close to your father.

Nadia smiled. To both of them, actually. Daddy's been a journalist since before I was born, so if anyone can help us out, it's him.

And your mother?

She's a retired police officer. That's how they met, actually. Daddy had been doing a report on some of the criminals the Ottawa Police Department had arrested and the department's usual liaison had called in sick. Mom was asked to fill in at the last minute and ended up having to answer questions right up until her shift ended. Once she was off-duty, she couldn't answer any further questions about the case, so Daddy asked her to dinner instead. Nadia smiled softly. She had heard the story many times and as far as she was concerned it was just as romantic as anything she had seen in the movies.

He smiled. That's good. That you're so close, I mean.

Thomas went quiet after that, looking back through the window at the scenery passing them by. Nadia glanced his way, curious, but her attention was drawn to the road as the turn in to her apartment approached. Easing the car into her space, she turned off the engine and got out, making sure to snag her purse from the floor. Thomas got out of the opposite side; taking a moment to get his bearings. The area was much less busy than the downtown streets had been, though the hour likely had more to do with that than anything else. The apartment was a vertical rectangular prism of white concrete and, judging by its clean surfaces, seemed fairly new. The area itself had grass along the sidewalks, though that wasn't particularly strange in the capital. Looking down the street, Thomas could just make out a large shopping centre, as well, with the city's transit system's red signs indicating some kind of a main station on its far side; he resolved to get a better look at it from Nadia's apartment, if it faced the right way.

Nadia let them in and found herself studying her new acquaintance as they rode the elevator up to the tenth floor. She had not had very much time to stop and think during the day's whirlwind of activity, but she realized she knew very little about Thomas. Some part of her took a moment to marvel at how she was not even remotely concerned about bringing him up into her apartment, but she pushed this aside; for one, he had helped her a lot today, and for another, he was a bit of a mouse. She seriously doubted that he had any real violence in him at all. Certainly, his silence in the car after talking about family had raised a few questions in her mind, but she did not want to pry so soon. She decided to ask him once the opportunity presented itself. For now, though, she intended to see to the rumbling in her stomach. Judging by the sounds coming from Thomas' own midsection, he would appreciate a large pizza as much as she knew she would.

Chapter Three

Thomas woke with a stretch and a yawn, pausing in the middle of both actions as he saw an unfamiliar ceiling above him. An immaculately white ceiling, no less. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he got his bearings. The walls were the same colour as the ceiling, an endless expanse of white running to the light grey carpet. The room's furniture was, in a word, sparse. A television sat on a three-legged stool instead of a stand of its own and the dining room table was a card table with folding legs, accompanied by a single chair. Thomas found that he currently occupied the couch; a long three-cushion sort of a thing with an only slightly scratchy surface and a floral pattern. Still, the room avoided looking dull or poor through decoration. The card table had been clothed in a blue cloth with a simple silver design on its border, giving it a certain stroke of class as long as one did not notice the scrawny metal legs. The walls sported a healthy complement of pictures, some of a smiling individual, others of a posed family and still others showing flowers or summer-time scenes. Thomas smiled as he recognized the smiling individual in most of the pictures, relaxing as he remembered where he was.

He could hear nothing from elsewhere in the apartment, which almost guaranteed that Nadia was still asleep. He took a moment to do a few limbering stretches and to smooth the wrinkles in his clothes before heading into the kitchen. Hunting through the cupboards as quietly as he could, he found a cast-iron frying pan of serviceable size. Setting it on the stove he then searched the fridge, which was as sparsely filled with food as the living room had been with furniture. He found a carton of eggs, along with a brick of cheddar cheese, and set about making himself something to eat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nadia woke to the smell of what registered only as 'breakfast' to her sleep-addled brain. Yawning, she turned onto her side and came nose-to-plastic with a plate set on her bedside table; a plate of still-steaming scrambled eggs topped with cheese and, after a quick sniff, garlic. She smiled as she sat up, building a table of pillows on her lap for her unexpected meal. Unfortunately, her cellphone picked that exact moment to interject and she sighed as she placed her untouched plate back on her nightstand. She took a quick bite of the meal before reaching for her mobile. She unplugged the offending noisemaker from its charger, swallowed her mouthful