Chapter 9: Undercurrents

At 4 PM, Kyle stood outside Nature's Nook Market.

He'd arrived early. Vera wasn't there yet. He stood by a pillar, leaning against it, watching people come and go. A little girl passed in front of him, riding on her father's shoulders, holding a balloon.

He thought of Amy. Not Amy now at seven, but Amy from the day he first arrived in Oak Town—five years old, standing under the porch at 412 Maple Street, holding that copy of Knights and Dragons, looking at him. The next day, there was a drawing at his door. It showed a man in a gray hoodie, riding a delivery bike. The drawing was called Delivery Hero.

He'd kept that drawing in the attic drawer, together with Irene's photo. Now that drawing was tucked in his left sleeve.

His phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

He answered.

"Raven." Vera's voice, closer than the last time he'd heard it on the phone, like she was in the same city, the same neighborhood.

"Where are you?"

"Nature's Nook Market. Where are you?"

Kyle didn't answer. He stood by the pillar, watching the crowd.

"Should you come find me, or should I find you?" Vera asked.

Kyle hung up.

He stayed where he was, didn't move. People passed by him, no one looked at him. He was a shadow beside a pillar, a person who didn't exist.

Three minutes later, a woman emerged from the crowd. Dark trench coat, hair pulled back, holding a cup of coffee. She stood by the fish stand, glanced around, then fixed her gaze in Kyle's direction.

She crossed through the crowd, walked over.

"Raven."

"Vera."

She stood in front of him, half a head shorter. The collar of her trench coat was turned up, covering half her face. Her eyes were tighter than they'd been at the library.

"You got my letter," she said.

"I did."

"Read it?"

"I did."

"Then you should know I'm not here to hurt you."

Kyle said nothing.

"Marcus told you? About the ring."

"He told me."

"Does he hate me?"

Kyle looked at her. "You locked him up for two years. He cut his wrist once every day."

Vera's fingers tightened, the coffee cup making a slight sound.

"I didn't know he put that ring on himself," she said. "I thought—I thought he hated me. Hated me so much he'd rather die than let me touch him."

"You didn't ask."

"He didn't say."

The two of them stood by the pillar, the crowd flowing past them. An old man pushing a shopping cart squeezed between them. Vera stepped aside, spilling a bit of coffee on her hand. She didn't wipe it off.

"What are you doing in Seattle?" Kyle asked.

"Meeting you."

"Why meet me?"

"To tell you something."

"What?"

Vera looked at him. "That congressman knows about the list. He knows you have a copy. He knows Marcus has a copy. And he knows I have a copy."

"He knows more than you think."

"What else does he know?"

"He knows you came to Seattle. He knows you arranged to meet me."

Vera's expression changed for an instant, just an instant, but Kyle saw it.

"How do you know that?"

Kyle didn't answer. He pulled out the photo of the burned body from his pocket.

"Seer gave this to me. He said this is me, that I died three months ago."

"But if I died three months ago, who did he send Pastor to Seattle to find?"

Vera said nothing.

"He wasn't looking for me." Kyle put the photo away. "He was looking for you. Because you know the list only has his name on it. Because you saw what he looked like when he panicked. Because you have something he wants."

"You showed it to him." Kyle said. "You took that list with only his name left on it and went to him. You told him, either he agrees to your terms, or you expose him."

Vera's fingers gripped the collar of her trench coat.

"How do you know?"

"Because if you hadn't shown him, he wouldn't have sent Pastor. He would've waited. Waited fourteen days, waited for the list to be released, then denied it, then found a scapegoat, then kept his power. But he didn't wait. He sent someone, because you showed him."

"I showed him." Vera's voice was soft. "Three days ago. I had someone deliver a copy of the list to his office. Told him it would be released in fourteen days."

"What did he say?"

"He said—'What do you want?'"

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'Renew the Sterling Group's defense contract. Twenty years.'"

Kyle looked at her. The crowd flowed around them, no one stopped.

"You traded a list that could destroy him for a defense contract."

"Yes."

"What about those seventeen people?"

Vera didn't answer.

"What about Irene?"

"Kyle."

"What about Amy?"

Vera closed her eyes. She stood by the pillar, trench coat collar turned up, covering half her face. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

Kyle waited a long time.

"I can't bring them back to life," Vera said. "What I can do is keep him in his position. Because if he steps down, the next person who comes up will do the same thing. Different person, different name, different contract. All the same."

"So you chose him."

"I chose what I could control."

Kyle said nothing. He looked past Vera—by the fish stand, a man stood there. Dark suit, hair neatly combed, no fish in his hands, no coffee, no phone. Just standing there, watching them.

Pastor.

"Don't turn around," Kyle said.

Vera didn't turn around. Her shoulders tensed, the coffee cup trembling slightly in her hand.

"Where is he?"

"By the fish stand. Gray suit."

"Is he watching us?"

"Watching you."

Vera took a deep breath. She turned around.

Pastor looked at her. The two of them locked eyes across the crowd. Vera's face went pale, but her chin didn't drop. Pastor nodded at her slightly, lightly, as if confirming something. Then he turned and walked into the crowd, disappeared.

Vera stood in place, her shoulders slowly relaxing.

"You know him?" Kyle asked.

"Met him once. Two years ago, after you disappeared. He came to tell me your file had been sealed. Told me to stop looking."

"Did you look?"

"I looked." She watched the direction Pastor had disappeared. "He knew all along I would. He's been waiting for me for two years."

Kyle said nothing.

"What are you going to do?" Vera asked.

Kyle didn't answer.

"Your plan is yours," he said. "Mine is mine."

He turned and walked into the crowd.

"Raven." Vera called after him.

He didn't turn back.

"On your copy of the list, is my name on it?"

Kyle didn't stop. The crowd swallowed him. He was gone.

At 7 PM, Kyle returned to the apartment.

The hallway light was still broken. He felt his way up to the fourth floor in the dark, inserted the key into the lock, turned it, the door opened.

He didn't turn on the light. He stood in the doorway, listening for a while. The room was empty, no one there. He walked in, closed the door, locked it.

He walked to the window, lifted the curtain. The street below was empty.

He sat on the bed, back against the wall.

His phone lit up.

Message from Marcus: [Where are you?]

Kyle typed a few words: [Back now.]

Marcus: [Vera found you?]

Kyle: [She did.]

Marcus: [What did she say?]

Kyle: [She chose the contract.]

Marcus didn't reply again.

The phone screen went dark. He didn't light it up again. Marcus needed time. He did too.

He lay down, closed his eyes.

He fell asleep.

He dreamed of that painting. Not the one folded and tucked in his sleeve, but the one hanging on the mantelpiece. The glass was very clean. In the painting, the man sat behind a table, closed books piled in front of him, holding a sword in his hand. The flames on the sword were orange-red.

He stared at that sword for a long time.

The flames were burning.