“I won’t be able to make it,” Chara explained, readjusting the phone so she wouldn’t end the call with her face by accident. “I’m visiting my husband right now—his office is on the other side of the city.”
“You missed last Wednesday too,” Natalie said, “You had that business trip. How come?”
“That was two weeks ago,” Chara said. Absently, she set her knuckles against the closed car window. It was cold—a nice feeling. “Joseph got sick on his trip—he was still recovering last week. I didn’t know if I might be contagious.”
“That stinks,” Natalie said, “But life happens. Try and come next week though! We miss you at the studio!”
“I miss you too,” Chara said.
“I’m serious,” Natalie said, “If you don’t show up again, we'll track you down and kidnap you for lunch or a movie or something.”
The car pulled up to a curb. A tall, glassy building sat on the other side of it.
“I have to go,” Chara said.
“You’ve been warned,” Natalie said, but there was no animosity in her voice. Then she hung up.
Chara slipped her phone into her pocket and stepped out of the car.
“Oi! Chara?” It was Victor, on the sidewalk just ahead of her. The front door of the building swung shut behind him. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see Joseph,” Chara said, holding her bag strap a little tighter. “What about you?”
Victor held up a piece of plastic on the end of a lanyard and waved it in the air. “I got corporate property access back.”
“That’s nice,” Chara said. She wasn’t sure what to do next—she had to go inside, but Victor was still standing in front of the door.
“Yeah, turns out somebody stole information again after that fire alarm went off on the business trip. Couldn’t have been me, even if my paper is the one to leak it later.”
“Were you visiting Joseph too?”
“Not this time,” Victor said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hey, do you know where you’re going?”
“Floor nine,” Chara said, “And then I’ll find his name on a door.”
“Basically,” Victor said, moving to walk past her, “Ask the receptionist once you get up there—he’ll point you in the right direction.”
Joseph’s office was empty, but his briefcase was sitting on the desk and the top panel of the window had been pushed down to let in the breeze. Normally a building this tall wouldn’t have windows that opened, but Joseph was particular about air movement while he worked. He must have had these specially installed.
Chara ran her finger along the dented border of the desk, picking up the dust that sat there. Joseph obviously meant to come back—maybe he was at lunch, or a meeting that had run long. He’d be glad to see her here. Hopefully, she wouldn’t end up distracting him from his work.
Something touched her shoulder.
Chara whipped around. Behind her was Zephyr.
Neither of them moved. Zephyr didn’t speak—he’d never spoken to her before either—and Chara’s throat had closed up, the way it did in nightmares. She took a step back, then another, catching her hand on the corner of the desk to steady herself.
Zephyr clasped his hands together, and twiddled his thumbs awkwardly.
Her breath finally un-caught, and Chara screamed.
Someone down the hall moved, shouted—Chara couldn’t distinguish the action, but she could tell she’d startled someone.
Zephyr must have noticed too. In one fluid motion he dove out the open window.
Chara ran up to the window, suddenly frightened for him. But there was nothing on the ground and nobody hanging from the side of the building. He must have flown off.
It was the best possible end to this scenario. Her heart was still racing.
Joseph reappeared about twenty minutes later and found her waiting in the lobby downstairs. He knew already that something was up—the worry was on his face.
Chara stood, instinctively looking down to see if she’d forgotten a pencil. Then she remembered that she hadn’t been drawing.
“Chara,” Joseph said, brows furrowing, “Are you alright?”
“I’m not hurt,” Chara said, terse, “Did you hear what happened?”
Joseph nodded. “I talked to the receptionist before I came downstairs. It didn’t seem all that terrible—but you seem really shaken up.”
Chara crossed her arms, held on to her elbows. If she stood steady long enough, she was sure her breaths would follow.
“He left a note,” Joseph said, reaching into his coat pocket, “They gave it to me upstairs. I think it was for—”
“I don’t want to see it,” Chara said. She couldn’t believe she’d interrupted him, but she didn’t apologize. She wasn’t sorry.
Joseph pulled his hand away, letting his coat fall flat again. “Chara,” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder instead, “Look at me.”
Chara turned her head to him—she wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring at the wall.
“Chara,” Joseph said, expression serious. “This won’t happen again, okay? I won’t let it.”
When they got home, Chara went straight to her room and pulled out her sketchbook with the leather cover, ready to sit and draw and forget everything that had happened. She flipped through it, searching for the first blank page. As she moved toward her newest pieces, suddenly she ran into a whole section devoted to Zephyr.
That was the last straw.
Deftly, Chara closed the cover, folded the flap over the edge and strung the string around. Then she marched out into the hall and headed to the living room.
She was still by no means an expert, but she’d learned a little the last time she’d burned sketches. She knew to open the book again and start with the paper, since she’d never get the leather to catch on its own. Once the fire was going steady, Chara pulled the grate closed and headed back to her room to see what other fuel she could find.
There were so many papers lying around—soon her hands had filled up too much to sort through anymore, to search for the ones with Zephyr hidden somewhere. Eventually she got fed up, pulled the trash bag out of her wastebasket and used it as a container to carry paper. Then she realized that even with free hands, she didn’t want to sort through everything. So she swept it all off up with her arms, pushed it over the edges of her desk and side tables down into the bin.
She’d taken longer than she meant to, and she found herself rushing to get back to the living room. The gate had been closed, the stone edge of the hearth was wide, but still. She didn’t want to burn the house down.
She shouldn’t have worried about that. When she rounded the final corner into the living room, Joseph stood there in the middle of the room with her charred leather sketchbook held open in his hands. The cover had held up fairly well, but the contents were indecipherable, black and flakey.
“What were you thinking?” Joseph said.
A shiver ran down Chara’s spine. There was something in his tone—her throat closed up on her again, and she stood there and the end of the hall, basket in her hands, not daring to move a step forward or back.
“Did you do this for me?” Joseph spat, holding the book out so she could see, “Did you think I would enjoy it?"
Chara dropped the basket. Then she turned and ran, back down the hall and into her room. She shut the door behind her, locked it, and slid down the length of it, until she was kneeling there against the wood panels, against the crack between it and the floor. Her heart was pounding again.
“Chara?” Joseph called. There was an echo to it—he was still a little ways down the hall. The anger had gone out of his voice, mostly. His footsteps came closer—moving from sharp to padded as he passed over the thin rug that ran down the corridor. “Chara?” he called again, “Chara—I’m sorry. Come out, let’s just talk about this.”
Slowly, Chara let herself uncurl. She shifted in her crouch, stretched her fingers out to remind herself where the floor was. Then, slowly, she stood up.
“Or—maybe not,” Joseph said, “It’s fine if—it’s alright.” His footsteps started up again.
Quickly, Chara turned the door handle, burst back out into the hall. “Wait!”