Version 1.22.0

  Sam

  Wednesday, December 28th

  The walk to the coffee shop felt different than it had all those months ago, when I'd first started camping out there with my laptop and my slowly-evolving understanding that reality was a lie. Back then I'd been running from an empty apartment and an emptier life. Now I was running toward something. Toward Kate. Toward the possibility of salvaging at least one relationship from the wreckage I'd made.

  Maybe she'll understand, I thought as I crossed Maple Street. Maybe I can explain enough without explaining everything. My phone buzzed. I nearly dropped it fumbling to check, heart hammering, certain Kate was canceling. It was a spam text about car insurance.

  "Cool," I muttered to no one. "Love that for me."

  The coffee shop came into view, and I slowed my pace. 7:48 AM. I was early. Kate had said eight, which meant she'd arrive at 8:05 because Kate was incapable of being on time to anything that wasn't work-related.

  I pushed through the door, the familiar bell chiming overhead. The morning rush was just starting to thin out. A few laptop warriors had claimed the good tables by the windows, and a cluster of what looked like college students were having an unnecessarily loud conversation about someone named Brad and his "toxic energy."

  I ordered my usual medium Americano and found a table near the back where I could see the door. The first sip of coffee burned my tongue. I didn't care. The pain was almost grounding.

  Okay. Game plan. Kate shows up. I apologize. I explain that I've been going through something. I can't tell her about the code, obviously. She'd think I'd lost my mind. But I can tell her enough.

  My phone stayed silent. The laptop warriors typed away. Brad's toxic energy was apparently related to his refusal to acknowledge his ex's new relationship. At 7:55, a shadow fell across my table.

  I looked up, already composing my face into something that hopefully read as "apologetic but not pathetic." And felt my expression freeze. It wasn't Kate.

  The man standing over me was maybe late forties, with the kind of weathered good looks that suggested he'd spent time somewhere sunny and dangerous. His hair was dark brown, graying at the temples, and he moved with the easy confidence of someone used to being in control of whatever room he entered. He was wearing a suit, nice but not flashy, and his eyes had that quality I'd learned to recognize in the code: assessment. Calculation. Purpose.

  He smiled. It was a warm smile, friendly and open, the kind of smile that made you want to trust whoever was wearing it.

  "You must be Sam," he said. "Mind if I sit?"

  I did mind. I minded very much. But something about the way he'd said my name, like we'd already been introduced, made me curious enough to nod.

  He slid into the seat across from me, still smiling. "I'm Chris. Scott's told me so much about you."

  The name hit like a small electric shock. Scott. Three days of silence, and now his friend shows up at my coffee shop?

  "Scott sent you?" I couldn't keep the anxiety out of my voice.

  Chris's expression softened into something sympathetic. "He got called away on business. Last minute thing, you know how the bureau is. He felt terrible about not being able to reach out himself, so he asked me to check in on you."

  The bureau. So this was an FBI friend. That made sense for why Scott hadn't reached out. And yet. Something was crawling up my spine. That animal instinct that had kept humans alive back when we had to worry about predators.

  "That's really nice of him," I said carefully. "And of you."

  "Please." Chris waved a hand dismissively. "Scott's a good friend. We go way back. Started at the academy together, actually. He was always the idealistic one. Believed in justice, the system, all that." He chuckled. "I was more pragmatic."

  "How so?"

  "I believe in results." His eyes met mine, and for just a second, the warmth flickered. "Whatever it takes to get them."

  I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup, needing something to hold onto. “Are you the guy who recommended Pho King Good?”

  “It’s my favorite.”

  “They must’ve been having an off night. It might’ve been the worst restaurant I’ve ever been to.”

  “How terrible. That’s distressing.” But he didn't look distressed. He looked like a cat watching a mouse. "We've been working together on a case recently. Very interesting case. Unusual circumstances."

  My heart was beating too fast. I took a sip of coffee to cover it.

  "What kind of case?"

  "Financial crimes, mostly. Bank fraud. The kind of thing that's usually boring as hell, honestly. But this one..." He leaned forward, voice dropping like he was sharing a secret. "This one's different. The suspect isn't using any of the usual methods. No hacking, no social engineering, no paper trail. It's like the numbers just... change. All by themselves."

  The coffee turned to acid in my stomach.

  "That does sound unusual," I managed.

  "Doesn't it?" Chris leaned back again, that smile never wavering. "Scott's been obsessed with it. Says he's never seen anything like it. Says it's almost like magic."

  The word hung in the air between us. Magic.

  "I don't believe in magic," I said.

  "Neither do I." His eyes were sharp now, all pretense of friendliness stripped away for just a moment before the mask slid back into place. "I believe in explanations. Everything has one, if you dig deep enough."

  I glanced at the door. 8:02. Where was Kate?

  "Scott mentioned you've been spending a lot of time here," Chris continued, his tone light again. "Working on freelance stuff?"

  "Something like that."

  "Good, good. Important to keep busy after a job loss." He paused, let that land. "Especially one as public as yours. The Holloway situation was all over the news for a while."

  "You know about that?"

  "I know about a lot of things, Sam." He smiled. "It's my job to know things."

  I should leave. I should get up right now and walk out the door. But my legs wouldn't move. Some part of me was frozen, pinned in place by those calculating eyes.

  "Scott also mentioned you've been doing some redecorating," Chris said. "Really going all out with the apartment."

  The crawling feeling turned to ice.

  How would Scott tell him that?

  Scott had been to my apartment exactly once, Christmas night. He'd seen the upgrades, sure. But why would he describe any of that to a work colleague?

  Unless...

  "He told you about my apartment?" I kept my voice neutral.

  "Just that you'd been nesting a bit. Making the place your own." Chris tilted his head. "New furniture. New TV. New computer. Must have cost a fortune on unemployment."

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  My hands were shaking. I hid them under the table.

  "I had savings and I got a sizable severance.”

  "Did you?" His smile widened. "That's good. Smart to plan ahead."

  He knew. He knew everything. The apartment, the spending, probably the bank accounts too. This wasn't a friendly check-in. This was an interrogation disguised as small talk.

  "Did Scott tell you anything else about me?" I asked, testing.

  "Oh, you know. Just that he's crazy about you." Chris's tone was light, teasing. "He really fell hard, Sam. Talked about you constantly. Your sense of humor. Your intelligence. The way you see the world differently than other people."

  The words should have been comforting. Instead, they felt like a trap closing around me.

  "That's sweet," I managed.

  "He's a sweet guy. Too trusting sometimes, if I'm honest. It's gotten him in trouble before." Chris tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that didn't match his casual posture. "People take advantage of that trust. I’ve seen it happen before to colleagues.”

  "I would never..."

  "No? Good." He nodded slowly. "Because Scott deserves better than that. He deserves someone who's honest with him. Someone who doesn't keep secrets."

  There it was.

  The threat, wrapped in a smile. The implication beneath the friendly words. I know what you are. I know what you've done.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:04. Kate was late. I needed to leave.

  "I should probably..." I started to stand.

  "Oh, don't leave on my account." Chris gestured for me to sit back down. "I'm sure your friend will be here soon. Kate, right? Kate Frank?"

  I froze halfway out of my chair. "How do you know that?”

  "Scott mentioned her. Said you two had a falling out recently. Something about a misunderstanding at work." His smile was pure poison now. "Must be nice that she's willing to meet up. Bury the hatchet."

  He'd known Kate was coming. He'd known when and where. This whole thing had been a setup from the start. The door chimed.

  I looked up automatically, and this time it really was Kate, pushing through the door with her coat half-buttoned and her hair doing that thing it did when she'd gotten ready too fast. She spotted me immediately, her face a complicated mix of anger and hope and fear, and she started walking toward my table.

  She looked sick. Dark circles ringed her eyes and her cheeks looked sunken.

  "Kate!" I called, waving.

  Chris moved.

  Not fast, not aggressive, just a subtle shift in his posture, a hand signal maybe, or just a change in his body language. But suddenly there were other people moving too. Men and women in suits and serious expressions, converging from other tables, from the door, from positions I hadn't even noticed them holding. Toxic Brad and company among them.

  They'd been here the whole time. Waiting.

  "Samantha Marion." Chris's voice was different now. Harder. All the warmth stripped away. "I'm Special Agent Christopher Dyer, Federal Bureau of Investigation. You're under arrest for bank fraud, computer fraud, and related activities..."

  The world tilted.

  I heard the words, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you, but they weren't registering. Nothing was registering except the agents closing in and Kate.

  Kate, frozen halfway to my table, her face gone pale with shock.

  "Sam?" Her voice cracked on my name. "Sam, what..."

  "Kate, I don't know what's happening." I tried to stand, but hands were already on me, pulling me up, spinning me around. "Kate, please, just let me check on her. She looks sick."

  "Ma'am, you need to step back." An agent was blocking Kate's path.

  "That's my friend!" Kate tried to push past him. "Sam! What's happening?"

  I couldn't see her anymore. Too many bodies between us, too many hands gripping my arms.

  "Kate!" I twisted in the officers' grip. "Kate, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for... I swear I didn't know."

  Someone shoved her. I heard a crash, a table going over maybe, or a chair. Kate's voice cut off with a startled cry of pain.

  And then Kate screamed.

  Not a scream of fear. Something else. Something raw and primal, a sound I'd never heard her make before. Through the bodies between us, I caught a glimpse of her face, and what I saw there stopped my heart.

  Her eyes had gone strange. Unfocused. Like she was seeing something that wasn't there. Like she was seeing something that was. Everything went white.

  Not literally. My vision didn't change. But something inside me shifted, like a gear catching that had been slipping for weeks. The code bloomed into view. I wasn't trying to see it, I didn't want to see it, but there it was anyway. The coffee shop reduced to its raw components. The agents as clusters of information. The world as what it really was: lines of meaning, waiting to be read.

  Or edited.

  And Kate. Kate's code was flickering. Stuttering. Like a signal trying to tune in. Like something inside her was waking up.

  "Get your hands off me." My voice didn't sound like my own. Too flat. Too calm.

  The officer behind me, the one with his hands on my shoulders, tightened his grip. "Ma'am, you need to..."

  I could see his code.

  Not just the surface layer. I could see deep. The structure of him. The electrical impulses firing in his brain, the blood pumping through his heart, the fundamental wrongness of a universe that pretended to be solid when really it was just...

  No. Stop. Get off of me, I need to check on Kate. KATE!

  I tried to pull back, tried to look away, but the code was everywhere and I couldn't stop seeing it. His pattern was right there in front of me, so clear. He twisted my arm behind my back and pain shot through my wrist up into my shoulder.

  "Stop! Stop. OW. Kate!"

  Across the room, Kate was still staring at nothing. Her hands were pressed to her temples and her nose was bleeding, a thin red line dripping down her upper lip.

  Just like mine had. I tried to twist away but the officer grabbed me by the shoulder and I heard something pop at the same time Kate screamed.

  Code flashed in my vision. Something pushed. I didn't know if it was me or Kate or both of us, our fear and rage colliding in the space where reality was thin. But I felt it happen, felt his code stutter, felt something fundamental in his pattern simply... stop.

  His grip on my wrist and shoulder went slack.

  Time stretched like taffy. I watched him fall in slow motion, watched the code that made him who he was unravel like a knot coming undone. His eyes were open but there was nothing behind them anymore. The pattern that had been him, the thoughts and memories and tiny electrical impulses that science called consciousness, had just ceased.

  He hit the ground, and I hit the ground too, my knees giving out as pain split my skull like an axe. Across the room, Kate collapsed at the same moment, crumpling like a puppet with cut strings and the lights in the coffee shop all exploded.

  I felt blood dripping from my nose, tasted copper on my lips, and all I could see was him. The officer. The man.

  I lay there, arm twisted under my body. I could do nothing but stare at the man who had been holding me as the ringing filled my ears. His name tag said REILLY. There was a wedding ring on his left hand. He had smile lines around his eyes and a small scar on his chin and he wasn't breathing.

  "Help," I croaked out. "Help."

  Please don't let me have killed him.

  "I'm sorry." The words came out broken, barely audible. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

  Someone was screaming. Multiple someones. The laptop warriors were fleeing, chairs crashing over in their wake. Several patrons were pressed against the far wall, phones out, recording everything.

  I couldn't see Kate. Where was Kate? She'd collapsed too. Was she okay? Was she breathing?

  Then I heard her voice, weak and shaky but alive.

  "Sam? SAM! Oh my god, what happened? Someone call 911!"

  She was conscious. She was talking. Relief flooded through me, muted and distant through the emotional numbness but still there.

  "KATE!" I tried to get up, tried to find her. But I couldn't make my arm move. It was sitting at a weird angle. "Kate, are you okay? Kate, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, KATE I'M SORRY..."

  LEVEL UP

  The words consumed my thoughts. No. If I leveled up that means I did this. This wasn't an achievement. This wasn't progress. This was...

  I had killed a man and the universe was giving me a notification like I'd just earned a badge in some sick game.

  But I couldn't scream. I couldn't do anything. The pain in my head had faded to a dull throb, and in its place was nothing. A great yawning emptiness where my emotions should have been. I knew I should be horrified, terrified, devastated. I knew Kate was out there somewhere, traumatized.

  I couldn't feel any of it. I let them haul me to my feet. I let them push me toward the door, past the gawking patrons, past the body that was already being covered by someone's jacket. Blood dripped down my temple from where I’d struck the floor, and from my nose.

  I looked for Kate as they led me out. Found her near the counter, held back by two agents, mascara running down her cheeks. Our eyes met.

  I tried to say something. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I love you. Please don't hate me. But no words came out. There was nothing left in me to shape them.

  Kate's mouth was moving. She was saying something, shouting something, but I couldn't hear her over the ringing in my ears. All I caught was my name, repeated over and over, like a prayer or a curse.

  Then I was outside, and the cold December air hit my face, and they were putting me in the back of a black SUV, and the door was closing, and Kate was gone.

  I sat in the back seat and stared straight ahead, my arm twisted wrong. I wondered faintly if my hands were covered in blood.

  The agents in the front seat were talking, their voices low and urgent. Someone said "...notify the supervisor..." and someone else said "...probably a heart attack..."

  I had killed a man.

  I had killed a man.

  The thought kept trying to land, kept bouncing off the smooth blankness where my feelings should be. I knew it was true. I had watched him fall. I had seen his pattern unravel.

  James Reilly. That was the name on his tag. He had a wedding ring. He probably had kids at home, a wife who was expecting him back for dinner. Maybe he was planning on watching the college Bowl game later. Maybe he and his wife had reservations somewhere nice.

  And I had erased him.

  Not on purpose. But intent didn't matter, did it? He was still dead. Because of me.

  The SUV was moving now. The world was happening around me, and I was somewhere else, floating in a gray space where nothing could touch me.

  Scott.

  The thought of him hit different than everything else. A spark of something that almost felt like feeling. He had sent them. He had told them where to find me. He had taken my journal, read my secrets, and handed me over to his colleagues like evidence.

  No, I thought. He wouldn't. He said he believed me. He said...

  But Christopher had known about my apartment. Had known about the coffee shop. Had known things he could only know if someone had told him. Scott had promised he'd call. Instead, he'd sent the FBI.

  The SUV turned a corner, and through the tinted window I could see the coffee shop receding. Could see the chaos of police cars and ambulances descending on the scene I'd left behind. Could see, just for a second, a flash of Kate's dark hair as she talked to someone in uniform.

  Then we turned again, and she was gone.

  I'm sorry, I thought, though there was no one to hear it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

  The words didn't mean anything. They couldn't undo what I'd done. They couldn't bring back James Reilly or fix Kate's trauma or turn back time. They were just words, and I was just a murderer, and the SUV kept moving, and I sat in the back seat and felt nothing at all.

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