Page 10 of Closer Than You Think
“That's impossible,” I manage, but even as the words leave my lips, doubt coils in my gut.
“I assure you, it's quite possible.” Alex's gaze is unwavering, his voice low and intense. “And if it's true, it would explain a lot about his untimely demise.”
I lean back, pressing my palms flat against the cool tabletop, seeking an anchor in the physical world as my mind reels. “What . . . what exactly are you saying?”
“I'm saying,” he pauses, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers, then lowers his voice to a whisper that sends a chill dancing down my spine. “I'm saying that The Syndicate doesn't take kindly to loose ends. If Teddy was involved with them, and they thought he might become a liability . . . ”
He lets the implication hang in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. My mind rebels against it, refusing to picture Teddy tangled up in something so dark, so dangerous. But a small, insistent part of me whispers that it would explain the inconsistencies, the unanswered questions that have haunted me since his death.
“How do you know all this?” I demand, my voice trembling slightly. “What proof do you have?”
Alex sits back, his expression inscrutable. “I have my sources. People who are . . . intimately acquainted with The Syndicate's dealings. But I need more concrete evidence before I can go public with this.” He fixes me with a piercing stare. “That's where you come in.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Me? What do you expect me to do?”
“Help me piece together the truth.” His voice is low, urgent. “You knew Teddy better than anyone. If he was involved with The Syndicate, there might be clues in his belongings, his communications. Things that seemed insignificant at the time, but in light of this . . . ”
I exhale slowly, my mind spinning. The thought of sifting through Teddy's life, searching for traces of a world I never knew existed, is daunting. Terrifying, even.
“I don’t know you. I don’t know if I can trust you. And I certainly don’t know anything about any of this stuff you’re talking about.”
Alex leans back and holds his hands up. “Look, I get it. And I’m not trying to get you tangled up with the Syndicate either. That’s the last thing I want. I just need more details about Teddy. Anything at all could help.”
The need for answers, for justice, burns bright within me, eclipsing the fear. Almost.
“I don’t know. I don’t have his stuff, anyway. We didn’t live together. Have you talked to his family?”
“I tried,” he waves his hand away like that was a dead end. “Look, this was a lot. I realize that. All I’m asking is, if you do have any of his stuff—his phone, a tablet, notebooks, anything—just let me take a look at them.”
I guess it’s possible I might have some of his things at my place. But I’m still unsure what to think about this whole thing, and if I can even trust this guy.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, standing up before I can get sucked any further into this conspiracy theory. I turn to leave and make it three steps before I hear his voice again.
“And Hallie?” I turn around to see his eyes burning a hole into mine. “I'm going to tread carefully with this. For both our sakes.”
I manage a nod, as it’s the only thing that seems like a reasonable reply. None of this makes any sense and I feel sick to my stomach. Seeds of doubt take root in that darkness, fed by his insinuations, growing wild and untamed.
“Be careful, Hallie,” I hear as I walk away, determined to get back to my safe haven as quickly as possible.
“Always am,” I respond, even though he can’t hear me.
Ten minutes later, I arrive back home, ready to shed this god-awful day from my skin. My key turns in the lock with a soft click, and I shoulder the door open. My apartment greets me with its familiar scent of peonies, a stark contrast to the smog and grime that cling to the city's skin outside. The sunlight has already begun to wane, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. Dropping my keys in their usual spot on the hall table, I kick off my shoes, my feet sinking into the plush area rug.
I need this—this sanctuary away from prying eyes and whispered conspiracies. My hand trembles as I peel off my jacket, the fabric feeling like a layer of armor I'm desperate to shed. The shower calls to me, a promise of washing away the grime of doubt and fear that clings to me after that meeting.
Steam billows around me as hot water cascades down, droplets drumming against my skin in a rhythm that slowly drowns out the chaos in my head. I stand there, letting the tears mix with the water, not caring to distinguish them anymore. Gone is the stoic mask I held before Alex, the poised schoolteacher who nods and thanks someone for ripping her world apart.
My fingers drag through the condensation on the glass, leaving streaks in their wake. I'm seeking clarity in the fog, something solid to grasp onto. But all I find is the ebb and flow of water, and eventually, even that becomes background noise as I turn off the tap and wrap myself in the cocoon of a towel.
I pad over to the bookshelf, my gaze skimming the spines until one title resonates with me—a story of intrigue andsuspense, where the heroine needs to solve a mystery after her life is turned upside down. Sounds fucking familiar.
I don’t bother getting dressed. I’m all alone, after all. Settling onto the couch, wrapped in my towel and nestled among soft cushions, I crack open the cover.
Lost in the narrative, I follow the protagonist's journey, her resolve a mirror to the fire that burns low in my belly. Her world blurs into mine and I wonder what it would be like to be brave enough to solve Teddy’s mystery.
“Find the truth,” she whispers between the lines, and I echo the sentiment, a silent pledge.
I turn the page, and suddenly, the words shift. The story's pulse quickens, beats in time with my own heart. It's no longer just a tale of suspense—there's an undercurrent of desire threading through the narrative that I hadn't anticipated.
