The Line

The blood was pooling

Flynn made sure Juan was long gone before he slipped back inside the factory. Restless, anxious, his eyes scanned the workers one by one for Angelle's round head. When that didn't seem like enough, he hissed her name, pacing to and fro the room. His heart seemed to expand after each footfall, until it almost beat painfully, with heavy thuds that rattled his ribcage.

Then he felt something cold and hard against the small of his back, and determined arms and hands were guiding him outside.

He got the feeling, somehow, that he might be able to fight them off if he truly wanted to--turn around and find out who was manhandling him, too--but the hands were letting up anyway.

///

"Angelle," Flynn said. The fact that he was the first to speak was telling enough: it was her.

He didn't have to wait long before the pressure vanished. A clattering noise followed it; she'd been holding a rock, as unbelievable as it was.

Flynn had to hold back laughter as he faced her.

"What do you want?" she asked. Her features were dry, and very apprehensive. They shocked the laughter right out of him.

"I saw you with Juan." Flynn's eyes hardened slightly.

"He just came to talk."

"Talk about what?"

"He asked me what I saw in the court. He was very insistent, too. But he apologized for that--for being rude. He suggested that we talk about something lighter. So we talked about his family." Those hands of hers wouldn't be still. It was kind of funny. "He talked about how prissy they are, especially Juan's older brother."

"Really? And how was that funny?"

"I don't know. It just was." She sighed, but her shoulders remained stiff. "You said we were supposed to part ways. Why are you here?"

"I want to talk to you, too," Flynn declared.

Angelle looked around, but this unsteady part of the dock was completely deserted save for the occasional plugger. Twisting her hands, she gave the pink-red water a long glance, like she was pondering jumping in and making a break for it. Funny.

But also irritating.

"Why are you scared of me? Seriously, why? I mean, is it because I have red hair?"

Her eyes wouldn't leave the water now; neither would words leave her throat.

Flynn stepped toward her. "I just want to ask questions, okay? Juan asked you questions. I'm guessing you answered him. Why won't you answer me?"

"Why don't you just ask Juan what I told him?" She spoke in a half mutter, half whisper.

"Because you might have lied to him." He added, "Because he might lie to me."

Why had he said that? And did he mean it?

Would Juan lie to him?

No, that was the wrong question. Everybody lied. It was just a matter of when and where. And Juan had lied about the walk, hadn't he?

Maybe he hadn't. Maybe it truly had meant to be a walk, and Angelle had been the one to run into him.

Flynn shook his head.

"I'm not telling you anything," Angelle whispered, backing away. Her feet and legs were bending clumsily. "I don't like you, Flynn. I don't want to see you again."

Flynn's eyes widened.

Yes, he was frightening her. He couldn't tell why, though--he'd apologized for yelling earlier, hadn't he? He didn't want her, either, not in that sense.

So why?

As the question picked up speed in his mind, the icy pang in his chest reappeared. It was more than fear and anger this time. This time, it was electricity.

"Angelle." His arms and hands were alien limbs hanging from an unresponsive body. The rock gleamed--or he thought it gleamed, at least. He unfroze and picked it up, giving her a level stare. "The fact that you're not telling me means there's something to hide, something to know. Am I wrong?"

She caught the implication and started spluttering. "Plu--pluggers! You can't! You'll be plugged!"

A familiar fear nearly stopped him in his tracks.

She's right. I'll be--

Like that man today.

"No, I won't," Flynn heard himself say calmly--the electricity could be soothing, in a way--and he felt like an idiot for not having thought of this sooner. "I work for the court."

"Someone'll hear!" She was yelling, but the sound of it was semi-muted.

Linespeople weren't like other kinds of people. They'd given up, for the most part, on whatever used to make them whole. Flynn liked to compare them to unfinished puzzles with the remaining pieces lost.

They wouldn't intervene.

She was breathing heavily, and much too quickly. "I'll tell you. Everything. But I swear there isn't much. I swear."

"I don't believe you," he said.

The blood was pooling, in his mind. He could see it: without the key, there would undoubtedly be a mess.

Fine, then.

He slipped off the bag that hung from his shoulder.