Angel Island Bay
San Fransisco
"Hey Derek, did Boston House ever send over that old journal we were waiting on?" I called as I walked into the control room, rummaging through my purse for my cellphone. I flipped it open and quickly dialed the number that has been left on the computer screen in front of me, noticing that the room is empty. I sigh in frustration. I so do not need this right now. "Yes," I say into the phone as the ringing stops and a woman answers on the other end. "Iam looking for an Arnold Swizher. Uh...I think it's Russian," I inform her as I struggle to hold my phone while clicking on a close up of the map on the computer screen. "No I don't know the extention. Yes, I can hold.
I put the phone down for a second and log off of the main computer. I don't know why anyone would leave it on unsupervised. It's way too common for hackers to try and get inside our large paranormal database. Hackers and... other things. I drop the mouse as the woman comes back on the line.
There is no Mr. Swizher sheinforms me with an obviously insincere apology. "Of course there isn't" I say back to her. "Thank you, that's all that I needed to know." I hang up, satisfied. Looks like I was right all along. Now I just need to find Derek and try not to rub it in too badly.
"Okay, so you do know that white isn't actually a color, right?" Nick teases me, obviously enjoying making me squirm. He knows that I am horribly attracted to him. Not that I would ever do anything about it of course. He's too much like an older brother to me. A very hot old brother, but a brother nonetheless. "Besides, shouldn't your painting have something more than black and white lines?"
"It's a color if I say it is. Besides, since when are you interested in art anyway?" I shoot back, glaring at him over my shoulder. It's a very weak glare and he knows that I'm not actually angry. The times when Nick Boyle has actually been able to make me truly angry are few and far between. "Just...go do tai chi or something." Now why did I have to go and say that, I berate myself. If Tai Chi isn't one of the hottest activities on earth, then I will gladly convert to... I don't know... Judeism or something.
Nick takes one last look at the painting that I am working on and smiles. "Dinner is in an hour, don't forget." With that, he winks and stalks out of the room just as suddenly as he had entered. Just like a panther, I can't help but think.
NEXT DAY
I make my way to the dining room, rubbing at my temples weakly and ignoring the nasuea that is threating to overpower me. I take a seat at the table, between Derek and Kat. Derek is so intent on his dingy newspaper that he barely notices me. I clear my throat a few times and finally manage to get him to look up at me. "I don't have to like...enter stuff into the computer and stuff tonight, right?"
Derek looks at me strangely. I can't quite tell if he is amused or annoyed.
"No, you don't have to help organize the paranormal database tonight," he responds, looking back down at his paper and smiling smugly that he put it so much more eloquently than I did. I just frown and turn to Kat, deciding that Derek is boring today and I don't really need to talk to him anyway.
Except I have no idea what to talk about. Gods I hate mornings. Just as I am about to think of something to say, Alex and Rachel walk in and take seats at the table. I wonder if Derek has told them about what happened yet. Probably not. Still, I can't help but sense that something is going on. Derek finally puts down the newspaper, takes a drink of coffee and turns to me.
"So why were you wondering about tonight? Plans?"
Wow, talk about a delayed reaction. "Yeah," I lie, hoping that he won't ask what I am going to do because mornings are not the best time to think on your toes and I would probably end up giving him a really lame response that would warrant serious suspicion from everyone at this table. Who are... all now looking at me. I shrug uncomfortably and stuff an entire peice of bread in my mouth before anyone can speak up.
Surprisingly, this diverts their attention quite well and Nick begins droning on about some new mechanical device that he is trying to perfect. To be honest, I don't understand a word that he is saying. I..I don't think anyone does. It's like he is speaking another language or something. Or maybe he is speaking English and I am just way too hung-over to realize it. I groan loudly from all of the thoughts invading my brain and get several strange looks as I jump up from the table, almost knocking over my chair in the process. "I...have to...go," I say, excusing myself from the room and making my way upstairs clumsily.
Once I get to my room, I make my way towards the mirror and groggily take in my appearence. I definately look hung over. But am I? I didn't have anything to drink last night...did I? Damn, why can't I remember?
Let's see, I was painting. And then Nick came in, telling me about dinner. Right? Yeah, I am pretty sure that's what happened. But what about after that?
I take a few slow breaths, trying to clear my mind enough to remember. But I can't. In fact, I can't remember anything about last night at all.