𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎 | 𝚒 𝚜𝚙𝚢
Another two weeks have passed.
I'm nowhere closer to figuring anything else out.
Missions require playing the long game, but this is getting ridiculous. I want this mission accomplished and over with.
Archer has a long day of classes on Tuesdays, so I figured doing another sweep of his apartment was in my best interest. I haven't been in his apartment for a few days, so the fresh eyes should be good.
I went room by room, but I spent the most time in the two home offices.
Maya Hawthorne's office looked like a miniature laboratory. She had beakers and test tubes on every shelf. Handwritten notes on her experiments were neatly in the filing cabinets. Awards given to her by both the FBI and the scientific community rested on the walls. A white lab coat hung behind the door.
Crime Scene Investigators contaminated every room in this house, so I'm looking for evidence that could have been tampered with.
"She's a scientist first and foremost. The FBI came later in her career, so she was taught to keep things secret. Her skills at hiding things probably aren't the best. What could be hidden in plain sight?" I asked myself.
I checked her desk and saw photographs of her husband and son. Family pictures.
I opened the frames to look at the backs of the pictures. Most parents write little notes on the back of pictures to keep the memory. Maya Hawthorne is no exception.
First picture: Archer, age 12, first day of middle school.
Second picture: Archer's first Ranger's hockey game.
The third picture held two photos inside one frame.
The top picture was of Maya and William at some fancy event. They are smiling holding glasses of champagne, but they are not facing directly at the camera. The photo isn't torn, but they are clearly looking to their left. Maya and William must not have known that the picture was being taken.
Third picture: London, 1990.
The bottom picture slipped out of the frame, and I could see the back of it first.
Fourth (hidden) picture: My favorite newlyweds. London, 1990.
My entire body shut down at that moment.
This isn't real! None of this is real.
The hidden picture revealed a man and woman on their wedding day. Both were facing to the right, and the two pictures lined up perfectly with one another.
No! No! No!
The woman in her wedding dress looked stunning. Breathtaking even. She has long black hair that cascaded down her back, as she was arching back in laughter. The thick ringlets of curls framed her elegant and pale face. Her new husband had a genuine smile on his face. Which is strange because I've rarely ever seen that man smile.
The man and woman in the picture were my parents on their wedding day.
No!
There's no possible way that my parents were friends with the Hawthorne's. I would've known that. My parents didn't have any friends. They had partners. They had associates. They had Grayson and me. No one else! Hell they even had enemies!
I started searching through this woman's study in order to find anything else that involved my parents.
"Come on, Maya Hawthorne. I know the answers are in here!" I shouted.
Inconspicuously, I turned this woman's office upside down. I kept everything exactly where it was, but now I desperately needed answers.
I started rifling through the file cabinets to find anything with my parents' names on it. Vivian and Bruce Alderidge. Two names that would stand out to me. If my parents were Maya Hawthorne's favorite newlyweds back in the day, then there has to be more items including them.
After taking every certificate out of its frame, nothing proved to be useful.
None of the labels with names on them said Vivian or Bruce. Nothing with the name: Alderidge.
I'm screwed!
My watch dinged. Archer would be home soon. He will be texting me within the next hour because he waits until his classes are done to text or call me.
"Fuck! Fuck your schedule Pumpkin King!" I shouted.
Now I have to sneak in another time and search William Hawthorne's office.
I took a picture with my phone of the picture of Maya and William Hawthorne, but I put the actually printed picture of my parents in my bag.
I wasn't leaving there without my parents.
🂧
I've never been happier today is Tuesday. Grayson and Thea have their date nights on Tuesday. It's something they've done since they started dating.
No one is allowed to see me right now. I'm three seconds away from going to a shooting range and releasing all my anger onto a target.
The picture laid on my bed in front of me. I've been staring at it since I got home. My seven of spades card was clenched between my palms.
It took me a few minutes to do something I haven't done since I was a toddler. I cried. Actually, crying doesn't describe it. I sobbed into my hands. My dad taught me that crying was a sign of weakness and vulnerability. It sounds overly sociopathic, but I didn't even cry when I found out my parents died. I remained silent, but I didn't cry. My dad would be disappointed in me if I cried over their deaths.
"Why me?" I asked myself. "Why does my family have to be meshed with the Hawthorne's?"
Composing myself, I needed to write everything down now. It was fresh in my brain.
Latest Assumptions:
-My parents could've been killed because they knew the Hawthorne's not because they were spies.
-The Hawthorne's could know about the classified files that got my parents killed.
-My parents were friends with Maya and William Hawthorne.
-Their friendship was hidden.
My assumptions mean nothing at this point.
Learning that my parents knew the Hawthorne's doesn't lead me to the killer.
Grayson and Thea were home, but the last thing I wanted was to see my brother.
I can't face him right now.
I'm about to make the biggest mistake of my entire life. This may be the worst idea I've ever had, but I need to do this.
I'm asking Archer if I could come to his apartment.
🂧
Archer didn't question my request to come to his apartment. I assumed he felt lonely being in his giant penthouse all alone where two people died. Telling someone that you had a rough day and didn't want to be in your own apartment would seem suspicious to me, but Archer Hawthorne is a decent enough human being to let me come over.
It didn't take me long to get to this apartment. I've been here so many times over the past three months. Archer could never know that though.
"Archer, I'm sorry for the ultimatum. Being home right now wasn't the best idea," I said.
Archer led me to his living room, while he got us some drinks.
"Do you need liquid courage?" He asked. He held up different bottles from the kitchen, and I noticed he had a full bottle of Bombay Sapphire.
"Truth serum," I corrected in a whisper. "That bottle of gin is good for me."
I read all of the diplomas, certificates, and awards that surrounded the walls of Archer's living room walls. Nearly all of them were addressed to Maya or William Hawthorne.
Its pretty clear why Archer is hell bent on becoming an FBI agent. He needs his parents to be proud of him. He needs to show them that he's worth something in this world.
Dammit! I really need to find his parents alive. I can't let Archer live with the loss of his parents.
Gin on the rocks. The perfect beverage.
"Wanna talk about what's bothering you?" He asked.
I shook my head, while I sipped on straight gin. I love gin.
"I'm an asshole. I mean, these bitches on tv still think you're a killer, but here I am complaining about my bad day," I muttered.
I'm hoping that Archer would open up about the investigation on his own. Maybe he would even tell me about his parents. The information in the depths of his brain is far more important than any information on paper.
"You're not an asshole. The world still spins even though I screwed up," he said.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"That- That night, I wasn't here, but I was supposed to be here," he shuttered thinking about that night. "There's a possibility that I was meant to die that night along with Diane and Anthony. It breaks my heart to admit that I don't know where my parents are, or if they're even alive."
"You weren't meant to die that night. If you died, we never would've met," I divulged.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're flirting with me," Archer whispered.
I rolled my eyes. "Trust me. I wouldn't know how to do that if I wanted to," I said.
"So, you're telling me you want to?" Archer inferred.
"Change the subject of conversation now, or I will harm you physically," I said, spinning my switchblade around my finger that was attached to my keys.
Archer surrendered. The two of us sipped on our grown-up drinks, because no one could tell us we couldn't.
After a long mission, or a mission that didn't go well, Grayson is always there with a fancy bottle of Plymouth Gin. It's a delicious dry gin that my parents used to drink all the time.
We talked a lot about random topics. Archer wasn't telling me much about himself, and I sure as hell wasn't telling him anything about myself. I've barely gotten into fabricated details that I could be telling him. We talked about our studies at NYU, and what we wanted to do in the future with our degrees.
"Alright, new subject. Tell me about yourself," Archer said.
That. Those four little words. Four little words that could essentially blow a spy's cover. If one single detail doesn't add up or has already been told differently—could ruin everything. This was the true test of what being a good spy is all about.
Archer didn't ask me any direct questions. I could be as in detail or as vague as I wanted in my response.
This is what we call Playback. False information that the target thinks is real. In a perfect world, a playback comes with information in return.
"Ariella Elizabeth Alderidge. May 13th. Nineteen years old. I have an unhealthy obsession with The Beatles. And for some reason I find it thrilling when my birthday lands on Friday the 13th," I explained.
There we go. Now Archer Hawthorne knows more about me than most of the human race. This is my first mission where I'm not fully undercover.
I was once Josephina who was an aerial acrobat in the circus. Persephone who was an environmental activist, who was taking down environmental terrorists. Roxanne was an Australian zookeeper catching exotic animal smugglers. My deepest cover involved working for a man that owned a strip club. He was extorting his dancers into prostitution, so I went undercover in his strip club to catch him. My alias for that mission was Sasha.
The list of alias' that I've lived with over the years is limitless.
Sometimes, the idea of being Ariella Alderidge is dull. I like reinventing myself into a whole new person with an entire past to themselves.
Once a mission is complete, I go back to being Ariella. The girl with no parents, and a brother who has his own life. I go back to being alone.
"You look so uncomfortable right now!" Archer laughed.
I poured myself another drink and felt so unbelievably uncomfortable right now.
"Yeah. I'm usually the one asking questions. I don't like answering them too often," I explained.
"Well, Ariella Alderidge," Archer said, enunciating my name. He lifted his glass as if he was making a toast. "Here's to you nearly dying, because it brought me to you."
Our glasses clinked together, and I could see that Archer was finally taking a liking to me.
"I'm seeing a pool table behind us. Wanna get your ass kicked?" I questioned.
Archer racked the balls, and we got ourselves ready to play pool.
"By the way, I was only talking shit before. I've literally never played pool before in my life," I added, before he cracked the pyramid of balls.
Both Archer and I had the mindset of gulping down our drinks before playing.
"Should we put a wager on the game?" Archer inquired. I nodded feeling confident in my ability to win at everything I do. "If I win, you let me take you out this weekend and you can't question where I take you."
"Deal," I smiled.
Archer got two stripes balls in before missing.
Here we go!
Stroke. Stroke after stroke.
Poor Archer!
He's only had a turn once so far.
All of my solid balls are in. The 8 ball is the only one left.
If I hit the cue ball too hard, then I'm going to scratch. I grazed the club over the ball, and the 8 ball slowly went into the corner pocket. The cue ball balanced on the edge of the pocket.
I didn't realize that Archer was standing in my personal space. Straightening my body from the table, Archer's body towered over my own.
"And that's game," I whispered, keeping a straight face.
I don't know if he can tell that I was hustling him, but he didn't look pissed off. His face was calm.
"We never made a wager of what'll happen if you win. So, what's my punishment?" Archer asked. His face hovering a few inches away from mine.
Our closeness would make a schoolgirl weak in the knees. I don't know if Archer is trying to have that power over me, but it's not going to work. My stone cold demeanor is unbreakable.
I hold all of the power in this situation. Archer will never see this coming. No one in their right mind would ever see this coming.
I'm a wild card. Let's just hope Archer can keep up.
"I get to take you somewhere very special this weekend," I smirked.
Archer hasn't moved his body away from mine. His eyes never left mine. "Can I say something that might be offensive towards you?" Archer asked.
I chuckled. "I doubt it'll be offensive, but go ahead," I said.
"Between your mannerisms, your confidence, the excessive number of weapons that you have with you at all times, and your enjoyment of Friday the 13th—you seriously scare me sometimes," Archer whispered.
My entire back arched backwards in a fit of laughter. Never in my life did I think someone could make me laugh in a genuine way. Archer's been studying me since the moment we met. He's made a mental note of all of the small scary things that make me who I am.
I'm surprised he isn't running for the hills by now.
Anyone with a normal head on their shoulders would've run off by now. For some reason, Archer Hawthorne isn't scared of being around me. Maybe he's as damaged as I am.
Archer and I breathed the same air for a few minutes longer. Keeping minimal distance between us. It was already after midnight, so I figured we should call it a night. Before this weekend, I don't know when Archer will see me again, but I will be seeing him as he leaves his apartment for class.
My ass will be in his apartment all damn day long if I need to. I'm finding all the information possible regarding my parents.
There is a connection between my parents and the Hawthorne's. That connection is going to lead me to who abducted Maya and William Hawthorne.
Archer and I were in a position for our breaths to almost mingle together again when he walked me to his front door. I know that I'm a frightening individual, but I suppose I could and should ease Archer's mind a little bit.
The sound of my switch blade clicking open and closed, caused Archer to jump slightly at the sound.
"By the way, I'm not a psychopath. I'm a high functioning sociopath," I whispered, slipping out of his grip and out the door.