Chapter 2

This one had it coming

This one found a vein

This one was an accident, but never gave me pain

This one was my father's and this one you can't see

This one had me scared to death

But I guess I should be glad I'm not dead

Yeah, cut right into me

Yeah, because I am made of scars

Yes, I am made of scars

-Made of Scars,Stone Sour

I walked through the lobby of my apartment building and headed toward the elevator. I punched the number for the top floor and slouched against the cool steel wall, wondering if I had imagined the events of that afternoon. Maybe I had hit my head when I'd fallen in the garden and was, even now, unconscious, dreaming the whole bizarre thing. That seemed more likely than the alternative. The elevator jerked to a stop, and the doors slid open.

I stepped into the wide hallway with its hardwood flooring, brick walls, and embossed tin ceiling. Only three condos comprised the top floor of the building: mine, the building owner's, and one belonging to a very nice, elderly cardiologist and his wife.

A penthouse condo might seem like a stretch for a third-year history teacher, but luckily, my day job isn't my only source of income. My dad's parents had been successful cattle ranchers in the panhandle. While growing up, and even during my first year of college, I had spent every summer and extended holiday break at their ranch, visiting and working. My four sisters – Jane, Mary, Kate, and Lydia – hadn't been interested in the ranch, or my grandparents, for that matter. My mother had had a falling-out with my dad's parents shortly after she and Dad were married.

My grandparents hadn't approved of my mom – a city girl and the daughter of a factory worker from New York – and she, in turn, hadn't cared much for them. As a result, Mom had managed to keep all of her daughters, aside from me, as far away from Grandma and Grandpa Bennet as possible. I, however, was too much like my father - headstrong and independent - to listen to her.

After my grandparents had been tragically killed in a car accident, the land, the cattle, and the homestead had been left to my dad and me, and trust funds had been set up for each of my four sisters. Because we lived more than five hundred miles from the ranch, and neither Dad nor I had the time or ability to care for the cattle and maintain the land, we sold the thirty-thousand acres of prime pastureland and farm ground, as well as the ranching operation, the homestead, the cattle herd, and four other, smaller properties they had owned, for an impressive total sum of one hundred million dollars.

As directed by my grandparents' will, Dad had split the profit in half with me. We had both invested part of our share in stocks and put the rest into savings accounts that earned a decent amount of interest annually. The only money Dad had spent of his inheritance was enough to pay off his vehicle and his and Mom's modest Victorian home in the neighboring city of Fremont. I had paid off my student loans, along with my 1977 CJ Jeep – which I refuse to sell - and left the rest alone.

Interestingly, money, when invested properly, earns money. I had saved up my portion of stock earnings, which, over the course of four years, had amounted to a healthy sum, and used a portion of the money to purchase and furnish the condo. That was the only luxury I had allowed myself. No one knew what I was worth financially, and I wanted to keep it that way. My teaching salary paid the utilities, put food in my cupboards, and added to my savings, while the interest from my bank accounts and the earnings from my investments easily paid my taxes and grew my accounts exponentially. Money was something that I'd never have to worry about, so I didn't think about it much.

I unlocked the stainless-steel door of my condo and stepped into the foyer. I had been able to design and help build every detail of the blank canvas of the condo, from the twelve-foot, bronze, embossed tin ceilings, to the salvaged hardwood flooring and tall wood trim. The large but cozy kitchen, with its big, wood-plank trestle table that my dad and I had built together, and modern-meets-old-world atmosphere, was the kind of room that people felt compelled to cozy up in with a cup of tea.

The library held a comfortable leather couch and oversized wingback chairs, all of which were arranged in front of a Victorian-style fireplace, inviting those who entered the room to curl up with a good book. A rolling library ladder allowed access to the tall bookcases that lined the room's perimeter, the shelves of which were stocked with books of every genre. The living room featured comfortable, brown leather furniture grouped in front of another large fireplace made from repurposed brick that I had salvaged from another building. The fireplace was flanked on either side by two floor-to-ceiling paned windows.

Aside from the kitchen, library, and living room, the condo also held a small study and five bedrooms. My sisters visited often, so I had created a space for each of them. The hardwood floors were warmed with oriental rugs in shades of white and red, and overstuffed leather furniture with comfortable throw blankets and pillows invited visitors to stay awhile and relax. Plants of varying species were interspersed throughout the rooms and in every window – my mom believes there are too many, but I've always maintained that it's not hoarding if it's plants – giving the space an airy feel. The décor was a blend of Bohemian and industrial, with a few nods to steampunk. Although it was an eclectic combination of styles, it all blended together to create a whimsically cozy home that looked comfortably lived in.

All the paned glass windows throughout the condo were original to the building. My favorite feature was the intricately detailed iron spiral staircase that curved upward from the corner of the living room to a loft with large, floor-to-ceiling windows and a telescope. Pothos vines overhung the loft railing, forming a leafy curtain that softened the black iron. From the loft, a door opened onto my own private, roof-top deck and garden, with a brick wall separating it from the neighbors'.

I hung my purse on the coat rack next to the foyer door and bent down to pet my gray tabby cat, Moriarty, who meowed for attention with his white-tipped tail waving happily in the air. Moriarty followed me into the kitchen, where I pulled a can of cat food from a cupboard and opened it before placing it on the floor for him. I gave him a pat on the head, walked through the living room to the balcony door, and stepped outside onto the black, ironwork balcony that stretched across the length of my side of the building.

As I leaned against the railing and looked down at the traffic rushing below me, I caught a glimpse of the golden-orange sun hanging low in the sky in the reflection of a window in a building across the street. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket to check the time. It was seven o'clock. I released a long sigh and sat down in one of the patio chairs.

"Will Darcy," I said aloud, giving a short, disbelieving laugh.

The whole encounter had been so incredibly bizarre I didn't know how to process it. He was even more handsome in person than onscreen, I allowed. I shook my head, propelling that train of thought along the tracks and out of my mind. Was he lonely? Bored? Did he have some other motive? I refused to let my mind dwell on it.

I certainly wasn't going to tell anyone – not even my closest sister, Jane, or my best friend, Charlotte. I wasn't fond of being the center of attention and tried to avoid it whenever possible. Telling anyone about dinner with Will would certainly land me squarely in the spotlight. I shuddered at the thought.

Maybe Will did just feel sorry for me. I had probably looked pretty pathetic, running for my life from a bug. To be fair, however, it was a terrifying bug capable of inflicting pain. I stood and returned inside, where I quickly changed into my gym clothes, grabbed my headphones and a water bottle, and headed out the front door and back to the elevator, bound for the tenant-only gym located on the lower level of the building.

When I reached the brightly lit gym, I popped my headphones in and hopped on a treadmill, determined to put the odd events of the day – and thoughts of Will Darcy – as far from my mind as possible. The tones of Stone Sour's Made of Scars blasted in my ears, drowning out everything else.

oooOOOooo

After my workout and a shower, I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contact list. It was Friday. Chinese night. I ordered my standard fare and waited for it to be delivered.

Later, after a meal of Hunan chicken and steamed dumplings – thankfully, my fast metabolism and love of running allow me to stay slim and fit because I love food – I was comfortably seated in front of the living room fireplace with a book, my cat, and a cup of chamomile tea. My phone's text tone sounded, startling me, and apparently, Moriarty as well because he hissed in alarm and jumped off my lap. "Scaredy cat," I called after the retreating feline before glancing down at my phone on the couch cushion next to my leg.

"Hello, how was your evening?" the text message read.

I didn't recognize the number, and besides, it was late. My friends and family usually didn't text me after ten o'clock. Puzzled, I picked up the phone and typed a reply, "Sorry…who is this?"

"Will."

I huffed in exasperation. I had managed to push most of what had transpired that afternoon to the back of my mind. "You said you wanted my number so that you could call tomorrow before picking me up."

"I did say that, didn't I? However, I didn't say I wanted it for that reason only."

I rolled my eyes and snorted. "You're so…" I left the sentence hanging and sent the text.

"Presumptuous? Witty? Charming?" he offered.

I scoffed. "I was going to say impossible or stubborn," I typed. "Perhaps even tenacious and bulldog-like, but presumptuous works, too. :)" I hit the send key.

"Hmm, so this conversation is going to be that way, is it? ;) Alright then, so be it. But just remember – you started it. So, 'Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry.' (And surely, I'm much better-looking than a bulldog)."

I laughed at his use of Shakespeare's words from The Taming of the Shrew, and his rejoinder to my teasing. And, if I were being honest with myself, I was even a little impressed. "'If I be waspish, best beware my sting.' And, just to clarify, bulldogs are stubborn and tenacious enough to make it a relevant simile. Nothing to do with looks."

"Hmm, smart and beautiful," he replied.

I laughed incredulously. "You're crazy. And apparently blind, to boot."

My text tone sounded again almost immediately. "Just for the record: not blind, 20:20 vision."

I bit my lip and shook my head, trying to clear away the warm, tingly feeling his words engendered. I wasn't about to wade into those hazardous waters. "Congratulations. Did they give you a sticker when you passed your vision test?"

Will continued his teasing, unfazed. "You know, some men – myself included – prefer the slim, compact, and beautifully curved shape of a Porsche 911 to the flashy, long, lean lines of a Ferrari. ;). (And yes, they did give me a sticker; a blue dinosaur, wearing sunglasses.)"

I laughed in disbelief at his reply. "Says the man who drives a Corvette. You're insane." I added a car and dinosaur emoji before sending the text.

"Aye, that's it," Will replied.

My forehead scrunched in confusion, and I shook my head. The man was flirting with me. But why? My confusion further irritated me. I knew that I wasn't unattractive by any means – I wasn't vain, but I had a good deal of self-confidence and was happy with my looks – but the likelihood of someone like Will Darcy finding me attractive was, well, ridiculous. And besides, I definitely hadn't looked my best that afternoon – I hadn't even been wearing makeup. I rolled my eyes as I thought of my soaked clothing, grass-stained jeans, and the hot mess I had probably resembled and returned my attention to the phone. "Yep, definitely nuts. Pity… you're the first nice guy I've met in a while, too. I knew there had to be a fatal flaw."

"Ha, ha. In all honesty, though, I'm not insane or on drugs, for that matter, in case that's your next accusation. Just thought I'd clear that up right away. I don't approve much of that lot, though there's a sad abundance of it in my profession," he replied.

I released a long breath as I read his message. "I'll be honest in return, then. I'm glad to hear it."

"An honest compliment. From you. Unprecedented."

I laughed aloud. In reply, I typed, "You couldn't just let it go, could you?"

"Why would I want to? I'm greatly enjoying our discourse."

I rolled my eyes and replied in kind with an "eye-roll" emoji.

"So, have you figured it out yet?" Will asked.

I paused, pretty sure he was asking if I'd figured out who he was and what he did for a living. I, however, didn't want to delve into that particular can of worms unless forced. I typed the first thing that came to mind, hoping to change the subject. "What? The paradox of Schrodinger's cat? I didn't think there was a correct answer to that." There's nothing like quantum mechanics to derail a conversation.

"Actually, there is a correct answer to that particular thought experiment, but we'll circle back to that another time. I was referring to who I am and my profession."

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger and smiled a little, determined not to make things easy for him. "Crap. You are an assassin, aren't you?"

There was a few moments' pause. I began to wonder if I had finally scared him off with my weirdness. I gazed out the darkened windows on either side of the fireplace, which overlooked the twinkling lights of the city until my message tone sounded again.

"I don't even know how to respond to that..."

I sighed. "I don't live under a rock. As for my opinion of your career choice, I honestly couldn't care less about what you do. Don't get me wrong, I wish you all the best in your work, but I'm not swayed by authoritative or celebrity status. My good opinion is gained through honesty, intellect, and acts – which I'm usually suspicious of if you haven't noticed."

"Hmm…" Will replied. "I have noticed. Assassin, indeed. And how do I measure up to your standards?"

"Honestly?" I asked.

"That's what I'm asking for…your honesty," he prodded.

I closed my eyes in thought, deciding how to reply. "Disappointingly well."

"Disappointingly well? What does that mean?" Will returned.

I shook my head in frustration. I really, really didn't want to have this conversation at all, let alone over text messaging. "When I met you earlier today, I was predisposed to dislike you because of who you are."

"Ouch. So, you knew right away then. But…there is a 'but,' isn't there?"

I smiled. "But - you turned out to be surprisingly likable. Nice, funny, and maybe even a little geeky."

"Well, thank you…I think."

"You're welcome," I returned.

"Are you going to tell anyone? About me? About today and tomorrow?"

I was a little offended by his question. I didn't like attention seekers and didn't care to be lumped in with them. However, I could see Will's point and understood his concern. He was probably faced with that often. "No."

"Why not?" he asked.

I looked out the window, contemplating my answer. "As I said earlier, I don't care what you do career-wise. Well, you know, as long as you're not really an assassin. I don't hold with their kind ;). In short, your business is yours, and mine is mine – no one else's. I don't appreciate gossip and like to avoid being at the center of it, if possible. I'm a very private person. I don't discuss my personal life with many people, and I'd like to think that I'm a good enough person to give others the same respect and measure of privacy that I expect them to give me."

Will didn't reply for several minutes. I returned my attention to the book I had been reading and managed to read a few pages before my text tone sounded again.

"Can you possibly be real?"

I grinned. "I believe so. Unless I'm just another glitch in the Matrix, that'd suck for you. 'Follow the white rabbit,' they said…or, in this case, the girl running for her life from an insect. On that note, I'm going to go to sleep. Take care, and I'll see ya tomorrow."

"Really? The Matrix? And you say I'm a geek. Where do you get your sense of humor? I want one – a sense of humor, that is."

"Oh, believe me, you have it in spades. Besides, I think you'd be much happier not knowing the intimate details of my twisted mind."

"Hmm, I wouldn't be so sure about that. But yes, tomorrow, six o'clock. I'll call when I arrive."

"Sounds good." I nodded in agreement to the phone screen as I typed.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth."

"Night, Will." I turned off my phone and headed to bed.