Two-Face

Chapter Two

The apartment room was submerged in darkness. The single window was covered with newspapers, and the lamp on the desk was untouched. The only light in Tamara's tiny apartment was the faint glowing of the three laptops in front of her.

She was typing furiously; staring at the screen with a crazed look. All of the computers were connected by one wire, then leading to a dusty printer in the corner of the room. One was loading code; going so fast that you only had half a second to read a single number. Another was on a government facility page. The last was sporting a Google logo.

"C'mon... Na-than Had-ley," she said with clenched teeth.
"Show me some records, you son of a-"

Aha! She clicked on a school website.

Westwood High School, est. 1947.
Student profile: Hadley, Ford Nathan.

Click!

Tamara relaxed her shoulders slightly, and took a swig from her can of Red Bull. She threw the empty can into a corner of the room which was rapidly filling with other various cans.

The screen loaded a picture and basic information; important, but boring. She huffed, reached to the coding laptop, and unplugged a flash drive. She plugged it into the second laptop, and smiled with satisfaction.

"There we go..."

Access personal records? Click!

"Gotcha."

The virus did its duty, and showed her pages on the life and norms of Nathan Hadley. Home address, phone numbers, family members, interested colleges, medical records, emergency contacts? All there. She giggled.

Tammy sent the info to the printer, and waited. She grabbed the pages, swiped some push-pins and scissors from a bowl on her desk, and began to work.

She cut away excess paper, and pinned the important things to the side wall. Soon, she had an arrangement of pictures, addresses, push-pins and string. Like a spider's web, with Nathan caught in the middle. She stood back, taking it all in.

Btzzzzz!

She jerked her head towards the small intercom by the door, her eyes wide, heart pounding. She checked her watch: it read 1:32 p.m.

Dammit.

"Hello? Tammy?" A crackly voice came through the intercom.

She went to it, and pressed a button.

"Hello? This is Tamara."
"Hey! It's- uh- it's Nathan, we met yesterday. W- we were going out for coffee?"
"Oh, hi! Yeah, sorry, I'll be down in a minute!"

I stayed up the whole night?!

She briskly changed clothes and popped in a piece of gum. She didn't bother with applying makeup; she forgot to wash it off last night. She grabbed her purse and shot out the door. When she reached the lobby, she plastered on a fake smile.

Show time.

"Hey!" she chirped.
"Hi! Wow..." He scanned her with his eyes, then looked at his feet shyly.
"W-what is it? Oh please don't tell me I have food on my face."
"Oh no, no. I just, you know what, j- never mind." He ran his fingers through his hair, and gestured to an ancient red pickup truck.
"Voilà!"
He offered his hand to Tammy, and she chuckled. She took it, and he opened the passenger door.
"M'lady."

Yeah yeah. Get a move on, Prince Charming.

"Are you alright?" he said while climbing in the driver's seat. She forgot that she tended to make faces that went along with the vicious thoughts in her head.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," She smiled reassuringly.  "Allons-y!"

"Wh- ok."

Off they drove down the busy streets of Seattle. Nathan would point out different points of interest, and Tammy would rest her arm outside the window; her fingers dancing gracefully.

"..and if you look over there, you can see the Space Tower."
"You never mentioned a tour, Mr. Hadley."
"Well, you're new here. I thought I'd show you the sights."
"Wow, a two-in-one bargain! How is it you don't have a girlfriend already?"

Her question oozed with sarcasm, but somehow Nathan was oblivious to it.

"Heh, well, I've always been too nervous to talk to any nice girl. Every time I tried, I would stumble on my words or say something incredibly stupid."
"You didn't really seem that way to me."

Lies.

"Well, I don't know. It's really weird, it's like I felt extra confident around you. Like, I mean-" he paused. "I sound completely idiotic right now, don't I?"

"Just a little," she said, chuckling. If only he knew that her chuckles were tinged with murder. Ha. Ha. Ha.

He smiled faintly, but then a frown overtook it. Tamara could hear him muttering "Stupid," under his breath.

Good job. You're gonna lose him if you keep that up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to be rude."
"Oh! No no, it's not you," he said hastily. "Hey, we're here!"

Tammy looked up. There it was: the green mermaid in all of her glory, squeezed in between a nail saloon and a froyo joint. Nathan found a suitable parking spot, and said, "Wait here." He walked around the car, and opened her door.

Good Lord Almighty, PLEASE spare me.

She faked a smile, but rolled her eyes and gagged as soon as his back was turned. They walked inside, got in line, and inspected the menu.

"I might try the green tea frappuccino." Tammy suggested.
"You-" he snorted. "You do realize that that's the cold one, and that it's about to snow, right?"
"Uh huh."

She crossed her arms in mock defiance. He rolled his eyes in return.

"Alright, but don't complain to me when your fingers fall off."
"Well, then what are you getting, Mr. All-Knowledgeable?"
"I," he gestured to his chest, "am making the rational decision of getting a hot cup of Earl Grey."
The barista folded her arms in annoyance. "So, are you gonna order or..."
"Sorry," he said. "I'll order, you can go find us a table if you want."
"Sure." Tammy pulled out her purse and rummaged around for a ten dollar bill. He put his hand over hers.

"No worries, I got it covered." He smiled sweetly. "I insist," he said, as she was about to retort.
"Just get eloped already. It'd be faster than waiting here all day," the barista muttered under her breath.
Nathan turned beet red, and started ordering. Tammy went to the back of the building to find a table, and sat at a booth.

C'mon, Tammy. You've faced worse; just another hour with this incorrigible idiot until freedom.

One more hour. She rubbed her temples in an attempt to soothe the headache Nathan had caused with his inability to shut the hell up.

One more hour. Ugh.

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