Brett
Brett was bored.
No, that wasn't quite right. Brett was bored a lot of the time, often complaining to his friends that he had nothing to do (Erin's favorite response to this: 'Hello, Bored - I'm Erin!'). But this kind of boredom was mind-numbing, exhausting almost, and there seemed to be no reprieve.
His job had been to monitor the security cameras, and he'd been doing that for...four hours now. The only fun part had been figuring out how to hack into the security system, which had taken him only twenty minutes.
Brett checked the time for the fifth time in the last minute – 11:21 – and sighed. He was on the living room sofa in the empty house, and in that instant he was hit with a powerful wave of loneliness. His friends were all on a boat somewhere in the Atlantic, and he was stuck in the center of Plexmont city. He couldn't even contact them – they had decided that their earpieces were too visible to be worn the whole time, and they would wear them only during the actual heist. There was a phone number that Ryder had given him, but it was 'only for emergencies'. And Brett doubted that he would consider his 'boredom levels' to be an emergency, so that wasn't an option.
But while he couldn't talk to his friends, he could watch them through the video feeds. He'd been tracking them the whole evening, and had seen Erin spill champagne on a guest (smooth), Lana get hit by Russo (prick), and Ryder get lost on his way to the bathroom (hilarious). The only one he hadn't seen was Cole, at least for the first hour or so. Bret guessed he'd been in one of the large masses of caterers – there were so many that he'd hardly bothered to comb through all of them. He knew that if Erin had gotten on board, he would have too. He'd been proven right when Cole appeared around the time when Carmichael had been giving his grand welcome.
But now he had nothing to do because that had all been over three hours ago. Everyone had dined and retired to their rooms at ten o'clock until the only people left on the first floor were the cleaners. Through the video, Brett had followed Erin and Cole to the crew's quarters and Ryder and Lana to their room – No. 58. He'd smothered giggles as he watched them try to figure out what to do with the fact that there was only one bed, and had sighed when Ryder had volunteered to sleep on the sofa. Those two were meant to be together – Brett knew it, Erin knew it, even Cole knew it. It was only those two who were so blind that they couldn't see it for themselves.
Thinking of them bright forth the urge to see them on the screen, and so he flicked through the video surveillance until he found the one for their room. It was quite creepy, Bret thought, that Carmichael put cameras in people's chambers – it was probably birthed out of an obsessive need to know what people were doing.
As he looked at Lana's sleeping figure, he thought back to their conversation of the night before. They'd been surfing through the channels, trying to find the next movie for their binge-watching spree when he'd asked her why exactly she was doing the heist. She'd laughed, and responded with "the money". He'd chuckled alongside her, then sobered, asking her 'for real'. He'd really wanted to know for the same reason he'd researched about Ryder's dad – he liked understanding how people worked.
She'd shrugged, attributing it to a slightly warped sense of justice, but Brett had pressed, believed that there was another underlying motive. The more he'd asked, the more annoyed Lana had got until finally she'd turned to him and uttered these exact words.
"I've just told you why, Brett. And, even if there was any other reason, why would I tell you? It's not like you ever talk about yourself."
Even thinking of it now, Brett cringed. The words had stung – still did – but the worst part was that she'd been right. He'd never told people much about himself past the basics, ever. Who was he to criticize other people for not being open, when he himself was a locked door?
So when Erin had later admitted her crush (a curveball he had not seen coming) and he'd rejected her, he'd also explained to her why. He'd told her. All of it. Well, not all of it, but nearly.
He'd told her that he was gay, that he'd been secretive about it and slightly embarrassed, until he'd met a guy. He'd told her about their relationship, that they'd really been in love. He'd told her that his father had been homophobic, so their relationship – along with his sexuality – had had to remain a secret. He'd told about how when his father had found out, he'd ordered his boyfriend killed. He told her how, in his grief, he'd left home, never to come back.
Erin had been shocked, but had consoled him as sobs had wracked his body, the result of bring up old injuries. She'd held him tight, reassuring him that it would be okay, and in that moment, he'd realized what a great friend he had in her.
Brett blew out a breath and rubbed his eyes, fatigue finally catching up to him, despite the four mugs of espresso he'd drank earlier. He glanced back at the screen and began setting up a program to set off an alarm whenever movement was detected around any of his friends' or Carmichael's room.
When he finished, forty minutes later, he decided to turn in, trusting his computer to alert him if there was a problem – after all, he couldn't run on espresso and adrenaline for three days straight. He placed his computer on his desk, and flumped into his bed. He was going sleep. He was definitely going to sleep.
* * *
Needless to say, he did not end up going to sleep.
In his defense, the minute he'd laid his head on the pillow, the coffee had kicked in, leaving him wide awake and ready to work. And still, he'd tried to sleep, knowing that fatigue was his enemy.
But the god of sleep – whether it be Hypnos, Tutu or Chuángshén – hadn't been on his side that night. Just as he'd been about to doze off, a memory came unbidden to him. He'd thought of the semi-successful mission that he'd pulled off with Lana, around a week before, and the guest list that changed. He'd put in Lana and Ryder's fake names in place of two other people...Mr and Ms. Dallas. When he'd done a quick background check of them, they'd turned out to be elderly music store owners from Nevada. But why were they on the list?
Brett had pondered this at the time, for all of one second, before turning his mind to more practical matters. The question had lingered in the back of his mind for a while, demanding an answer, but even then, he'd just forgotten about it. But now, with it right at the forefront of his mind, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he had answers.
So, here he was now, his computer in his lap, a search engine open, ready for research.
"Alright. Mr and Ms Dallas, Nevada," he muttered, typing the words as he spoke. A photo of the couple showed up, and as he looked at them, he felt like he recognized them vaguely – but from where, he couldn't say.
He started to research about their music store – Tuned In – and found that it sold cassette tapes and old vinyl records, and seemed to do alright. Nothing rich, nothing fancy, pretty much the opposite of Carmichael.
So why were they on the list?
He googled them extensively, to find that they had both graduated from The University of Nevada, him the year before her. They'd opened the store at the age of twenty-six and twenty-five, and despite the fact that customer numbers were dwindling, they still made enough for a living.
Brett was honestly stumped. There was nothing there – nothing! – that even remotely connected them to Carmichael. He frowned, and flicked back to the home page of their website, and stared absent-mindedly at the photo of the couple.
Except...it wasn't just a photo of the couple. Brett squinted and leaned forward, trying to decipher what that blur in the background was and realizing that it was a girl. A girl! Judging from her size, she looked to be about five or six, but the photo had been taken almost twenty-five years ago. Maybe Carmichael knew their daughter, and wanted to meet the people who had raised her.
He went back to the search engine and typed in 'Mr and Ms Dallas daughter', and held his breath as the results began to pop up. And when he saw the name, he slapped himself for not seeing it sooner. Erin would have been disappointed.
He couldn't wait to tell Lana what he'd found.
A/N: So...who do you think it is? Tell me your guesses!
Do comment, and vote if you think I deserve it :)