Convergence

Chapter 4

Allafair gripped the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. There could be no mistaking this woman to be anyone else. The figure, the hair color, the dress...it was her. It had to be her. Anya's voice suddenly broke through his shocked stupor, and he felt her shaking his shoulders softly. "Holt. Allafair! Allafair, are you alright? What's wrong?" she asked, worry resounding in her voice.

"It's...it's...it's her..." Allafair stammered. He ran his shaking hands through his hair, feeling the sweat that had begun to drench his forehead.

"Her?" Anya asked. "Allafair, do you know this...this woman in red?"

"I...I don't know," he answered, his voice hoarse.

"What do you mean? She's obviously familiar to you," Anya said, laughing breathily.

Allafair pushed his chair back so suddenly that it crashed into the wall behind him. The wall, made entirely of glass as if it were a large window, shook with the power behind the chair, and Anya jumped in alarm. "I don't...know, Anya. I just don't know," Allafair said, his voice trembling.

"Where have you seen her before?" Anya inquired further.

Allafair froze by the closed door to his office. He fought with himself, wondering whether he should tell her about his attacker in the alley. Anya could be helpful with discovering the identity of the woman in red. Then again, she could also stand in the way if he told her of his hunch. He decided he would reveal to her only what was necessary. "Outside the warehouse yesterday," he began, pacing across the length of the wall in which the door to his office was built. "There was a woman beyond the dumpster where you found me, and she had been in an identical red dress. She was the one who had killed Brianne."

Anya gaped at Allafair. "And you refrained from telling me this why?"

"I was frustrated...wasn't thinking straight. She had said something strange...something about 'the alliance' and that Brianne was an implant, hired by a mole in the BRIT," he continued. "She said I knew who she was, but I can't seem to place her name. There isn't a single identity that I can place to her."

"Moles? An alliance? What does that mean?" Anya wondered.

"I told you!" Allafair cried. Anya's eyes widened, and she stumbled backwards, away from Allafair. He softened his gaze and pulled himself back together. "I told you...I don't know. But something tells me that the BRIT isn't everything it seems."

"Do you think...do you think Patrick knows anything about it?" Anya asked.

Allafair stared at a painting on the wall behind Anya. It depicted the sun setting over Manchester, one of the most beautiful things he had ever witnessed. He searched the brushstrokes, willed them to tell him something, but to no avail. "He must," Allafair murmured. "We find ourselves with a new head, and something like this follows?"

Anya nodded. "It does seem a bit strange."

"I'd wager he's either the man behind this...alliance or the mole." Allafair began to pace again, rubbing his face with his hands every so often, as if to awaken himself from sleep. "There's a simple solution before us," he stated, halting before Anya.

"What? Do you mean we ask him?" she replied. Her eyes grew wide when Allafair refrained from disagreeing. "You can't be serious! If we go around accusing him of being a mole, we'll lose our jobs! He'll have our memories wiped! We will have no recollection of the BRIT at all!"