Page 43 of Judas

The deeper into the file Eliza searched the more confused she became. Various deposits spanning two decades and the only money being removed went to the same person. She was wracking her memory to pull that name from her head but kept coming up empty. Eliza looked at her watch; eleven-thirty. Deciding that the computer and the puzzle within it were currently a dead end, she shut the machine and headed for the door. She pulled out her keys to lock the office behind her when she heard the shuffling of feet that made her freeze.

The office hallway was mostly dark with dappled light coming from well placed lamps on the side tables. She listened closely for the sound again, but the blood rushing in her ears was louder. It drowned everything out and for a moment she convinced herself it was just her imagination. Eliza pulled in a slow breath that caught when she heard the rustling of papers and a drawer being shut across the hallway.

She was definitely not alone.

Chapter thirty

It didn't take Eliza but a few seconds to regret not telling anyone she was in the building. She stood frozen in place, her ears straining to hear the slightest sound in the office across the hallway from her. Drawing a deep breath, she gathered what composure she could muster, shoving the near complete exhaustion from her bones. Eliza scanned her father's office for anything to defend herself. If this was an intruder, or worse, the person who shot her father, she would put up a fight. Before she could talk herself out of whatever nonsense she was about to be a part of, she snatched a letter opener from a side table before cracking the door. The table lamps along the corridor cast small shadows along the walls and while most of the time she would have never noticed, they now felt creepy and intimidating.

Her footsteps, muffled by the dense carpeting, crept quietly to the oak door. Leaning her ear against the cool wood, Eliza's fingers gripped the small blade tightly. With a final push of courage, she flung the door wide.

Eliza stood shocked, "Uncle Chet! What are you doing here so late?"

"Oh, I… um… I was looking for a file I forgot to grab earlier," he stammered before noticing the letter opener clutched in her hand. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I didn't realize you were working tonight." He motioned to her hand.

She let out an exasperated chortle, "I'm not… I mean, I am. It's complicated."

Chet nodded before resuming his search through a desk drawer. Eliza watched as he plucked a single manila folder from the very back and flipped through the first few pages. Satisfied that he got what he came for, Chet stepped toward his niece.

"I'm sorry I can't stay and chat, sweetheart. I really have some things I need to take care of before morning," Chet slid past her.

Eliza's next words came from her before she thought them in her head, "Aren't you going to ask me about Dad?"

She watched the man freeze in place, but when he turned back to her his expression confused her. Fury raged behind his dark blue eyes and his grasp on the folder tightened. In the dimness of the light, Eliza watched all of his muscles tighten like a coiled snake ready to strike. For as long as she could remember, she couldn't think of a time when her uncle was ever outwardly angry.

"Eliza," Chet said, his voice taught, "I am sorry about Paul."

A deep crease formed in her brow, "I know, Uncle Chet. You just haven't been by to see him… or me."

"I can't, Eliza."

Chet had to be hurting as well, she thought. Maybe seeing her father in that room with all those tubes and monitors was just too much for him. She could understand that, but after her blow up with Judas, she really could use the support. She felt the hot tears creep back into her eyes and she fought them back with everything she had, but a few escaped anyway.

Brushing them away quickly, Eliza nodded, "I understand."

Chet hesitated a moment but finally came closer, wrapping a strong arm around her, "I am sorry, sweetheart. Really. You know I love you like my own. I really do."

He turned away from her as the elevator chimed. Chet entered and turned to face her once more. The light of the elevator was much brighter than the rest of the room and it was in this light that Eliza could read the tab of the file. Written in black ink and in her uncle's handwriting, she could see the last three digits of a four digit number. Her heart raced and before she could utter a word for him to stop, the door slid shut and her uncle was gone.

Eliza thought about going after him, but by the time the elevator emptied on the first floor and came back to her Chet would be long gone anyway. She felt a little defeated and even more curious. What was it in that file that was so important that it couldn't wait until morning? And why did he wait until he thought everyone had gone for the night before coming to get it? She knew he had not been into the office since her father was shot, Judas had said as much.

Judas.

She shook the thought of him from her mind. She didn't have time to think about their last talk. She was so angry with him for accusing one of the only people she considered family of shooting her father. He didn't know Chet. He didn't know what a kind, loving, wonderful, man he was. Chet would do anything for his family.

Judas didn't know anything about her uncle. But like a slow moving fog, the picture of Chet with the thick folder clutched in his arms drifted slowly back into her mind. Another pervasive thought formed… Judas didn't know Chet, but maybe neither did she.

Chapter thirty-one

The bits of dawn peeked through the uncovered window of the apartment as Judas' eyes, crusted from dried tears, broke open. He shifted his gaze from one side to the other in an attempt to take account of his surroundings. Moving his arms, his hand stopped short of a skinny bottle at his side, still half full of green liquid.

"It's not going to work, brother," he said to the room, "Too little, too late, I say."

He grasped the bottle, putting it to his lips.

"Go back to hell, Yesh," he whispered before finishing off the bottle. "I'm done. Do you hear me? I'm calling him today… one way or another, I'm done."

The words came out painful and slurred. Judas didn't know what time it was nor did he care. His only plan was to either drink himself to death, if he could, or until he worked up enough courage to make the call; whichever came first. Tossing the thin bottle aside, Judas stumbled to the kitchen and pulled out two more. Bourbon, a classic.

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