Erasing Faith(29)

Chapter Fifteen: FAITH


MARIONETTE STRINGS



I walked the dark halls of Hermes in a semi-daze. Ten days post-Wes and my anger had fizzled into depression, which in turn had faded into begrudging resignation. It was time to admit defeat, to acknowledge that he’d been right all along.

Fate was bullshit.

I’d never see Wes Adams again.

I wasn’t sure why that hurt so damn much. I barely knew the guy.

Can you miss something that was never yours to begin with?

Can you mourn the absence of someone you never even had?

My chest ached as though Wes had reached under my ribcage and removed a piece of my heart when he’d walked away. Perhaps I was grieving for our potential — for the future that might have been. Because in three short encounters with Wes, I’d felt things no one else had ever stirred in me. It sounded so cliché I couldn’t say it out loud — I could barely even say it in my head — but it was as though my soul had recognized something kindred in his. As if some facet of my innermost self had cried out because, at long last, it had found its mate.

In those briefest of shared moments, we’d come to know one another not through conversations or games of Twenty Questions, but through something far more elemental. Bound together by essential, invisible threads, we’d moved, breathed, existed as one — two twin marionettes on the same string.

But he’d cut his lines and walked away.

Now, I hung alone in empty air, as I’d done for most of my life. The solitude was familiar, but somehow seemed more unbearable now than it ever did before I’d known Wes existed.

Margot had surely noticed the absence of my usual cheerful disposition over the past two weeks, but she’d refrained from commenting or shoving an I-told-you-so down my throat. Instead, she’d been intent on distracting me — dragging me all over the city, exploring historic sites and hot clubs in equal measure. She even forced me to cross the Chain Bridge into Buda on our day off, waiting patiently as I freaked out for five long seconds before grabbing my hand and guiding me over.

As I’d counted to five, I couldn’t stop myself from imagining his face or hearing his voice.

You breathe them in, count them down. And when they’re over…

You tell the fear to go f*ck itself.

I wasn’t sure whether it was his words or the memory of his dark eyes that made my fear flee. But, for the first time since I’d come to Budapest, I made it across the damn bridge without being reduced to a puddle of panic. I guess, if nothing else, he’d given me a way to get over my fears.

Too bad I couldn’t apply the same strategy when it came to getting over him.

I blew out an exasperated huff of air as I walked toward the staff room. I’d been so distracted, I’d completely forgotten my book bag in my locker after today’s shift. Typically, I would’ve seen that as a sign from the gods that I didn’t need to spend my night studying, but Professor Varga had emailed the entire class earlier this evening, warning of a possible pop quiz during tomorrow’s lecture. If I didn’t brush up on Hungarian history, my GPA would start to suffer right along with my heart.

The office was eerily quiet.

Deliveries stopped at 8 p.m. each night, and it was well past 10 p.m. by now. I’d never seen the halls so deserted — no couriers were rushing from the sorting room to their bikes, no new packages were speeding by on the now-motionless conveyor belt. The front doors had been firmly bolted, the entry lights doused. Irenka, Marko, and Istvan were absent from their usual posts. I’d had to walk around the side of the building and scan my company badge to open the small entrance by the delivery ramps.

It was strange to see what was typically a hub of endless activity totally silent — like wandering an amusement park alone after closing time, when the twirling carnival lights had gone dark and the rides had drawn to a standstill. It felt eerie. Unnatural.

I cast wary eyes around the empty office, suddenly worried I wasn’t supposed to be here after business hours.

But, surely, it was okay for me to dart in and out for a textbook. It wasn’t like I was vandalizing the place. I’d be here less than five minutes. No reason to freak out.

Still, I picked up my pace when I rounded a corner and spotted the door.

Halfway down the hallway, I started to a stop when I heard the unmistakable sounds of muffled conversation. Feet frozen, my eyes traveled to the small alcove I passed each day on the way to my locker. The double doors there were always firmly closed during my shifts, but now I saw they were slightly ajar, allowing hushed, male voices to spill into the passage and reach my ears. I couldn’t make out their words — they were speaking Hungarian — but the low, urgent nature of their tones made my feet falter and my heart begin to pound.

A little voice in the back of my mind was screaming at me to turn back, telling me something wasn’t right here. That I should forget the damned book and walk — no, run — for the nearest exit.

Curiosity killed the cat, my inner voice shrieked.

I was more of a dog person, anyway.

Dismissing my intuition, I crept forward, my footfalls soft against the carpeted floor. When I reached the alcove, I peered around the corner through the cracked door. Two men wearing the same uniform Marko and Istvan always dressed in — night guards, from the looks of it — were standing in front of a large bank of screens. Their discussion was growing more heated by the second, but my attention was focused on the pixelated wall behind them. From the looks of it, I’d stumbled upon a surveillance room.