The Misery of What's Missing

by kletmeread

Summary:

Sir plans a thrilling night of entertainment for Gabi and Dhan.

Notes:

Originally this story was written as a standalone, but has since become a continuation of "On the Edges of Happiness". It takes place in some reality of S2.

Chapter 1

As of two minutes ago, they were seventy-six hours into their search. No rest, no sleep. And how could he sleep or even think about going home while he was missing? Rubbing his eyes, heading to the latest breadcrumb, Dhan was exhausted but as determined as ever. He prided himself on being able to protect his people, he’d be damned if he would allow Sir to take that away from him—and so easily. Sir would pay. A bullet between the eyes wouldn’t be nearly enough either, he would suffer when he found him.

Pulling up to the vacant warehouse, Dhan exited his car and slammed the door shut before the engine could shut off completely. In a mad dash, he didn’t even wait for Gabi to do the same. 

“Dhan, wait. We shouldn’t just rush in. Who knows what he may have planned for us,” she called after him.

Reaching for his handgun, still sprinting for the side door he shouted back, “He should be more concerned about what I have planned for him.” 

“At least give me a chance to set up Zeke’s damn drone. We need any backup we can get,” Gabi spluttered after finally catching up to Dhan. 

“Fine.” Looking into her eyes he confessed, “but I can’t wait too long. Or stop. Or think, really. This is our fault. I won’t be able to live with myself, if something happens to him. The last thing I said to him...” Dhan stopped realizing he was getting choked up. Gabi squeezed his arm hoping to convey assurance. 

“Dhan, I got you. We will get Ethan back and get that bastard for good.” 

They nodded at each other, annealing themselves for the task ahead. Dhan peered through the glass block windows on either side of the door. He couldn’t see any light or movement through the grimy panes. He pushed Gabi back, then rushed the door kicking it open. 

“Sir, show yourself! Where’s Ethan?,” he boomed. There was no answer. The two of them cleared the room, while Zeke’s drone whizzed past them. 

Through their earpiece Zeke announced, “I’ll make sure Sir doesn’t have any surprises in store for you.” 

 

They spent about 10 minutes making their way through the first level of the warehouse. Besides the copious amounts of dust, empty boxes, abandoned furniture, decommissioned equipment, and scurrying critters the building was eerily still. There was no sign of Sir. Losing patience with each step, Dhan called out again, “Sir you wanted us here. Now we’re here. Cut the crap and show yourself.” 

Gabi whispered with little confidence, “Maybe he’s not here. I wouldn’t put it past him to lure us here, just to leave another one of his clues.” They walked on until Zeke chimed in with an update, “There’s nothing on the first floor. Thermal imaging hasn’t picked up any other heat signatures besides you guys down here. Once I find an opening, I’m going to scope out the next level.” Only a few minutes had gone by before they heard a loud bang and crashing sounds. 

Dhan and Gabi ran towards the noise. “Guys, I think it was Sir! I made my way upstairs through the southeast staircase. My scanner picked up movement, but before I could check it out the drone was down. Maybe now is a good time to reconsider looping in Trent?” reasoned Zeke. 

“Absolutely not”

“Hell no.” 

They responded at the same time.

Gabi eyed Dhan, “Look he was very clear we shouldn’t involve the police, especially Trent. I’m 90% sure it was an empty threat but I’d rather not bet Ethan’s life on it.” 

“And plus we don’t need Trent. I can handle Sir without him,” Dhan grumbled. 

“If we don’t get him tonight, then we’ll talk police in the morning. Copy Zeke?”

“Yeah, Gabi if you say…” Zeke’s voice faded as static flooded their comms. 

“Zeke, if you can still hear me. Don’t call the police! Give us until the morning.” There was garbled speech, followed by silence on the other end. She removed her earpiece. 

Dhan trudged on as if nothing happened, “Come on, we’ll be fine without him. It’s not much he could do as just a voice in our head anyway.” 

 

They found the stairwell and made their way up the stairs. Dhan halted at the second floor entrance to give marching orders, “As soon as we cross the threshold, I want you to cover my back. I’ll cover the front. He’s expecting us and now knows we're blind up here.” Holding her gun and flashlight like he taught her, she followed his instruction, both of them moving in sync as they proceeded. 

A tactical pro, Dhan was laser focused. Gabi did her best to mimic him and steel herself against her bubbling emotions. Ethan had to be ok. She would never forgive herself if he was maimed or dead because she wasn’t strong enough to end Sir’s reign of terror when she had the chance. The guilt gnawed at her because Dhan would not only hate her, he would be destroyed in the process. All of his years of healing would be flushed down the toilet. He could not go back to that version of himself, he wouldn’t survive it. If the shit hit the fan, neither of them could handle the worst outcome. 

“Hello Gabrielle.” Sir’s confidently smooth voice freed her from her thoughts. She no longer mimicked Dhan’s strength, she matched it with her own. 

Gabi called out, “Cut the theatrics! Where’s Ethan?”

“Gabrielle, tsk tsk. That’s no way to greet your other half.”

“You’re right, I’ll save the pleasantries for when we’re face to face. I have a very special greeting just for you.” 

“While that sounds delightful. That will have to wait my dear. I have a little surprise for you and your pet.” 

“I’m no one’s pet. Where is my husband? Bring him to us now and I may consider letting you leave here in something other than a body bag,” Dhan snapped while searching the large staging room they were now in for the source of his voice. It was an intercom system, wired throughout the building leaving no hints to the direction of his location. 

“Oh I see, ‘pet’ is too toothless for you, Executioner. A hardened military man like yourself must be foaming at the mouth that I was able to capture someone so close to you. You put all your energy into protecting my Gabrielle, that you forgot to keep your own house in order. Priorities. Priorities. ‘If you give up what you want most for what you think you should want more, you’ll end up…’” 

“Is that how you feel Sir? Miserable.” In tandem with Dhan she tested the locks of the three doors along the perimeter of the space, as she spoke. Each one was locked. “You know it can get a lot worse for you. Now please get on with it. Did you bring us here to keep us in a locked room? I guess this is an upgrade from the cabin.” 

There was a clicking sound of a deadbolt. The door to the left unlocked. “You’re right my dear, I apologize for getting distracted. Let’s get on with tonight’s entertainment.”

Chapter 2

The door opened into a corridor lined with enormous steel framed windows. The moonlight that should have guided their way was snuffed out by years of baked on grime from nearby industrial plants on the outside and by dense dusty cobwebs committed to swallowing any remaining light on the inside. Gabi wondered what Sir was up to, this was clearly not an environment that suited him. She prayed that it wasn’t a sign of his mental state becoming more deranged than usual. Her partner was visibly agitated. Dahn had run his hand through his hair at least five times in the five yards that they covered so far. He itched to get whatever it was over with. Well aware of Sir’s affinity to prove a point with obnoxious flair, she knew ‘getting it over with’ was going to be a pain in the ass.

Further down the corridor was a series of offices still stacked with furniture and littered with supplies of its former occupants. They took a cursory glimpse into each one, not quite sure what they were searching for until a flash of fluorescent lights illuminated a large conference room at the end of the hallway. Gabi let out a breath of exasperation while Dhan pocketed his flashlight and repositioned his gun.

The conference room was restored to the glory of its past in strict contrast to where they had just left. Gabi knew it was spotless because Sir couldn’t resist. At its center was a large meeting table set neatly with worn leather chairs. To the left there was a whiteboard with remnants of former plans accompanied by a box of fresh markers. To the right of the room was… they couldn’t believe it, a party platter of sandwiches, veggies, and fruit along with drinks, energy bars, plates, and napkins.

“His dramatic ass,” Gabi harrumphed as she nodded towards the projector screen at the end of the room displaying the cover page of a presentation that read: Welcome! Bienvenue! Welkom!

“Language Gabrielle!”

“What is this? Some kind of a joke to you!” Dhan slammed his fist on one of the side tables housing the cornucopia.

“Forgive me for being a gracious host. I thought you would like some refreshment before we proceed with tonight’s activities… No? Well let’s get started then.” Sir cleared his throat, a little disappointed. “Ok, safety first. I’d like you both to disarm and unload your weapons. You can place the bullets in the small receptacle behind you and the guns on the table just above it. And by disarm I mean all weapons. Yes, Gabrielle that means the knife you keep at your ankle and your beloved brass knuckles. Executioner, I trust you need no such reminder given the very serious consequences. I really wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Take them, you can trust my fists will be more than enough when I find you,” said Dhan.

“Ah yes, resorting to violence once again. Your husband had some interesting thoughts on that topic.” The screen switched to a video of Ethan.

Dhan grasped Gabi’s hand to steady himself as they moved closer to the screen. “Ethan, babe are you ok? I’m here, I'm going to get you out of there. I’m going to take you home. I’m so sorry.” Ethan was saying something back, but there wasn’t any sound coming through. He refocused his attention on their disembodied host, “What is he saying? What have you done to him?”

“As you can see he is perfectly fine. He has regular meals, books to read, stimulating conversation, bathroom time for his ablutions and more personal matters, plus his cozy room is temperature regulated. All of these amenities and one wee chain at his ankle for precaution. Really, I would say it’s an improvement on our most recent living situation, Gabrielle. I’m not complaining, only suggesting you may want to take note in case you desire to have me at your mercy once more.”

The space that Ethan was confined to was a converted clean room—an otherwise sterile room made “comfortable” with a mattress, pristine bed coverings, a plush rug, stacks of books, and at least one cushioned chair. It was clear that Sir’s own confinement influenced the “amenities” he provided. From what they could see on the screen, Gabi and Dhan both relaxed a little. Ethan looked a little tired, but there were no signs of injury.

“What’s the plan here? What do we have to do to get him back?”

“Well to start, you could leave Gabrielle with me and promise to leave us alone forever?”

“No!” Dhan replied, quickly pulling Gabi behind him before she had the chance to disagree.

“I figured that would be the case. So instead let’s take a walk down memory lane.” Ethan’s video feed moved to fill half of the screen, while the slideshow flipped to the next slide displaying a triptych of frozen clips.

“Executioner, I’ve done a little research to prepare for our evening together. You may recognize the setting already. Although it’s tempting, it would be irresponsible of me to share the fruits of my labor with you two without first advising you to do a little required reading of your own. Think of it as a mental exercise to loosen you up. While I don’t doubt the stamina of my dear Gabrielle, you look like you’ve been up awake for 3 days straight. So let’s ease into it, shall we.” Sir chuckled then continued on.

“You may have noticed the three locked file cabinets around the room.” Dhan and Gabi surveyed their surroundings. At the front, off to the side of the screen there was an unassuming slightly scuffed single-column silver cabinet. Beneath the whiteboard, rusting into oblivion there was a wide four-drawer cabinet complete with dents, dings, and depressions. Gabi went over to tug at it, not truly believing that something in such poor condition could possibly lock. It didn’t budge, but she did make a mental note to double check her tetanus vaccination. Lastly, proudly displayed in the back corner was a large statuesque cabinet that appeared to be the finest antique—gold trim, gold handles, crafted from the richest rosewood, extravagant ornamentation expertly carved, and polished to perfection. All three cabinets were bizarrely different as were their locks.

“As you open each one, you will be rewarded with a special gift and a special screening of one of these very insightful videos… Oh! And if curiosity isn’t enough to motivate you, let’s put time on the clock, you have ninety minutes or else you know who will suffer.” The lights in Ethan’s chamber shuttered off, only the camera’s night vision kept him in view.

Dhan shouted at the intercom, “What are you going to do to him?”

Sir replied, “Ah. Let's leave that to the imagination for the time being. I would get to it, the clock is ticking.” A countdown clock appeared on screen.

This time Gabi shouted, “What about a clue?”

“I thought I gave one already but since you asked…” There was silence.

Then five beeps.

Chapter 3

“Gabi, I swear I’m going to kill him.” Dhan’s anger was rising with every breath. He tossed office chairs, cleared the table tops in bursts of frenzied swipes, and was about to lay waste to the refreshments, when Gabi interceded. She had to get him under control, so they could focus on the task at hand. 

“Look at me. Look at me.” She stood in front of him and pinned both of his arms to his side in order to redirect his attention. Then she reached up to cup his jaw, so their eyes could meet. “This is not helping. For Ethan’s sake we have to play his twisted game. That means we have to summon all the strength we have left to focus. Take a breath and let it out slowly.” Dhan gave her a look. “Yes, I’m being serious right now. In. Out. In. Out.” 

She continued, “Now Sir is very intentional. I’m sure he was very particular in how he set this room up. Before we touch anything else, study the room as it is.” 

Dhan did his best to follow her instruction, but was stalled because his eyes refused to leave the screen. The big bright screen that showed Ethan confined all alone in the dark, the imposing red flash of the countdown clock growing larger and more threatening with every second, and the three frames frozen in place gnawing at his curiosity and vulnerability. He wondered how he could be so careless to get them in this situation. It was his job to protect them and he was failing miserably. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t look at the screen. Focus, remember. It’s what Ethan needs from us right now,” Gabi chimed in. He would have mistook her apt interruption for his conscience if she wasn’t in the same room with him—they often sounded alike. 

“You’re right.” He looked up at Ethan now huddled on the floor and returned to the mission at hand. “I can’t let my temper get the best of me… Uh, you asked him for a clue and he said ‘I thought I gave you one already.’ Was there anything that stood out while he was rambling on. I have to confess my mind drifts when he goes on and on.” 

Gabi reflected on the last twenty minutes, “It’s probably nothing, but it struck me as weird how he stressed each syllable in ‘curiosity’.” She mimicked him, “And if curiosity isn’t enough to motivate you…” 

Dhan halted his search around the room, to look at her. “You noticed that? How he pronounced a word?” 

Gabi blushed slightly embarrassed. They spent almost two years together in each other's captivity, it was only natural that she would pick up on his habits, without a doubt Dhan could do the same for Ethan and with ease, she thought. “Yeah, it’s because he never shuts up. Moving on, what about those beeps? There was what, five of them?”

“Yup, five. Maybe it’s a key to crack some kind of cipher?”

Gabi looked around, “Or it could be even simpler than that.” The grand antique in the back almost twinkled as an idea sparked, “This file cabinet is secured by a five digit combination lock, completely different from the others. This must be where he wants us to start.” 

“Ok, ok. What could the code be? Are there any 5 digit numbers that are significant to him or you?”

“The day he kidnapped me, how this all started. 6-1-3-0-2.” She tried the combination. “No luck.” 

“Of course, that would have been too easy. Any others?” 

“With an obsessive like him it could be anything. Can you grab a notepad and pen? I’ll write down what I can think of.” 

Dhan searched the floor for the discarded items until he stumbled across a set of books that seemed out of place in a warehouse. “Come look at this.” He collected the books and placed the stack on the conference table at the center of the room.“

Gabi walked over, bent over the table, and visually scanned the spines of the books. “Required reading indeed.” she muttered to herself. She knew he would use every opportunity tonight to demonstrate just how clever he was. To Dhan she said, “This is good. It’s an odd collection though. We have: Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Three Blind Mice and Other Stories, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

“Hmm, he definitely belongs under psychiatric care that’s for sure,” Dhan quipped. He grabbed the book on top and flipped through it. “There’s nothing marked in this one. Do these books have any special meaning to you two?” 

“None that we share, we never discussed them.” She went on to run through a synopsis of all the books trying to connect the dots. 

He looked down at the book in his hand Jonathan Livingston Seagull, then fanned out the remaining books on the table. “I’m not as well read as the two of you obviously, but all of these titles include or reference some type of animal. Is that a coincidence?” 

“With him, absolutely not.” 

“Seagull, mice, caged bird, cuckoo’s nest. Three birds and some mice.” 

Gabi reached for the odd man out. “Why mice among birds? He singled out this book for some reason.” She flipped through the first few pages, landing on the table of contents. “This could be something. This book is a collection of works. A few of the titles include numbers. See.” 

He looked over her shoulder. “I see. Three Blind Mice, The Third Floor Flat, Four-and-Twenty Blackbirds. So 3-3-4-2-0?”

“Or 3-3-2-0-4, since four and twenty translates to 24? It’s flimsy but let's try both.” 

They tried the combinations. Neither worked. 

“I’m positive this book is a clue.” She held it up, shaking it. 

“It is.” Dhan took the book, skimming the table of contents again. “Four and twenty Blackbirds, Gabi.” He turned to the story’s chapter. “He even highlighted ‘Blackbirds’ here. This has something to do with birds.”

She turned back to the books on the table, examining each one. “Wait a minute,” she snatched up Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. “The back cover has a coffee stain on it just like mine. The bastard took this from my house! This is my copy.” She was unsettled by the thought of him entering her bedroom and rummaging through her private possessions. Electricity shot through her, she was more alert now. “At least he was kind enough not to permanently mark the pages.” 

He used a sticky tab to highlight and annotate the dedication:

This book is dedicated to:
My Son, Guy Johnson,
And All The Strong Black Birds Of Promise
Who Defy the Odds and Gods
and Sing Their Songs

In his hand he wrote: 

Your strength continues to amaze me, my beautiful bird. The world may be unjustly against you, but you were only waiting for this moment to be free. In the dead of night, break from the cage and unlock all that is promised to you. 

She fixated on the page, tracing her finger along the handwritten message trying to take it all in. 

Dhan stood closer to her, “I see your mind churning. What does it say? Is it a clue?”

“Yea…yeah it’s a clue.” She handed him the book. She used the time it took him to read and reread it, trying to understand its meaning, to get her mind right. 

“I don’t get it. All I see here is some poor excuse for a love note,” he admitted. 

“It’s definitely that. But I believe he wants us to search for a caged bird back in the hallway with the offices.” 

“How the hell did you get that?” 

“He highlighted black birds. He wanted Four-and-Twenty Black Birds to lead us here,” she tapped the dedication, “in case stealing my book wasn’t enough to prove that this is what he wanted singled out. Leaving us just one book would’ve been too easy, I guess.”

“Yeah, what’s the fun in that,” he said sarcastically. 

“And the love note is more than that. The last line is a little strange. ‘Break from the cage’ not break from your cage. He identified me as the bird in question in the first sentence but didn’t assign me possession of the cage?” Gabi looked up at Dhan to see if he was following along. He gave her another strange look. “What? It is strange.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he offered blamelessly. 

She brushed him off—not quite sure if she preferred him being distracted by her acute awareness of Sir’s idiosyncrasies or hyper focused on the perilousness of their current situation. “The last line is important. I think the ‘dead of night’ refers to that creepy lifeless corridor. You saw how dark it was. ‘Break from the cage and unlock all that is promised to you’ I think he’s being literal here.” 

Dhan nodded, “Let’s not waste anymore time. I believe you.” He took a quick glance at the screen he was desperately avoiding before heading back out into the hallway. “I may have seen something hanging from the ceiling in one of the offices. Follow me.” 

He found it. In the second to last office there was something about the size of a large indoor planter hanging from the ceiling by a thick chain. He pointed his flashlight at it, “It’s covered, but this could be it.”

“Look, the ends of the chain are tied over there. We should be able to pull it down.” Moving boxes and furniture out of the way to get in position they carefully seesawed the chain until the hanging object landed on the ground. As Dhan moved to remove the cloth, Gabi got chills remembering just how quiet the office and corridor was. He pulled back the thick velvet cloth to unveil a lifeless form perched in its gilded cage. It was a lone black bird with a short tail, triangular wings, spotted feathers, a long pointed bill, and black glass eyes. A starling. 

“There’s something tied to its ankle. Some kind of scroll,” she pointed out. In a squat next to the cage, Gabi opened it, reached in and untied the piece of paper. On top of the office’s desk, she unfurled the paper so they both could read it with their flashlights:

Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues? All gone. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect happiness were born; imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose.

“Am I wrong here: Is this a threat? Is he alluding to your or Ethan’s death?” Gabi could hear the tension peppering his voice. 

“In a way, but I don’t believe it’s a threat… I recognize these words. It’s right there on the tip of my tongue,” doing her best to think quickly. “It’s from a book I read in the cabin.” 

After a few seconds realization dawned, “I was right! The way he pronounced ‘curiosity’ was odd. It was on purpose,” she mimicked his cadence again. “It’s from one of Charles Dickens’ lesser known works, The Old Curiosity Shop. I believe from the chapter when the protagonist dies. But I don’t see how this leads to the lock combination.” She tapped her foot on the dusty floor, “Let’s take this and that poor dead bird back to the conference room. We’ll be able to think more clearly there.” 

At the conference table she laid out all that they had gathered. “The scroll has to be the final piece, ‘Break from the cage and unlock all that is promised to you’. But I don’t get it?” 

“What’s the story about? Is this passage in particular important to the story?” Dhan asked, in an effort to help her work through the problem. 

“It was about a young girl and her grandfather left destitute after being evicted from their antique shop. Honestly, I didn’t care for the book. It ended so sadly, the girl spent all her time caring for those around her, facing hard time after hard time, just to die at the end. There was no happy ending for her. And back in the cabin I desperately needed one. Sir, mentioned that during the time of its release the girl’s death was such a disappointment the public almost rioted over little Nell’s ending… I still don’t understand though. Let me look closer at the note.” She hunkered down to work it out. 

While Gabi did her thing. Dhan went through the pages of each book carefully. The tick of the clock was just about to send him over the edge, when a thought crystalized, ‘Sir is very intentional.’ He looked at each book and then at the mess he left on the floor. He kicked himself for lashing out and wished Magaret was here right now. What if the books were stacked in a certain order? What if that was what they were missing? He walked over to the old rusty cabinet where they originally sat and tried to recreate the tablescape. Yeah, he definitely needed Magaret. With pen, paper, and the books laid out before him. He tried a few arrangements: subject, year of publication, length, ROYGBIV (in desperation)… etc. Until he noticed something. 

“Is this deliberate?” He slid his notepad across to Gabi. 

“Mark!” Among the many scribbles and scratchings was a list of the authors in alphabetical order, arranged by first name instead of last:

 Maya Angelou
 Agatha Christie
 Richard Bach
 Ken Kesey

“So intentional. Help me thread the needle here. What does this,” he said pointing at the unfurled note, “have to do with this?” He tapped his piece of scrap paper with the end of his pen. 

“Mark? I- I don’t know. I…,” she closed her eyes. They opened with a flash, “Little Nell! The girl. Her last name was ‘Trent’! I should’ve seen it sooner. I’m sorry Dhan.”

“Neither of us are at our best right now. So ‘Trent’? That’s 5 letters. We need numbers.” 

“Yes and luckily we still have our phones,” she pulled hers out to access the keypad. “Please let this be it. Dhan try: 8-7-3-6-8.” 

There was a satisfying click. 

They both let out an even more satisfying sigh of relief. Together they lifted the heavy tambour door to expose the prized contents. With great fanfare, inside they were met with…

 

Chapter 4

“A skull?” Dhan remarked, face cold as stone. It was a pig’s skull to be exact. “I know he’s off his rocker, but has he always been so obsessed with death?”  

“Not death, but definitely symbolism,” Gabi stated. She was definitely annoyed by the symbolic chastising. She read aloud the piece of aged parchment nailed to the bottom of the wooden shelving. In fine calligraphy it contained a single line:

All that glisters is not gold.

“Glisters?” Dhan questioned. 

“An archaic version of the more well known, ‘All that glitters is not gold’. Act 2, Scene 7 of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice.” 

Gabi stomped to the front of the conference room, shouting at the intercom, “Is that what this is Hugh? A test of suitors? Am I your darling Portia anxiously awaiting to see which suitor my father has chosen for me? Hmmm?” 

“No need to shout my darling,” replied Sir, his levity cutting through her severity. “Congratulations on solving the first puzzle. Just shy of 23 minutes is uhh—I’m going to be honest not great—however considering you ran into some unexpected roadblocks, not horrible. Executioner, you really should get that temper of yours in check.” 

Dhan tensed, readying a fiery reply, but the voice above interjected before his lips could part. “Now, as promised, I have a treat for you. Have a seat please, let me set the scene: Once upon a time, not too long ago there was a young man broken, sad, and blue... ” 

“Just play the damn video!” Dhan plopped down in a chair and returned his attention to the screen. It was then that he realized Ethan must have a monitor in his room as well. He was now standing, eyes fixed off to the side of the camera. 

“As you wish.” 

The video filled the screen and the lights dimmed. Dhan and Gabi refused to move a muscle while the video played. They were transfixed but for different reasons. Gabi, although not completely familiar with the setting, understood the weight of what she was watching—she could sense what Dhan was feeling right now. Dhan, having lived this life not so long ago, felt naked and exposed—he was fighting back the urge to take cover for all three minutes and fifteen seconds of its excruciating runtime. 

The characters on screen came to life. A poised placid figure faced a timid sunken form devoid of light. They sat in two upholstered armchairs with a small coffee table between them. Soft sunlight filtered in illuminating a setting that was designed to inspire a calm relaxed environment similar to a well-used study in a cozy home. Any patient of Ethan’s would have easily felt comforted by their surroundings and his soft saccharine voice.

“I want to thank you for making an effort to attend our session today.” 

Dhan wasn’t just any patient or even like most patients. This was their fourth attempt at having a full session. The first appointment was a no show. The second he walked in then made some excuse to leave after five minutes of silence and the next session, almost three weeks later, was only slightly better—he spoke two whole sentences. For any other new patient, especially one that didn’t have their insurance information on file yet, he would’ve had no choice but refer them to another therapist with a less hectic caseload. But Dhan was special. 

Ethan agreed to see him as a favor to his colleague, a good friend he couldn’t refuse. From what he could glean from his medical file, he was suffering from an extreme case of PTSD presenting with an unclassified depressive or adjustment disorder. Last night's phone call almost confirmed it. 

“You mentioned on the phone that you were having trouble staying grounded in reality. You described it as ‘not really feeling a part of yourself anymore. Everything feels too much, too intense, too fast. Almost like constant whiplash’. That is a lot to handle. I’m glad your friend,” he looked down to reference his notes, “uhh, Gabi was able to stay with you last night so you didn’t have to go through it alone. Do you feel better now?”

Dhan was hunched over in a crumpled hoodie and sweatpants that had not been washed in at least two weeks. His frail cracked hands rested lazily on top of his legs as his lower extremities were too stubborn to abandon military brace. It was an odd sight, made even odder when his head bobbled up to speak. “Enough to make it here,” his voice croaked listlessly. 

“It’s an amazing effort, especially when you aren’t feeling your best. Can you tell me more about how you are feeling now, at this moment?” 

“I’m just tired and weak. And ashamed. Ashamed that I’m tired and weak.” 

“When you say weak, do you mean it as in fatigue? Can you pinpoint if it is emotional, mental, or physical?”

His eyes closed and head bowed as he pressed at his fingers for several seconds before uttering, “Both… umm all three. I wasn’t strong enough. I failed my friend, I failed my unit. They took me because I failed.” With that confession he broke down into tears, violently shaking. He was inconsolable. 

The video ended. The conference room was silent. 

Gabi jumped up furious. She shouted, “Is this entertainment for you? Is it hilarious to retraumatize someone who has worked so hard to heal? You expect me to believe you have changed that you're a good person after you continue to be so cruel? Speak! I want to know.” She went over to Dhan and simply placed a hand on his shoulder. She knew he didn’t need her words of comfort right now, just the warmth of her presence. 

Sir was slow to reply. Over the intercom you could hear the faint sound of ruffling. Gabi surmised, correctly, that it was him tugging at his clothes to preserve his composure. It was his nervous habit and a telltale sign that he was wondering if he miscalculated. Unsurprisingly, his uncertainty didn’t last. Sir remained committed to his conviction.

“No, I wouldn’t say this was entertaining. It serves as proof that I want to get to know your friends. My intention isn’t to be cruel, Gabrielle. On the contrary, my hope is to be helpful, to offer insight. To move us forward.” 

She left Dhan’s side to move closer to the speaker, “There is no forward. And for damn sure, looking back isn’t how to do it.” 

“I disagree.”

“Oh course you do. You’re a sadistic little f…”

Dhan woke from his catatonic state the moment he felt the comforting pressure of Gabi’s hand on his shoulder. During their exchange, he didn’t speak but turned to look at his husband. Ethan was staring at him with tears in his eyes. They locked eyes and Dhan used the reprieve to process all he had endured to get to where he is now. He reminded himself he wasn’t that broken man anymore. He would do everything in his power not to go back. To do that he needed to stay on mission. He had to save Ethan. 

“Enough!” He commanded. Gabi and Sir stopped bickering at once. He stood up and turned to Gabi, in a softer tone he said, “Gabi, don’t let him work you up. He’s not worth it.” 

“You’re right,” she slowly exhaled. Gabi went over to embrace him and whispered so only he could hear her, “You have to do the same. Don’t let him pull you back.”

Sir coughed through the speaker in annoyance. “Ahem, how nice. It’s time to get back on task. You have a hair over an hour left. Onto case number two.” The clock resumed its countdown.

Chapter 5

As soon as he saw the refreshments table, Dhan swore indulging would be the last thing he would do. However, he realized finding Ethan was worth much more than his pride. Running on fumes was an understatement, he was emotionally and physically drained. 

He picked up an energy drink, then halted before cracking it open. It was his favorite flavor, from his favorite brand. That wasn’t too strange, but Gabi absolutely hated the stuff. For a guy that would bend over backwards just to please her, he expected the table to be overflowing with cans of Celsius. It was clear that this was intentional too. He knew this was meant just for him. 

He looked down at the table again. All the other energy drinks were a mix of different flavors, except for the bottle in his hand, the only Passionfruit Sunrise. He was definitely meant to take this one. Gabi noticed him looking at the bottles on the table, then back at the bottle in his hand. “I don’t think he’s trying to poison us. I know he’s tried it before. He wouldn’t go through the trouble of all this planning only for his hospitality to take us out. He takes his hosting duties too seriously,” she said with a hint of laughter.

“It’s not that. I think this bottle is a clue. It’s different from the others.” He held the bottle closer for inspection. “I don’t see anything weird. Here you take a look.” 

“You would know better than me. I hate this stuff.” She grabbed the bottle carefully eyeing every detail. “Yes, right here. The last ingredient. It says, ‘Drink me’.” 

“I’m betting that’s from Alice In Wonderland? Clever,” he said flatly, “the girl that fell down a hole.” 

“Remember, don't let him pull you back.” They understood it for what it was. A not so subtle dig at his years of captivity and the deep dark dirt pit his captors were fond of tormenting him with. Gabi grabbed another bottle from the table. “Here, drink another one. We’ll open this one and pour it out into one of these cups. Who knows what other kinds of parallels he’s trying to draw.” She felt less confident about her earlier statement. 

They opened the bottle and slowly poured out its contents to watch for any hidden floaters. There were none. The liquid looked and smelled like the many drinks Dhan regularly downed during the week. He turned the cap over in his hand to inspect its underside. Nothing. He held the empty bottle to his eye to get a peek inside and there it was. 

“There’s some sort of writing on the inside of the bottle. I can’t quite make it out, it's distorted by the plastic. Hold on…” He removed the bottle from his eye, so that he could find the label’s seam. He unwrapped the label and stared at it stock-still.
 
Gabi noticed the change. “What is it?” 

Through gritted teeth he responded, “It’s a list of affirmations. My affirmations, the ones Ethan assigned to me when he first took me on.” 

She took the note he handed her. Instantly noticing the handwriting wasn’t Sir’s, she looked up in surprise, “Ethan wrote this?” He nodded. She read out loud from Ethan’s bold slack handwriting: 

I forgive myself and hold myself in a state of compassion.
I am confident in my talents, strengths, and abilities.
I love and accept myself just the way I am.

Dhan closed his eyes as she read. It was as though he was being taken back in time to a place he never wanted to return. And for him, that’s exactly what was happening. He could hear Ethan’s voice prescribing those very words as if he was sitting right across from him. He felt the room closing in on him, ice pierce his toes and fingertips, a heavy thudding in his chest… When she finished reading, his eyes shot open. He was back in the conference room and Gabi was now standing in front of him, gauging his reaction. 

“This is hard. I’m sorry.” She squeezed his arms. “It probably doesn’t help, but I hope these words rang true for you then and still do. You deserve kindness and compassion from others and yourself.” She shook the piece of plastic in her hand as she placed her other hand over Dhan’s heart. Then she stepped back, “I’m sorry I put you and Ethan in this situation. You don’t deserve this.”

“Gabi, you don’t deserve this either.” 

She didn’t respond, but thought of all the ways she did, indeed, deserve this. Buried deep down, maybe even a part of her…

“You know, oddly enough, I had forgotten these words or at least lost them. But yes, they did bring me comfort.” He recited the words quietly to himself, trying to hold onto that feeling of purpose and acceptance the incantation once gave him. They stood there in silence.

While Dhan processed his emotions, Gabi processed Sir’s motive (and subsequently pushed her’s aside). Was this only a distraction to run the clock out? Gabi couldn’t believe that was the case. She had a feeling Sir didn’t want them to fail at all—he only wanted the pomp and circumstance to really drive home his point. So then what did these words of encouragement really mean? What did they mean to Dhan?

“Can you walk me through how you used these affirmations? Were they tied to any routine? He didn’t leave any commentary here and I can’t think of any literary connections. Or any connection Sir has to them.” 

Dhan let out a huff of breath. “About a week or so after the episode he so proudly put on display tonight. Ethan gave me a journal with these three lines written on the front page. I was to date and copy those lines any time I encountered negative or intrusive thoughts throughout the day. In the mornings, I was to confront my fear.” He let out an even bigger huff. “In the mornings as soon as I woke up, I was to sit in a dark room—in the facility this was a closet with a chair—and recite the affirmations until I could sit in the room in silence without inducing a panic attack. Those first few months were hell.” 

Gabi gave him another squeeze and a small smile, “So we’re either looking for a notebook or a dark room. And lucky for us we have plenty of dark rooms.”

Once they entered the hallway, they heard a small zzzzppp sound and caught a glimpse of a flickering warm light emanating from the middle office. As they approached the flickering stopped. 

“He has taken this guiding light role to heart, hasn't he?” Dhan said as he pushed open the door. 

“He always has.” 

This office was the least crowded in the corridor. There was a long executive desk complete with a late-aughts desktop computer, two leather chairs facing it, a desk lamp (that was surely the source of the flickering, but didn’t turn on when Dhan tried it), a depleted bar cart, and columns of warped cardboard boxes stacked along the side wall. Gabi imagined it as the domain of a VP or some other C-level employee. 

Inside the office they wasted no time, they beelined for the desk. There weren't any notebooks or even a slither of paper that hinted at a clue. They surveyed the room to decide where to head next. Gabi went for the boxes along the wall. While Dhan, after a moment of contemplation, went to sit down in one of the two chairs. 

“This chair is nailed to the floor,” he said as he tried to scoot it closer to the desk. When that didn’t work he stood up and tried to lift it. It didn’t budge. Neither of them did. He ran his fingers along the cushion seams. He didn’t find anything there either.

Gabi walked towards him, “There’s gotta be a reason he doesn’t want us to move the chairs. Their position must be important.” She looked around the room again, her flashlight darting from corner to corner. “It could be that there’s something in this room we can only see sitting here.” 

 “Alright then, let’s take a load off.” 

They both sat down, but didn’t have time to dissect the angles of the room. A blue light reflected off the wall. It was the computer booting up. Dhan leaned over to turn the monitor to face them. In less than a minute, which was surprisingly fast for a long outdated model, a video was playing.

Just as surprising, Gabi burst into laughter. “Umm. why is Will Smith on our screen?” she forced out through gasps. She was laughing hysterically now. The absurdity of the setting combined with the unrelenting thrill of adrenaline and insufficient sleep left her doubled over in stitches, tears in her eyes. To anyone stumbling across the tableau, it was undoubtedly a peculiar sight to see. The occupants of the two chairs were experiencing two different realities. 

The Pursuit of Happyness played out on the screen. The movie didn’t start with the opening credits or on a particularly funny scene. Instead, the first images Gabi and Dhan saw were of a clearly distraught Will Smith, in the place of the main character Chris Gardner, running from room to room searching for his son. It was a somber mood that matched Dhan’s demeanor more than Gabi’s merry uproar. But still, it wasn’t the reaction of a man enjoying a touching drama. His face was vacant. 

Gabi finally snapped out of it when, at last, the discord crept in. It was on the fourth ‘Hello? Who is this? Jay Twistle’ in as many minutes. The movie never advanced past the first two scenes that appeared on the computer screen. It was an endless loop that seemed to glitch and repeat a phone conversation between Chris and Jay. 

Clear eyed Gabi apologized, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, it was just really unexpected.” She turned to face Dhan, wondering if he was met with the same fate. “Dhan!” She was out of the chair and in a squat in front of him. She shook him out of his trance. “Dhan are you ok? What’s going on?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he stuttered. He rubbed his palm across his face, then allowed Gabi to come into focus. It pissed him off that Sir was able to get under his skin like this. He felt foolish and even worse, he felt too vulnerable. It was less about being exposed to Gabi—he shared so many of his vulnerabilities with her already—it was that Sir was able to unearth them and trigger him. He prided himself on his strength, despite the fact that he blocked out his darkest days—it was an important part of his healing that he needed to protect. 

“Really, I’m fine,” he insisted. Gabi was still crouched down looking up at him.  

“Don’t lie to me. You were not here just now.” Under her breath she muttered, “I’m going to kick Sir’s ass for all of this.” Back at Dhan she said, “The faster you tell me what set you off. The sooner we can get Ethan and get out of here. You know you can tell me anything.” 

“Fine. Honestly it’s embarrassing. The first time I watched this movie was with you. Between our work at Iris and, you know, our baggage we both were having a pretty shitty week and couldn’t do much more than stretch out on the couch with a movie. This movie, because you just loved Will Smith and because I had the misfortune of never seeing it. It was something about that night and this movie that just stuck with me. It pulled me out of a bad episode. And I was so thankful for it, so much so, that I turned it on any time I started to go dark. At my worst, I binged it for a week straight, nonstop. If it didn’t cause horrible flashbacks and remind me how pathetic I was, I probably could quote this entire movie back to you.” 

He stood, lifting Gabi up as he did, and paced the room. “And now Sir knows all of this. What did he do to Ethan to get him to write that note and share my secrets?” He slammed his fist against the wall. 

“Don’t think about that right now. Let’s think about what we can do at this moment.”

He took a couple of deep breaths. “It’s obvious the phone number being repeated in this scene is the clue or hopefully the key to one of the cabinets.” 

“Ok that’s probable. I say let's try it.” 

They went to unlock the only cabinet secured by a keypad. Dhan entered the number from memory: 4-1-5-8-6-4-0-2-5-6. When that didn’t work he entered the much longer, 4-1-5-8-6-4-0-2-5-6-4-7-9-6. The phone number plus extension to Jay Twistle’s office at stock brokerage firm Dean Witter. 

“And that didn’t work either.” Dhan hazarded a glance at the countdown clock. They were taking up too much time. 

“Maybe we actually have to call it.”

“With what phone? He made sure ours don’t work here.” 

“I’m pretty sure I saw a phone jack in that room back there. All of these offices? There must be a phone somewhere in here.” 

She rushed back to the middle office with Dhan on her heels. “Let’s look through these boxes,” she said, unstacking them quickly. Like Dhan, she too noticed how much time they were losing. In the sixth box, they found what they were searching for. 

“Here’s the phone jack. Under the desk.” Once the phone was hooked up, Dhan dialed the number, extension and all. The phone went straight to voicemail. Sir’s voice boasted with vibrato:

Well done, Executioner. I’m surprised you made it this far, no doubt we can thank Gabrielle for that. Your husband may be reluctant to do so, however he has some words of wisdom to offer you both. The final piece to this puzzle if you will. 

A second later, Ethan’s voice, stifled and dispassionate, emitted from the speaker: 

But when he had fashioned the snare in his wrath against ••••, he went to his chamber where lay his bed, and everywhere round about the bed-posts he spread the bonds, and many too were hung from above, from the roof-beams, fine as spiders' webs, so that no one even of the blessed gods could see them, so exceeding craftily were they fashioned. [dial tone click]

“What the hell?” Dhan looked at Gabi confused. “Did you get all of that?” 

“Not quite. But I have come across this before. I’m positive. Let’s listen back.” 

“If we must.” Dhan really only wanted to hear Sir's voice when it was absolutely necessary—the sound at any pitch or any tone grated. He was sure by the end of the night his ears would bleed from abuse. But then again, this was one of those absolutely necessary times. He dialed the number once more, but not before Gabi had her own phone out, set to record Ethan’s portion of the message. “Thank God for Gabi,” he thought. 

Carefully, they listened to the message. Ethan’s voice was even cooler and impassioned at .90x playback speed. Both of them wondered what Sir had done to their usually lively husband and friend. 

Dhan was the first to chime in with his observation. “So we’re searching for some sort of trap, now? Or is he taunting us about the one he currently has us in?”

“I don’t think he wants us to search for anything. He mentioned this was the final piece of the puzzle.” 

“Ok ok,” brushing his hair back in thought. “Then what about the beep? Ethan says something in the beginning that’s edited over. There was a short beep.”

“I heard it too. It must be a short word.” She repeated the line, imitating the quick sound, “But when he had fashioned the snare in his wrath against beep.” She repeated it over and over, silently to herself. Then said, “Against who?”

“Stu? Tom? Pat?” 

She laughed, shaking her head, “Not quite. The prose here hints at antiquity. The voice in my head keeps coming back to The Odyssey, but I can’t quite remember which story.” 

“From what I remember, it would be easier to narrow it down to the gods not known for their endless encounters with wrath, infidelity, or deception.” 

“That’s it! Infidelity, wrath, and deception”

“That narrowed it down?” He looked at her skeptically. 

“No, but yes, in context. Book Eight. The story of Hephaestus, Ares, and Aphrodite. Hephaestus, the god of craftsman, won Aphrodite’s hand in marriage in a scheme to get revenge for his mother’s mistreatment. Aphrodite, however, was in love with Ares, the god of war and brutality, before and well after the marriage. When Hephaestus found out about the affair he set a trap to catch them in the act. That’s part of the passage we have here.” 

“So short beep is for Ares. Got it. Who does Sir think he is in this situation? And more importantly who does he think you and I are?” He let out a bark of laughter.  

“Good question. Of course he sees himself as the wronged party, especially given the poor relationship he had with his own mother. Considering how he feels about Lacey and the rest of our M&A family, my guess is that he sees you as the wicked hot-head keeping the two of us apart.” She caught Dhan rolling his eyes in response. “Yes, nonsense. And yes to your first point. Ares must be the answer here. Why else would he bleep it out?” 

They rushed back to the keypad—the lock belonging to the slightly scuffed single-column silver file cabinet. The two punched in A-R-E-S. The top drawer sprang open. Dhan, the only one tall enough to do so (Gabi figured this excursion required sneakers), reached inside and began extracting its contents. 

The first item: a mirror. 

Understanding the joke, she couldn’t contain her amusement. Gabi recited, “Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.” She wondered if Sir somehow did get his wires crossed, perhaps he was the fool here. 

Dhan, not privy to their running joke, just shook his head and waited for her to explain. 

“Sorry. Just more Shakespeare. This portion of his little show looks awfully similar to The Merchant of Venice. In the play, Portia, the love interest, selects a husband according to the will of her late father. To win her hand, the suitors had to correctly choose from one of three caskets made of gold, silver, and lead. In our case, the fine rosewood, dull silver, and the old rusty cabinets before us.” She gestured around the room. Nodding at the intercom she continued, “Daddy dearest in the sky needs to butt out of my life.” 

Following along, Dhan couldn’t help but agree. But he had a feeling that this was the one time he had caught on to Sir’s motives before Gabi did. He would keep her in the dark for as long as he could, she didn’t need the headache. 

Of course the next item he pulled out of the drawer didn’t help much. 

“Is that a necklace?” Gabi commented seeing the gold chain draped across his fist.

“More like a locket.”

The gold saturn chain was attached to an embossed gold pendant: a miniature version of a vintage perfume bottle extravagantly encrusted with small crystal gems surrounding its neck. 

Dhan shook the pendant. “A locket with something in it.” He unscrewed the bottle’s tiny top. A strong pleasant scent wafted in the air. Gabi inched closer, then hesitated as she recognized the intoxicating smell. 

She regained her composure quickly, but not before Dhan noticed the recognition in her face. 

“Have you seen this before?” 

“The necklace? No. But that scent. It smells identical to a perfume John gave me. Fántasma Afrodítis.” She inhaled the unique blend of ripe Mirabelle plums, juicy figs, vibrant Cattleya orchids, spicy ginger, rich saffron, and robust oud. It was a rare, beautiful fragrance she did her best to forget. 

“Your old boyfriend, John? The one that was stupid enough to leave you high and dry?” Dhan remembered enough of the story to know he didn’t like John. 

“Yeah, that’s the one.” She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “He gifted me this perfume after returning from a business trip in Tripoli. The bottle, vial really, was maybe only slightly bigger than this pendant.” Dhan handed her the necklace. She dabbed a bit on her wrist and took in the euphoric aroma. “It was such a small bottle, so I didn’t wear it often, only for date nights or some very special occasion. And even then, it was just the smallest amount behind my ears—it kinda became our little secret just enough for only John & I to smell.” She reminisced on the intimate moments they shared together: John sneaking up behind her to steal a whiff before placing tender kisses down her neck. His game of pretending to lean in for a kiss, move hair out of her face, or adjust her necklace only to lean in further to enjoy a long seductive pull. And the many times she ended the night with only one earring because he couldn’t resist nibbling at her earlobe. She remembered it all. 

Her cheeks flushed, while she mindlessly fidgeted to chase away the burning sensation trailing down her spine and up her arms. 

As if that was his cue, Sir announced his return.

Chapter 6

“Ah… It’s transporting isn't it, Fántasma Afrodítis?” crooned Sir, ending in perfect greek. “You know that splendid aroma has been stuck with me since I first encountered it on you. Truly, imagine my disappointment that, upon our reunion after years of anticipation, I realized you no longer wore it.”

“Gabi, what is he talking about?” Dhan watched her out of the corner of his eye.

“I have no idea. When John packed up his things and left for Belgium, the perfume disappeared with him.” To Sir she said, “How did you find out about this?” as she cradled the necklace in her hand, “I never told anyone about it, certainly not you. And there’s no way you were anywhere close enough to smell this on me. I would have sensed it.” 

“Are you sure you didn’t, Gabrielle?” 

The tingling down her spine returned, she stood ramrod straight to counteract the sensation. “I’m sure.” 

Sir clapped his hands together sending a loud boom echoing through the room, then continued gaily, “Well enough of who did what when and encountered who where. We will settle that at some other time my dear. Let’s turn our attention to our friends who are anticipating a sweet reunion of their own.”

Dhan and Gabi both returned their attention to the screen. The clock was down to a threatening 43 minutes and 26 seconds. Gabi didn’t realize it at first, but concluded Sir stopped the timer as soon as the door unlocked. She suspected he used the time between them completing the challenges and him making his presence known to revel in their reaction to his special prizes. Of course she was right.

Dhan, on the other hand, turned to the screen to watch his husband. Ethan was pacing the room visibly agitated. Was it in anticipation of the next video or did Sir do something to him while his attention was elsewhere? Either reason filled him with anger and anxiety. 

“Please, have a seat. This is my particular favorite director’s cut, a story of courage, perseverance, and triumph. Ethan, your performance is truly moving.”  

“If this is your way of torturing him. We’ve seen enough!” Gabi shouted in defiance. 

“Torture? I wouldn’t stoop to such a level.” 

“Anymore?” 

“Gabrielle, that was not my intention all those years ago, I foolishly fell into the trappings of my upbringing. I'm sorry to have conducted myself so uncivilly,” he said with lingering disgust. “But as I’ve said before I have changed—grown really. Thanks to you.” 

Gabi humpfed. Dhan squeezed her hand to signal that he could handle what was coming.

Sir waxed on, “It’s true. This is not meant as torture, I only mean to celebrate growth.” She could hear that singular pitch of earnestness in his voice. She was convinced he believed what he was saying, but that was often the case with the deluded. 

“So without further ado…” Sir played the second clip. 

Back at Ethan’s office, now awash with bright sunlight, the furniture and decor took on new life, almost mirrored exactly in Dhan’s renewed form. He looked healthier, albeit a little exhausted—his eyes were puffy not sunken, his shoulders rounded not slouched, and he was a touch breathless but not rickety. This Dhan was closer to life than death.

“I know that was difficult, but I thank you for accepting the challenge. Dissecting the day of your capture took a lot of strength and courage,” said Ethan, clearly proud of his pupil. “Now, take the next thirty minutes to meditate on the last hour, what have you learned? No, don’t share just yet, use the time to reflect. Get a coffee or tea, take a walk, and really process the aftermath.” 

The video skipped ahead, speeding through images of Dhan leaving and returning and of Ethan sneaking in a snack while updating his notes. Back in his seat, Dhan took a lengthy sip from his mug. 

“So Dhan, what have you learned about that day?” 

Dhan took another long sip. “I’ve learned that I can’t undo the past.” He cleared his throat. “Umm, no matter how much I want to change that day, I can’t. I have to learn to let go.” 

“What does letting go look like to you?” 

“Honestly, I’d really like you to tell me.” He let out a small laugh, then realized Ethan wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easy. He said more somberly, “It’s understanding that I couldn’t stop Mike from getting high that night.” Dhan paused to take in a deep inhale and big exhale. “It’s understanding that even if I could’ve stopped him, there’s no guarantee that the outcome would have changed, and it’s understanding that I can’t control the actions of others whether it’s Mike or my regiment. Changing who I am would not have guaranteed that Mike would still be alive and those assholes wouldn’t have left me behind.”

“That’s very good. I would like to take it a step further in perhaps simpler terms. Letting go is about forgiving yourself. Today, you learned that there is not a path you could’ve controlled that would have guaranteed a good outcome that night. To me, and hopefully to you, that means you no longer need to live with the guilt of what you could have or should have done,” Ethan leaned over to hold Dhan’s hand. Staring at him with conviction he said, “You no longer need to punish yourself by reliving the moment over and over. Remember you acted in good faith; when you all were under fire you did what was necessary. Honor Mike as your friend and not as the man that failed you—the only person that suffers by that way of thinking is you.” 

“But what if I can’t? What if I can’t let go of this anger?” Dhan sat back, disconnecting their hands to rake through his hair. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s clear to me now more than ever that what you’re saying is the way forward. For the first time, I want to be better rather than just being, you know. But what if I can’t?” Unsure of himself he looked to Ethan for guidance.

“That’s natural. Change always comes with a price, however it almost always costs less than not changing at all. The anxiety you are feeling will dissipate with practice and by nurturing a support system—that includes friends, community, and me—to hold you accountable and assist you when you dip into regressive patterns. You’ve already taken a huge step today, you’ve realized that you deserve a better life. I couldn’t agree more.” 

Dhan leaned forward and grasped Ethan’s hand, “Thank you for believing in me.” They stayed like that frozen in time. 

Present day Dhan, relaxed into his chair when the video finished thankful there weren’t any emotional grenades to dodge. He couldn't believe it, but he was actually feeling gratitude towards Sir. Of course, it didn’t take long for that feeling to fade. 

“I have to admit this is your husband at his best, a skilled professional. If only he could maintain this level of care, he would still be practicing and you, Executioner, wouldn't be tied to Gabrielle’s hip.”

Dhan didn’t want to hear anymore, “And there it is. You just can’t help yourself. Thank you for the walk down memory lane, but I don’t need your commentary on my life. It’s actually the last thing I need. If you really want to prove how much you’ve grown to me or to Gabi, let’s just end this charade here—hand over my husband. He’s what I really need.” 

“If only that were true. We would all be living happily ever after, and not spending this joyous evening together.” 

Hands thrown in the air, it was Gabi’s turn to cut in, “Pfft, please. You aren’t really blaming us for our current situation?”  

“Oh you misunderstood my dear, you are blameless—as the therapist so nicely put it ‘Change comes with a price.’ I’ve recently come to understand that change for you requires patience. Piece by piece. When you threatened me and forced me to leave our home, that was just a normal reaction to your anxiety about our future.” 

Dhan raised his voice a few octaves, “Were you not listening the first time she said it? There is no future for you two!” 

“I see I need to go a little slower for you to grasp today’s lesson. Let me try one of Ethan’s techniques: meditate on this latest snippet that I’ve so generously offered to you. What was the key concept? What did this young man learn that this feeble man, before us, forgot?”

“This man before you has learned that past, present, and future Hugh ‘Sir’ Joseph Evans, is and will always be a bastard. And never was and never will be good enough to do so much as blink in Gabi’s presence.” 

Sir chuckled at this, “I admit that is an accurate statement. Nevertheless, even the gods couldn’t resist communing with mere mortals.” 

Gabi squirmed in her chair at that, “That’s your problem, you always make things bigger than they are.”

“Do I? Your Executioner sees it. Lacey sees it. Margaret, Zeke, the many publications that had the good sense to feature you, all see it. Even my baby brother couldn’t resist. So is it really me? My only crime—what separates me from them—is that I will gleefully go to hell and back to give you the world you deserve.” 

Gabi scoffed, “Your only crime!” 

Sir laughed, nonplussed that she ignored the rest of his statement. “Yes, my past mistakes—my grievous, despicable mistakes—were in service to you. Unfortunately, my intentions did not match my actions. I’ve since corrected course.” With intensifying ardor, he continued, “Gabrielle, I meant what I said in the basement, I live to be of service to you, then and now. You are the beginning and ending of everything. No matter what transpires between us, there will always be an us, a future us, because the last thing I would do is abandon you. You never have to go into this world alone, unguarded, or unsupported. You have me and I live to be of service to you.” He was silent over the intercom, except for the ruffle of his shirt collar. Gabi was silent too. The declaration hung in the air thick and poignant.

Dhan, incredulous to Sir’s passionate display, redirected the conversation, “I believe we have 43 minutes and 26 seconds left of this game. I would really like to get it over with. Do you mind?” 

Sir’s silence prevailed a few seconds longer, then as if rousing from a daydream he said, “No…not at all. It's hopeful to see you haven’t forgotten all of your training—a good soldier never deviates from his mission. I admire that kind of resolve. We’re alike in that way.” 

Chapter 7

Summary:

Gabi and Dhan get a little glimpse into how Sir spent his time since the farmhouse.

Dhan’s eyes never left Gabi during her exchange with Sir. He wasn’t quite sure if she noticed him looking while she was under siege by a torrent of activity. She was tethered to Sir’s words as though an invisible string yanked forth her emotions with every excuse and confession he uttered. He saw her writhe uncomfortably, relax into a gentle repose, tense, erupt with anger, thaw, fidget in agitation, before finally succumbing to pensive immobility. That was the state she was in now. Dhan had to agree, Sir would never deviate from his mission—twenty years surely did not stop him.  

He tossed stacks of folders her way. The thud jolted her awake. She looked up at him confused. 

“Lucky you, you tuned out the last three minutes of Sir’s rambling. You have to teach me how to do that, my usual method is apparently not foolproof.”

“Trust me. What’s going on up here,” she tapped her temple, “is no better.” Privately she added, “It’s much much worse.” She looked down at the stack of papers on the table, then turned to him, “Where did this come from?” 

“His send off was a jumble of words that basically amounted to look in the file cabinets for your next clue, you big dummy,” he recounted. “These are from the last one we opened. You look through these and I’ll take the ancient artifact in the back.”  

Towers of folders stood precariously before her, their sheer volume suggested one wrong move could send them toppling to the floor. If Gabi could forget who they were dealing with she would’ve suspected their contents to have the level of organization one would expect from the chaotic mind of a hoarder. Instead she had to settle for the chaotic mind of a hierophant. She pinched her nose, took a breath, and started with the first pile. 

The folders were a time portal, a carefully curated collection of almost two decades of her life. She flipped through the assortment stunned. There were magazine and newspaper clippings, interview transcripts, copies of academic papers and presentations, campus flyers, conference agendas that spotlighted her as keynote speaker, business cards of roles she previously held, resumes, press releases, project briefs, award programs, event badges, and even notes of scheduled tv appearances. 

Sir had taken extreme care to capture important milestones and so much more in an attempt to compensate for their separation. The cache included more curious items: drafts of letters he never finished, menus from her favorite restaurants accompanied by recipe cards for her favorite dishes, loose sketches of her at the park or in front of a podium, scanned copies of manuscripts that had “must share this with Gabrielle” scribbled in the margins—the files were extensive. 

All that was missing was a corkboard, thumbtacks, and yards of string. But to her surprise none of this turned her stomach inside out or filled her with panic. Sir had confessed months ago he had kept tabs on her. Yes, this was much more than “keeping tabs.” This was detailed surveillance. But she was not creeped out. Thinking back she realized she wasn’t creeped out when he first confessed to it either, then she was angry. 

So where was the anger now? 

She scanned an invoice for concert tickets she could’ve sworn her friend snagged from a coworker. Was that him? In a pile from her time studying in New York, there were receipts stapled together from the coffee shop she always visited on her way to class. Were the free Wednesday morning lattes courtesy of him and not the cute barista? And the press passes she was gifted for Kehinde Wiley’s opening night of A New Republic exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum after weeks of failed attempts. The signed note she found from the Chief Curator, suggested this too was the work of Sir. How many small kindnesses did he offer up to her?

That thought surfaced and resurfaced as she made her way through the stacks, competing with the one question that deserved to be top of mind: What was she looking for? Page after page, item after item, she took note of possible four digit combinations. But nothing stood out. 

In an instant of sobriety, she asked, “Did he give any other clue about what we should be looking for?” 

“None that I could make out.” Dhan was buried in his own mess of paperwork. And Gabi was too engrossed in hers to spare a thought to what could possibly be among his reams. So, she sank back into the portal.

 Dhan laid his findings out on the floor. It was considerably less than what Gabi had to contend with, but for him it was no less engrossing. The middle drawer contained several neat folders of M&A cases organized by date and labeled by client. Dhan quickly skimmed each folder. They were all of the cases Sir had helped them with—a fact that still made him seeth. He combed through a folder at will: photo, summary brief, collated research, case notes. While detailed, it was only an imitation of the records they kept in the office. Dhan imagined Sir’s reproduction was an amalgamation of details pulled from his memory and research compiled after the fact. And like a true obsessive the file, and each after it, was littered with compulsive commentary that served more as a diary for his chief fixation than an investigator's observations. 

For one of their more challenging cases, the attempted trafficking of thirteen year old Matthew Robinson, Sir reflected on the aftermath of the case:

"That kid getting shot was difficult for my Gabrielle. Hearing her cries and the glass smashing above me, knowing all I could do was call out to her…Sleeping on a bed of those shattered pieces would’ve been easier to endure. I was useless while she was suffering. Why was no one there to hold her, to comfort her? Where was her so-called family during her time of need?"

In Satcha Moncado’s folder he wondered what he could’ve done differently:

 “I never found out who her visitor was that morning. If she wasn’t distracted, she would have noticed the inconsistencies in the offender's story. Next time, I must help Gabrielle focus better. I must be better. I was too preoccupied with my own unexpected thoughts—when she almost forgot the tablet I had to resist the urge to keep her with me a little longer. One tug would’ve been enough to pull her closer.” 

Jinny Coe’s case notes were the most disturbing for him to read: 

“I was a fool to bring up Bella, but I couldn’t handle the close contact or admit I once shamefully fantasized about what it would be like to be bound before her so intimately. The threat of the blade wasn’t enough to stop me, I had to break the tension.”

Page after page, the notes scrambled his brain. Dhan didn’t know what to make of the nine months Gabi held Sir captive. Were these just the embellishments of a madman or were they insights into the intimate moments he and Gabi shared? He looked over to her as she made her way through her own work—was that a grin he saw flash across her face? How much of her relationship with Sir was she still hiding? 

He reminded himself that Sir had an ulterior motive. He had to trust Gabi. 
 
Concealed in the last folder was an envelope addressed to Gabrielle in delicate calligraphy. Dhan carefully pried it open—thankful he did—written across the underside of the flap was the question: ‘Who Am I?’ Dhan’s immediate response was, “A piece of shit.” But he figured that was the wrong answer, so he pulled out the enclosed letter to hopefully find the correct one.

The crude letter in his hand did not match the exquisite calligraphy of the envelope. It lacked precision. Although the paper's folds remained crisp, unmarred by constant folding and unfolding, the writing itself looked as though it went through several rounds of revisions. There were faded pencil markings, pink eraser stains, uneven spacing, and coarse lettering. Coming from a guy who kept well organized records from memory, these details made Dhan’s hair raise before he could read a single word. 

It was a fair warning because his stomach dropped before he could get two sentences in.

 

1/3/18

My Dearest Gabrielle, 

Our letters have been a constant source of joy, but on this cold dark winter’s day, I find myself writing to you in a particularly somber mood. Somewhere swept up in the heavy winds currently wreaking havoc outside, the surge of excitement I usually feel at the start of a new year is gone. Only the misery of what’s missing has been left in its wake. 

My sole hope of recovery is to see you again: to steal a whiff of that divine scent, to hear the sound of your laughter, or to simply relish in your joy of literature. Any of which, I’m sure would lift my spirits. So I ask, will you come see me? Meet me at our usual spot? Bless me with your presence once more. 

Of course I know the answer to this, but still I ask that you don’t ignore my plea. Give me a sign that you’ve read this letter like you’ve done for the ones before—in the books you carry, the works you study, how you engage with others. Any sign, no matter how slight, is enough for me. My Goddess of Fancy, pull me out of this long bleak night, for ‘From early morning I had been oppressed by a strange despondency. It suddenly seemed to me that I was lonely, that every one was forsaking me and going away from me.’ 

It’s a poor habit of mine turning to Dostoevsky’s White Nights during days like this when the blunt edge of loneliness and separation bludgeons me until I’m nothing more than a sullen wretch. Together we commiserate—his hero and I—in our respective corners adorned with grimy green walls and web-covered windows, our shared circumstances—to have loved and lost. Together we understand our cursed fates, to live an existence in which life is forbidden and under constant threat of floating away like a dream. My Goddess of Fancy you are that dream, a spitting image of his dear Nastenka. 

Over the years, I’ve worn out the pages of this book before me with the hope of capturing the hidden strength of the hero for myself. But today, it’s impossible. I am more helpless than ever because I am the future ‘fifteen years hence, older, in the same room with the same web-covered windows, just as solitary’.

Today, I read the hero’s account and came to a much more dreadful conclusion. Even his dear Nastenka, who had forsaken his love, offered a place for him to remain in her heart. You may think oh he’s pathetic to settle for such a paltry consolation. And you would be right! He is pathetic and so am I, so I beg—picture me before you on my hands and knees—that you extend the same courtesy to me. Share your life with me in any way you can. Allow me to anchor mine with yours—if not in your heart or home, then in your gutter or the alley way across the street—before it floats away forever and the spiderwebs swallow me up.

However, I don’t wish to burden your serene, untroubled happiness. I just wish to hang on to the teenist thread of your hand spun golden warp so that I may weave ‘everyone and everything into the canvas like a fly in a spider’s web’.

I need only the smallest of allowances, so that when I look to the web-covered windows of my dark corridor, I’m able to see beyond the grime and uncover a marvelous pattern hidden beneath its weavings. 

Will you give me that? 

- H.E.

 

After he finished the letter, Dhan sat in a daze. There were letters. Not just this one in his hand, or the one Sir wrote to Gabi when her father died, but letters that most likely predated his friendship with her. She never mentioned them. If Sir’s claim was true—Dhan still had to give her the benefit of doubt—it was no wonder she was hellbent on repentance, she was living with at least fifteen years of guilt. To her friends, to the world, to Lacey she had lied about much more than the basement. She lied to him. 

 

Notes:

Read Fyodor Dostoevsky’s White Nights via Project Gutenberg: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/36034/36034-h/36034-h.htm.

It’s a beautifully touching short story.

Chapter 8

“Oh good, I think I found something,” Gabi craned her neck to look up at Dhan who was now standing across the table from her. She cocked her head, when she noticed the scowl on his face. “What is it? Did I miss something else? I have to admit my mind has been going a million miles a minute looking through these papers.” She looked down, suddenly embarrassed to have her life sprawled out before her and abject horror absent from her expression. 

She went on, hoping her words and pace would keep Dhan from looking closely at the piles of personal effects. “I found this paper, in umm, in umm an envelope. Here, take a look at it. There is some sort of five-by-five grid drawn on it. Well, five-by-five with one cell missing. Inside the grid there’s an array of numbers, however four of those cells have question marks. So clearly it’s something we need to fill in. But I don’t know what to make of the four boxes to the top and left side of the grid that are empty. I’m thinking it could be some sort of mathematical puzzle or maybe a map. It kind of reminds me of Minesweeper, but that’s ridiculous, right? I mean how would that even work. What do you think?” She finished breathlessly. 

The scowl never slid from his face. He glanced at the paper she held out to him, too preoccupied to comprehend what was actually on it, and around at the items scattered across the table. He felt it, right then at that moment: Gabi was definitely keeping something from him. 

“I found an envelope too,” Dhan finally proclaimed. Gabi hoped he’d bypass that portion of her summation. 

“Yeah, what was inside yours?” 

“A letter.” 

She really really hoped he bypassed that portion. “Yeah, what did it say? With the way you’re frowning, it can’t be good. Did he threaten Ethan?”

“No, it was about you. Addressed to you.” He tossed the folded papers across to her. “Have you seen this before?” 

Here was the panic she was looking for. She picked up the letter and read it. When she finished she turned back to Dhan, her voice cracked as she stammered, “I’ve uh…I’ve uh…No, I’ve never...” 

Dhan cut in, too worked up to wait for her to finally string her sentence together, “ No? Because I think ultimately you gave Sir exactly what he wanted. Did you read his sad story and come up with the plan to kill him ?” He added air quotes to that last part. “My goodness, Gabi! Were you biding your time until all the pieces could come together; until you could rope me into making it happen? It’s all there. He begged for a place in your life and you gave it to him. Was it all a lie? A game between you two?” Dhan was shaking in anger. 

“No! How could you say that? How could you even think I would do something like that? You saw how broken I was that night. I wanted to kill him. I wanted him to burn in hell. You know me Dhan, I could never make that up.” She dropped the papers in her hand as if they caught fire, “This is the first time I’ve read these words. I never knew he felt this way.” 

She reached across the table to grab his hand, striving to express sincerity, “No. I’ve never seen this letter before.” 

He stepped back as if she was on fire, “But you’ve seen others? Gabi, what did he mean by ‘our letters’? Or for that matter, what does he mean by ‘stealing a whiff of your scent’ and ‘hearing the sound of your laughter’? Have you been in contact with him this whole time, way before we captured him?” 

“Yes”, she admitted. He winced as though he received a slap to the face. Hastily she added, “But not how you think.” Gabi stood up. It didn’t help her case that she was sitting there like a guilty child being admonished for misbehaving. “I don’t know what he means by smelling me or hearing me. I promise you I had not seen Sir since the farmhouse. The day we captured him was the first time I spoke to him.” 

“And the letters? Did you write to him, were you sending him signals?” he spat in disgust.

“He was stalking me, Dhan! That’s what all of these folders here are evidence of. If he thought I was sending him signals it’s because it’s what he wanted to see. He never once mentioned he was picking up on signs that I read his letters. Sure, in the back of my mind a tiny piece of me kind of sensed it, but I swear I never spoke to him.” 

“So there were letters.” He was cooling down a bit now.

“Yes, for pretty much twenty years. But I promise you, I never wrote back. Honestly, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. He never left a return address or a way to get in contact with him—the one time he did was the condolence letter I showed you. It was all one sided.” She gestured to the letter on the table, “What you read here is the suffering of a man trying to come to terms with our separation. Our letters, the letters he shared with me, were never this emotionally charged,” she lamented. “There was the odd poem, but for the most part they were prosaic and primarily academic. Nothing like this.” Not nearly as rousing as this, she thought. 

Gabi let out a sigh, “I can prove it.” She pulled out an envelope from her jacket pocket. “I didn’t tell you or any one about the letters because they filled me with so much shame. I’m ashamed I kept them.”

“So you just carry them in your pocket?” said Dhan, appalled. 

She laughed, at his ridiculous deduction, “No! I found this in one of the folders.” The smile slipped from her face because she realized if one of her letters was here, that meant it wasn’t with the others in her attic hidden away where it belonged. ”I hid it in my pocket when I found it,” she hung her head. “Like I said, I’m ashamed I kept his letters. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t get rid of them—believe me I tried. And I couldn’t admit to anyone that I allowed Sir to keep a hold over me for so many years. I’m so sorry Dhan, I wish I was stronger.”

It was true, Gabi wished she was stronger because even as she confessed she knew she wasn’t being one-hundred percent honest. A part of her did know why she couldn’t part with the letters or allow another person to know of her little secret. It was the part of her she never wanted to show to anyone, the rotten piece of her soul that wanted to maintain the connection and burned at the possibility of making it stronger. It was what she suppressed during the entirety of her adulthood and what she was working in overtime now to keep buried. But that was just the tip of the obsidian, because there was a deeper part of her that even she refused to admit existed threatening to rear its ugly head this evening. 

“Do you believe me?” She unfolded the envelope she took from her pocket and held it out to Dhan. Her firm grip acted as the last line of defense in keeping their private correspondence private for a second longer. “This is the letter he sent me. Look at the postage, this is what came to me by mail.” 

Dhan silently examined the envelope and its contents. 

“See the date is the same: January 3, 2018. You see the state of the letter you found, it must have been a draft he thought better of sending.” 

It’s true, he did observe certain rough draft qualities. The papers she handed him were of a considerably better quality—the script was precise—but they too were well worn. The envelope was slightly crumbled and the folds of the paper were no longer crisp, marred by constant folding and unfolding. Gabi clearly revisited his words more than once.

Besides the fact that it existed, there was nothing shocking in this epistle. It read more like a newsletter roundup, than anything else. Sir complimented Gabi on her latest accomplishments, complained about the administration’s failure to uphold the Paris Climate Agreement and those possible consequences, provided commentary on an article he read in December’s issue of The Atlantic , and offered a reading list complete with his thoughts on each work. It was this last section that bore the slightest resemblance to the letter that Dhan found. At the top of the list was “ White Nights and Other Stories, The Novels of Fyodor Dostoevsky, Volume X .” His accompanying note read: 

As the years pass, I find myself partial to Dostoevsky’s shorter stories. They serve as excellent examples of a gifted author’s ability to extract the complexities of the human condition into a concise tale without losing potency. White Nights wonderfully captures the hidden strength of those who have found themselves living on the fringes of society. 

“Day and night the two letters,” she said. 

“Yes, I’m sorry. It’s just between this and the case files I found, I got the sense that you were hiding something.” He was scared to voice exactly what that ‘something’ was. “And, it’s true you were, but if you never replied to him and never saw him…it’s fair to say he was just chronicling his own wishful thinking. Sewing derision is obviously a part of his plan.” 

He walked over to Gabi to trade a hug for contrition. Although he felt terrible for lashing out at her—she was the one person he hated losing his temper with—he couldn’t completely discount all he had read tonight and its implications. He felt shitty about the whole thing.  

“Thank you. I’m sorry, when we get Ethan back you can ask me anything you want to know about Sir. I owe you that.” The offer made him feel even shitter. Not once, in all the years he had known her, had Gabi pried into the complicated feelings he had about his own captivity. Was it fair of him to force her to relinquish the same courtesy?

If he could’ve read her mind, he would’ve known she had no intention of sharing everything . 

When he didn’t respond, Gabi took the opportunity to turn the conversation. “My gut is telling me White Nights is meaningful in some way, but I’d like to first discuss the drawing I found. Please take a look, it screams clue. “

She sat back down and pulled out the chair next to her so Dhan could join her, “Hopefully, you can make some sense of it.” 

		1	2	6	3
		6	5	7	?
		8	?	?	5
		?	9	2	4

He studied the image for real this time. After several seconds he said, “This is a Polybius Checkerboard Cipher, a version of it at least. Typically the table or grid has an additional row and column; and usually letters are found inside the table’s array. My commanding officer was a nut about ciphers, the more archaic the better. Anytime we had downtime, he made it his personal mission to ‘strengthen our minds’ with different encryption exercises.” 

“So how do we use it?” 

“We need three things. First, as you said, we need to replace the four question marks with the missing numbers. Then we need to identify the row and column labels. In its standard format it’s 1, 2, 3, 4, 5—that won’t work in this version. And finally, we need the encrypted message or cipher key. When we have all of those pieces, we’ll use the table to decrypt the message, ideally revealing the four-digit code for the final lock. Each decrypted number will be identified using a combination of two values. The first being the row it’s in and the second being the column it’s in, sort of like using latitude and longitude to find a spot on a map.”  

Sir was really testing their patience, Gabi thought. “Ok, let’s start with the missing four numbers.”

“Looking at the numbers already filled in, my guess is they are single digits, so our options are between 0 and 9. You have a bunch of numbers listed on your notepad. Do you have any hunches?”

“I have a hunch, but I think what I have written was a wasted effort. That letter you found, the way he dated it is not right.” 

Dhan picked it up, “Month, day, year? It looks right.”

“Yes, but not for him. Anytime he formats dates using slashes—which is very rare by the way, he prefers writing out the month—he always uses zeros when there is a single digit and includes the year in full.” She searched through a stack of folders for a few examples, finding them she explained, “In this email it’s 03/08/2010. On these post-its it’s the same format. So, it should have been written as 01/03/2018 not 1/3/18.” Dhan gave her another one of his strange looks. This time it made her feel exposed. 

“I know it sounds crazy, but trust me.” 

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” he lied. “I trust that you are right,” he told her truthfully. 

From left to right, with the same amount of pleasure as someone working on their Saturday morning crossword, she filled in the missing numbers: 1-3-1-8.

He pretended to ignore her spell of excitement, “That’s step one done. Now, what about the labels and cipher key? You think this story, White Nights , is important?” 

“Yes. It’s impossible to know how though.” 

“There are eight boxes we need to fill in for the row and column. He mentioned the story in both letters, maybe it’s as simple as the title,” he proposed.

“Huh? That’s much longer than eight letters.”

“But not if we count the repeating letters once. We’d get W-H-I-T for the rows and E-N-G-S for the columns.”

Gabi agreed, a little skeptical, “Ok…It fits.” She filled in the letters. 

		E	N	G	S
	W	1	2	6	3
	H	6	5	7	8
	I	8	3	1	5
	T	1	9	2	4

“So now the key.” 

“For the cipher to work it would have to be a combination of those letters, correct? Some kind of message, he wants to decode.” 

“Yup. Since we need a four-digit code for the lock, it can only be eight letters long.” 

“Hmm…” She ripped a few clean sheets of paper from her notepad and handed them and a pen to Dhan. “It’s game night, so let's play some Boggle.” 

Together they wrote down as many eight letter words and phrases they could think of that would fit within the rules of the cipher. Turns out…

…there weren't many. And what they did come up with was pure nonsense:

We in tewn

He is tete

I stew sin

“Absolute nonsense. Either we’re tragically horrible at word scrambles or we’re missing something.” Dhan shoved his list to the side. 

“In our condition, possibly both. Let’s regroup for a second. We have the Polybius Cipher, the two letters, and White Nights. There has to be some other dots we aren’t connecting. We have the date, what are the other differences between the letters?” 

“Besides the fact that they are completely different? Day and night.” 

“Or let’s say what’s odd about them?” she posed.

“Besides the fact that they exist?”

Gabi rolled her eyes and slid the two missives between the two of them. Quietly, she examined each until her uncanny ability honed in on…

“Web-covered windows!” 

“What?” He sat there just blinking at his poor friend. 

Gabi recited a line, “Together we commiserate—his hero and I—in our respective corners adorned with grimy green walls and web-covered windows…” 

There was only crickets from Dhan. 

“It was the ceiling!” she exclaimed in excitement. 

“Is it the windows or the ceiling? And what does it matter?”

“In the story, the main character—the hero—had grimy green walls and a ceiling covered with webs. Sir would not misquote something like that on accident and he definitely wouldn’t do it twice. Plus, he mentions ‘web’ or ‘spider web’ like five times in this letter.” Not finished, she held the last page up to the light, “But I want you to tell me what you notice here?” She tapped at the last few lines with her fingernail. 

“Eraser marks?” 

“Yes. It was heavily erased over and over and his handwriting is a little thicker here like he finally committed to writing these words after a lot of deliberation. So obviously this section is important. I say all of this to say…our key is most likely underneath the cobwebs covering the large windows in the hallway. And before you think I’ve bumped my head, read it for yourself.” She tapped at the last few lines again. 

Dhan read it out loud to make sure he didn’t miss anything, “...so that when I look to the web-covered windows of my dark corridor, I’m able to see beyond the grime and uncover a marvelous pattern hidden beneath its weavings.”

She was right, it made sense.

Chapter 9

The large windows loomed over them. The stygian void appeared to not only grow in size, but become even more grimy and grim in the time since they first stepped foot in the corridor. 

“There’s no way we’re going to be able to clear this all away on our own. We need to find some brooms and, with any luck, a couple ladders.” Dhan suggested.

Almost as if it was planned, they found what they needed—including two pairs of coveralls that happened to be in their sizes and a package of wet wipes—in the offices. Working fast, they pushed away as much of the cobwebs and filth as they could. At the end of it, their brooms (and the collection of other implements enlisted for the job) resembled an assortment of the ghastliest cotton candy spun from the most toxic sugar only a hound of hell would salivate at. 

“That was absolutely disgusting.” 

“Yeah, but it paid off. Gabi, come over here and look up.” 

Illuminated by the moonlight finally allowed to seep into the space, a pattern was visible on the windows. The glass panes and steel frames were painted over to replicate the form of the Polybius Checkerboard. However, in this instance the rows and columns were labeled and the inner cells were empty. From top to bottom the rows were marked: E, A, G, R. From left to right, the columns were labeled: E, R, D, M. 

		E	R	D	M
	E
	A
	G
	R

They were both relieved to have found something concrete. 

“Ha. Clearly, I was wrong about the significance of the title.” 

She added to his mirth, “Don’t beat yourself up, it was a good guess.” Gabi snapped a picture, stepped out of her protective gear, and headed back to the conference room. 

Dhan came in about a minute after her. “Those coveralls were a bitch to get out of… What are you doing?” He saw her standing on top of one of the worn leather chairs trying to steady herself enough to write on the dry erase board. “Are you crazy? Those things have wheels and from the look of it, they don’t lock. Get down.” 

“I figured we would have a better chance finding the key, if we could better visualize the completed cipher table.”

“You can do that from the floor.”

“Yeah, but if we utilize the entire board and scale up the size of the grid it’ll be easier to work out the correct key.” She turned back to the board phone in one hand, marker in the other as she wobbled to balance herself.

Each shaky movement made his stomach lurch. “Get down! I’ll do it.” He rushed over, lifted her from her precarious position, and placed her on the floor.

“I would have been fine.” She handed over the marker, then sat on top of the conference table to oversee his work. 

 

Dhan had just finished outlining the rows and columns of the cipher when Gabi interrupted him, “Stop!” 

“I don’t care how crooked my lines are, you are not getting back on that chair.”

“It’s not that. Do you see that? Those indentations.” 

“Yeah, it’s an old dry erase board, Gabi. There are marks and indents everywhere.”

She uncapped another marker. Standing on her toes to reach over the rusty cabinet underneath, she began shading in the middle of the board. After covering about a square foot of its surface, she beamed back at him, “But what are the odds it would reveal a secret message?”

Dhan joined her in shading in the rest of the board. He worked from the top and she worked from the bottom. Several markers later, the whole message was uncovered. It was lengthy, but its engraving was so exact, that its legibility was not a concern: 

You want to know, Gabrielle, what our hero, that is I—for the hero of the whole business was my humble self—did in his corner? You want to know why I lost my head and was upset for the whole day by the unexpected visit of a friend? You want to know why I was so startled, why I blushed when the door of my room was opened, why I was not able to entertain my visitor, and why I was crushed under the weight of my own hospitality?

“A visitor? Is he referring to some incident in the farmhouse?” Dhan asked. 

A small voice—imperceivable really—asked Gabi a different question, Or is he referring to his behavior as a whole? “No. He’s continuing the theme. This is a passage from White Nights also. The protagonist is sharing the story of ‘who he is’ to a woman he met on the street. It’s the sad tale Sir identified with in his letter. The questions he poses to Nastenka—that’s whose name he replaced with mine…when he poses these questions to Nastenka, he attempts—beautifully, I may add—to describe how his nature and the nature of his loneliness has made him into the man he is: a man incapable of regular human interaction and by extension true romantic companionship. The character documents the tragic acceptance of his fate.” 

While Gabi was speaking, Dhan went to retrieve an item from the conference table. “Something you said reminded me of the envelope I found with the calligraphy. There was a question written on the inside flap: ‘Who am I?’” He showed it to her. 

“Who is he?” she thought for a second. A few options crossed her mind: an ass, a bastard, a pathetic man, a lonely man... She walked up to the board reaching up as far as she could to circle ‘for the hero of the whole business was my humble self’ with her finger and with a frown she stated, “He is the hero.” 

“But what does that mean? ‘Hero’ isn’t long enough to be the key.”

“No, but dreamer, more specifically, 'A Dreamer’ is. There’s one answer to the questions the hero posed to Nastenka; it’s the type of person he is. Ultimately, our nameless hero identifies himself as a self-proclaimed dreamer. And since Sir sees himself in the hero, he too is a dreamer.”

Dhan didn’t need Gabi to explain any further. A pattern had formed that he hoped she was ignorant of. If these cabinets were meant to replace the caskets of Portia’s suitors, then what did it mean for Sir to be the key to the last one? He sighed, preferring to ignore the answer. 

On the dry erase board, working through two letters at a time, they used the cipher’s rows and columns to decrypt the message (AD=7,  RE=1, AM=8,  ER=2). The resulting four-digit code was 7-1-8-2. 

		E	R	D	M
	E	1	2	6	3
	A	6	5	7	8
	G	8	3	1	5
	R	1	9	2	4

Chapter 10

Unlocking the creaky old rusty cabinet was half the battle. It took considerable elbow grease from both of them to pry the warped drawers open, but there was no evidence of the jostling when they finally got a glimpse inside. Nestled on top a bed of plush golden velvet sat a white gift box tied with a bow. The silky cobalt ribbon was embossed with a phrase. 

“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath,” Gabi read the imprinted words without visible emotion in order to conceal the rush of emotions colliding within. Her performance was undeniable, with steady hands she moved the box to the table and gently untied the bow. 

Eyes glued to Gabi, Dhan lifted the box‘s top to reveal a plume of pearlescent tissue paper. Beneath the first layer they found a jaw-dropping bust portrait of her in red. She gasped at first sight of it; cracking the wall of impassivity. Dhan in response, broke eye contact to get a closer look before silencing his own squawk of surprise. If Gabi didn’t recognize herself, she would have suspected the piece had been looted from Le Musée du Petit Palais. 

The ornate oval bronze frame contained a magnificent oil painting of rich bushwork, color, and composition; the most striking element being the energy the canvas exuded. By some unfathomable light source, Gabi appeared to glow from within dressed in a vibrant low-cut satin bodice whose sweetheart neckline proudly showcased the glimmering necklace she was gifted earlier—the gemstones too seemed to catch her light. Turned slightly to the left, her posture was regal while her smile and the glint in her eyes expressed a playful enthusiasm. Her glorious coiffure was an artistic expression in itself, the honeyed-brown locs were gathered upward into twists intertwined with luminous gold thread creating a sky-high bun made of a series of neverending intricately pinned swoops; softly coiled strands with bouncy ends framed her face, spires of shorter strands peacocked at the nape of her neck to fan into a spiked coronet, and pink waxy heart-shaped spathes of flamingo lilies adorned her head in the same fashion of a fascinator to top off the tresses.

Gabi was moved by its beauty. Never in her life had she envisioned herself held in such reverence. Anytime she faced flattery, sweet compliments, and praise for her work she knew how to handle it: a brush off, wise-crack, or humble acceptance. This was different, a revelatory act that required more emotional acuity than she was capable of right now.  

Her brain buzzed and whirred until all that came out, after a huge gulp was, “Umm, me.” 

“Yeah you.” Dhan had to admit the portrait was like none he had seen before. It perfectly captured Gabi’s likeness, probably more so because she looked freer and happier. If it wasn’t tainted by Sir, he and everyone who encountered it would be hard pressed to tear their eyes away. 

After some time, for they both became less aware of passing time, Gabi placed the frame on the table to uncover what else was in the box.

Splish. Splash. Splop. 

One by one wet drops crashed into the crinkled paper beneath her with a few melting into the source of her tears. Lying neatly in the box was a dazzling marine and turquoise tapestry of intertwined birds-of-paradise, whose textured feathers danced elegantly among a profusion of figs, berries, passion flowers, and tiny toads surrounded by a border of alternating checkered and bevel patterns, and a slightly buckled hand-rolled hem. Gabi recognized the folded square of silk as soon as she pushed the tissue paper aside. The scarf belonged to her mother. 

As a child, she admired and coveted the luxurious fabric. It was her mother’s favorite accessory, she wore it as a headscarf, necktie, belt, bag accessory, and as a strap for her hats in the summer. Gabi begged and pleaded for a chance to wear it just like she did, but repeatedly had to settle for her mother’s sweet smile and promise of, “it’ll be my gift to you one day when you’re older.” That day never came. When her mother died, Gabi searched and searched for the scarf only to discover her father had packed it up during their move and donated it to charity. She was devastated and never quite got over losing something so precious to her mother. Tears continued to well in her eyes as she couldn’t quite believe that it had made its way to her in almost the exact same condition since she last saw it—for her it was a minor miracle. 

“How?” she said, turning to Dhan in disbelief. 

Not quite understanding the significance of the scarf, he opted to simply pull her in from the side for a hug and wipe a couple of tears from her face. Just as he was about to ask about the scarf’s importance an irritating voice decided to join them. 

“I regret I couldn’t return it to you sooner.” 

Gabi faced the speaker and directed her question to Sir, “How? How did you find my mother’s scarf? And after all this time?” 

“Many phone calls and a few embellishments. I remembered how sad you were about losing it. So I visited your hometown to make some inquiries. Eventually, I tracked it down in Ohio of all places. It was really nothing; it should have been done sooner. Forgive me.”

Through sniffles she offered, “Th-thank you. I didn’t think I would ever see this again. I truly can’t believe it…Thank you.”

Sir didn’t respond immediately. His mic made odd muffled sounds that despite her tears Gabi could still distinguish as eager restlessness—he was pleased with himself. “It was my pleasure,” he finally said in a pitch a little higher than normal. She smiled at this, knowing her instincts were correct. 

The smile was a jolt to Dhan’s system. There was no way Gabi, his Gabi, the strong fearless woman he knew and loved would ever fall for Sir’s crap. But then again, he wasn’t fully aware of everything that happened between them. He had no way of knowing what bonds formed or reformed in that basement. But he did know that as long as he was standing next to her, he would do everything in his power to protect her from his influence whether she asked for it or not—the look on her face suggested she could use the backup…“So you brought us here to shower Gabi with gifts? A noble act if you didn’t have to kidnap and threaten another innocent person to do so. Do you really think Gabi will fall for this twisted attempt to win her over? She’s too smart for that. You’ve only proved what we already know, besides being a serial kidnapper you’re a sick obsessed stalker too. Newsflash love cannot be bought.” 

“Interesting. Was it your expertise on the subject that helped you reach that conclusion? Anyway, I agree. It cannot be bought, it’s a divine experience that must occur naturally to be real and everlasting.” 

“So then what do you call this? And the twenty years before it?” Dhan demanded. 

“A reminder. And a mistake. My only goal for tonight is to resurface what is already there for all of us.” 

“Sure.” 

“I see you haven’t noticed your husband, who you hold so near and dear to your heart, is no longer with us.”

Embarrassingly, this was the first time in at least 20 minutes that Dhan looked for Ethan on screen. He was not there. It was just an empty room. 

Calmly Sir announced, “Unfortunately, you ran out of time and I had no choice but to take action.”

“Where is he?!” Dhan and Gabi shouted in unison. 

As if he didn’t hear them he went on, “I can understand why Gabrielle didn’t notice. But you? Tsk tsk. It’s probably best he isn’t here to close out this little game.” 

Dhan was now pacing the floor, but it was Gabi who spoke up, “If you’ve done anything to harm him. You can forget any expectation of atonement. We will be through.” 

“So there’s a WE?”

Dhan shouted, “What did you do to him?”

“What kind of person do you think I am? I assure you he is in one piece.”

“You gave Lacey a concussion,” responded Gabi. 

“You killed your mother,” shot Dhan. 

“Both misunderstandings. But let’s not dwell on my faults, let’s dive into the final installment of our trilogy. Ahem, seats please… I promise the sooner we get through this the sooner you’ll get to see your beloved husband. So if you will…”

 

Dhan was still seething as the video began. He had to think of a way to cut this evening short. He kicked himself for going along with Sir’s plan so easily instead of trying to find a way out for all of them. Of course he had no idea where Ethan was in this labyrinth or whether he was actually here, but he knew he should have been doing something. He was just about to get up to retrace his steps to the lower level of the warehouse when he heard Ethan’s bright laugh. 

On the screen Ethan and Dhan were back in Ethan’s office. Unlike the other videos they were no longer centered in the camera’s frame. Both were off to the side in front of the desk. Ethan was leaning over it to reach for a slip of paper on the table’s top while Dhan was standing next to him.

Ethan laughed, “Just promise when you go you won’t end up with half the bowl dripping down your shirt. The waitress has never let me live that down.” He was searching for the address of his favorite restaurant on his desk. “I just wasn’t expecting it to be so spicy and… Oh.” 

Dhan crashed into him as soon as he turned around with the piece of paper in hand. Their lips were locked in a kiss that started tentatively and clumsily, before quickly mounting in intensity. It was a thrilling twenty seconds: hands were everywhere, shirts were being untucked and unbuttoned, hair was being tousled. Dhan was the first to break contact, gasping for air, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I know you said this can’t happen. But I just kept thinking about how I want to be dripping down your shirt. Shit, did I just say that? I mean how nice it would be to have you for dinner…No sorry, I mean to have dinner with you.” He tried to laugh it off. 

Ethan leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I would like that very much. Either scenario.” 

Dhan blushed and kissed him again. Coming up for air, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from intruding, “Are you sure this is alright? Don’t get me wrong, I want this, but what about your ‘no patients’ rule? Won’t this,” he said gesturing between them, “be a problem for your job? I can’t afford to lose you.” Dhan forced himself to step back, so he wouldn’t be tempted to re-engage.  

Ethan interlocked their hands, “I want this too. For you I’m willing to make the exception. And it’ll only be a problem if anyone finds out—we’ll be discreet and we’ll find you a new therapist, before it gets to that point.” Squeezing his hand, he said, “Your recovery is important. No matter what happens between us, I’ll still be committed to your treatment.” Ethan pulled him closer on top of the desk and into a deep kiss. 

The video cut to a wedding. Their wedding. On a sun-drenched beach under an archway decorated with airy pampas grasses, white and coral flowers, and flowy ivory fabric, Dhan and Ethan stood before each other and their small circle of friends. Ethan recited his vows. 

“I never thought this day would come. When you walked into my life, I knew you were one of a kind, unlike anyone I had met before. I’m thankful for it.” Dhan smiled teary eyed, while Ethan’s voice cracked, “You are my happy place, my comfort. You are confident, strong, and compassionate. Babe, I promise to love you just the way you are and any iteration that follows.” 

In an instant we were back in Ethan’s office. Dhan was nowhere to be found. 

“But what about your rule?” 

Ethan was leaning over his patient, his hand cupping his cheek. “You are my last session for the day and lucky for us everyone has gone home for the night. No one has to know.” 

“That’s good enough for me,” the patient grabbed him by his shirt collar into his lap. The video cut to a similar scene with a different patient. 

They were up against the office door in a frantic embrace. “You know I thought about this moment ever since you walked into my office. Those biceps, that ass, these lips.” Ethan teasingly bit the man’s bottom lip as his hand trailed down the length of his abs and into his pants. The video cut again. 

A new guy was sitting at the desk, his head tilted back and mouth parted. Among the moaning and panting a soft wet squelching reverberated through the audio. The man gripped the desk and began to call out…The screen went black. 

“What the fuck?” said Dhan to himself. 

“What the fuck!” shouted Gabi to Sir. 

“There’s no need for coarse language,” Sir responded in mock offense. 

“The hell it isn’t,” shot Dhan. 

“I’m just the messenger.”

“Gabi, what the fuck was that? He always made it seem like I was the exception. How many others were there?” He raised his voice again, “Sir, how many more were there?” 

“Let’s just say there was a pattern. Do you think he would have lost his license for just one incidence of impropriety? You were just the last one he was caught with. Really, the fact that there is video proof after all these years, is concerning. You can’t categorize this as professional record keeping—maybe for another type of therapeutic profession,” he scoffed. “But at least he remains committed to your treatment and recovery to this day. How is that going by the way?” 

Dhan didn’t respond, he was on his feet and infuriated pacing the length of the conference room muttering to himself, “He gave up his practice for me ? Like hell he did.” 

 

Gabi followed Dhan’s path anxiously as she confronted Sir, “Was this really the best way to share this kind of information? And did it need to come from you?”

“Why not me? Would you rather it come from you? Do you think that would have done any favors for your relationship? My dear I know you would fall on your sword for your friends; I would do the same for you. So yes, it was best coming from me—a person he has no love lost for. As for my method, he needed irrefutable proof.”  

Dhan stopped moving, stood for a second, then called to her, “Gabi, grab your things. Let’s go. We’re getting out of here!” 

“We’re still getting Ethan, right?” she asked, concerned.

“To hell with Ethan! But yes, we are. I’m done playing his games, we have to get out of this shithole.” He grabbed his gun and retrieved the ammo from the receptacle, then marched out the door.

Chapter 11

“Damn, what the hell are these doors reinforced with?” He was hunched over in exhaustion. Fifteen minutes had passed since they retraced their steps to the large space with the three doors. As soon as they crossed into the opening the door behind them slammed shut, leaving them no options. Every exit was locked including the one to the stairwell they first entered from. Dhan tried ramming the doors, while Gabi tried picking the locks with her hair pins. Nothing worked. He let out a roar of frustration. 

“Better?” she asked.

“A little, trying to bulldoze these doors did take a little bit of the edge off.” He sank to the floor, running a hand down his face. “Only a little though,” he exhaled, “I really wish I didn’t see that. Any of it.”

“I know sweetie. I’m sorry you had to find out that way.” She sat down beside him. “It doesn’t help, but at least it all happened before you two were together. So, it’s not an issue of infidelity.” 

He looked at her sideways. “Isn’t it? Doesn’t that count. Our whole relationship was formed around the fact that I was the person he risked his career for. I forced him to give up his practice. I was the wrecking ball to his life. Sure, it was romantic at first, he gave it all up for me, the love of his life. Man, the guilt Gabi. He did his best—or at least what I thought was his best—to not make me feel directly at fault, but it slipped out here and there. Was it all an act? Did he enjoy it? Playing me like that. Fuck! I’m so stupid, we’re investigators for goodness sake.” 

“You can’t blame yourself. If anything it’s my fault, I didn’t bother vetting him. I thought because he came by the recommendation of my therapist there was no need to dig in any deeper. I’m sorry Dhan.” He pulled her closer in acknowledgment of her apology. She laid her head on his shoulder, “You know this doesn’t have to be it. Yes, it’s a massive breach of trust and you’re more than allowed to sit in this anger for a while, but this doesn’t have to be the end of your marriage. Think of it as a newly leveled playing field for you two to build a solid foundation moving forward.” 

He looked down at her to see if she was joking. She kept on, “I’m being for real. It’s so hard to find your person in this world, if a small part of you still believes Ethan is it, don’t give up on him too quickly. Happiness doesn’t come easy and you deserve so much of it, even if you have to fight for it.”

He laid his head on top of hers. With a gentle squeeze of her arm he said, “You know, what do I need a ‘person’ for when I have you. Scratch that. In fact, you are my person, you always have been ever since you caught me crying like a toddler in the parking lot at Iris.” 

“Like a toddler?” She nudged his side.

“Yes, it was a hell of a lot more dignified than a wailing baby.” They laughed as he squeezed her tighter. “But really, is it hard to always be the voice of reason?” 

“Reason? Ha. If only that was true.” 

 

They sat in comfortable silence until suddenly reenergized, Dhan jumped up and with both hands quickly pulled Gabi to her feet too. He straightened her mother’s scarf now tied to secure her ponytail and brushed them both off. When he was done, he looked at her with a serious expression, “Gabi. Let me be your voice of reason: do NOT take your own advice. He does not deserve a way forward. He doesn’t deserve any part of you. You deserve happiness and to be free of him. A night of warped benevolence does not absolve him.” He let his words settle for impact as she stood rubbing at her arm, then he added, “And remember good or bad, crazy or crazier, I’ll always have your back no matter what.” 

She forced a small smile, “I know. Thank you.”

In that instance, one of the doors clicked unlock.

Gabi lept into action grateful for the break in tension. “I was starting to think we would be locked in here for the rest of the night.” She rushed to try the doors, the one in the middle gave way, “We have a winner.” 

Both of them stiffened when they looked inside. The hallway bathed them in a soft glow lit by several candles in glass votives of varying sizes that lined the floor alongside a meticulous scattering of her favorite flowers: cupped roses, elegant gladiolus, and exotic orchids. Slowly and silently, they walked the path. Dhan led the way with his gun drawn, checking the doorways—each was locked—as they moved past them. Gabi meanwhile took in with fascination the care that went into the arrangement, noticing the gradual progression of color as they moved along the pathway—white to ivory to shades of pink to… Their final stop was a large wood paneled room surrounded by fewer candles and an abundance of deep wine colored blooms. The aroma was heady, but it wasn’t the scent that jumbled her senses. A single spotlight illuminated a large table in the middle of the dimly lit room that displayed a miniature architectural model of an extraordinary sprawling home…her dream home. 

Every detail, plus a few extras was realized. The facade was french provincial, featuring a classic mix of stone and stucco, sloped roofs, large windows balanced by soft blue-gray shutters, and ornate iron balconies—perfect for enjoying the moonlight. The surrounding landscape was lush with wispy ornamental grasses, a huge willow tree, manicured hedges, and lavender bushes. Pebble and stone paths wrapped around to a courtyard with a (working) tiered marble fountain—the perfect backdrop for sipping a fancy coffee—before leading to a backyard complete with an inground pool, bar, and lounge chairs—perfect for throwing summer parties. An arched wooden footbridge extended the stone path over a creek, flowing across the length of the model, into a small fruit orchard. And that was only the outside of the house. 

Gabi circled the model, mentally documenting each detail. She didn’t make a sound, not even a squeak of surprise. Despite the lack of audible hints, Dhan knew this display wasn’t unfamiliar to her. He could see it in her intense gaze—her eyes continued to widen with every pass about the table, unblinking. 

“Have you seen this before? Gabi, whose house is this?” He bent down to read the address marker: 2323 Connie’s Way. 

“Mine.” 

They stared at each other. “I’m going to need a little more than that. What is this? Last time I checked you only have one home.” 

“That’s true. This is the one that only exists in my head—a near perfect replica of the house I used to daydream about. Well, a more refined version of it. It has the grand two-story library I’ve always wanted; balconies in the bedrooms, library, and study; french doors and high ceilings; plus a creek for fishing—I thought Dad would love that.” Noticing something new, she let an air of giddiness slip out, “This is crazy, look it also has my three dalmatians (Calliope, Clio, and Erato) lounging in front of the fireplace.” She was in awe at the level of detail. She couldn’t believe something she had only imagined could exist in front of her so clearly, almost like magic. 

“It is crazy. It’s also creepy and weird. When did you tell him about this? Let me guess. When he was your teacher? You see how twisted this is,” he motioned towards the hallway and the model. “I know you do. It’s a nice home, more than nice really, but it’s not real. Smoke and mirrors to cover up the monster he really is.”

She tore herself away from the tableau to look at Dhan’s frowning form, “Yes. I know. You’re right.” Her hand gingerly gilded around the edges of the table as she circled it again, “It is not real.” 

Dhan decided to leave it at that for now. He needed to be prepared for whatever Sir had coming next. As he surveyed the room, he noticed a few gaps along its perimeter where there weren’t any flowers or candles, just empty space at odd intervals. He investigated those spots, feeling the wall and sconces for hidden openings. He was glad Gabi was still in la-la land because he was sure he looked like a fool—it was a warehouse, not some old-money mansion. Yet, he was right to be suspicious. When he reached the back right corner of the room he didn’t have a chance to search its section of wood paneling. The wall parted and yanked him into the void.

Chapter 12

All that was left of Dhan was muffled shouting. Gabi’s head shot up in confusion, she looked around and marched over to the last place she saw him out of the corner of her eye. She shouted back, banging on the wall. She was so loud that she didn’t hear the large double doors slide shut, or the even solid tread making its way towards her. She didn’t hear the swish of fabric or the rustle of a beard being smoothed. She didn’t hear anything until…

“Hello, Gabrielle. You mentioned a special greeting.” 

Hearing Sir’s voice was enough for her to decide what she would do next. She swung around and greeted him with an unexpected combination: an elbow to the stomach, a knee to the groin, and a swipe at his feet. Gabi was pleased. He was ass-down on the floor wearing a ridiculous expression of surprise on his face. She straddled him, pinning him in place with her legs as she applied pressure to his throat with her forearm. “What did you do to him? Where is Dhan?” she yelled.

He grinned, so she obliged with more pressure. He joustled his head from side to side, “It’s a little difficult to speak with your arm at my throat.” 

Gabi repositioned herself, letting up slightly on his windpipe to instead apply force to his groin with her knee, “Where is he, dammit?”

He smiled even harder. “You know it’s even more intoxicating when you’re worked up.” He watched her eyes widen in shock. He inhaled, “Fántasma Afrodítis. Even in a room full of flowers, it’s like luring a bee to a honey trap.” 

In a flash, Gabi’s eyes glossed over as she was transported to a warm sticky summer’s night. Cooling breezes and the rhythm of the city below wafted into the bedroom mixing with the alluring fragrance of plums and saffron as tangled linen and limbs slipped in and out of her vision. She arched her back in a surge of blinding exultation. Then collapsed. There was a nibble at her ear, a deep inhale followed by a husky whisper, “Bzzz. Bzz.” Her giggles echoed around them. A firm hand seized the small of her back; a huskier desperate whisper filled her ear, “No, don’t move just yet. Stay like this, keep me stuck in your honey just a little longer.” She giggled again, positioning her lips to settle at the divot just below his jaw. She was just about to taste him when a swell of heat climbed up her arm causing her to look down. But it wasn’t John she recognized beneath her, it was Sir. 

With a gentle grip on her wrist, Sir called out, “Gabrielle. Please Gabrielle. A little less pressure please.” 

Gabi snapped out of her trance. She stumbled backwards in an awkward crab walk away from him—blinking repeatedly in an effort to regain a sense of reality. 

“What is it? That look. Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

Embarrassed, she spat out, “It’s nothing that would interest you.” 

With a knowing smirk he said, “Are you sure?” He readjusted his pants, stood up, and moved to quickly assist Gabi off the floor before she could refuse him. 

Gabi widened the gap between them, faced him head high, and recited, “‘he desires nothing, because he is superior to all desire.’” 

“Ah, that once was true. My battle cry, as you will. Dostrovesky’s hero outlasted earthly temptation because the world he created up here,” he touched his temple, “was enough. He could endure on imagination alone.” Sir edged closer to her. In return she took a few steps back. “I, a weaker being, have succumbed. Bit by bit, and all at once.” 

Gabi looked away to hide the pinch of obsidian piercing some unidentifiable piece of her flesh. She didn’t say a word. Sir inched closer, while she could only retreat a few more steps back, hitting the wall behind her. With nowhere to go, she returned her gaze to him expecting to see another smirk of satisfaction, however all she could gleam was genuine earnestness. 

He didn’t block her way or lean in, he merely slid his hands into his pants pockets and carefully watched her, searching for…something. When he found what he needed, he pressed on, “You know when I realized it , the fantasy was enough for me. I could’ve lasted an eternity.” 

“So what changed?” she croaked. 

“You, Gabrielle. Our connection is undeniable. I’m sensitive to your whims, moods, mannerisms, the slightest change in your behavior... When you came to me late that night stomping down the stairs with fire in your eyes and a treasure trove of keepsakes—our keepsakes—cradled in your arms, I suspected. But after you rushed off to the hospital to see Tony, I reread those letters. Each one. And only one stood out. Only one had considerably more wear and tear than the others. It was at that moment I knew. I could tell from the areas where you scrunched the paper and by the gift of your habit for annotation, what piqued your repeated interest and set you off in frustration. It turned out my moment of weakness, my own inner turmoil, was the key to our way forward. ‘The long, slow, enduring thing…that’s what we live by…not the occasional spasm of any sort.’ I was wrong and Clifford was a fool. We can’t live by only enduring. You need, I need , the spasms and at a higher frequency than just ‘occasional.’” 

She gulped and took him in as though she was trying to make out the details of a stranger before her. Was he really quoting Lady Chatterley's Lover to her? Had he bumped his head? Had she? This man who took pride in his moral superiority, who lived by a puritanical code, was confessing what to her? That little, barely imperceptible voice chided her: Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what he’s confessing. You can pretend with everyone else, but you can’t fool me. You feel it right now, the urge to move closer, the magnetic pull of your two souls burning to intertwine. Stop resisting it, fall into it. What’s stopping you?

Gabi didn't move closer. Instead, she opted to side-stepped him and head to the architectural model. After a few moments, he walked over to meet her at the opposite side of the table. 

 

He nodded towards the model, “How did I do? Is it just as you imagined?” 

Quietly she replied, “It’s perfect.”

“You dreamt it. I just helped make it real.” 

‘But it’s not real’, she reminded herself. Gripping the table on either side of her, she leaned over it, so that the spotlight hung just above her head setting fire to the fierce heat in her eyes and the cherry cola glaze on her plush lips. Sir couldn’t help but to mirror her—his eyes ignited too, darting from her eyes to her mouth to lower in anticipation. Her lips parted and he didn’t dare blink. “Hugh…I’m not going to ask again, where is Dhan!” 

He howled with laughter. “My Gabrielle, stubborn as always…Your precious Executioner is fine. He asked to see his husband; I made his wish come true. No, don't worry. They are both uninjured, at least by me.”

He turned his back with another chuckle and strolled to the back of the room. He stopped dead center in the middle of the wall. Gabi had to squint to see it, but there hung a black cloth that she really hoped was not concealing a screen for another round of games. In one swift flourish, Sir pulled down the covering revealing a mesmerizing swirl of colors—although to Gabi that was not quite right. 

It wasn’t some abstract swirl of colors. The light overhead distorted her view. Upclose, she realized it was a mesmerizing extension of her portrait. She gaped at it in awe. The artwork was a fantastical rendition of Jean-Honoré Fragonard’s 18th century painting, The Swing, that replaced her with the iconic paramour. 

Inside the lush garden, dressed in a crimson shoulder-baring gown embellished with tiered voluminous sleeves, a billowing train of chiffon pirouetting behind her, and an enticing side slit that trailed all the way up her thigh, Gabi glided through the air carefree and jovial. The opulent swing she sat on was suspended high above the ground by bizarre chains of interlocked seahorses tied mysteriously around gnarled serpentine branches. On the far right, her pious husband (Sir)—partially blinded by the chiffon train—was seated on a rough piece of driftwood impractically operating the swing using fragile ropes of ivy. Happily in motion and mid-air, one of Gabi’s bare legs was kicked upward, expelling a red shoe tipped with velvety cherry-hued orchids and capped off by a sculptural pyramidal heel from her pointed foot. The striking projectile flew through the sky towards a menacing cupid perched atop a grand marble obelisk found on the far left side of the canvas. At the base of this statue there was another man, her eager lover (also Sir). Partially hidden by an overgrown rose bush, he was thrown backwards precariously supporting himself with his elbow as his other arm, outstretched, offered her a delicious bitten fig—evident by his juice stained fingers and lips—as a gift of gratitude for his scandalous view from below.  

The surrounding composition was a dizzying mix of intrigue. A sea of pink flamingo lilies washed over the foreground from the left as a bed of discarded oyster shells served as the shoreline from the right. Letters and leather bound books were scattered throughout. Sunlight parted giant overarching fruit trees abundant in fleshy figs, cherries, and pomegranates covered in droplets of dew. In some areas the lush foliage resembled flamboyant peacock feathers while others had soft dove-like leaves. And in the distance, bees circled a beehive as their honey cascaded down the side of a sizable tree trunk. More animals curiously graced the scene: two overfed rabbits rode a dolphin, a flamingo buried its head in the sea of lilies, and a small fluffy dog slept peacefully just below her feet. It was a mesmerizing masterpiece of wonder and yearning. 

Gabi was spellbound, she felt as though she could stare at this painting for hours and still not pick up on all of the details. 

“You’re a vision in red, my dear Goddess of Fancy.” Sir murmured in her ear. 

“This is remarkable,” she replied transfixed. 

“Yes, remarkable,” he agreed, eyes fixed on her back. 

Encouraged by the fact that she didn’t flinch, he was tempted to dare another hushed compliment only to be deterred by the searing heat radiating from her body— his body? —the moment he inched closer. He didn’t risk it, choosing to place his hands back inside his pockets and to make his way around her to stand next to the large frame. He decided it was a sound choice, in fact he decided he preferred this position. From here he could soak up her reverie: he watched her eyes dance from corner to corner, her mouth quirk whenever she noticed an interesting detail, her eyebrows quiver in contemplation, and her arms awkwardly fold and unfold across her chest—this reaction was the most intriguing, a sign of his triumph. Just as he was about to press his luck with a step forward, Gabi spoke. 

“The technique here is quite similar to Fragonard, but there’s something else familiar about it. This is not your work—don’t try to convince me otherwise,” she looked at him with a smile on her face for the first time tonight (for the first time in a long time). She returned her focus to the painting, “Who did you commission?” She wandered forward to get a closer look. 

“I'm surprised you didn’t guess. He did a wonderful job concealing his signature in the background.” He reached up to trace a finger around the foliage in the top corner of the canvas, he stood back quickly so he didn’t miss her reaction. 

On her toes, she read the inscription he motioned to. She plopped down onto her heels, “You’re lying. There’s no way Ayo Cinga, this decade’s most renowned artist, The Carter's personal art curator, would accept a commission for a painting of me. From you. ”

“You know me better than that, Gabrielle. And you know his work. I’m not lying.” 

She did know him better than that, she could tell he was telling the truth, but simply could not wrap her mind around it. “How? …How did you know?”

“How did I know to commission your favorite artist? Well, because I know you; what interests you, interests me. Now, how did I make it happen? It’s better to leave that to curiosity.” 

She touched the canvas. “This was done recently, but with this level of detail and to create layers with so much definition, this would have taken ages for the oil to dry down—definitely much longer than a few weeks. How long has he been working on this?” She turned again to face him, daring him to lie. 

“A few years.” 

“A few years!” 

“Yes, the truth is I never meant for anyone besides Mr. Cinga and I to see it.”

“But why? From what I remember you despised Rococo. I recall an extensive lesson denouncing its degeneracy, fripperous lack of substance, and association with ‘dilettantes and libertines’.” She finished with an accented flourish.

“I think you know why.” He smiled, not in his overconfident or smug fashion, but with apprehension. 

She looked away, fingertips drumming at her crossed arms. Another sign. He continued stronger, “Of the genres from that century, I’ll admit, it was not my favorite. But as the answer to all of my ‘whys’, I have to again credit you for my change in opinion. By now you are aware of my, dare I say our, inexplicable need to seek out each other…Do you remember how you felt the afternoon you discovered Fragonard’s Progress of Love during The Frick’s gallery preview? I remember how I felt watching you experience it on that splendid day. Hopeful, forlorn, enraptured. Ever since, I’ve had an insatiable desire to feed that feeling. In the process, I came to understand that to classify these works as degenerate or flippant was grossly reductive; they were instead celebrating freedom in adoration. How beautiful and powerful is that? How liberating? I commissioned this work because I was prepared to come to terms with our separation (and to forgo my one-side pursuit)—I was fortifying myself, and my dreams, against the solitude ahead. Then you reentered my life, Gabrielle.” 

What could she say to that? Hopeful, forlorn, and enraptured captured exactly how she felt that afternoon. Gazing up at the masterful fourteen piece artwork triggered desire in her too, however it also triggered an epiphany: She would never experience the frivolous love of the couple pictured before her. Flirting was fun, but the thrill of the chase always felt like being lured to a trap. Having someone to wake up next to was nice, but the eventual slip into a prosaic routine always felt stifling. The idea of sharing a life was coveted, but the act of compromise always seemed to morph into a stratagem to contain her ambitions. For her romantic love was never freeing, it always came with strings attached—not silken or ribbon-like, but rough and mangled destined to knot and lacerate. And who could she blame for it? Not her parents—they absolutely adored one another. She could only blame one person, the one who expected too much from her. 

Sir desperately wanted her to respond to his latest declaration. He wanted her to reciprocate this new understanding, to hear the words he longed for flow from her beautiful lips. He watched and waited with baited breath. And knowing her like he does, he knew their time had not come. He saw her eyes dilate, the vein at her temple jump, and her body tense…a storm was coming and he needed to retreat. 

He glanced at his watch, cleared his throat, and feigned merriment, “Look at that. I’m sorry Gabrielle, we'll have to continue this conversation later. We’ve taken up enough time and our guests will be worried about what’s keeping us. If you will, the door to your left will open in a few minutes, please go in and follow the path. Your friend will be waiting for you.” He turned to exit, but quickly turned back patting down his pockets, “I almost forgot, you left this behind.” Without breaking eye contact, he took her hand and closed it around the gold necklace, then he lifted the hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, “Until we meet again, every minute will feel like an eternity.” He was out the door, in a flash. 

While she was left with a singeing mark burning through her flesh.

Notes:

This is my favorite chapter (I'm a silly romantic), hope you all liked it. Thanks for reading this far, only two more chapters to go!

It was very difficult to describe the painting in my head on paper, if you're like me and need a visual reference here's a link to The Swing: https://www.wallacecollection.org/explore/collection/search-the-collection/les-hazards-heureux-de-lescarpolette-swing/

Also The Frick Collection just reopened this month in NY, if you want to see Fragonard’s Progress of Love in person. I hope to make the trek some time soon.

Chapter 13

The hidden door led to a small office that once served as an observation room. The dormer extended over an enormous packing floor on the ground level that covered at least a hundred yards. Some distance away, four other window enclosures were positioned at her level, three across from her and one to the right of her. Two were occupied. Gabi banged on the window to call out to them. 

“Dhan! Ethan! Can you hear me? Are you alright?” The noise on the glass got their attention. She tried to leave the room, dubiously confident she could find them now that she saw where they were…but the door didn’t budge, it was locked. She didn’t have time to panic—she really hated being trapped in small enclosed spaces—because the intercom in the office clicked on.

“Gabi! Gabi, are you ok? What happened to you? Please tell me you’re ok,” shouted Dhan from the office to the right of her. 

Wrapped around the walls of her office was a gigantic built-in desk with a control panel that included a complicated jumble of buttons, knobs, and switches. Gabi eyed it with a silent prayer hoping it wouldn’t take her all night to figure out how to operate it. She bent down to get a closer look and sent up a silent thank you that the microphone and rooms were labeled. She switched on the mic and pushed down the button to office number three, “Dhan, thank goodness! Yes yes, I’m ok. Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

“He or someone pulled me into a secret door and knocked me out—maybe some sort of injection, I’m not sure it’s all a bit fuzzy. When I woke up, I was here and Ethan was in the pod across from me on the other side. He hasn’t been seriously injured, only some bumps and bruises, and he insists mind games were Sir’s preferred method of torture. He also claims—especially after I confronted him—that Sir’s goal was to drive us apart…But that doesn’t matter. I’ve been worried sick about you. You swear you’re ok?” 

“Yes, I’m ok,” she lied. In reality, her heart was just now starting to settle since her encounter with Sir. 

“Ok good. These fucking windows bounce off anything that’s thrown at it. But I have a few ideas. I think we may be able to get out through the ceiling. It’ll take a little while to break through the material and then there's the matter of climbing down to the floor below us. The way I see it though, it’s better than the more riskier options.”

Dhan paused, thinking. Ethan used the opportunity to speak, “Gabi, I’m glad you’re ok.” 

“Ethan! It’s good to finally hear your voice. We’re going to get you out of here.” 

“I don’t doubt it. Just tell Dhan not to over do it. He was out of sorts when he woke up. I’m worried whatever he was drugged with may have taken a lot more out of him than he’ll admit.” Flatly he added,  “He won’t listen to me.” 

“Is there a way to do three-way on this thing?” That was not labeled. She pressed a bunch of different buttons until finally she was able to conference them all in at the same time, “There, that’s better.” She climbed on top of the desk, ready for instruction, “Now Dhan you mentioned the ceiling could be our way out. Walk me through what you have in mind? Just in case you’re still a little groggy, I’ll suss it out first.”  

A voice promptly intervened, “That won’t be necessary, Gabrielle.” 

It was Sir ready to foil their plans. He was standing in his own observation pod, the office opposite of Gabi. Incensed at the mere sight of him, Dhan wasted no time flinging curses his way while Gabi climbed down to sit on top of the desk—it didn’t take her long to realize there was no way she could get enough height to reach the ceiling anyway. 

After glancing at the clock on her phone, she quietly cast off into Dhan’s flurry of offences, “Twenty eternities wasn’t nearly long enough.” As soon as she said it, Sir’s mouth quirked and eyes crinkled causing Gabi to shift uncomfortably under his gaze—even from several yards away. All of them including Ethan, who only let out a single aggrieved “Bastard.”, let Dhan finish his tirade. 

When he was done Sir spoke, “How telling. So much unwarranted concern for Gabrielle, but none for your dear husband. Relationship on the rocks? Hmm, I wonder why?” 

“Hugh! Stop being an ass,” she scolded. 

“You’re right my dear. I shouldn’t rub salt. How tasteless of me. Not everyone can enjoy an infallible bond like ours. Executioner, you’ll never have to worry about me harming Gabrielle, she’s more than perfectly safe with me. We just had a little chat. We didn’t come to blows or anything. Well…” He gave a little smirk in Dhan’s direction. “That’s not completely true. At one point she did have me on my back for several breathtaking minutes. Oh and that look in her eyes when she came to. I’m still recovering.” He made a point to readjust his pants. 

“That’s enough! Can you just tell us what we’re doing here? Taunting will get you nowhere,” Gabi rebuffed.

He caught her eye, “Really? So there’s somewhere to go?” She rolled hers and crossed her arms. His grin widened.

Dhan interrupted their exchange, he had to. Everytime the two of them traded words he found himself fighting back growing nausea—he couldn’t tell if it was his imagination but when they interacted it was as though they forgot they weren’t occupying the space alone; it made him uneasy and queasy. “Could you be any more pathetic? Man, if you just listened for once instead of making up shit in your head, you would get the hint and move on. Now do as she said, tell us why we’re locked in these rooms.”

Sir let out a bark of laughter, “Pathetic, is that the best you can do? I’ve reached unfathomable depths of pathetic, depths I’m not ashamed to admit. What is the use of pride when it comes to matters of the heart?” He clutched dramatically at his chest. “Anyway I assure you that I am indeed listening and have taken my cues accordingly. And as for our grand finale, I shan’t leave you in suspense. Let's commence…” With that he left them in suspense. He exited his enclosure and within a few seconds they saw shadows move from within the middle office opposite of Gabi and Dhan—dark privacy tinting concealed Sir’s machinations. A few more seconds later they were all in complete darkness.

A kitschy soundtrack unearthed from an obscure ‘70s game show blared through the speakers as a light show dazzled along the large space outside their offices. An announcer, oddly mechanical, merrily trumpeted over the jingle as the music’s volume gradually reduced to a hum, “Coming to you live from D.C., in the most romantic abandoned warehouse in the city, this is The Newlywed Game! I’m your host, Cupid’s Curious Accomplice, ready to shepard you through this journey of love and discovery. Tonight, two couples will test their bonds of affection.” 

The lights in Dhan’s and Ethan’s offices flashed on while the spotlights centered on them for their introduction. “Meet couple number one, Dhan and Ethan Rana. Dr. McLovin was a covert casanova, dating five other men when they met, but he quickly cut those hommes fatales loose when his name found its way to the burn list. His Mr. Moneypenny? Poor thing, he was completely in the dark.” An audience track funnelled in laughs and a couple of ‘oofs’ in the background.

Next Gabi’s lights flicked on followed by Sir’s—he was back in his office, sitting down facing her. The spotlights danced around until they found them. “Now, let’s get to know couple number two: Gabrielle Mosely and Hugh Evans. They’ve battled powerful and evil forces that threaten to come between them only for destiny to reunite them at every turn. With fate on their side, will their competition be able to overcome their everlasting bond? They just may prove that love does indeed conquer all.” Their phantom audience united in a chorus of “awws” to cap off their intro. 

“Welcome and good luck to both couples! Now, this isn’t your parent’s Newlywed Game, so let’s cover house rules. Using the poster boards and markers found in the large cabinet above their desks, our couples will compete by answering questions about each other. Each player will earn points by correctly matching their answer with that of their partner’s. One person from each couple will be the Question Recipient and the other will be the Matcher. Roles will alternate with each round and only the Matcher can earn points. At the end of Round Six they will play one Lightning Round to determine the winner. The player with the most points wins the game and has the special honor of deciding which two lucky players will get an all expenses paid trip out of this warehouse tonight.” 

Gabi, Dhan, and Ethan all yelled and stomped in protest, but neither could be heard. Their intercom system was now under the control of their host. “What a lively bunch, it seems our contestants are excited to get going. But not before this friendly message from our sponsor.” 

The voice changed to that of a ‘50s commercial announcer, bright and cheery, and still oddly mechanical. “If you find yourself feeling a little claustrophobic or looking for a way out. Have no fear! Just look into your partner’s eyes, take a few slow breaths, and remember that the roofs and flooring of your offices are reinforced with the finest steel for your added protection. Plus for your convenience: water, crackers, and mints can be found on the shelves to the left of the control panel. Enjoy. This message was brought to you by Ellingsworth Steel, we don’t skimp on quality.”

The host’s voice reverted, “Without further delay, let’s play The Newlywed Game!” The lights did another little jig. “Dhan and Gabrielle you will get the first question, your partners will match. So if you’re ready, or not , here we go: Besides you, what would your partner say is their guilty pleasure? You have one minute to respond.” 

Gabi and Dhan’s minds were reeling from the theatrics. The Newlywed Game, was he serious? A light show? And who was their host? Was it Sir’s mysterious accomplice or some weird AI he was operating under the table? They were both lost in thought. 

The host interceded, “Tick tock. The fate of your friends is on the line.”

After some deliberation both rushed to write down their answer. Their partners had already written theirs. 

“Times up. Couple One, reveal your answers.” Both held up their boards to the window. “Ooo, unfortunately, that’s zero points for Ethan.” Dhan’s paper read “Real Housewives (NY, ATL, SL).” Ethan’s had a different answer, “My 4pm coffee break.” The sound system went “womp womp womp” to their annoyance. 

“I haven’t watched Housewives in over a year. You know, since you started bailing on our Friday night binges. And I would say it’s more your guilty pleasure than mine,” scoffed Ethan. 

“It may have been a while, but I’ve literally heard you call it that.” Dhan pinched his nose. 

“Uh oh. That’s not a great start. Let’s see how your competitors did. Hugh and Gabrielle, show us your boards… I see ‘Kidnapping’ for you both. That’s five points for Hugh. And what’s this?  It looks like you both crossed out the same thing as well. Gabrielle, can you tell those at home what you wrote down first?” 

“If I must. I wrote and crossed out: Cru Beaujolais Fleurie,” she admitted through tight lips.

Sir jumped at the opportunity to explain further, “I typically refrain from spirits, but there’s something about Beaujolais Fleurie. The wine’s delicate floral aroma, red berry flavour, and silky texture. Just delicious. Gabrielle was kind enough to let me indulge after helping with one of our cases. But I see she has a little gamesmanship under her sleeve. Brilliant as ever, she understands her unique position to influence the number of points I can score. However, she failed to take into account the fact that I know her . Even her tongue-in-cheek response could not evade me.” Sir smiled at her. “My dear please, tipping the scales would hurt all of our chances to win. Let’s all answer truthfully moving forward. Plus, I would hate for our host to have to take preventative measures.” 

Immediately, the fire sprinklers above Gabi, Dhan, and Ethan hissed on and began to seep a fine mist that smelled like sour garlic into their rooms. On cue the host explained, “That’s right Hugh. Each office has been outfitted with custom atomizers to dispense sodium thiopental to encourage honest participation. But beware, inhaling too much of the substance can prove fatal.” The mist stopped and a ventilation system kicked on for a few seconds to clear the air. 

Dhan stood up to examine the retrofitted system as he shot back, “So you and your lackey, plan to gas us into submission? What a tremendous display of integrity and sportsmanship. I’m sure Gabi loves that.”

“It will only be used as necessary,” Sir replied. “I think everyone, including your precious Ethan, will be safe now that we all have an understanding.”

An upbeat snippet of the game’s theme music sounded through the speakers, making way for the host. “Now that that is understood, let’s resume. Question two: No one knows your partner like you do, however we’re all curious to find out more. What would you say is your partner’s hidden talent? 

“...Ok, time's up. Couple Two you will go first. Please show us your boards” Gabi and Sir held theirs up to reveal the same answer, ‘Multilingual.” “Well done Hugh, do you care to tell us more about this talent?”

Sir replied, “Why yes, Cupid’s Curious Accomplice. I speak fluent French, Spanish, and Dutch. Can pass in certain environments with my Greek, Italian, German, and Arabic. And have dabbled in a few Khoisan languages.” 

“What’s your secret?”

“Being curious of course. I’ve always believed, ‘a well-read man (or woman) opens the whole world before them.’ But in many cases, it’s all in the flick of the tongue.” He winked at Gabi. She turned abruptly to direct her attention to her competitors.

“Couple One, let's see if Ethan can get on the scoreboard. Your answers please.” 

Ethan read his aloud, “Magician. Shamefully, I paid my way through college doing magic shows at kids parties.” Dhan was slower to react, he was busy staring daggers at Sir for his crude remark before he held up his board. 

“And that’s five points for Ethan! Your husband scribbled, ‘Magic Tricks’. Way to get some skin in the game.

“Here’s the final question to close out the round. It’s worth ten points if you get both parts correct; five points if you’re only half correct. Complete the sentence: My partner believes nothing says I’m sorry better than BLANK, but I believe the message is much clearer with BLANK.

“We’re going to Dhan first. It took him an awfully long time to write down his answers. He says Ethan believes nothing says I’m sorry better than ‘groveling’, but he believes the message is much clearer with ‘a genuine heartfelt apology.’ Hmm interesting. Ethan wrote that he believes nothing says I’m sorry better than ‘a heartfelt apology that expresses remorse, sympathy, and accountability.’ Sounds like an answer one would expect from a psychologist, but that doesn’t quite equate to ‘groveling.’ Dhan were there some hurt feelings tangled up in that answer? Ethan for the second part of your response you said Dhan prefers ‘a home cooked dinner and cuddle time’. How sweet, but unfortunately no matches.” 

Both began to argue their point, but their mics were cut at the first ‘How dare you’. The host moved on, “Gabrielle and Hugh over to you. Gabrielle says Hugh thinks nothing says I’m sorry better than ‘extravagant gifts’ while she would prefer ‘accountability and remorse’. Very similar to Ethan, too bad they aren’t paired. Hugh, please share your answers.”

“Unfortunately, I was only half right. I wrote ‘genuine accountability and remorse’ for Gabrielle and ‘time’ for myself because there is nothing Gabrielle could do that I would never forgive. Apologies never have to leave her lips when I know they live in heart.” 

“Spoken like a delusional fool,” Dhan called out. To himself. Because no one could hear him.

With a raised eyebrow and crossed arms Gabi had no problem voicing her opinion, “And here I thought the concepts of accountability and remorse were foreign to you? Have you tried putting them into practice?”

“Of course I have. If you haven’t noticed—though I suspect you have—I promise you, I will work much harder to show it. For as long as it takes,” confessed Sir in earnest solemnity. Gabi opened and closed her mouth to speak. Sir answered her thoughts, “I get it, you’re hesitant to believe me. You need time to reflect. You need space to digest. You need more than promises. You’ll have all that and more for as long as it takes.” Gabi remained wordless.

However, the silence didn’t get a chance to linger much longer. Quite forcefully the host interjected, “It’s time for a round one recap. Hugh leads Ethan, 15 points to 5. We’ll see how Dhan and Gabrielle fare in round two.”

Dhan and Gabi did fairly well during their turns as Matchers. At the end of the round they were both tied at 15-15. When Sir was asked ‘You’re planning the ideal date for your partner, what would your plans entail?’, she was caught off guard. Gabi did not expect him to describe a full day experience that included a hike and morning picnic at Kenilworth Park followed by volunteer work at the aquatic gardens, an afternoon of spa treatments, indulging in L'Ardente’s forty-layer lasagna for dinner, and capping off the night with Shakespeare at Folger’s Theater. The date was much more intriguing than her answer: An afternoon at the Smithsonian. With any luck, there was nothing in her facial expression that gave away her rising interest as Sir described every detail of what he referred to as their “pleasant Saturday affair.” She especially hoped he didn’t notice her cross her arms to hide her pressing excitement when he teased a private after show performance just for the two of them.

Dhan by contrast suffered a different type of frustration. He lost points on a question that he thought for sure was a gimme. When Ethan was asked, ‘Which is the biggest priority for your partner: family, work, or themselves?’ Dhan sensibly trusted they would match on ‘family’. But he was wrong. Ethan instead chose ‘ work ’. 

Of course his work was important, but when it came to his family—Ethan, Gabi, Lacey, Zeke, and Margaret—without a doubt he was all in. It was an ongoing issue in their marriage. No matter how much he pretended it wasn’t the case, Ethan couldn’t accept Dhan’s friends as his family, especially and most importantly Gabi. Ethan’s answer became a nagging distraction throughout the game and forced Dhan to admit to himself that Sir’s mental game was elite. He knew exactly what buttons to push to throw his focus and to push him off task. But he had to stay diligent, getting them all out of here depended on it. 

Overall the game turned out to be pretty competitive, by the time they reached the last question of Round Six the leaderboard was as follows: Sir - 106 (no one was shocked he earned a bonus point in his own game), Gabi - 85, Ethan - 80, Dhan - 75. 

Since thirty points were up for grabs, Gabi felt confident she was in a good place to win the game and finally get Ethan back home. Dhan on the other hand didn’t like the odds. Whatever this Lightning Round involved, he was positive it was a tactic by Sir to stack the deck. And even if it wasn’t, he felt even worse about the possibility of Gabi winning. She wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice herself, so that he and Ethan could leave. Maybe there was a small chance that he could convince her to leave him behind, but that went out the window with the next question…

Chapter 14

Notes:

The last chapter! Hope you enjoy it.

Just about every color of the rainbow swirled around them choreographed to a bouncy melody of bold horns, groovy bass, and syncopated drumlines. The pageantry set the stage for the last question of the round. From their perch, Cupid’s Curious Accomplice presented the question, “Saying I love you first is a huge step, but after years together most couples take the declaration for granted. To test the theory, our audience would like to know who was the last person to say ‘I love you’: you or your partner?” 

Of all the questions that could’ve been asked, Gabi would’ve stopped just short of devil worship to ensure it wasn’t this one. Ice cold dread crept through her at the thought of Dhan and Ethan hearing her answer. However, she told herself this was for them. They did not deserve to be mixed up in the crazy she brought into their lives. That meant she had to pull on her big girl pants and brave their impending reaction. And judgment. 

Dhan matched Ethan earning 30 points. He was the last to say it, an ‘I love you’ barbed with sarcasm after another one of their “discussions” about his priorities; it was an impulsive retort that haunted him since Ethan was taken. Apparently, neither of them forgot it. This brought his total to 105—just one behind Sir. Then it was Couple Two’s turn. Sir’s board revealed, ‘Gabrielle’. But Dhan wasn’t immediately shocked, he could have easily chalked it up to a bout of wishful thinking on Sir’s end or a ploy to stay ahead on the leaderboard, however Gabi’s face and board told a different story. 

Sir enjoyed the moment. He opined, “That exhilarating occasion will remain etched in my memory forever. It was over dinner in the basement that my Gabrielle’s intense gaze met mine as she closed in on me slowly while softly uttering the most thrilling declaration: ‘I need you. You are my partner. I love you.’ Through all the excitement, I could’ve sworn my heart stopped because the next thing I remember I was flat on my back and completely worn out.” He folded his hands behind his head and rocked back in his chair in complete serenity. 

Gabi tried to explain to Dhan that it wasn’t how it seemed, that it was a coerced confession. Either Dhan chose to ignore her or her mic was shut off. Either way, he did not look happy. Then her stomach dropped, not only as a reaction to his reaction—although the scowl on his face was enough to turn her stomach—but because she realized she couldn’t flat out deny the “declaration” and, to her frustration, her intention. Even through Sir’s taunts and her raging desire to give him another satisfying kick in the balls, her words weren’t completely empty.

“That’s thirty points to Gabrielle to wrap up round six!” the host announced, “She now leads the pack: Gabrielle - 115, Hugh - 106, Dhan - 105, and bringing up the rear Ethan - 80. Don’t worry, there is still a chance Ethan can make a comeback. Our final round, the Lightning Round, will allow tonight's contestants to wager points in hopes of winning big! That’s coming up right after a short break, please enjoy a message from our sponsors.” 

A short break was an ominous sign for Dhan. Whatever Sir had planned required additional work behind the scenes; that didn’t bode well. And that meant Dhan had to work that much faster. He dropped to the floor feeling for the wires he spent the last hour dislodging and stripping. When he was pulled through the hidden door, he kicked himself for leaving Gabi defenseless because he forgot to return her knife after he pocketed in his mad rush to leave the conference room, but now with the finale imminent he had to thank his lucky stars—and his mechatronics training. 

The retrofitted sprinkler and ventilator sparked the idea. To supply power to a warehouse this large and so quickly without tipping off PEPCO there had to be workarounds in place; workarounds that would leave the entire setup vulnerable to outages. Dhan spliced several of the wires together, worked some mechanical magic with the water bottles, snack wrappers, and tape he found so that the next time his control panel was cut on a power surge would override the system’s speakers, intercom, lights, and if all went well, the electronic locks for the doors. Next, he needed to alert Gabi and Ethan of his intentions. Before waving them down, he grabbed his board and in giant letters wrote his warning, “NO MIC. RUN ON SIGNAL.” 

Ethan acknowledged the warning with a nod and a message of his own, “Be careful.” Gabi pressed her palm against the window and mouthed, “Thank you.” Dhan motioned for them to sit down as he let out a deep breath and sent up a silent prayer. There was a very real chance his plan could go up in flames, literally. It was a risk he was willing to take, but only at the right moment. He needed Sir and his accomplice in their places first. He hoped that with eyes on them it would be easier to gauge the best path to evade their interference and improve Gabi and Ethan’s chances of out running them. Five minutes went by then it was time. 

Music and dancing lights heralded their host’s return, “Welcome back! Who’s ready for…” The sentence was never finished. A loud boom rang out through the warehouse covering them in complete darkness. Then seconds later emergency strobe lights flashed on and off all around them, followed by the spasmodic chime of an alarm.

“Dhan!” screamed Gabi. Utter horror seized her body before she could jump into action. From her window she saw a brush of flames threatening to engulf his office. She rushed to the door, but quickly found that her heart had jumped into her throat as she struggled with the handle. If she couldn’t get out how could Dhan , she thought. Frantically she pushed and pulled, jangled and jiggled until finally the door yielded. In a frenzied rush, she immediately turned left heading in the direction she could only guess would lead her to him. 

“Dhan! Dhan! Hold on, I’m coming,” she repeated as she made her way through the twist and turns of the hall. She ran until she was confronted by a massive wall blocking her path. There was no way through it. She was just about to search for another way around, when she heard Dhan’s voice on the other side of it.  

“Gabi! Can you hear me? I’m alright. If you can hear me go back towards your office, around the other corner there should be a fire exit. I’ll meet you on the bottom level. There was one on my side, but I needed to get you out first. Did you hear me? Go to the fire exit!” 

She shouted back, “I heard you! I’m going now! Be careful.” 

Gabi did as he said. To the right of her office, sure enough, there was an illuminated exit sign at the end of the corridor. She hurried down the steps, skipping several at a time until it emptied out onto a small landing divided by a floor-to-ceiling metal-grated gate that was— of course —rusted shut. After spending a good amount of time trying to kick and pull it open, Gabi desperate for a way out, grabbed her phone and banged it against the gate’s latches to force it loose. Although her phone was left in pieces, her efforts were eventually rewarded. 

The gate opened onto a mezzanine still several feet above the ground floor. She surveyed the breadth of the enormous packing room as best she could amid the intermittent flashes of light. At the far end across from her she saw a form making its way down the mezzanine’s metal staircase. It had to be Dhan, so she did the same. Halfway down her set of stairs, she heard her name being called repeatedly. All three syllables.

She ignored it and kept running towards Dhan’s direction. 

“Gabrielle, please!” he pleaded behind her. 

Maybe it was the desperation in his voice or her brain short circuiting, but she slowed and allowed him to catch up to her. 

“Gabrielle, thank you,” Sir spluttered, winded. 

She rounded on him red-hot, so abruptly he almost crashed into her, “What do you want?” 

“I want to…”

Gabi cut him short, “You want to what?! Dhan could’ve died!” She pointed at the office smoking above them. She did a double take, shocked that the fire was no longer raging above them. It had been extinguished. 

“I didn’t start the fire. I would never,” he said in a strained tone. She looked at him again. He was more than winded, he was absolutely pale and soaked through. Fear-stricken. “I have no idea what happened. I would never risk your life like that or at all. I swear.” He smelled of smoke, his sweater was oddly bunched up, and the cuffs of his crisp white shirt were smeared with ash. “I had no intention of harming him. Or any of you. Especially you.” 

“Then what about all of this?” She threw her hands up, “What about all your other threats? The ones against Ethan? The sodium thiopental? Were they false as well?” 

“Yes, of course they were. The sodium thiopental was nothing more than a concoction of fermented garlic—an illusion to encourage truthfulness.” 

“You can’t say of course they were! You’ve harmed my friends in the past. You harmed Lacey. You making good on a threat isn’t completely outside the realm of possibility. No matter how I feel,” she sucked in a breath, “ugh nope—I’m not doing this here…No matter how you feel, we can't erase your history.” She stepped back to give herself the much needed relief of space between them. 

She looked over him again, his state of distress softened her resolve. More tempered she motioned towards his sleeves, “Thank you for attempting to save Dhan. I know the fire wasn’t your fault, at least not directly...Look, just let us go home. No more games, not tonight. We’re all exhausted.” 

He rocked on his heels, mimicking an anxious schoolkid, “This isn’t exactly how I planned ending our evening. It’s settled, we’ll all go home. But, please before we do I need to get this off my chest. May I?” He clasped her hand and lightly brushed her wrist with the pad of his thumb. She didn’t flinch or pull away, Gabi allowed him to say his piece. 

 

*****

“Babe! You’re ok, thank goodness. I saw the flames go up in your office and I couldn’t tell if you made it out or not,” Ethan sobbed running to meet Dhan on the ground level. They were both overflowing with relief that this night was finally coming to an end. Ethan pulled him into a crushing embrace covering him in tender kisses. Dhan squeezed his arms around him, then held him out to get a better look. He patted Ethan down from head to toe to make sure he wasn’t seriously injured. 

“You’re in better shape than I thought. You won’t believe the horrible places my mind went to,” admitted Dhan. He reached around to cup the back of Ethan’s neck, “I’m glad you’re ok.” Then he leaned in for a deep kiss wrapped in all the adrenaline, relief, and anxiety of the evening. 

“Whoa, I miss you too,” laughed Ethan. He tilted his head forward, ready to lock lips again only to find Dhan wasn’t as willing. 

Pulling back Dhan separated from Ethan to say, “I’m glad you’re ok, but if anything this night has proven we’ve got a lot to work on. I can’t ignore that fact. So let’s stay clear headed and focus on what matters right now. We need to find Gabi and get her out of here.” 

Ethan muttered, “Right, Gabi.” 

“We have to get to her before Sir does. I told her to meet me down here.” Dhan started running towards the opposite side of the packing room. There wasn’t a clear shot to the other end; in addition to poor visibility, metal cages, boxes, machinery, and cumbersome floor tracks created a maddening obstacle course ahead of them. Dhan stumbled more than a few times in his haste to reach her. He called out to her, receiving no reply over the sound of the alarm. It felt as though hours had passed before he had made any noticeable progress. 

Navigating through a particularly troublesome patch, Ethan caught up to him, “Do you know what you’re going to do when you see Sir? He put us through all of this. He’s the one trying to come between us. It was his plan all along. He needs to pay.” 

Dhan was caught off guard by the question. Ethan was typically the pacifist. He looked at Ethan sideways, “What? Sir? To hell with Sir. I’ll do whatever it takes to get Gabi away from him and to get us out of here. But I’m not going to risk her safety by hunting him down first.” 

Ethan turned away and grumbled to himself, “Got it. So no plan for that bastard.” 

Once that section was clear, Dhan proceeded more slowly to avoid tripping. Ethan marched on without such qualms. He was ahead of Dhan when he spotted the two figures yards away. The two curiously close figures. He held out his arm to alert Dhan that they were up ahead. When Dhan spotted them, he called out to her again. 

This time, Gabi answered back. Facing Sir she replied, “Dhan? I’m here.” Gabi made some gestures neither Dhan nor Ethan could make out from their distance. She followed up with, “Dhan don’t worry, I’m coming. He didn’t hurt me.” Then she turned to make her way towards them. 

Hastily, Sir moved forward grasping Gabi by the waist and pulled her close to face him again. Just as quickly, both were now breathing rapidly, the heavy rise and fall of their chests worked in tandem as a sign of the palpable anticipation. Sir ducked his head ready to act. On instinct, Gabi tilted hers up in invitation. When their lips touched, the sensation was almost too much for either of them to bear. Heat circulated between their bodies feeding into one another. The only relief they found was in the cooling plunge of their tongues intertwining. It was a formidable force that washed away the chaos threatening to intervene. Sir settled into it, moaning into her mouth and clutching at her waist to urge her closer. Gabi could feel his desire growing and the intensifying thrum within her eager to match it. The sensation was too much.  

She reached up to place a hand on his chest to separate them—resisting the need to take a fistful of his sweater and sink deeper. Their eyes met. In drowsy confusion she asked, “What is this?” She didn’t understand. Surprise dawning, Gabi stumbled back suddenly aware of where she was and their audience. Her mind was a pile of mush, just like…

Sir stood there, mentally willing her to end her retreat, “Gabrielle, I-” 

Words failed him. Just as they failed Dhan who watched from a distance. Stupefied. Now agitated, Gabi’s eyes darted all around her until she found Dhan’s unyielding gaze. She locked on to it as a beacon and began to head back towards her friend.  

At that moment, Ethan grabbed Dhan by the arm, pulled him into an awkward embrace of their own and with chilly deference said, “I’m sorry, but he doesn’t get to leave here unscathed.” Ethan yanked at Dhan’s side and pulled out his gun. He was so swift that the action didn’t immediately register with him. Ethan was running full speed in Sir’s direction, “You bitch you are going to pay for this!” Shaking in anger he held the weapon up, pointed it at his target, and unleashed his fury.  

Sir was quick to react, he snatched Gabi by the elbow and enveloped her body with his own. She screamed, a piercing scream that froze Dhan in his place several feet away, then she fell limp in Sir’s arms. Sir sank to his knees while he bent over her body shaking her. “Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Gabrielle!” he shouted, rising an octave with each invocation. She laid motionless. 

Dhan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. She wasn’t moving. Why isn’t she moving? There was blood pooling beneath her. Why is there so much blood? Returning to his senses he charged at his husband disarming him and sending them both toppling to the floor. In disbelief he yelled, “What did you do?! What did you do?! Why?” 

“I meant to…I didn’t mean to…it’s all his fault…You saw him! He uh, he pulled her in,“ tears poured down Ethan’s face. 

Dhan pushed off of him with one thing on his mind: he had to get to Gabi. He could still save her. He had to save her. But he didn’t get far. There was a loud thunk! and searing pain at the back of his head. His vision wavered as he found himself on his hands and knees trying to call out to his friend until there was…nothing. 

 

*****

“Wake up. Wake up. Dhan, can you hear me? Wake up.”

“Gabi?” Dhan’s eyes slowly blinked open. He moved to sit up but was thwarted by a wave of nausea. “Is that you? Are you ok?” 

“Dhan, it’s me. It’s Trent.” 

“What? Where’s Gabi?” Horrible visions flooded his memory, “No no no, shit. NO. Trent tell me she’s ok!” He sat up—nausea be damned—to get a better look at Trent who was kneeling beside him supporting his position with a firm grip on his shoulder. His face was pallid, not the picture of assurance Dhan needed right now. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know where she is. When the team and I arrived we found you and Ethan knocked out cold and,” his voice cracked trying to explain, “there was blood, so much blood.” He paused for a second to regain his composure. In the most matter-of-fact detective-like tone he could muster he recounted the facts, “Right over there, there is a large pool of blood and from it only one set of footprints that led out of the building. They are too large to be Gabi’s. The droplets in its path suggest that an injured person may have been carried out. There weren’t any drag marks. On top of that an officer found a shell casing. We’re currently canvasing the space for a weapon and more evidence of what happened.” His eyes watered as he struggled to ask what he already suspected, “Dhan, I need you to tell me: Is that blood Gabi’s? Was she…was she shot?”

It was Dhan’s turn to cry. His eyes flooded while he choked out, “Yeah, yeah it’s hers. I was too slow and now she’s dead.” He covered his face with his hands. “She was just lying there, in a pool of blood. I should have been quicker!” He sucked in several breaths. Inhaling and exhaling erratically and becoming increasingly agitated, “I couldn’t save her. Fuck… I can’t breathe.” 

“Medic! I think he’s having a panic attack.” Trent looked down at his hand now smeared with blood, “And a possible concussion.” He helped the paramedic place the oxygen mask on him. “Slow breaths,” he coached, biting back an onslaught of tears. 

Dhan closed his eyes and conceded defeat, “She’s dead. I failed her.”

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of An Infallible Bond