Page 6 of The Vigilante's Lover
I put it away in the fridge and wander through the downstairs, both hands wrapped around a warm mug. The cold is coming, but the chill I feel isn’t really about the weather. It’s this sense that I am doomed to wander through my life alone. I can’t even imagine a life duller than the one I have lived so far.
I pause before an image hanging in the hallway. Me. My parents. I am young, maybe six, happy. My father wears a sailing hat, his big grin the only thing visible in its shadow. My mom is beautiful, her hair blowing away from her face, refined and elegant in white shorts and a sweater.
My aunt was my mother’s sister. The two of them didn’t look anything alike, and from all accounts, didn’t act the same either. My mother craved adventure, daring, and met my father when she cut off his catamaran in a local regatta.
My aunt was a kind, slow-paced woman who was never very excitable. Apparently, just like me. When my parents died in a sailing accident, just like everybody said was bound to happen with their lifestyle and their personalities, she took me in.
I head back to the living room, taking small sips of tea. I glance out the windows looking over the lawn.
Another day of my life is passing with nothing to show for it.
Maybe I should take another look at the letters. Crazy as it sounds, I think my mother would approve.
5: Jax
Every head turns as Sam and I saunter through the prison as if we own the place. Inmates sneer at my well-turned suit. Guards peer at Sam as though trying to decide if they know him or not.
The central hub is a maze of glass-walled offices. We stride through, Sam one step ahead of me as escort, and make our way to the check-in desk on the far side. The guard stares at a monitor in front of him. From our angle I can just make out some sort of baseball game. The cord from his earbuds snakes down his chest. He pays us no mind.
Sam clears his throat. “You gonna make us stand here all day?”
After a lingering glance at the screen, the guard finally looks up. He gives us a quick onceover, eyes landing on me. “Who’s this?”
“Librarian. Cleaning up our collection,” says Sam.
The guard sighs and keys something on his screen. He’s got some attitude for only having worked here a few days. A list and schedule replaces the baseball game. “Name?”
“Sergio Avanti,” I say.
The guard frowns as he scrolls through the text. I focus on my breathing. Sam huffs and shifts on his feet. Seconds tick by that feel likehours. The guard pauses and stares at his screen. “What the hell?” he asks aloud.
I know he’s not seeing any evidence of our check-in. A trained guard would know something is amiss, but we’re banking on this new hire not wanting to admit he’s confused.
There’s also the matter of the Vigilantes. They control the security here. If we stand by this desk too long, if the guard’s mood sensor goes off or he keys in something suspicious, they could step in. I’ve spotted a couple of them mingling with the staff during my year here. If I am caught, protecting Sam and Colette is my utmost imperative.
The mood sensor overhead shifts from green to yellow. Sam and I are fine. It’s the guard. I consider how best to calm him down.
“Says here you weren’t supposed to come till after Christmas,” he says. “Why are you here now?”
“The schedules are always off,” Sam says. “Second time this week I’ve had to escort somebody who doesn’t show up onscreen.”
The guard stares at the monitor another minute. The mood sensor remains yellow. He glances at my suit as if to convince himself I couldn’t possibly be a prisoner. There’s no reason to doubt my position, although we did probably overshoot the mark for a prison library volunteer.
His mood sensor starts edging into red. “You look familiar.” His voice is tight.
Time to bring this down.
“People often mistake me for the actor Bradford Argetti,” I say. Big film star. I look nothing like him.
The guard snorts. “And I look like the King of England.”
“I favor Will Smith,” Sam says. He pats his good-sized belly, as if the actor ever had an extra pound on him.
This makes the guard laugh. The screen cycles down to yellow, then to green.
He taps a few keys and hits a button to open the steel doors. “Call first next time,” he says. “Get the books straight.”
“Will do,” I say and give him a half salute. “Your Highness.”
