It was quiet. The kind of quiet only heard in a church during Mass. Or during a funeral. The kind of quiet bordering on the inappropriate in a city house such as this on a normal night.
Especially a night promising the news he brought clutched tightly in his hand.
No one answered the doors at his knock and they exchanged confused glances before he pushed through into the entryway. An entryway devoid of light and sound. An entryway abandoned and echoing like a mausoleum.
She noticed them first. Her foot, a step behind and to the left of him, knocked into something soft and she moved to avoid it. But not quickly enough, as the door behind them closed to cut off the light from the street, to not see the blank, dead eyes of the footman. His wig sat half-slid from his hair and the white already tinged toward crimson as it soaked in the blood from his gaping neck wound.
Her gasp was too little too later. Even the tug she attempted at his arm was not quick enough. Her fingers grasped for him but barely graced the fringed of his sleeve before wind whipped by her face and he was gone from her side. Then she blinked and strong hands held her fast so any attempt to move proved useless.
It all happened so suddenly. One moment he was next to her, then not, then he landed so heavily on the ground at her feet she wondered how he still breathed. Then, she realized as the waistcoat parted with each of his struggling breaths to reveal a growing stain of darkness over his chest, he would not breathe much longer.
She fought vainly against the hold that gripped her before pain sparked like lightning through her body. First from low enough on her neck to be her collar and then everywhere at once. Each lance of pain carried by a beat of her slowing heart until only the iron hands held her aloft. When they dropped her darkness fell and so did she. So far that she was sure Death took her before turning her around at the gates as if a mistake had been made.
How else would her eyes open to see the scene before her so unchanged?
How else could she crawl from her spot on the floor, as her limbs still fought to receive their strength, to his side and fumble with his shirt to reveal the wound. A wound that now caked as if the blood already leaked formed a perfect enough seal to sustain him. But the weak hiss of his breathing told her otherwise and she pressed her hands to the injury as if the added pressure might preserve his life.
The continued pulse of cooling, wet blood said otherwise. Especially now that she had to wince against the smell. Had to fight the urge for… She shook herself as the coopery, iron-like tang hit her tongue as the scent of blood hung heavy on the air. Heavy enough to almost gag with the seductive nature of its sickly-sweet fragrance that she wished…
Shaking off the sensation, she slid towards him and swallowed to find words. "It'll be alright Jean. Stay with me and it'll be alright. I'll get a doctor and-"
"No." His words barely graced the air and yet they assaulted her ears. Over all the noises from the street, the groanings of the house, and the settling sounds of his body decaying before her eyes and ears, she heard his words in her soul.
"It will be. I promise." Her fingers pressed harder against his skin but they only detected the minute changes in temperature there. Noted the steady decrease in sensation and warmth as if it curled up inside him like dying embers. Each tick of the clock, too loud in her ears from three stories above them in a library with too many unread books, took another degree of warmth from his skin.
"It's over Anna." His fingers rose, damp against her cheek to trace the coppery-sweet scent of his blood over her skin and down her jaw as his limbs lost their strength. "It's over now."
A final, juddering breath left him and his chest ceased its fight to rise and fall. The shock of the moment took her a moment to process, her sense overwhelmed with everything at once until all she comprehended was the weight of the lifeless body on the floor at her knees and under her hands. Her fingers shook and her body convulsed as she sobbed out her agonies and refusals to accept it.
She cried over him, for him, to the skies on his behalf and none of them answered her. Her tears could not bring him back and Death itself expended the last vestige of mercy in its quota for the day on her. There was nothing left of him but the cooling body on the floor of the house turned tomb.
Nothing but a sound in the distance. One that pricked at her ears. A voice calling above the grief of the moment as it played out in her mind.
"Ma'am?" She shifted, blinking as she noted no one else around her. No one who could make the sound in a room… But the room dissolved and-
"Ma'am?"
She opened her eyes slowly and smiled slowly at the security guard taking a noticeable step back from her. His hands was still outstretched, as if it had just been at her shoulder, and his posture had him slightly bent-over to put his eyes level with hers as she sat prone on the bench.
"Yes?"
"I… You…" He forced a laugh. "I was just seeing if you were alright ma'am."
"Did I not look alright?"
"You were…" He swallowed, fumbling his words as she shifted slowly to take stock of the empty gallery around them. "You hadn't moved in quite some time and I… I wanted to make sure you weren't…"
"Dead?" She smiled at his hesitant nod and the accompanying wince. "Don't worry. I sleep like the dead, and occasionally doze like I am, but I am alive."
"Good." He straightened, "That you're alive, and all."
"It is, isn't it?" She reached for her bag, all her movements perfectly measured and coordinated as if she unfolded herself from one plane of existence to another with each motion. "So much joy in being alive."
"Yes ma'am." He answered, his face lined with the few layers of confusion he could manage at the odd turn of the conversation. "I… Uh… The museum's closing in five minutes and I've got to make sure…"
"That I'm not trying to sleep here for the night?" She arranged her bag on her shoulder. "I apologize if I gave that impression."
"It's not… We…"
"Would be poor hosts if you had someone sleeping here when there's so much to enjoy in the room." She motioned to the artwork surrounding them. "How could anyone sleep here for a night where there's such peace to be found when basking in the quiet glory of this?"
"Sure… I…" His frown continued to etch deeper lines into his face. "But weren't you just asleep here?"
"No. I was… remembering." She pointed at the large mural behind him. "It's my favorite painting and it tends to remind me of things I need to remember when my eyes closed."
"Oh." He nodded, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, and he twisted over his shoulder to look at the painting. "It's not much to look at, in my opinion."
"Art is subjective." She let her eyes wander over the painting. "It was a complicated time in Paris but one of great advancement. Much suffering and much gain, as they often go hand-in-hand."
"Do you know much about…" He gestured toward the painting and she shrugged with another smile.
"I should hope so."
"You study it or something in school?"
"Or something, yes." She turned to leave but paused as he coughed. "Was there anything else you needed?"
"I…" He shuffled and lurched forward as if he wanted to move smoothly but his nerves tripped his feet during the impulse. "To be safe, could I see your ID?"
"May I ask why?"
"To make sure you're not…"
"Trying to sleep here?" She dipped her hand smoothly into her bag and extracted her ID and a business card. "I can promise you on the rent I pay every month I'm not homeless."
"It's just a precaution ma'am and I'm sorry to…" He stopped, frowning impossibly deeper as he took her business card. His eyes whipped from the card to the painting that had her attention and back to the card again before craning up to look at the name of the gallery over them. "You're… This is…"
"Yes." She took her ID back but left the business card in his hands. "Although I'd prefer if we kept that little detail between us. I don't like the hubbub that usually happens when people realize the owner's walking about."
"But you've… It's…" His hand flailed toward the paintings in the room and the gallery bearing her name. "You own all this?"
"According to my accountant I do and every year the government taxes me for it so I'm not sure how much more of it I can own." She nodded her head him. "Have a good evening officer."
"Yes, yes ma'am. And you too. Apologies for all the… You know how it…"
"I'm sure you'd know better than me about all the details."
"It's because we get vagrants in here and they're looking for someplace warm to rest but we can't let them stay and-"
"And it's a shame they can't stay and enjoy a place like this." She let her eyes wander the room, her smile turning sad a moment. "It'd be a lovely place to find beautiful dreams."
"I…" He shook his head, as if trying to mechanically unscramble his thoughts. "I think they just want a roof over their head."
"And do you offer that to them?"
"Here?"
"Anywhere?"
"We…" He shrugged, "We've got standing instructions to refer them a place down the road or one a little further from here."
"Good places?"
"I've never been there myself."
"But what do you hear about them?"
He shrugged again, "They're run by good people with big hearts. They're not big but they're part of the philanthropy the museum does and…" He stopped and pointed at her. "Are they yours too?"
"Even if I could say, I wouldn't." She passed him a final smile, "But it's nice to know they've got a good reputation. It's always a comfort to hear we're doing good for our fellowman."
"Yes ma'am."
"Good night officer."
She left him in the gallery and walked out into the chill night air.
Cold whipped at her coat, sending the tails of it flapping and fluttering against her legs but she continued her determined march through the chill. Anyone she passed buried themselves into their scarves or collars, bending almost double to avoid the blistering of the wind but she remained upright. Despite the lonely slog to the Tube, the five stations, the transfer, three more stations, and a three stop bus ride to her building, her expression never changed.
The building, towering above her as a confusion of glass and concrete before architects discovered the beauty they could make with such materials, offered a keycard access to a lobby nobly guarded by a guard dozing in the light of flickering ads from YouTube videos. But the lobby's guard was not the only defender, as rotating security cameras kept twenty-four-seven vigilance over the comings and goings of the entrants… Even if the videos were wiped once a week without anyone watching the proceedings. Despite the security measures already in place, the lifts needed the same keycard to access the floors and a three-digit code for any floor above twenty.
There was only one floor above twenty.
Entering the three-digit code after the second swipe of her keycard closed the doors to the lift and began the grating, slightly jerky ascent to the higher levels. Levels that grew a bit shakier with each floor past fifteen. But eventually the doors opened onto a small entry corridor that allowed for five persons to stand uncomfortably close or three persons to stand reasonably close.
The lift doors did not close.
Instead, the light above the only possible door for entry glared green and a scanner next to the door glowed a matching green color. She put her hand over the black glass and waited for the light to pass twice between the one over her head turned to a dusky yellow. This triggered a device similar to those at the average optometrist to flip open like a mail slot so she could open her eyes wide enough for the lasers to scan her retinas. The light flipped to blue and she entered a four-digit code on the pad taking the place of her palm scanner.
The overhead light flipped to white, the lift doors closed, and the door before her opened. A door that would have left to the flats on the twenty-first floor but now led to the flat that was the twenty-first floor. A door she closed and waited to seal with a hermetic hiss before she kicked off her shoes.
Dropping her bag on the table beside the door, only removing her phone to leave on the table that formed the center of a sofa that took up three sides of the four-sided inset floor of the sitting room while the fireplace could take up the fourth, she left her coat over the back of the sofa nearest the window. A window that stared out at the city below her so she could watch the lights of the cars and flats and businesses skittered across the night sky. Or watch them reflected onto the polished wood of her floor as she padded over her toward her dark wood kitchen.
Like everything else in the flat, from her wardrobe to her furniture to her décor, it only echoed three tones: white, black, or grey. Even the fireplace had the respect to flick almost black in the low light as she returned from the kitchen, water in hand, to stare back out at the city. A city still thriving despite the lateness of the hour. A city as young as she looked and yet older than she was.
Her water was almost finished when a vibration from the table called her attention. Draining the last of her glass, she retrieved her phone and made the odd crisscross of the space to retrieve her phone and move to put her glass in the sink as she slid her finger over the indicator to answer the buzz. It was at her ear by the time the glass was lip-down in her sink.
"Anna Smith."
"I didn't expect you to be awake." There was a pause on the other end. "It's almost one in the morning."
"You're still awake."
"I've got two children."
"Then you've less reason to be awake than me." Anna went back to the window, standing almost completely still before it. "What do you need Mary?"
"I needed to leave a message but I guess I'll tell you we've got an emergency call for a repair job."
"It's not CS Consulting and Management again is it?" Anna shook her head, "I was sure we plugged their leak and more last time."
"It's not them. And it's not that law firm we did an overhaul on to fix their malware two years ago. Although I don't know why you fixed it for free when our contract with them clearly did not cover acts from terrorist groups and-"
"And their policy did guarantee, as if our general policy, an impenetrable firewall." Anna stepped slightly to her right before continuing. "But that doesn't answer who needs my services at eight this morning."
"No, I guess…" Her voice cut off and Anna took a breath.
"If you're about to tell me it's a call to make sure than some dorm room that lost internet can get the porn they were streaming for free, I'm going to feel very insulted by the lack of talent needed for that."
"No, it's nothing like that… I think." Another pause almost raised Anna's eyebrow as she took another shuffle step to the right to continue watching the city. "It's… It's more than it's a friend of Papa's."
"So it's a social favor?"
"He doesn't already use our service, if that's what you mean."
"Then I'm being sent as advertising?"
"Of a sort." Anna almost heard the muscles in Mary's face wince over the line. "Papa's friend runs a garage and their system went wonky this morning. All I have in the description was something about a magnet and that was it."
"A magnet?"
"As far as I know but I can't be sure, Papa wasn't overly clear about it. And when I tried to call to confirm the line was frizzing so I-"
"Don't know?"
"No, I don't now the details but I do know that Papa saw this as a perfect way to get a new client in the business that offers at least six garages in the London and Greater London area for us to work through and expand the influence of Versailles."
"Then it's an investment opportunity?"
"He thinks it'll finally give the Big Boss reason to see him in person."
"Six car garages in the Greater London area's going to do it for the Big Boss to come on down to the office to personally shake Robert Crawley's hand?"
"A man can dream?" Mary practically shrugged through the phone. "As it stands, what the system there really needs is an overhaul. I've seen it and, just from the screen, they're in the late nineties Anna."
"Then it's more than a damage assessment and fix?"
"It could be a build from scratch and you're the best I know so…"
"So you want me to sell myself out as a way to sell the product?"
"If you don't mind being a whore for it then yes."
"As the great Thomas Shelby once said, 'We're all whores for something' so no, I don't mind selling out my impeccable coding skills." Anna moved the phone from her ear to check the time. "You said eight?"
"I could push it to nine if you need more time to-"
"No, eight's fine." Anna took one final step the right and smile as she found the view of the city she was looking for. "Send me the address and I'll be there."
"Thank goodness." Anna bit her lip to stop her snort at the genuine relief in Mary's voice from the other end of the line. "I was terrified they'd ask me to go and you know how I hate dealing with systems on the fritz."
"Especially high pressure situations."
"They might've resorted to paper, Anna. Paper. Like heathens."
"Not sure those who survived the nineties would like how you're calling them heathens. Or anyone for the last couple hundred years for that matter."
"I'll call anyone who cut down a forest to write a receipt a heathen."
"Better start that list then."
"Don't think I won't." Mary took a breath, "And I've already cleared it in the system so you can go straight there. It's closer to where you live than the office so you only have to come by afterward."
"Thank you. It'll make my commute a bit more realistic." Anna turned away from the window. "You can tell your fretting Papa that I've got this handled."
"You're the best Anna."
"It's why you call me at one in the morning." Anna ended the call and moved toward her bedroom. "That, and I never sleep anyway."
Once she settled her phone in its cradle, charging as it downloaded the daily updates to her computer, Anna moved to the record player in the corner. Her fingers moved over the selections before she depressed the desired button and watched the mechanical arm slide the chosen record from the large collection and flip it seamlessly onto the player. For a moment she closed her eyes and soaked in the sounds that immediately emanated from the grooves as the spindle landed in them. Memories of the moments embodied in the music surrounded her until they dissipated as the song continued.
With a sigh she left the music to play and went to her closet. There, separated from the half of the space devoted to her collection of clothing, Anna sat at the multi-screen console and used her thumb print to activate the screens. They hummed, barely audible over the music still playing one room over, and Anna cracked her fingers before setting to work at a string of complicated code.
Each key depression brought up a corresponding site on another screen and she examined each one for only as long as it took her to change the information there slightly. Whether it was the cameras from her talk home, the cameras from the museum itself, or even the flash of the ID badge she used to access any of her modes of transportation, each bit of evidence vanished with little to no trace. Either the information deluged a system and then read as corrupted file or the bits of code that included her image or references to her folded into unrelated data meant for deletion as storage banks needed to empty. Wherever evidence of her existed, she sought it out in a surgical strike and removed it.
The process took her no more than an hour before she switched to another bit of complex coding. Files filled the screens, each hosting an image of her in slightly varied forms. Some were older, with birth dates staggering at least ten years until only funeral announcements and obituaries and death certificates remained. These she hurried through, only scanning them for digital evidence of inspection or interest before relegating them back to the files from which they sprung.
Those with older version of her took more time and required her to combed through spam mail, tax documents, bills, and other will and trust details before discarding the unnecessary detritus and returning those identities to their temporary home as entities on the internet. With each personality the time stretched longer until she noted the music in the other room stopped. It only took her a second to set music from her computer going to replace the smooth sound of vinyl but given the change in the musical styling, an electronic medium did nothing to dull the vibrancy of dark country.
Once she finally finished, this time updating school ages, entrance exam scores, and even birth details on identities with only children's pictures attached, Anna noted the time and made a face. With a sigh she stood, using her thumb print to shut off the console, and turned to the other half of the closet. "The new, modern age and its necessity with documenting everything. This was easier when you faked your own death and simply reappeared in another country."
Allowing herself a second to slide her fingers over the garment bags carefully kept separate from the rest of her collection, Anna closed her eyes in the silence. Basking for a moment in the hints of memories evoked by touching the bags, she smiled slightly. But once her fingers moved away only the silence remained and she hurriedly changed from her business attire to the workout wear of the modern day.
"Better than fencing topless or boxing in a skirt."
Her workout machines offered more too. In the third bedroom of the flat, the second serving the purpose of a study and library that only bore the signs of wear in the cracks borne by the spines of all the books shelved, she moved from one machine to the next. Each hosted either a television where a news channel or documentary played which the floor offered her views of iPads where her finger flicked the pages of books of all types. In a single sitting she consumed the equivalent of five books and six different shows at once. And, when she finished, each turned itself off to hold position where she left it.
The bathroom looked as pristine and unused as the rest of the flat. Each surface polished, clean and practically sterile. Nothing held anything personal by way of photographs, albums, or even posters. The collection of music was hidden from view and only accessed by her direct touch. Any movies or books bore nondescript covers and were, in the case of the movies, kept completely as downloads in a computer system that ran through the walls of her flat to keep all screens connected with no evidence of a source.
Even the clothes into which she changed were hardly different from the day before. The coat was black instead of charcoal, the business trousers and shoes were functional and just as black while the shirt, almost an exact copy of the blouse from the day before, shined just as white. Her hairstyle, functional and just on the side of fashion, betrayed nothing.
One glass of water, the glass then upturned to join the one from the night before, and Anna was out the door of her flat. The flat that, even after hours of occupation, still appeared hardly lived in. And the bed was never used.