Three days after fleeing the bunker, Lincoln had instructed Mark to keep a close eye on Alex and his friends. Alex and Yvonne had managed to find and free them. Lincoln said that this was "all according to plan." Mark was not so sure.
So, Mark sat in a tree, hidden by the leaves, and hacked into the Ambrose's security system. It had a strange name, Secret and Covert Operation Telecommunications, called SCOT for short. To the best of Mark's knowledge, SCOT was a standard artificial intelligence program which functioned as a home alarm system. SCOT was also shockingly easy to hack. It gave Mark visual access to every room in the house, with some audio to go along with it. He was watching everything in the house from a small iPad which rested against his knees.
"Well," he said, swiping right on the screen. "This has got to be the cushiest job I've ever done." A stray leaf fell down his shirt, and he brushed it away.
The screen showed the living room. Over the last three days, Alex and Yvonne had been trying to help Christopher regain his memories. They were having a difficult time. Meanwhile, Debbie kept to her room, only coming out to use the bathroom or get something to eat, and avoiding Alex where possible.
Mark produced an apple from within his black coat and took a bite. It crunched against his teeth as he continued watching the screen. Lincoln had simply asked him to watch them, and report back on everything they did. It reminded Mark of when he was a kid. He once caught a group of popular girls smoking and had reported them to the teachers. It was then that he realized he wanted to be a spy.
Something briefly flashed across his screen. It looked like a face.
What the hell was that? He thought, feeling a stab of panic.
He looked around to see if anyone had heard him, but there was no one.
He sat upright, jostling the leaves and branches that surrounded him. He tucked the half-eaten apple in a pocket and swiped again on the screen, hoping to find whatever it was. When his frantic scrolling produced no results, Mark sat back in the tree, heart pounding against his chest.
"It was nothing," he told himself, swiping upward on the screen. It produced a gallery of images displaying all the rooms in the house. He had blacked out the bathrooms for the sake of privacy, but he had access to the rest of the house. He tapped on the image showing the living room and enlarged it.
Christopher and Alex were sitting on the sofa, talking about something. Mark pressed an earphone-shaped icon on the screen, but there was no sound. That happened sometimes, it wasn't a big deal.
As he watched, he found himself feeling out of sorts, as if he was missing something. Seeing the way Alex cared about his friends went against everything that Lincoln had said about his grandson.
I don't have anyone like that, Mark realized. He let the iPad drop a couple inches as he stared up into the tree. A sudden feeling of emptiness overcame him, and his job no longer interested him.
************
"Okay," Alex said, scrolling through the pictures and videos on his phone. "Let's try this again."
As deeply as he cared for Christopher, showing him the same videos and photos of their time as friends was becoming taxing. It had only been three days since the bunker. Memories didn't grow back after three days. Alex had read that it could take years before they returned, if at all.
They were in the living room, sitting on one of the new sofas Ken Stokes had installed. It was slate gray with swirls around the frame which looked like circuits. Despite his objections, he had to admit that the restoration was growing on him. Louis and Debbie had had the right idea after all. The kitchen was still rustic but had a modern edge. The living room had a rustic feel, but Ken Stokes had given it a somewhat cyberpunk aesthetic.
Withholding a sigh, Alex pulled up his phone's photo albums, displaying a picture of a party they had both attended. They had their arms around each other and were each holding a drink. Christopher looked at it, blinking slowly as he tried to place the memory.
"It looks like…" he said, trailing off as he thought. "I think it's- No, it's a birthday party? But we're not wearing party hats. Is it a work function?"
"Look at the banner in the background," Alex hinted. His arm was growing tired from holding the phone. "What does it say?"
Christopher focused. "It says, 'graduation.'" He paused, then looked at Alex. "This is a graduation party, right? Ours?"
Alex pulled the phone away. "It was yours," he said, proudly. "When you graduated med school. We were so excited for you."
"I went to med school?" Christopher asked, amazed. "Then, I can fix my own brain?"
"Maybe not right now, big guy," Alex said, scrolling through his phone. "Let's knock a couple memories back before you start tampering with your own brain."
They continued like that for another half hour.
Alex and Christopher both looked up toward the doorway, where Debbie stood against the threshold. She was looking directly at Alex, a serious expression on her face. Alex smiled warmly, but she didn't smile back. She turned to Christopher.
"Christopher," she said, pulling herself away from the door and walking toward them. "Could you give us some privacy? I need to talk to Alex."
Christopher looked between the two of them, then said, "Sure," and went upstairs to his room.
Debbie sat on the sofa, a couple feet apart from Alex. A ball of nerves immediately formed in Alex's stomach when he saw how serious she looked.
"This isn't going to be easy," Debbie said, her shoulders tensing. "But there's something I've been thinking about the last couple of weeks."
Alex laid a hand on hers. "What is it?" he asked in a soft voice. "Whatever it is, we can face it together."
Debbie looked away. "It's about us," she said.
Alex felt a sharp stab in his gut, and he took his hand off Debbie's. She shifted away from him, and Alex's heart sank.
"Oh," he said, realizing what she was saying. "Debbie, I'm sorry. Whatever it is, we can make it work."
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "That's just it," she said. "We can't. It's too much."
Alex thought hard, trying to read her expression. "The Kylie thing?" he ventured. "DebDeb, we can move past it-"
"Don't call me DebDeb," she interrupted, holding up a hand. "And no. We can't. It's not just the Kylie thing. You left me to run your real estate business and your finances."
"I wanted you to be safe," Alex explained. "I didn't want you here, where the danger was."
"And how did that work out?" Debbie asked, crossing her arms.
Alex grimaced, thinking of everything that Debbie had gone through because of her proximity to him.
"But we're safe now," he said, looking her in the eye. "Riley's gone. You're out of the bunker! No more super soldiers…" He trailed off when he saw her expression. He had a feeling that no matter what he said, she wouldn't buy it. He bit his lip, trying to think of something to say.
A tear slid down her cheek and her voice wavered as she spoke. "Alex, I think we want and need different things, and we can't provide those things for one another anymore."
A sour taste arose in the back of Alex's throat. Debbie continued to speak, but Alex couldn't focus.
"Are you even listening to me?" Debbie asked, her eyes full of hurt. She was standing now, and Alex realized he had missed a very important part of the conversation.
"I'm sorry," he said, standing. "I was lost in thought. What were you asking?"
"Did you ever learn how to handle your money?" Debbie asked, speaking slowly.
The question struck him as odd. Of course he knew how to handle his money. He had been through a poverty training program designed to teach him how to be poor so he would appreciate his money.
"Is that what this is about?" he asked, confused. "You don't want to work for me anymore? Debbie, I can hire somebody to take care of it all-."
She held up a hand, silencing him. "That's not what this is," she said firmly. "Alex, I enjoy helping you, I really do, but I think a clean break would be best for both of us."
Alex froze, unable to process what she had just said. It was like a knife to the heart.
"Debbie," he said softly. "Are you - are we -?" He couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence. He didn't want it to be true.
Debbie nodded. "I'm afraid so," she said as another tear fell. "I'm breaking up with you."
The words stung, and Alex found himself unable to say anything. Debbie had been his whole world for such a long time that to picture life without her was impossible. Yet, here she was, sat in front of him, telling him that she wanted to end their relationship.
"This is really hard for me," Debbie said, her voice sounding tight. "I didn't want to do this, but I'm at my limit."
"We're all at our limit," Alex said. He knew he was reaching for anything that might change her mind. "But we get stronger from it. Debbie, please! Don't go."
It was too late. With a simple, sad, "I'm sorry, Alex," Debbie got up from the sofa, went to her bedroom, and packed her things. Within an hour, she was gone.
************
Debbie made it to the city in a couple of hours, having called in a favor from Ken Stokes. He had sent a car and driver to collect her. When she climbed in, she asked to be taken to the nearest bar. The driver was outside waiting, although she had given him some money to do whatever he pleased with.
The clock above the bar said it was six thirty in the evening, so the place was packed with people fresh off a day's work. A big group of guys in suits played pool on one side of the bar, a group of women sat in a booth dressed for a bachelorette party.
Debbie stared into her bright pink cocktail, feeling like a colossal failure, trying to justify what she had done. She had walked out on a loving boyfriend, a well-paid job, and friends she adored. And for what?
"I've ruined my life" she groaned.
She sipped her cocktail. It was fruity and light, just the way she liked it.
A guy sat on the stool next to her. Debbie tried her best to ignore him, but he was dressed in an expensive suit that drew the eye, with a bright red tie that made him look fierce. He was older, and Debbie wasn't sure if she had seen him before. She found herself studying his face, trying to work out why he looked familiar.
"Hello to you, too," he said in a deep, refined voice.
Debbie blushed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. You just look so familiar."
The man looked at her. "I was going to say the same of you. Have I seen you on television?"
Debbie's blush deepened. "Yeah," she said awkwardly. "Relaxing Restoration with Ken Stokes."
The man smiled warmly, and Debbie immediately felt at ease.
"That was quite a show," the man said. "I must say that Stokes fellow did a marvelous job on the restoration. That house was an absolute wreck at the start."
Debbie chuckled, then picked up her drink. "Tell me about it," she said. "My boyfriend wanted to keep the place a wreck. Said it was sacred or something."
The man shook his head in sympathy. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said. "What brings you into town?"
Debbie took a deep breath. "I needed to go my own way for a bit," she said, looking toward the bar top. "Things got a little complicated. If you watched the show, you know what I mean."
The man nodded. "I'm very familiar with what happened," he said, leaning in toward her. "If you're who I think you are, then am I correct in assuming you worked for Alex Ambrose?"
Debbie looked up at him and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Who do you think I am?" she asked.
"Debbie Clifton, of course," the man said, shrugging nonchalantly. "Girlfriend of Alex Ambrose, as well as his financial advisor and manager of his real estate business."
Debbie's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. "How do you know my name?" she asked, her blood running cold.
I might have to book it, she thought, panicking. Her eyes went to the door, and she registered the obstacles in her way. The bachelorette party might prove to be a challenge, but she could charge through them.
"Your name came up several times during the course of the episode," the man explained. "From the things that were said about you, I just had to look you up online. You're an incredibly talented woman, and I have an incredible offer for you."
Right, she thought, feeling embarrassed. The show. I'm an idiot.
"Of course," she said. "Sorry, what did you say your name was?"
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card stamped with a gold circle that had the word "Enrichment" laid over it. Debbie took it hesitantly and turned it over in her fingers. His name was not printed on it, although an address and phone number were printed in black embossed letters. She looked up at the man.
"Is this a joke?" she asked. "No name?"
The man crossed his legs and sat upright. "My name is not important," he said sternly. "But what is important is what I said before. You are a talented woman. Ambrose doesn't know what he had when he had you working for him. If you walk out on the work you were doing for him, then your talents will be wasted."
"Get to the point," she said. "I've had a long few weeks."
"Miss Clifton," he said. "My company has been watching you for quite a while. We would like to offer you a position with our company, at triple the salary Ambrose paid you. Same sort of role and responsibilities, things you're already skilled at, no doubt."
Debbie stared at him, stunned. She could hardly believe how quickly the day had turned around.
After a moment of hesitation, she asked, "Are you offering me a job?"
In response, he asked, "Do we have a deal?"