With a Pull of a Trigger

Chapter Twenty

The ceiling was white. The card was white. Somehow, when Gil got lost in thought, and his eyes went unseeing, the two things merged from what he could see from the corner of his eye. Gil absentmindedly flipped the card over and over, until the words started to blur, and Gil found himself starting to become sleepy.

He told himself to focus and opened his eyes, trying to dispel the feeling of sleepiness. He had to focus, and he had to think about what the two men had offered him.

There was no denying he was curious. The two men had said that the organization was a secret division of America’s most important security system, and Gil was not going to deny that he wanted so badly to know just what the two men were talking about. It was flattering, in a way, that out of thousands of people studying law, and out of hundreds of people studying law in Harvard, he was who they had chosen to speak with. Out of tens of thousands of people studying in courses related to law enforcement, and out of thousands of people studying law enforcement-related courses in Ivy League schools, he was one of the few who were chosen.

He flipped the card over and stared at the name typed in bold, black font. Michael Denford, the card said, with the office number underneath; 592-00-12. Unlike other business cards, the one Gil had in his hands did not have a company logo, an address, or anything that could give him a clue as to what he was being offered to work in, besides the office number.

The sad thing about it all was that Gil had to make a decision without knowing every detail. He was going in blind with only a cryptic clue as to what kind of organization was asking for his help.

Gil sat up, moving backwards until his back was against the smooth, wooden headboard. He crossed his ankles again, took a deep breath, and reached for the phone on his dark, oak nightstand. He dialed the number written on the card with nimble fingers, taking a deep breath before putting the phone to his ear.

A woman’s voice, cool and breezy, sounded on the phone. “Smithson and West Law Firm, how may I help you?”

Gil took a steadying breath. “Good morning. I’m Gil Baxendale, and I’m looking for a Mister Denford? Michael Denford.”

“I’ll direct you over to his line, then. Have a good morning!”

Gil smiled. The woman’s voice remained chirpy, and he found his paranoia being calmed down a bit. Thanks. You too.”

Tiffany walked up the wooden staircase with her heart thrumming loudly in her chest, not unlike the staccato beat of a wooden drum. Her palms were sweaty as she climbed the staircase with her hand on the banister, afraid that if she didn’t hold onto the banister, her shaky legs would fail to support her.

About halfway up the admittedly short staircase, Tiffany looked up and saw a pale girl with dull brown eyes in her late twenties dressed in a pristine sleeved white dress that ended below her flawless knees. The sleeves of her dress were puffed up like Snow White’s, and the chest part of her dress was lacy and glossy, with a red bow tied around her slim waist. A clean, white headband with a red bow placed on the right side adorned her head, her wavy, waist-length dark brown hair gleaming when sunlight hit it just right. The girl was wearing clean, white, cotton socks, and polished, black school shoes.

The girl tilted her head to the side, as if asking Tiffany a silent question.

“Eunice,” Tiffany breathed out, her voice filled with awe, frustration, and guilt. With a few steps, Tiffany was beside Eunice and hugging her fiercely, afraid to let her go. Tiffany could feel unbidden tears threatening to spill over, and she smelled her sister’s hair, trying to memorize the scent of coconut and the sea. She didn’t let go of her sister for a long time, trying to memorize all she could about her sister. It seemed that her sister was about six inches smaller than her, and she smiled, albeit sadly.