Every day passed in a blur, but also seemed to drag on. Every day was exhausting, but everyday was the bland and the same with him gone. She wondered sometimes if he’d found someone new to love, if the distance had finally let him see how he could do so much better. She, obviously, hadn’t found anyone. She’d been in her lab, working on the new seaweed properties he’d brought her so long ago. It was amazing - it really did seem to be able to clean blood pathogens. She told herself this was important work, as she spent nights staring at Petri dish after Petri dish, the smell of the lab starting to sink into her hair. She didn’t have time to go out for drinks or find anyone else - she would discover the properties of this new medicine first. She almost felt ready to start human trials, she didn’t think it would hurt anyone, but this was always a nerve wracking step. Her mind strayed again from her work to him. Last she had heard, he was in New York City. She hoped it suited him, he was so vibrant and outgoing, so full of life, he should be in a city where he could be a star and be admired. She hoped the spring time was beautiful, and his allergies weren’t too bad. Surely in a city he’d be fine. He would have been so miserable trying to stay in Oxford, or even London. The trees all bloom late and it rains every spring day. She wondered if his hair was still long, or if he cut it short to deal with the legendary American humidity. She missed the way his golden hair gently softened his face. He had a face that was so trustworthy, like you could trust him with anything. He deserves a woman worthy of him. She cursed - her attention had wandered and she’s overfilled the latest plate, smelly agar splashing all over her trousers, and dripping down the lab bench. It would set soon and take an hour to clean. Damn. She stared at the plates she had been making and the pitcher of agar remaining. She might as well finish the last five plates, even if she had ruined half the batch. She really wanted to know how the seaweed interacted with healthy blood. Plus, she was already covered in the agar, she may as well finish and be as messy as she likes. Just as she started to pour another plate her phone rang. She startled, cursing again as she missed the pour and got agar on her shoes and lost another plates worth of media. Damn damn damn. She let the phone ring, making a mental note to call whoever it was back. No one important called her anymore, surely they could wait. The phone kept ringing but she paid it no mind, finishing - finally successfully- the first plate. She moved on to the second as the phone finished ringing. She was about to start the third and final pour (as the rest of the agar she planned to use was now on her, on her lab bench, and quickly puddling on the floor) when her phone rang again. She didn’t startle badly this time, although it was ominous in the quiet of the lab. She normally worked in the peaceful silence, not disturbed by human trivialities, just the steady hum of her centrifuge and auto titraters, and the occasional buzz from her microassay scanner. The cheerful bells and whistles of the phone was a contrast to what it portends. No one would ever call her twice, and it was too odd to be a coincidence. She firmly placed down the pitcher of agar. It was rubbish anyway. She put one foot in the direction of the phone, intending to quickly stride across the room and catch whoever was calling, but the combination of agar on her shoes and on the floor made it more treacherous than an ice rink, and she correspondingly slipped. As she felt her feet slide away from her, her stomach jumped to her throat. She flailed, instinctively and without purpose, slamming her wrist into the side of the lab bench but in no way slowing her fall. She continued accelerating down, time seeming to stretch and slow, as the phone continued to ring. Why was someone calling? Why was she so clumsy? Time sped back up as the back of her head made solid impact with the tile floor. She heard the sickening crack before her vision went black for a moment. The instant disorientation and nausea, the feeling of agar seeping into her hair and making the back of her shirt and trousers wet and disgusting with the gel, overwhelmed her and she momentarily was overcome with despair. How was her life such misery, day after day? She was meant to be pursuing what she loved above all else, and yet, it was monotony and isolating. She briefly imagined he was here, laughing at her and helping her up, and it was all the more painful when she blinked and realized the mirage was gone. She couldn’t be found like this, she had to much pride to give up and sob on the floor, covered in agar, waiting to be found by her colleagues. She grit her teeth and slowly sat up. The nausea intensified, and she made a note to check herself for concussion later. After the room stopped spinning, she realized it was quiet again - whoever had tried to call had given up. She unsteadily rose to her feet and peeled off her ruined lab coat. This was karmic justice for not buttoning it, she supposed. She left the lab coat on the ground and stumbled over to a plastic chair that looked easy to clean later. She sat in a daze on the cold plastic, trying to gather her thoughts and plan what to do next. Right. Clean the mess. Have a sit down. Clean clothes were in her desk drawer. And -the phone rang again - and answer whoever had been calling. Her thoughts had a strange floating quality and she stared at the phone incomprehensibly for a moment. Was she remembering it ringing, or was it actually ringing? She picked it up anyway. No one was around to see her be a fool except herself and her scanners. And the scanners would never judge her, only her results.
“Hello?” She managed to whisper out.
“Clara! I’ve been trying to reach you! It’s Emily. Jack’s ill. We’re back in London. No one’s quite sure what’s wrong but he’s insisting on an early birthday party and inviting everyone he knows. He said to invite you too, and the Oxford crew. I assume you know who that is? The party is this Saturday, at Regents park, noon. I’ve a ton more of these calls to make, sorry it’s so last minute. Come if you can. Ta!” The phone went dead.
The party was, like most parties for Clara, boring. The "Oxford crew" all seemed to be having a lovely time, day drinking in the park, lounging on chairs, meeting a few of Jack's many, many other friends, while all Clara could think about was the plates she still needed to read, and where, where was Jack? It had been an hour on the train, an hour doing her hair this morning, and now an hour trying to enjoy the fickle English sunshine with a Pimms cup in hand. And all that she had thought about, for three hours now, was Jack. What did Emily mean, he was ill? Clara closed her eyes to take in the sun and try to leave thoughts of blood borne illness and petri plates behind her. A few minutes later, her sunshine disappeared. She opened her eyes to glare at whatever stray, grey cloud was mucking up their lovely day, when she realized it was no cloud. There stood Jack, sun streaming behind him, through his lovely, ridiculous hair, illuminated like something ethereal, impermanent, and fleeting. She realized she had been staring for a moment, and he must be truly exhausted, because he was staring right back. No quirk to his brow, no joke ready on his lips, just his eyes, staring into hers for a moment that was both eternity and fleeting. She couldn't help the soft smile that gently stretched her lips, it was so good to see him again. She blinked, and he was still there, no mere mirage like she had imagined so many times these past few months that he'd been gone. But still, the moment ended, and the world came rushing back in, sounds of their friends coming to greet Jack, the presence of Douglas, oddly supporting Jack. The paleness and stillness of Jack's face, usually so full of life and movement. Something was wrong with Jack. He turned to greet their friends, the usual back slapping and boisterous greetings subdued somehow. Clara did not speak to Jack, and Jack did not address her, although Douglas stared at her intently. Clara thought back to their last conversation, before Jack had left for New York. How they had agreed not to speak, how she had told Jack to go find someone worthy of him. How she regretted that now. But what could she say? How do you take back a selfless offer and confess your selfish desire for someone who is impossibly better than you ever deserve? Jack stared at her again for a moment, and her eyes met his. The smile left her face as she studied him intently, trying to memorize each part of his face. Something about the moment seemed to scream she might never see him again, and if that was the case, she wanted to be greedy, to soak in as much of him as she could before he was gone forever. The look he was giving her, she could not understand, but she felt like he might be studying her as well. "Nice seeing you, Clara. Please, take care of yourself" Jack mumbled, not breaking eye contact, before he turned away. Douglas stood close by, and when Jack stumbled, caught him. Douglas threw a significant look over his shoulder to Clara, before they wandered off to another crowd.
Clara stared after them for a while. She sipped her drink, still staring after them. Someone tried to speak to her, but she did not hear them. What had that meant? If this was really the last time she would see Jack, was that enough?
No. It wasn't enough. He might reject her now, but fair's fair. She wanted to be with him, at least for the rest of the party. She set off determined to catch up with him.
He had just broken off from another group of friends when she saw him stumble again, and fall to his knees. Douglas was there to help him, but still Clara rushed to his side. As she took one arm and Douglas the other, she heard Douglas lean in and whisper to Jack that he should sit. Clara felt the thinness of his arms, usually so muscular. She could smell the antiseptic that usually carried with him from the hospital, but now she smelled that odd sense of illness and decay that only seemed to linger on patients. Jack didn't just have the flu, something serious was wrong. She swallowed hard. "Jack - " Douglas shook his head "Let's sit down first" Jack, for his part, was staring at her again. "You came back?" "Jack, you are so beloved, look at all these friends that love you and want to help you. What's wrong?" "Clara, it's not your fault. Whatever happens next, promise me, you'll take care of yourself and not feel any guilt" "What? Jack! I'm trying to tell you, we all want - I want -" here she had to swallow again, "I want to help you. Jack, I love you" Jack laughed, but it was bitter. "Your incredible sense of timing strikes again, my love. I know you love me, and I'm sorry you only realized it now. But I'm dying, sweetheart, and so you need to move on too." He reached out, solemn, and brushed a stray bit of hair from her face. "I wanted to wait for you, Clara, I did. I would have, but now I'm dying, and I can't wait. You need to move on. Promise me." Clara looked into his eyes. She sensed Douglas moving away, to give them privacy, but it didn't matter. It felt as if the entire world had dropped into another dimension, and only her and Jack were left on this living plane. She leaned in closer to him, and he leaned in to meet her. Their foreheads were scant centimeters apart, and they stared at one another. So many distant conversations came back to her, like slides shuttering through a research deck. Jack was the sort of doctor that didn't want treatment at the end, didn't want to die lying in a sterile bed. Late at night, staring at the stars, he confessed he wanted a living wake, a grand party, before he died. A way to see and say goodbye to everyone he loved. That's what this was. Jack really was dying, and he was saying goodbye. Clara felt her eyes well up. "Don't go. Don't give up. What is it? There's so many cures now, you just have to try. I know you don't want to, you think experimental medicine is false hope, but Jack. Please. Just tell me what it is and I'll do the research for you. Please, just try" "Darling, my darling scientist, I know you would. But this isn't your fault, this isn't your problem to solve. Tragedy happens sometimes. This is just a freak accident, and I am just an unfortunate statistic. Please, my love, don't do the research, just let me go. Surely you've already begun to move on. It's been months apart" "Jack - I can't. You can't go. Every day is the same, every day is colorless without you. Please, please let me just take some labs. Please, I know I was wrong now. I know I need you, and I want to be selfish. I want to be with you, even though you deserve better. Even though one day you'll realize and leave me. I want to be with you, I'll fight for you to stay. Please, please Jack, please let me fight for you" Clara couldn't look anymore. She blinked, and tears fell from her eyes. She looked down, where Jack held her hands in his. He was going to leave her, just when she had realized she wanted to fight. She pulled one hand away from him and leaned back slightly, to wipe at the make up she had carefully put on for him this morning. When she risked a glance at him again, he was staring intently. Slowly, so slowly, his free hand came up and tangled in her hair. He leaned further forward, and she met him half way. The kiss was everything she had been waiting for, and nothing like she'd hoped. It was chaste, and desperate not with passion but with fear. The fearful knowing that this could be the last. The sadness of what a lifetime together could have been. It was a beautiful sunny day, and she was kissing the man she loved, and the sadness in her heart was overflowing. She had finally realized her love, and overcome her fear, only for the man she loved to give up and die. They pulled back from the kiss, and their foreheads touched. A perfect distribution, she thought, two leaning bodies sharing the weight of the world and minimizing the load on both of them. Efficient triangles though, wouldn't help her now. "Jack... what's the prognosis?" "It's a blood disease Clara. I didn't want to say, but it's a blood disease. Stay the night, and in the morning I'll let you take a sample. Please, we're staying at the family house on Portland Place, there's a room for you." Clara hesitated. The last time she had spent the night at one of Jack's family homes, it had been unbearably awkward, and every effort to get along had just emphasized the chasm between his family life and hers. She knew she could just as easily find a hotel and stay nearby, it's not like there was a lack of accommodation in London, but she could see in his eyes how much he wanted her to say yes. "Yes" being with Jack was worth any awkwardness, "yes, of course. I'd love to stay with your family" she continued, gaining confidence with each word. "Anything to stay with you, Jack" He kissed her again. "Thank you" he whispered.
Jack's friend, Hugh, had a practice on Harley Street, and let them borrow the space in the morning to draw blood. Clara couldn't stand the sight of it, so Hugh had to help Jack draw the blood himself. It was funny, Clara thought, how she could endure the awkwardness of breakfast with Jack's parents and sister, being poked at for her odd choice of profession and dress, but couldn't stand poking Jack with a needle. They had taken lunch together in a small coffee shop, avoiding church with Jack's family in favor of catching up on what Jack had been doing in New York. It sounded, in many ways, as colorless as Clara's life had been, but she couldn't quite believe it. Clara was now on the afternoon train back to Oxford, with plans to sneak into her lab this evening and begin sampling the blood right away. Hugh had been very tight lipped on Jack's diagnosis and prognosis, clearly Jack had sworn all his medical friends to secrecy, but Clara could tell something was very, very wrong with the slow, agonized way Jack moved, and how they didn't venture out very far from his home. Regardless of how bleak the outlook, or how secretive Jack was being, Clara felt determination rise in her. She could figure this out. The seaweed serum that Jack himself had brought her months ago was showing promising results, if nothing else worked. She hadn't come all this way to find love to let him leave her now.
A shriek echoed through Regent’s Park, cutting through the delicate bird chirping and children laughing. William tensed beside her, his head beginning to scan the crowds, probably looking for the disturbance. She could feel him preparing to run into danger, and felt her adrenaline pick up at the thought. But it didn’t matter, she reminded herself petulantly. She was an-almost- married woman now and had to listen to her almost-husband when he said silly things like “stay here, Eliza, I mean it.” Truly ridiculous. Eliza must not have managed to contain her sigh, because William paused his search to look down at her. Eliza rolled her eyes. Being so short next to William meant he was always looking down on her, literally, although usually also metaphorically. “It’s fine William. Go. I’ll make my way home, so you won’t have to worry” “You? Make your way home alone?” William snorted before resuming searching the crowds. “I should think not, Eliza. You’re apt to ‘accidentally stumble upon’ the disturbance before we’ve even separated 100 meters. No, I will escort you home and I’ll have a word with the PC at the gate” his gruff tone was belied by his warm hand coming to rest over hers on his arm. She made no move to pull away, nor did he, and they remained still, both keenly listening for where the distress may have been. They were frozen in time for a moment, a respectable couple out for a stroll, the birds chirping, a nearby swing creaking, both of them trying to disguise the tense posture and adrenaline coursing through them as they prepared to run into trouble.
What does whole hearted look like? How do two headstrong people find love? And if you find love, is it a fast burning flame or a smoldering ember? Can love ever last?
WW fears being used. He wants love and to avoid a lonely life. His fear is is both of losing his job (safety/security/future employment) and of belonging/esteem (not actually being respected, by Eliza or by his peers) He desires respect and belonging.
ES fears losing her freedom. She wants to make enough to support herself and to not have to depend on anyone else. She is afraid of becoming destitute, and afraid of being rejected by all her peers. She is so afraid of rejection that she actually has avoided/rejected almost all friendships (ever since school) and has very little in terms of belonging or intimacy. She is stuck fearing for her basic needs and safety. She desires security and belonging, but has completely closed her heart and focused on surviving. She does not actually fiercely desire to be a detective, but desires to be able to survive and not depend on others.
Whole hearted looks like Eliza being able to think of others besides herself, to not be worried about the future and be able to support herself if she needs (through family, friends, and consulting work on the side with Nash). Whole hearted for William looks like being able to care for Eliza, enter new social circles beyond work, and trust his friends (and Eliza) aren’t just using him and won’t abandon him once he’s no longer useful.
Who is Moses? What are his fears and desires? Moses is constantly broke and not interested in a regular job. He distrusts authority, but isn’t very entrepreneurial. He’s good at building relationships and smart - he can read and write, and solve crimes as well as the formally educated Eliza (the shooter case and grave robber cases show this) Moses wants respect and to be the best he can be. He can provide for himself and has his own friends and sense of belonging. Moses has his own sense of right and wrong, and justice. He isn’t too worried about lying, because he believes all people lie. Moses would like to have nice things and live in a nice place, but it isn’t his top goal - his top goal is to find out what’s possible for himself. He tried many different things, but isn’t interested in running a large organization (not a crime boss) or in helping others. He wants adventure - possibly becomes an explorer or spy for the foreign office.
This is a story for people who like adventure thrillers, and enjoy the quirky cottage mystery humor. It has the elements of a thriller with the randomness of real life in an absurd education thrown in. The story is about a former CIA-courier, who is going to grad school to re-invent herself and shed her “cover stories” in order to become a “real person” with “real friends”. Unfortunately, danger is around every corner at grad school, beginning with a mysterious shooting and suspects on the run. She agrees to help the FBI investigate the potential terrorists, but when she thinks she finds a student linked to the attacks, she’s ridiculed and abandoned by the FBI. Worse, now that she’s abandoned, the terrorists kidnap her and she realizes they’re working with the FBI agent. Knowing this, she realizes she has no choice but to form a team and try to investigate the FBI and the terrorist cell. Her team of misfits seems to be making progress when they’re exposed and the team scatters - but they’re able to scrape themselves back together in order to blow the FBI conspiracy wide open in a grand finale revealing those who ran away didn’t actually abandon the MC - they wanted to help her all along.
Eliza never particularly cared for Easter. She went to church with Ivy, of course, as if Ivy would allow any other outcome, but sitting in church during the Mass was especially tedious. Eliza had never been much for sitting and just listening, while contemplating her immortal soul. This year, it was odd to sit with Ivy and Mr. Potts. Although it was nice not to be two ladies alone, it was still a bit tiresome to constantly have Mr. Potts hanging about, Ivy had invited him to their parish church, St. Thomas' for Easter Mass. So now in addition to having to behave under Ivy's watchful eyes, she had Mr. Potts squinting at her fidgets. The church was old - the last time it had been refurbished was probably when her great-grandmother was still alive and England had still had a King. Her gaze lingered on the sunlight filtering through the high stained glass windows. It was nice to see a bit of sunshine, even if it was March. She wondered if William's church in Covent Gardens was getting any sun. Ivy pinched her, and Eliza turned back towards the priest. With any luck, Communion would be soon and then she could get back to her office. It may be Easter Sunday, but it had also fallen on Quarter Day this year, and all rent was due. Luckily, she had made just enough to cover and the landlord had already been paid, but hopefully, there would be a queue of people looking for a private detective's aid in collecting missing money. Thanking God under her breath, Eliza stood to receive communion and filed down the aisle, followed by Ivy and Mr. Potts, however, when she returned to their pew, they were followed in by a strange man. Eliza tried to analyze him while facing front and receiving the final prayer, but it was difficult to study the man while also bowing her head in prayer and trying to sing along to the right words in the hymnal. From the few glances she could steal, he seemed to be well-dressed, and older, perhaps not quite as old as her father would be, but certainly older than William. She wondered where he had come from, and why he had decided to move to their pew - where had he been sitting previously? Was he an old acquaintance of her father? Would he stay after Mass long enough for her to ask? By the time the priest had finished the final blessing, Eliza was about reading to spring out of her chair to ask questions of the stranger. After all, Church was the one place where you could be friendly and welcoming to a stranger without an introduction! The man clearly was of the same opinion, because as Eliza was turning to him to greet him, he was turning to her and they almost collided taking a step towards one another. "Dear lady Eliza! Excuse me! Are you alright?" the man's voice was average, he had a slight midland accent, but Eliza wasn't sure if that meant he had lived there most recently or if he'd been gone from there for a long time. "I'm sorry sir, I am quite well thank you. Who are you?" Ivy gasped behind her. Perhaps that had been a little too direct, but the man seemed unfazed. "Dear cousin Eliza, I am Mr. Abraham Collins, a cousin of your late father, here to check on your welfare and do my familial duty." Ivy gasped again, but this time, Eliza wasn't sure if she had gasped as well. At least she couldn't be accused of being too direct now.
The Friend Charming, calm, searching for love (lonely?) A charming woman, who is in grad school and handles the stress and chaos with calm and grace. She is charming and makes friends easily, but is lonely - she needs many friends as an extrovert, but is also looking for love. She drives forward the B plot by first falling in love with the wrong guy, and then falling in love with The Duke
The Partner in Crime Independent, logical, cold, aloof, secretive Mathilda meets this mysterious man when she and the friend meet The Duke. He’s introduced as the best friend of The Duke, but might also be his bodyguard. Basil (the partner) originally offers to help Mathilda, helping plan and letting Matilda use his apartment as a space for meeting, and is a competent spy/investigator/protection officer. Later, he is part of encouraging her to continue investigating and getting a team together, but then he disappears in the ALL IS LOST. However, he disappeared to protect The Duke and his own identity as MI6, but also to go to ground and sniff out the mole in the FBI. He returns as part of the big reveal with the law student to close the net on the conspiracy (and for The Duke’s grand gesture of love).
The Law Student Naive, Good Listener, Hot Headed & Impulsive Mathilda constantly gets his name wrong because she thinks he is too cavalier with his identity. He tends to get angry easily, in contrast to the calm friend. He does not get roped into the investigation, as Mathilda sees him as a person she needs to protect, but Basil runs off with him and The Duke during ALL IS LOST only to reappear using his baby-lawyer internship skills to help close the conspiracy.
The Suspected Ally Private, vigilant, worldly, opinionated Former USA military, it isn’t clear if she’s an ally or the mole for the terrorist cell. Her apartment is in the same unit that the original terrorists disappeared into, and something about her seems hyper-vigilant. Mathilda can’t tell if she just lacks the “coolness” of a professional, or if she really is just adapting to civilian life. At the midpoint, when Mathilda is kidnapped and has to decide whether or not to reform, the ally proves she is beyond doubt when she helps Mathilda to escape and then helps to reform the group for the grand finale after ALL IS LOST.
She’s average in most ways - not skinny but not fat, not tall but not short. Maybe a little taller than the average for a woman, but not a giant - 5’6”? She’s not very athletic, but tends towards an athletic build. She has ugly plain brown hair - entirely “flat mouse brown”. She thought about getting it dyed but was too afraid of changing her appearance - what if she chose the wrong color? She’s awkward and uncomfortable in her body, never sure if she’s going in for a hug or handshake. If someone else doesn’t offer a cue (putting out their hand) she never engages in physical contact. She just has no idea how, although she’s desperate for it. She thinks she’d like to be a hug-person, but has no idea how to do that. Her face is average, maybe even slightly unattractive. She has normal cheekbones that lead to dark shadows under her eyes. Her eyes are grey, and sometimes people find them remarkable, but that may be because they’re in such a relatively plain face. Her lips are thin and her eyebrows are heavy, leading to a very stern appearance that make up just makes worse. She generally avoids heavy makeup, because she thinks it only ever emphasizes how silly she looks. Her awkwardness leads her to walk hunched over, with her shoulders up, but her head is up as well. She’s constantly scanning the area, checking no one is sneaking up on her. But she also looks at the sky, as if she’s secretly a dreamer and believes better days are ahead despite how unhappy she is now. She’s learned that she can blend into a crowd easily, and as long as she doesn’t say or do anything too awkward, she’s utterly forgettable- something the CIA immediately picked out and valued.
She is annoyed by wild animals of any sort (but especially squirrels, deer, and freaking turkeys) dislikes the adoration of the masses, and thinks strict codes of honor are generally stupid (but has one herself).
This isn’t who she is. This is ridiculous, hiding in her apartment as an armed student roamed the campus somewhere and university and county police desperately searched for him. Mathilda could feel the itch to climb on the roof and at least survey the ground. The CIA had never given her any training, and certainly no weapons, but it still feels wrong to sit as a passive civilian when she could gain a strategic advantage. She’s quit the CIA, she reminds herself. She’s in grad school to stop hiding, to become a real civilian with a real job and real friends. But still. She stared at her window, blinds tightly drawn. She couldn’t just hide. This apartment complex had over a thousand residents. Her unit was by the road, with tree cover. She could watch and no one would know. But she’s a civilian. She has no weapons. What would she even do if she saw the suspects? She was moving before she even realized. Calmly walking up the stairs and throwing her coffee thermos through the access panel before swinging up after it, hunting knife strapped to her thigh, cell phone in her pocket. She’s just going to hang out on the high ground. It’s safer for a civilian than the ground floor anyway. And if she sees anything interesting, she’ll call the police and maybe give them a flat tire to slow them down. No problem. She thinks about the boxes downstairs she could be unpacking. She thinks about the job she left behind. She finishes her coffee, and debates going down for a refill. There’s do little chance they’d come all the way up here, this residence block is two miles away from main campus. She paces the perimeter of the roof, just to stretch her legs before heading back down, when a red pickup pulls in. She drops to her stomach and sticks her head over the corner to watch the truck as it turns to park. It’s small, with Virginia plates. It matches the description of the BOLO from county police. There’s three boys inside. She shifts back behind the short wall, and checks her texts. She pauses for a moment. It matches the description, but she can’t check the license plate. The police are looking for a lone gunman, not a group. Who is she to be on the lookout? The men climb out of the truck. One is wearing a university hoody and jeans, exactly like the description, but then - doesn’t everyone? She hesitates again, and they head towards an apartment. She calls 911. She gives them the description of the truck and the boys. She feels like a failure when she can’t confirm the license plate, or even provide an apartment number or confirmation if they’re armed. The police and a SWAT team rolled up less than five minutes later. Mathilda didn’t move from her perch on the roof, although she was definitely no longer needed. Maybe she just wanted to see this thing to the end. A squadron of unmarked cars pulled up behind the police vehicles. It seemed like overkill to Mathilda - there was only the door and two windows for egress, and they were all on this side of the building. Mathilda spent ten boring minutes wondering what would happen next. Finally completely losing interest now that the problem had been solved, the coffee issue became more pressing. She dropped her thermos to the balcony, not caring that it made a loud clang. She proceeded to jump down after it, gracelessly landing with her hands braces on the dirty floor. As she rose to brush off her hands, she glanced back to the “action,” noting two of the boys being led out of the apartment, and made eye contact with one of the detectives standing idly by an unmarked car. She shrugged and returned, thermos in hand, to her apartment.
Not two minutes later, there was a knock on her door. The police detective was actually with the FBI, and he had some questions. Mathilda took one look around her chaotic apartment and offered to pour him a coffee, but they had to chat outside.
——-
She kept staring at her phone, remembering the days it would ring non-stop. The very recent days when she was important. Not so long ago really- but she had to keep reminding herself, as she stared at her mostly empty flat with only two boxes to unpack, that she had chosen this. This wasn’t going to be a mistake. She’d spent years planning. She wasn’t throwing away thousands of dollars to go back to school. No. This was an investment. And she needed the change. she had traded a warm townhouse and friends and neighbors and a rewarding job where she was valued and her boss needed her for grad school. Sure, she was lonelier than ever, her flat was cold and unwelcoming, and the thought of trying to make new friends amongst the students that looked like they were 18 and here to relive their teenage house party glory made her nauseous, that didn’t matter. She was tired of settling in life, and this degree would help her start over, and finally make herself “true” self into someone people would want to know. So what if her fiancé left her. So what if her boss fired her. So what if she quit the CIA. This was a new start, and it was going to be great. She had decided. And if Matilda had decided, then obviously it would eventually just manifest into being.
