The Sowing

5. Vices

Sebastian

A chorus of chirping crickets and bellowing bullfrogs against a backdrop of stillness filled the night air. The property really was almost eerily still – not quiet but unstirred – it was unsullied by human movement.

I felt an aching discomfort in the unmoving landscape.

There was nothing to preoccupy my mind outside of fear and angst. There were no distractions, no whizzing trains, no dinner banter, no clinking glasses, no work to be accomplished, or acquisitions to be reviewed. There weren't any romantic midnight trysts or annoying phone calls with my father.

I was a far cry from a regular smoker, but I didn’t even have the luxury of a cigarette. At least it was something to do with my hands.

The lasagna Meredith had prepared for dinner sat in my belly like a brick, which had nothing to do with the tasty ricotta and everything to do with my nerves. I hadn't anticipated the spike in my anxiety at the feeling of nakedness in the wake of James’s sudden departure. The shrewd but gentle man had slipped out after dinner without any fanfare, reminding me to keep my wits about me. 

None of my regular vices were available, but I could go for a run. I rummaged through my meager belongings in search of my old beat-up running shoes before changing into the only leisurewear I had the smarts to throw in my bag.

The house was quiet as I tiptoed down the staircase feeling like a sneaky teenager.

I waited by the front door, listening for any sounds of either Butter or Meredith. When I heard nothing, I slipped out, gently shutting the screen door so it wouldn't slap.

To my mild relief, there was a natural worn footpath around the property. I set out at a jog, the sounds of my feet meeting the dirt barely audible over the animated singing of frogs and insects. Although a little nippy, the air was a welcome respite as it whipped against my skin. The scents of what I imagined were familiar to any farmer, were foreign albeit welcome to my city senses. 

An errant vision of running around the family summer home in Vermont sprang into my memory. That and the grounds surrounding my boarding school were the closest I'd ever come to anything like this. 

I picked up my pace as I rounded stables, straining to hear the sounds inside. My breath quickened, warming me from the inside out. The moonlit path was my only guide as I zipped past rows of crops. Mild anxiety crept in only once Meredith's porch light was no longer visible in the distance. From far off, the tiny twinkle of a lightsource was visible.

Maybe it was some sort of outpost. 

I wondered how secure the property was – was Meredith a conspiracist with weird contraptions and a stock supply of canned goods? Had she an armory somewhere in an underground bunker? Was she all bark and no bite? Was she lethal? 

Although I hadn't seen her in anything even mildly flattering, I was sure she was hiding some kind of athletic build. I was certain she could probably fight too, especially with the way she'd wielded that gun – and certainly if she had any affiliation with James or Interpol or… the FBI.

Jesus. What have I gotten myself into? 

I'd run through the numbers multiple times. I'd assessed the financial discrepancies with a fine-toothed comb, tasking heads of accounts with performing several audits, most of which I’d reviewed myself. 

Naively, I'd believed I was helping the company, when in actuality, I was endangering my interests and myself. 

In a torrent of urgency, I'd been bombarded in the middle night, James at the head of the small task force, demanding that I pack my bags.