The phone woke from sleep on Sunday morning. She was still on the chair, and reached for the phone, answering it with the second ring. Without waiting for her hello, he spoke.
"I'm sorry. You can return home."
That was it. Two simple sentences spoken cleanly. There was no room for misinterpretation. Macy put the phone back on the table and sat staring at it. She hadn't stepped out of the cottage or moved about inside. She only left the chair when absolutely necessary. Hadn't eaten or had anything to drink but water in the last two days. A couple of days without eating wasn't anything difficult normally. With her mind weighed down, it was all the more easier. The long night had ended. A new day dawned. But it wasn't a bright morning.
She didn't flinch in the face of sorrow. She got, walked out, locked the cottage behind her and returned home. The flat was emptier and quieter than ever. She went straight to the bathroom. Took a long shower. Changed into comfort clothes – jeans and t-shirt. Went out to lunch. Not the smaller restaurants nearby. But one of the nicer ones that was a favorite of theirs. Ordered one of each of their favorites. Her appetite had ballooned. Two dishes wouldn't do. She ordered two more, again one of each of their favorites. Bought a new phone. And returned home. By then the food had settled in her stomach. Knowing what came next, she was prepared. She went straight to the bathroom, vomited her stomach empty. Washed her face. Collapsed in the sofa as she setup her phone. She didn't change phones frequently. But her actions were smooth, almost practiced, like she had done it uncountable number of times. And it took a very short while. The phone was exactly like her previous phone – hers. The first thing she did was order food. Something light. She was done with hurt. Next came healing.
After eating, she slept through the remainder of the day and the night. She woke as usual next morning. Readied. And went to work, like usual. She was her usual self through the week. Only the afternoon of Thursday doing something different. She wrote a mail and immediately after sending it, went to the chief. He had only just opened her mail when she was standing in front of him, telling him what he didn't have to read anymore.
"I'd like some time off chief," she said calmly. "I've not been well. Doctor advised some rest. I'd like a week off."
Macy wasn't the best employee, but that was only because she didn't like standing out. She was an absolutely essential employee. In the three years she'd been here, she hadn't taken a single leave, hadn't been late once, hadn't complained once about overtime, and never once rejected a request to come in on the weekend during an emergency. She was every bit a model employee. Most of all, she said things as they were. So when she said she needed time off, it was serious. And it showed in her expression. She was granted the leave.
She stayed later than most Thursdays, ensuring her work was complete before leaving. And then, she didn't go straight home. There were things about her Isabelle didn't know. Things she'd done in the past. Things she'd experienced. Things she knew. Not all nice. Some of them the kind that one would never share, especially with someone they loved. She was headed toward one of those, something she knew, something she'd heard of. A legend, that was hidden in plain sight but invisible to almost all.
She paused outside Cup of Life, looking in through the glass walls that left none of the inside to imagination. A few of the tables were occupied. The counter was busier, a noticeably long queue in front of the single counter. No one complained though, because service was fast. And the coffee was good.
She went in, sat at a random table, grabbed the menu sitting atop the table. It was a thin booklet, just five pages. And so long only because there were pictures next to every item in there. She picked the items whose prices came together to form a phone number, and messaged that number.
"Hi. I'm Macy. I need help."
The reply came a minute later.
"White shirt and black pants?"
She didn't look away from the phone. Didn't reach for the little smile that crept onto her face. She typed her reply and sent it.
"Yes."
"Upper deck."
The café was two storied, and they were called lower and upper deck. Both were open to all customers, but you would see people on the upper deck only in the mornings. The sun peeping from behind the tall building across the street made for a pretty sight with morning coffee, looking up as the sun hid and looking down as the sun peeked. The rest of the day, the upper deck was pretty much empty.
Wasn't the first time Macy was heading up. But it was the first under such circumstances. Upstairs it was easy finding the person she was looking for. There was only one table occupied, after all, by one person. And it was no stranger.
She went over and sat across from him. And then, nothing. No smile. No greeting. No expression. She sat waiting. In the end, it was he who spoke, his voice soft and pleasant on anyone's ears.
"Ms. Redd. Been a while."
"Addy," she said, nodding. "Need help."
He nodded, seriously. He gave her his entire attention. "Go on."
"Isabelle disappeared."
"Your girlfriend."
"Yes. And more. So much more."
"You love her."
"I do."
"I understand. You have me at your disposal. I'm sure you know how this works."
"I do." The faintest smile showed on her for the briefest moment. Then it was gone.
"Of course. I must ask. You know."
"I do."
"Isabelle disappeared. Can you explain the choice of words?"
"She never returned home from work. She was fine in the morning, leaving for work. Nothing weighed on her. Didn't seem troubled. We didn't hide things. The exact details, yes. But not the effect on us. If there was something difficult, something bad, she would tell me. At least in her own way. But, nothing. She was fine. Last Thursday. I work late on Thursdays. End of the week and all. She's usually home before me. Not last Thursday. When she's late, she always lets me know. A call. A message. An email. But nothing. I knew something was wrong. I waited, for as long as I could. Then called the number she gave me, the just-in-case. He got back to me on Sunday. Said I could go back home. But nothing about Isabelle. There's been nothing since. Disappeared."
"I understand."
It was his turn to wait. And it was her turn to speak. "I don't know what she does or where she works. The exact details that I mentioned. Just that she worked on computers. This guy, the one who answered the just-in-case, told me a little. She's a specialist. Retrieval of information from computers. At a think tank or a consultancy or something. That's all I have."
"Good enough to start with."
"You can think of places with that much?"
"The choice of labels is a good start. Think tank/consultancy. Coupled with specialist. Yeah, that narrows it down. And she worked normal hours. Like a normal employee at a normal think tank or consultancy. Correct?"
"Yes. Pretty normal. Regular hours. The occasional overtime, which was more regular than occasional, like any normal workplace."
"Anything else she told you?"
Macy fell quiet, reached for old memories. Thought back to that evening two years ago. They'd gone to this new garden themed restaurant that only served sandwiches and coffees of different kinds. The two were leaning into each other, sitting across from Isabelle's friend and his girlfriend. Macy joked about it being a double date. They all laughed but no one refuted. Conversation was all over the place, like a kite riding wild winds over a grassland, and eventually struck work, at least glanced past with a few fleeting sentences sufficing for the topic.
"It pays," the girlfriend said.
"Not too boring," Isabelle's friend said.
"Just four days, and I know what I'm doing," Macy said.
"Yeah, that's important," Isabelle said. "Knowing what you're doing."
Macy's eyes flashed and she looked at Addy. "She said she knew what she was doing," she said. "A long time ago, she said exactly that. The look she had in her eyes then, never changed. Her work didn't change. She knew what she was doing. And knowing her, knowing the person she was, it was good work. At least, caused no harm."
"Not that she knew of," Addy said, after a brief silence.
Macy nodded. She didn't want to. She didn't want to accept the words. But she'd seen too much of the dark side. She'd been there, lived there, for too long. "That she knew of," she agreed.
"We'll get started then," Addy said, offering a business smile.
Macy nodded, staying seated as he walked away.
Addy was a handsome man. Not a good looking man. Not a beautiful man. But handsome, yes. Modestly tall. Thin. Unassuming looks. Looked simple, in the plain shirts and casual pants he always wore. He had a lazy air about him. All of it masked what lay underneath. Hid that mind, which was where all work occurred and was where all reality lay.
He didn't say anything, but she would wait. Because she had nowhere to go. Because she couldn't feel anything. The emptiness that she'd forgotten, that she was happy to leave behind for a while, for three and half immensely happy years, had returned and was acting like it hadn't been gone a day. Waiting was all she could do. The coffee made it at least more bearable.