Tumult City

Chapter 2

I look at the message in the privacy of my work desk, doing nothing but staring for the umpteenth time this morning. I end at the proposed time he gave, then go back to the start of the text and read it again. And again. Like an endless loop of contemplation. I'm still deciding whether or not I should go to meet him. I let out another sigh, at least my twelfth today.

"Delivery!" My coworker Sami's familiar, enthused voice comes from my right and a coffee lands on my desk. No sweeteners - black, how I like it. Instantly, I turn off the phone and stuff it in my purse. Looking at the coffee, I ready to thank him, but he waves a hand.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I figured you'd need a pick-me-up after yesterday's whole ordeal," he pulls out a swivel chair from the desk next to mine and plants himself down, scans me with his grey eyes. He leans closer and continues in a quieter tone. "About that - are you okay? That sounded like some pretty intense stuff." He's close enough that I can see a worried glint in his eyes voicing his concern.

I take a deep breath.

I want to tell him - anyone, really - about what I had experienced. It was much more than the attack in my case. But even though Sami is a genuine friend, I know better than to spill about the magic man. Looking at the bigger picture, he had done nothing to stop the injuries that had happened, though he made it quite clear he knew of the attackers plan. Put shortly, the man was also an attacker: and I did not want to chance putting my friends at risk because I was affiliated with him. Pushing down the urge to tell, I nod instead.

"Yeah. I'm just glad I got out before it happened," I state. The topic is really a strange thing to talk about with someone who wasn't there, and I subconsciously urge him to leave. Sami is either oblivious or takes the hint when he walks back to his own desk, a short 'We'll talk later.' cutting off the linger.

When he rounds the corner I reach for my phone, but my hand freezes above my purse.

Don't grab the damn phone, Val, I mentally scold. Gawking at the text won't help you make up your mind! With that, I bring back my hand to where it taps restlessly at the desk.

Inner me is right: I need to make up my mind on whether or not I will meet with him.

The idea of harm is definitely there - after all, he was associated with the shooting. But he wants to meet in a coffee shop, open to the public. So if there were any suspicious attempts, there would be witnesses there to report and stop it.

If he plans to visit the Anthem I regular, I know enough about it, and they have security cameras. That same location is also less than a ten minute walk from the police station, so if he does try anything he won't get too far.

But whoever the hell he is, he says that he can help me through the next attack.

And despite the risks, I want to survive.

-

3:58pm, my watch reads. Through light snowfall I tread, regretting choosing a pencil skirt instead of pants this morning. I make lefts and rights unconsciously, following a route I've walked many times before. White heels that usually click are muffled against a thin sheet of snow.

Rounding the last corner, I immediately spot the matte black cafe - dark, elegant, but casual enough. Posters of plays and book signings are pinned up on a bulletin next to a glass wall. A glass door stands in the centre of the wall, a metal handle thinner than it once was, shaped by years of use. Through the glass I can see a young couple sitting at a booth; a man feeds his partner a spoonful of pudding, and they both erupt into giggles. The cafe is as average as you can get, but today, I feel a sudden reluctance as I stare from across the street. Still, I cross it.