Prologue
by: Jade
Disclaimer: Dawson's Creek is not my property.
It had been three days in a row now that he
had found himself awake in the middle of the night. One moment, he would be
asleep and the next, his eyes would flutter open restlessly. Silently, he
shifted his head to one side and met with her long, smooth hair and his hand
reached out to gently caress the curvature of her spine.
He sat up in bed and walked across the room to the door, his footsteps quiet
against the parquet floor. In the living room, he poured himself a glass of
brandy and settled himself into his favorite armchair.
Their apartment overlooked the Hudson River and in the distance, he spotted the
flickering lights of their neighboring state and wondered if someone else was
being kept up for the same reason that he was. He looked unblinkingly past his
reflection in the window and focused his attention on one of the bright squares
of the apartment building on the other side of the water; he imagined he was
staring into the soul of his double. Maybe if he looked hard enough, he would
know what he was looking for, what it was that was making him so uneasy.
In the bedroom, she turned on her back and swung her arm out but all she felt
was unoccupied sheets. With her eyes still closed, she sighed. Lifting her
heavy eyelids, she reached a hand to trace the dent in his pillow. He didn't
know that she had been observing his recent night routine. She deliberated on
whether she should go and talk to him about what's been bothering him for the
past few nights but finally decided against it. Whatever it was that was
disturbing him, she was beginning to feel it herself. And until she could make
heads or tails of what it was, she wasn't going to mention it.
Turning on her side, she tried her hardest to go back to sleep.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!"
The lovely brunette repeatedly cursed under her breath as she ran the fastest
she could manage in her heels out of the subway station and a block down to her
office building.
"Morning, ma'am," greeted the middle-aged security guard on duty.
"Hi, Vincent!" she called out, hurrying to push open the closing
doors and squeezing into the elevator with a dozen other grumpy people. They
shot her dirty looks but she couldn't care less and greeted them with a
nonchalant half-smile. She could only hope that the machine wouldn't break down
between there and the sixteenth floor, otherwise it would be just a living
nightmare. She shuddered at the thought of it.
"How late am I?" She got straight to the point as she walked briskly
through the hallway and past her secretary to her office, where she stopped
only to dump her briefcase on the settee and backed out again.
"Seven minutes and counting," was the reply. "They're waiting in
Mr. Corelli's office." Carol Sachs handed her boss a folder. "Alarm
didn't ring?"
She shook her head distractedly. "It's like I don't hear it now at
all." They got to their destination. She took several deep breaths,
straightened her suit and patted her French twist in place, trying to appear
unharried. "How do I look?"
"Great."
She rested her hand on the handle of the door and pleaded at her secretary with
her eyes.
"Yes, I know. One coffee coming right up," the latter promised.
*****
Uptown, the photographer hired to shoot the
latest creations of a prominent Italian fashion designer that would eventually
go up as billboards in Times Square was experiencing his own hell.
"Peter, I know what I'm doing," he repeated, his patience tried.
"And if you'll just let me do my job, I promise I'll be done by
noon."
"He wants specifics. And if the man wants something, we give it to
him."
"Maybe he should take his own goddamned photos then."
Peter wrinkled his brow. "What is up with-"
The question was waved off. "Let me get started, okay?" He walked
away before there were more protests.
Peter walked over to where the assistant to the photographer was setting up the
equipment. "It would help a lot if you could clue me in on what's bothering
him."
"Come on, you know he's always right in the end."
"Yeah, but usually he listens to what the client has to say even if he
disagrees."
"The man's brilliant. He makes loads of money, is married to a stunningly
beautiful woman and rapidly climbing up the top 100 of the Rich and Famous
list. He's just finally being what he should rightfully be."
"And what's that?"
"He's being temperamental."