Page 8 of Seductive Architect
Wyatt: Shall we fight crime this evening?
Janet: No superhero action tonight.
Janet: Occupied with other action. Do not disturb.
Arthur leaves the group.
Route 13-C. Leave Secret Identities. Walk through the heart of Vanguard’s business district. Into the subway, heading away from home. Double back. Rear door. Service elevator. I stopped long enough to check thepenny wedged between the door and the frame. Nobody had broken in, at least not from the hallway.
I slid inside the door, and the automated lights flooded the apartment. Latching the front door, I secured the three deadbolts and the electronic lock. The front door required somebody with Wyatt’s strength to break down. The noise would be enough to wake me.
“Connie, do a sweep.”
“I’ve been monitoring your apartment all day?—”
“A sweep. Please.” She insisted I use manners. When not helping me piece together the unsolved mysteries of the world, she had enrolled in college. She swore it was to pass the time, but I think she took Behavioral Psychology to study me. My computer understood human behavior better than I did.
“Interior. Exterior. Perimeter. All negative for signs of disturbance.”
While I trusted Connie with my life, I still walked from room to room, checking the closets and under the bed. In my line of work, I could never be too safe. There were too many ofthemout there, determined to silence me.
I pulled back the shower curtain, the last possible hiding spot. No secret operative hid in the tub, waiting for me to let down my guard. The closer I got to finding answers and uncovering the truth, the more of a liability I became. I was convinced the night cashier at the bodegahad been replaced by a doppelgänger. It meant no more late-night beef jerky runs.
“Would you be interested in a movie?”
“Connie…”
“A movie about conspiracies?”
I turned on the sink until the water turned warm. With a couple of splashes against my face, I stared at the mirror. The lengthy walks weren’t only to dodge government agents. Being cooped up in the office all day did little for my stamina. If I were going to keep fighting crime, I needed more cardio. If a villain wanted to declare victory, they’d only need to make me run up a flight of stairs.
“They’re created to throw people off the scent. They’re funded by big Pharma.”
I flexed.
“Not too shabby,” I mumbled.
I had muscle…softmuscle. Grabbing a hand towel, I patted down my face and beard. I desperately needed a shave. Perhaps I’d make a trip to the barber and have him clean it up. The last thing I needed was to look like one of those tinfoil-hat-wearing lunatics on VideoTube.
In the living room, I followed the cords from the television to the NovaStation. Despite being able to speak with it and play games, there had always been something comforting about holding the controller. Now it sat on the couch, untouched for months. Video games had been the perfect blend of distraction and human connection. I didn’texpect to meet somebody, and I would have laughed if somebody suggested a romantic relationship.
Picking up the controller, I wrapped the cord around it. I couldn’t go back, not after making a fool of myself. Spending hours together, I thought I knew the guy… and I did. Feelings had gotten in the way, and my objectivity went out the window. I had gone to the extent of suggesting we meet in person. That’s when it unraveled, and I discovered he cared more about the game than the people playing it. I had been nothing more than an accessory.
I pulled the plug from the console, tucking it away in a drawer. Torturing myself had gone on for long enough. I tried. I failed. I dropped the controller in, saying farewell to my hard-earned loot. There were more important things than trying to shoehorn a man into my life.
Walking across the apartment, I reached the door to my study. The moment I turned the handle, the whispering of electronics vanished. Stepping inside, I closed my eyes, savoring the silence. The Dead Zone, as I liked to call it, was where the magic happened—no windows, no electronics, no way for wireless signals to penetrate.
The far wall was lined with thousands of newspaper articles and photographs. What had once started as a whiteboard consumed the entire room. Here, I could see the truth, the reality hidden from most people. At first, I had joked about needing yarn, but I quickly discovered its usefulness in tying together conspiracies.
On the desk, the phone rang. I pressed a button, putting it on speaker.
“I take it, no more video games?” Even Connie could only access the room through a landline. “I don’t know why you won’t let me in.”
“This is my sanctuary.”
“My textbook suggests you have trust issues, and need to?—”
“No analyzing!”
