Caroline Fardig - Parted by Death

Victory. He celebrated by scarfing two handfuls of Cheetos and pounding a Red Bull. Using his favorite shirt to wipe the orange dust from his fingers, he saved his findings on two flash drivesone for his client and one for himself. Nothing wrong with a little insurance.

Hed had a bad feeling about this mission for days, especially once his client had to get a new email account after the old one had been compromised. His work had gone off without a hitch, like any other cyberattack hed ever orchestrated: infiltrate the target, find all the skeletons in the proverbial closet, and get out without being noticed. But having to sift through this particular information sickened even him, and hed seen some messed-up shit.

He fired off an email signaling he was finished with his latest hack job, being purposely vague about the specifics, as always. Email servers were notoriously easy to hack into, especially when dealing with amateurs on the other end, so the less said, the better. He did, however, make it clear that hed gone the extra mile and had a treasure trove of dark secrets to share.

He put on his headset and dived into his preferred world. In Xanthes Quest, he was Rex, general of one of the largest guilds in the game. His character was his complete opposite. Rex was a mountain of a man nearly impossible to beat in hand-to-hand combat, not some scrawny introvert largely ignored by the world. Rex was the ultimate badass sculpted meticulously by his unbeatable gaming skills and countless hours of time.

Once hed greeted his fellow online players, hed only had time to walk Rex to the closest pub to meet his hunting party for a tankard of mead before his real-world phone interrupted him. It was a reply to his email. He briefly considered waiting until tomorrow to open it, but then he remembered how much he wanted that sweet new gaming chair hed seen online, which this job would more than pay for. The sooner he turned over his findings, the sooner he could come back, splurge to overnight himself an ergonomic throne fit for a king and get lost in his preferred world.

The email read, Sounds like you hit the motherlode. I need the info tonight. Bring it now.

Groaning aloud, he issued a quick apology to his fellow online players for having to step away so soon, ripped the headphones off, grabbed one of the flash drives, and stowed the other away for safekeeping. He hated being summoned and ordered to run across town at a moments notice, but thats how the agreement worked, and he was well compensated for it. Maybe this late-night delivery and the extra time hed invested to wade through all the information would earn him a hefty bonus.

He arrived at the darkened building in record time and parked in the small rear parking lot. He began knocking on the back door as he usually did, but it swung open as his knuckles made contact. That was odd. Usually a pretty lady met him at the door and wordlessly exchanged an envelope full of cash for his flash drive. Sometimes this cloak-and-dagger stuff seemed a bit ridiculous to him. But considering the secrets hed unearthed, especially this time, maybe it was necessary for the safety of everyone.

He entered the building, calling a Hello! down the dark hall. No response. Anyone here?

Still hearing no response, he blew out a disgusted breath. Hey, I brought the flash drive with the info you said you needed tonight. Again, nothing. Angered, he stomped on down the hallway, griping to himself, If I wasted time and gas driving over here for nothing

As he passed an open doorway, grumbling as he went, he slowed and glanced in but saw nothing. Suddenly, a hard shove from behind had him sprawled out on the floor.

What the hell? he croaked, tears springing to his eyes as his knees and right wrist exploded in searing pain from his fall. A wrist injury was the last thing he needed. If he couldnt type, he couldnt work.

Before he could get his bearings and raise his head to figure out what was going on, whoever had knocked him down gave him a swift kick in the ribs, shooting a racking pain through his torso. Moaning in agony, he curled into a fetal position, his only defense to stave off any further attack.

A low voice growled next to his ear, Hand over the information.

He shoved a shaking hand in his pocket and retrieved the flash drive, only to have it ripped from his fingers with unnecessary force.

His attacker slammed his face against the floor, keeping up a blinding pressure that seemed like enough to be able to pop his head like a grape. Did you tell anyone about this?

N-n-n-no, he wheezed.

The pressure suddenly subsided, leaving his head pounding and his ears ringing. Before he could get his bearings and try to crawl away, a thick plastic bag engulfed his head, stretching tight over his face. He clawed at the bag to get free, but with each hitching breath, it sucked closer over his mouth and nose. Each frantic gulp for air burned his lungs more and more, but relief wouldnt come. He got light-headed and everything went dark. He awakened in Rexs body with an odd feeling of weightlessness about him despite Rexs larger frame. He felt as if he were flying, gazing down over the moors of his kingdom at sunset. He could see the spoils of his victories and the throngs of his loyal minions across the darkening landscape. Smiling, he closed his eyes. He was home.

My phone buzzed. I checked the screen and shoved the phone back into my pocket without answering or breaking my stride as I jogged with Vic Manetti on the Nickel Plate Trail toward downtown Fishers. For early April, the weather in central Indiana wasnt half bad. It was the first time I hadnt had to layer up for the first mile only to have to shed half my clothing once I got warmed up. The trees along the trail were starting to leaf out again. I was not at all sorry to see this brutal winter come to an end.

Vic asked, Who was that?

Jayne.

You let the sheriff go to voicemail? I dont know of anyone else in this county who could get away with that.

For the past two months, Id let all of my calls from the sheriff go to voicemail. Jayne Walsh was my mentor and friend, but at times she was also my boss. I welcomed her personal calls to chat or check up on me. For the professional calls, I needed the extra time a voicemail afforded to come up with good excuses to repeatedly turn down the consulting jobs she offered me.

Im kind of busy at the moment, I huffed, our pace a little quick for me to carry on a full conversation.

Ellie, come on. Youre not that busy. What if she has a case for you?

I shook my head. Probably a social call.