Helen tossed a small red ball against the back wall of her apartment, her eyes glazed with thought and her movements robotic as she threw and caught it, deaf to its rhythm as it slapped the wall and then her palm.
Thud. Smack. Thud. Smack. Thud. Smack.
It was around three in the morning on Friday, and Addy had left the day before, leaving Helen feeling more than a little cagey.
"Will you be alright?" her best friend had asked once Isaiah had said his hellos and then gone to take Addy's bag to his car.
"Of course," Helen had lied. "Have fun, alright? I love you."
Addy hadn't entirely believed Helen—the look in the other woman's eyes made that obvious—but she didn't push it and instead yanked Helen into a tight hug. "Love you too. I'll see you Sunday night, okay?"
Don't be so sure, the cynical part of Helen's mind had snarked.
Swallowing down her fear, Helen had returned Addy's embrace and whispered into her roommate's ear, "Don't worry about me—focus on Isaiah."
The words had confused Addy, but she didn't have a chance to question Helen before Isaiah was sweeping back into the apartment with a toothy grin, crooked glasses, and an excited, "Let's kick it!"
And then they had left.
Helen had immediately fled for work, and the city noise as she walked there had been a comforting contrast to the silent apartment. Work itself was always a good distraction, and she would have stayed there all night if not for Addy's text of You'd better be going home and sleeping, Nell.
Knowing her best friend would ask her (and know if she was lying) later, Helen had blown out a sigh and walked back to the apartment. That idea in itself was horrible, but it was one in the morning at the time and she hadn't wanted to wake Pat.
Thankfully, the streets had been relatively quiet, and she'd made it back without getting murdered in a dark alley.
Unfortunately, the quiet apartment had brought no relief, and there were only so many articles and advice columns she could write and edit before her eyes began to sting from the harsh light of her computer screen.
Which was why she'd been hitting a ball against the back wall of her apartment for an hour or so.
It was a mindless task she had, unfortunately, become familiar with in the years since the accident. However, she'd learned rather quickly that she had to use whichever wall faced the outside, since she'd gotten complaints from neighbors in the past.
She startled violently out of her thoughts when the ball slapped against her face, jolting backwards and barely catching herself before she tripped over her exhausted, clumsy feet.
"It's four in the morning," she told herself a bit deliriously, watching absently as the bright red ball rolled to a stop against the baseboard. "I should be in bed. Asleep." There was no response, of course, and she felt tears prickle at her eyes.
God, it had been a long time since she'd felt so utterly alone.
Flopping down on the floor, she swallowed thickly and croaked, "This sounds so stupid when I say it out loud, but you weren't supposed to leave before I did." Falling backwards, she hit the rug-covered floor with a thump and stared at the ceiling morosely. "The whole thing sucks, you know? It sucks."
But there was no way to change it, so Helen had no choice but to lie back and watch the popcorn ceiling, praying that she wouldn't fall asleep and, if she did, that it would be peaceful.
***
A creaking sound echoed above her head, followed by crackling and the smell of smoke.
Get out, a voice whispered in the back of her dazed mind. Get out, Helen. Get out. GET OUT!
Get out? Why? Where's Cecily?
"Cece?" she wheezed, trying in vain to open her eyes. "Ce?"
"Helena," came the weak croak from somewhere beside her. "Helena. I can't feel my legs."
"Okay," she replied, but it took far too long for her to actually register the words. "Shit." Peeling open her eyes, she blinked furiously when harsh light greeted her, flickering in and out of focus.
"Ce?" she asked, confused when the strange light reflected off shattered glass and pieces of plastic and metal. Her head felt funny too, and she didn't realize she was upside down until she tried to move.
Her fingers fumbling with her seat belt, she groaned when she managed to release it and slammed into the ceiling of the car. A pained gasp escaped her lips when her entire body vibrated with the impact, the harsh agony zinging through her limbs.
"Ouch," she mumbled, dropping her head to the side to find Cecily through the crack between the two front seats; her eyes widened when they settled on her little sister in the passenger seat, whose body was half-hidden by the crumpled dashboard, her legs pinned even as her upper body dangled sideways.
"Ce?" she tried in vain to keep the hysteria from her voice. "Talk to me."
Her little sister grunted, and Helen could barely make out her dark eyes in the flickering light, so much like her own and yet filled with terror. "Legs," Cecily repeated. "Can't feel m'legs, Helena."
The panic in Helen's mind was an immediate, white-hot buzz that took over her actions and allowed her to push away her own pain and focus on her sister's.
"Okay, Cece," she murmured, hoping the waver in her voice wasn't obvious. "Okay. Hold on for just a minute." Shifting until she was leaned against the side of the door, Helen sucked in a harsh breath when her spine protested the movement, accompanied by a sudden, pounding headache. It was hard to breathe too, but she couldn't determine if her struggle came from the thick, murky air or the stinging in her ribs.
Something's not right, her mind nagged. Something's wrong.
But of course something was wrong. They'd been in a car accident and Cecily was stuck; what more could be wrong?
So lost in confusing thoughts, Helen barely caught Cecily's frantic voice. "—quickly," her sister finished, sounding panicked. "Please hurry, Helena!"
There were tears in Cecily's voice, and Helen blinked harshly. "What is it?" she asked, the rock of dread growing in her stomach for reasons unknown to her. "What's wrong? I'll get you, Ce. Just hold on a minute."
The person in the driver's seat was hanging upside down too, she noted, but she'd deal with that after she made sure Cecily was alright.
"Fire!" Cecily's raspy voice choked. "Fire, Helena! Fire!"
Helen registered the heat surrounding the car on all sides mere moments before her mind conjured up a single thought: So that's why the light is flickering.
And then the hysteria made itself known, and her movements were jerky as she frantically tried to crawl across the roof and into the front cabin. "Coming, Cece," she soothed as best she could. "Coming."
Cecily began to struggle, and the car's frame creaked ominously. "Hold still," Helena pleaded. "Ce, hold still."
"I can't!" Cecily shrieked, her movements growing desperate, "It burns! Helena, please—it burns! Hel—"
Helen jolted awake so fast her limbs flailed and hit the floor with resounding thuds.
"Damn it," she cursed, her eyes on the ceiling fan, her breaths choppy, and her pajamas soaked with sweat. "Damn it." She'd forgotten just how much sleeping sucked; now the memory of the accident would follow her all day, made worse by her sleep-deprived mind and avid imagination.
Sitting upright, she grimaced when long-healed injuries in her stomach and lower back began to sting, just as they had all those days ago—it was her own form of phantom pain, she supposed.
Her heart, however, had never healed in the first place.
She peeled herself off the floor and stumbled to the window, peeking through the blinds and blowing out a heavy sigh when she saw the sun just barely peeking over the surrounding buildings. It was probably only six or so, meaning she'd snagged a little over two hours of sleep.
Not bad.
Restless, terrifying sleep, but sleep nonetheless. As much as it sucked to fall asleep and be subjected to memories, she'd need the sleep if she wanted to function at least halfway correctly during the day.
For the moment, though, she would drown out the eerie quiet of the apartment with classical music and a hot shower.
***
"Helen?"
She spun around in her chair and passed a hesitant-looking Ivan a kind but confused smile. "Hello, Ivan, what can I do for you? I thought you were going out with Tonya today?" Even though she was typically in charge of Ivan, Helen didn't have any interviews lined up for the day, and she knew Tonya was going out to meet with the local baseball team; what better opportunity for Ivan to continue expanding his knowledge of the business? Plus, Tonya would be a good teacher, much better than Dahlia (even though poor Ivan still ended up working with the other woman on occasion).
Ivan's features brightened. "Oh, yes, I am—I'm very excited, too. But, um . . ." he shuffled a bit on his feet, and she had to send him an expectant look before he finally straightened up and asked, "It's not my business," he blurted finally, "but you look very tired and I wanted to ask if you were alright?"
On the inside, Helen was touched. The only other person who'd noticed that she wasn't operating at her normal one-hundred-percent had been Tonya, and it was nice to feel cared for. On the outside though, Helen knew she had to be careful. Tonya had been watching her like a hawk when she'd laughed and said, "Oh, just a long night; you know how I am when the advice column gets tricky," and she couldn't risk a slip-up.
Ivan's inquiries, however, would be a bit easier to quell than Tonya's.
Quirking a grin, Helen raised both brows and questioned the younger man, "Are you telling me I look bad, Ivan?"
As she'd hoped (though she did feel a bit bad for messing with him), Ivan paled and began to stutter. "Oh, n-no! Not at all! You're very pretty, Helen, always!" And then his jaw dropped, and his cheeks flooded with color. "Not like that. No, yes like that! But not like that that!"
Taking pity on him, Helen laughed brightly and reached up a hand to squeeze his shoulder. "I'm teasing, Ivan; thank you for asking, but I'm fine. Promise. Have fun with Tonya, alright? She's one of the best interviewers we have, so definitely pay attention to how she asks questions and works around unexpected replies or stubbornness."
Though Ivan's expression remained mortified, he nodded furiously. "Absolutely, Helen. I will." She passed him another grin to reassure him that everything was fine, and then waved when Tonya swept by and snatched him by the arm to drag him away.
At least now she'd have some peace to work on her own tasks and chug down her fifth cup of coffee.
As if knowing Helen's thoughts, a different voice echoed across the open office floor and called, "Helen!"
Oh, not now, please.
Spinning around, she moaned inwardly when she spotted Dahlia flying across the carpeted floors and straight towards her.
"Helen!" the woman snapped again, her shoulder-length brown hair held out of her face with an abundance of glittery clips and allowing Helen to clearly see the dangerous glint in her dark eyes. "I need to—"
"Busy!" Helen interrupted, wincing at the obvious desperation in her voice. Honestly, if she wanted to get out of the confrontation, she'd have to try harder than that.
Dahlia clearly agreed, if the tightening of her lips was any indication. "I doubt it," she replied flippantly. "You're friends with Addison McKenna, are you not?"
Well, this can't be good.
It wasn't the first time someone had asked, of course; since Addison was dating the city's most well-known entrepreneur, those who knew Helen recognized her as the woman who was pictured in gossip articles that ran along the lines of, "Isaiah Reece's Longtime Girlfriend Spotted with Close Friend on Grocery Run." Even so, it couldn't be a good thing if Dahlia of all people was asking. The woman was several years older than Helen and Patchworking Lives was her third workplace; it was clear that the first two—a gossip magazine and city newspaper—had taught her how to sniff around news like a bloodhound.
Of course, that was the main reason she was in charge of Patchworking Lives' "Truth or Lies?" segment—if anyone would get truth out of lies, it was Dahlia.
"I suppose that depends . . .?" Helen's response was cagey. "May I ask what's going on?"
"You may, but I might not say," Dahlia waved her off as she leaned against Helen's desk, crossing her arms over her ample bosom and peering down at Helen as though she was about to interrogate the younger woman.
Ugh, Helen groaned mentally, She probably is.
"Well, in that case, no, I'm not." It was always risky to push Dahlia's patience, but Helen wasn't feeling particularly giving without a decent amount of sleep, so the least Dahlia could do was meet her halfway. She let her eyes fall back to her computer screen resolutely, shifting in her seat and preparing herself for Dahlia's glare.
Thankfully, Dahlia didn't set Helen on fire with a glare. Instead, she seemed to realize what Helen was aiming for and pursed her lipstick-covered mouth into a thin line before huffing out an annoyed breath and saying, "I'll tell you, but it's just a hunch right now."
A hunch was better than nothing, Helen supposed; turning back to Dahlia, she leaned back in her chair and cross her own arms. "In that case, yes, Addison McKenna and I are good friends and roommates."
Dahlia's eyes lit up—it was the rather horrifying expression she got whenever she was given amazing information for an article, and Helen felt her stomach shrivel with nerves.
This can't be good.
Leaning forward until their faces were mere inches apart, Dahlia murmured, "This stays between us, but rumor has it that Isaiah Reece is developing a software that—once implemented—will allow police officers to trace cash more efficiently than ever."
Helen's brows furrowed, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Don't cops already trace cash?"
"Ah!" Dahlia raised a single finger and waggled it disapprovingly. "They do, but only if they plan it properly. I don't know the details yet, but Reece's software would work like an automatic tracer by reading serial numbers and sending out a GPS ping if dirty money is used as payment."
Something told Helen there were a lot of details missing—for example, How?—but if it was true, it was impressive. "Wow," she whistled. "Well, he's a smart guy, so it wouldn't surprise me." He was actually bordering on genius territory, if she was being honest. The boy had never even finished high school, but damn if his mind wasn't constantly working at about a hundred miles an hour.
Dahlia's narrowed eyes searched over Helen for any sign of dishonesty, before she leaned away and hummed thoughtfully. "So, you haven't heard anything about it?"
She shook her head. "Nope." She normally wasn't aware of Isaiah's creations unless she asked Addy outright or Isaiah was over for dinner and showing off his latest work.
Maybe I'll have to have him over for dinner again soon . . .
It wasn't like her curiosity was the only reason, either; it had been a while since the he, Addy, and Helen had sat down for dinner together, and—in addition to being a genuinely interesting guy—Isaiah would be Addy's fiancé, and a celebratory meal was certainly in order.
Later, though.
"I take it you'll be looking into it further." It wasn't a question, but Dahlia didn't seem to mind.
"Of course I will, Helen. Let me know if you hear anything, and I'll return the favor—I know you're curious."
Curious, yes, but willing to make a deal with Dahlia? Not likely.
Shrugging, Helen tried for a convincing smile. "Absolutely, Dahlia." Maybe she would, but only time would tell.
Dahlia nodded briskly before pushing off Helen's desk and marching off without another word.
"She's a dream," Helen muttered to herself, shaking her head and turning back to her own work.
Even though she couldn't sleep and would probably be barely functioning later, at least she knew work was always there for her.
Good God, I am pathetic.
***
A/N: Thoughts?
If you were wondering: Yes, Dahlia is fun to write - she gets things done, man. :D
Thanks for reading!
A.R.