Page 34 of Where He Ended

Dominic pulls in a deep breath then releases it. “Sorry. I don't mean to get so frustrated. I've been trying to figure out where Joseph went since he fled, going through the motions is bringing back a lot of anger.” He moves out of the way, patting the chair. “Sit down and see what you come across. It won't hurt to try.”

“I can give it a shot,” I say, sinking into the chair. It rolls a bit and I inch close to the screen, fumbling with the mouse. Trying to emulate Dominic, I click on a folder. A little box pops up, asking me if I want to open or close or save something.

“Not that button,” he says. “The other one on the mouse.”

“I'm hitting the button.”

“Right, but not—here, just let me do it.” He puts his hand on top of mine, our fingers overlapping. I tense up in the chair, feeling his breath on my cheek. Dominic slides my hand around on the mouse pad, guiding me with his strong pressure. He makes me click the correct button. “There,” he chuckles. “See?”

I open my mouth, clearing my throat. “Yup, I get it now.”

He pulls his fingers away, but he does it in a reluctant fashion. As if he wants to keep holding me. He fluffs his hair and backs up. “You do this, I'll go check out the other room again.”

“But you said you already searched it,” I start to reply, but he slips out the door, leaving me alone. For a minute I stare after him, frowning in thought.This is hard for him in a different way than it is for me,I realize. It's not a fun memory, the way he interrogated me the night my father escaped. Dominic blames himself for my Dad escaping. He seems to blame himself for a lot of things, honestly.

I click around on the computer, not really knowing what I'm doing. Dominic can tell me that I'm giving up, but the reality is I just don't even know where to begin. He doesn't return for a few minutes, and in that time all I managed to do is duplicate a blank folder, and probably delete some stuff I shouldn't have.

Sighing, I roll the chair backwards, spinning it. When it comes full circle, I'm facing across the room, staring directly at Dominic's computer.

He didn't want me to look at it—that is what makes me want to see what's on it even more. Half standing, I lean forward to try and see out the doorway. I don't hear him, and for all I know, he won't be back for another several minutes.

Standing, I rush across the small room to sit in the other chair. This computer screen is black, like my dad's was. I start to look for the on button, but then I bump the mouse and the screen lights up. I stare at a desktop free of any decorations. It's solid white, only three folders in view: Files, Data Dump, and the Faith Project.

Intrigued, I move the mouse the way that he taught me. Clicking the Faith folder, I reveal hundreds of files that are named things like “Vid.1” and “Test 4.a.” I'm disappointed, unable to grasp any of this. What did I expect to find, though?

Answers,I tell myself. I'm always looking for answers.

“I told you there aren't any clues on that,” Dominic says from the doorway. I gasp, spinning the chair to stare at him.

As stunned as I am, I recover quickly. “What's the Faith Project?”

He crosses his arms, not moving from where he is. “It was what I worked on with your father.”

I perk up at that. “What kind of project was it? You never told me.”

If possible, Dominic crosses his arms more tightly. Pushing off the door, he comes my way, crouching beside me. His fingers are a blur on the keyboard. I knew he could program, but I've never seen him in his element. His hands flex perfectly, precise in touching every key as he squints at the screen. I don't have much of a reference point for computer skills, but I know how clumsy I am on a keyboard. This is something to be impressed by.

He slams the enter key. A small box comes up, asking for a username and password. He taps a few more times and suddenly I'm looking at twenty different screens, all in bright, detailed color with little timers beneath them.

I don't know that they're camera screens until I recognize the back of my own head. I turn towards the corner, but I can't see any camera. How is that possible when the ones in the hallway and elevator were so obvious? “What is it,” I ask, baffled. “A video surveillance system?”

“It was much more than that. It was supposed to be our new security system, designed to officially recognize people with a facial program we built from scratch. It could perform actions based on that, and all from a camera smaller than a pinhead. No security system can do that. I was hoping that Joseph and I would create the first together.” He's still fixated on the screen, the light reflecting in his eyeballs. “My father was supposed to be astounded at my abilities.” His smile goes sideways. “Instead, Joseph used it against me. He acted like he was helping me, told me my work was amazing, but in the end he was just hijacking the program to make it do what he needed to.”

I glance at the camera again, then at my father's desk. “He was able to do that without you noticing?”

“Yes. He was very talented. He sent a false message through the same system, tricking our drivers into believing he was leaving with me that night, that I was escorting him to the estate.” Clenching a fist, he turns away from the screen. “Then he took control of the program right under my nose, and created a diversion that he leaked to the regular security footage. Every single person fled the building, thinking it was on fire. In the chaos he escaped with your mother and brother.”

I'm torn between being impressed, and feeling awful for Dominic. The frustration is plain on his face. He worked his ass off to try and prove himself to his father, and then my dad threw him under the bus.

“You know,” I say gently, touching his forearm. He doesn't pull away. “It's amazing that you were able to design this. I knew you had learned programming, but honestly, I didn't have a clue what that meant in the real world.”

He lets some tension out of his body, his shoulders inching lower. “Thank you.”

I smile then glance at the screen. All the videos remind me of something. “Dominic, do you know if your parents have cameras all over your house?”

Frowning mildly, he shrugs. “I doubt it. The last thing they'd want is incriminating evidence. What made you think-?”

“Just something Kara said,” I whisper.

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