United by O.M. Faure

Author:O.M. Faure [Faure, O.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781916437074
Publisher: Forward Motion Publishing, Ltd.

His place is in an industrial part of town, a small open-plan loft with a mezzanine overlooking the living room. As soon as we’re inside, he strides over to his brushed steel desk, removes his satchel and moves a few sliding glass panels to create an office space. Now enclosed in a hermetic glass cubicle, I watch him continue his silent conversation, moving his hands and pacing up and down. Then he glances at me and flicks a switch, instantly turning the glass opaque.

Startled, I avert my eyes and take in the grey concrete walls covered in old-fashioned maps of various American cities, the old Chesterfield sofa that’s scratched and stained yet still manages to have aged stylishly, the chrome and steel appliances on the kitchen counter.

My teeth are chattering so I grab the sofa throw and wrap myself in it, then make myself a tea. Images of people panicking and screaming, as they dart in all directions, flash in front of me as I try to grab the teapot. My hands are trembling so much that I drop the lid, jumping at the clang.

The room blurs. I wipe my eyes as the kettle spews a cloud of vapour. Woody’s head explodes. The kettle starts to whistle. Screams in the square… All these poor people, should I have done something more? A hand clasps my shoulder and I jump with a shriek.

‘Sorry, sorry. I startled you.’ He looks at me, concerned. ‘You should clean up, you’re covered in blood.’ He hands me a folded towel.

‘Where’s the— ’

‘First right.’

I remove my iMode collar, bracelet and ear bud, leave them on the countertop near my handbag and take the towel gratefully.

The bathroom is small and obviously occupied by a man. At least he hasn’t got any flatmates. This loft is little more than a studio but it is probably what wealthy professionals can afford in Manhattan nowadays.

A glimpse of myself in the mirror makes me pause, startled. Freckles of dried blood dot my entire face and there’s a bleeding gash on my forehead. The screams echo in my head as fatigue and relief wash over me. My teeth are still chattering and I’m frozen. Chasing away the images of the dead, I catch myself on the sink before my knees buckle.

I strip down quickly and take a long, hot shower, thinking fleetingly about the amount of water this entails and shrugging it off. The hot water pounds my shoulders, running down my back. Arching my head back to let the warm water wash the blood off my face, I start to relax.

At length, feeling better, I’m starting to dry myself when Michael barges into the bathroom, his face serious. I squeak, wrapping myself in the towel.

‘Hey! What do you think you’re—’

‘Come.’ His face is closed, his brow furrowed.

He grabs my hand and pulls me roughly in his wake.

Shit, shit, shit. What if his superiors have found out that I’m responsible for the leaked video and that’s what he was just discussing with

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