*************
Penicillin. Dynamite. X-rays. Post-it notes. The greatest scientific discoveries were made by accident. And accident, it seems, rules Sydney's life as well. A drunken message left on a machine. A codename overheard in a catastrophe. A friend arriving too late.
And an empty warehouse on a Tuesday afternoon. The day was not remarkable and the mission not exceptional; she wore dark tactical clothes and carried a device to crack a safe. She could perform this operation in her sleep, and often had. She took out a guard and opened the safe and slipped the slender packet of papers inside her vest. She crouched low as she ran along a narrow passageway, prepared to exit the heavy rear doors and run down the rusted exterior stairs and return to the pristine, soulless office where she files away her life.
But she heard footsteps down below. Two light thudding sounds and the scraping of metal, like the opening of a file cabinet drawer. She looked, more out of boredom than anything else. And her blood froze.
She knew the quick, confident carriage and the bristling gray hair, she did not need to hear his voice. She did not even see his face. In one moment, every unanswered question and unfulfilled frustration and inchoate fear were forgotten, superceded by the cool, clear assurance of one who knows exactly what to do. She straightened up, not fearing accomplices or detection, and she pulled the heavy black Beretta from her waistband. He was unhurried, poking through files, his languor buying her time. She held the gun steady, meticulously lining up the tiny dark prong with the narrow gap beyond, and those sights with the prickly gray head that was the substance of her revulsion.
She drew a short, steady breath. She squeezed the trigger. Five times.
*************
Leaves turn golden and crimson and blood red. Cool air whips around the eaves of her temporary home. She has created a routine: gym, office, jogging, cooking, books, sleep. She rearranges the tall stacks of paper on her angular metal desk. She accepts a shining plaque she can't display and a prestigious award no one can talk about. He father calls every other Monday. Her mother hasn't been seen. Will is coming when the weather gets warm, they will rent bikes and follow obscure trails and dangle bare feet in the shallow river that runs near her house. He will listen to her stories and make her laugh and ask when she will come back, and why she refuses to stay. He will sleep on the wide couch under a new blanket and after five days he will go home. They will not discuss any of the you-know-whos and will refuse to speculate about lives twisted beyond recognition and loves killed before their time. And when he is gone she will sit alone on the wide couch, eating her dinner, and consider joining a second gym.