Chapter 11: The Door Emmett Could Not Close
The records annex occupied the second floor of a municipal building that smelled of wet coats, dust, and overheated wiring. Ruth went through the security gate first. I followed with the flash drive wrapped in Emmett’s handkerchief, keeping my injured foot flat despite the pull of the bandage.
A clerk looked up from the reception desk. “Inspection computers are in Room C. You’ll need to sign in.”
“I’m here to review a housing record,” I said.
“Then you’ll need identification.”
I handed over my driver’s license. The clerk compared it with my face, then with the screen in front of her. Her expression tightened.
“Your profile is frozen.”
“I know.”
“Then you’ll need an authorization number.”
“I don’t have one.”
Ruth leaned toward the desk. “There may be a public access exception.”
The clerk shook her head. “Not for a frozen profile.”
The answer was ordinary, almost bored. That made it worse. My name had become a locked box in every system that once let me enter a room, pay a bill, or prove that I was myself.
Ruth touched my elbow. “Try the public terminal in the lobby.”
“There isn’t one.”
“There was yesterday.”
The clerk’s eyes moved to Ruth, then away. “The lobby terminal is offline.”
I understood then. We had arrived after someone had made sure the easy door was closed.
Outside, rain had begun again. We stood under the shallow awning while buses hissed along the curb. Ruth checked the time. Dean’s deadline had passed by six minutes.
“You said the annex was isolated,” I told her.
“It is.”
“Then why can’t I get inside?”
“Because isolation doesn’t matter if they control the person at the desk.”
I looked at the building’s mirrored windows. Across the street, a delivery truck blocked the view of the intersection. Its rear doors stood open, revealing stacked cartons. Nothing about it looked connected to me. Still, I felt watched.
Ruth took out her phone. “I can call Leonard.”
“No.”
“He knows the inspection process.”
“He also knows where I am.”
She lowered the phone.
A black sedan rolled slowly past the curb, then continued through the light. I couldn’t see the driver. Ruth watched it until it disappeared.
“You’re running out of places to refuse help,” she said.
“I’m refusing control, not help.”
“Emmett won’t see the difference.”
Neither would Dean, I thought.
We walked three blocks to a coffee shop crowded with commuters escaping the rain. I chose a table near the back, where the wall covered one side and the window gave me a view of the street. Ruth sat opposite me, folding and unfolding a paper napkin.
The flash drive lay between us.
“You should let Emmett copy it,” she said. “Not put it in his system. Just make a duplicate.”
“He said the original records could be altered if they touched anything he controlled.”
“And Dean says the same thing about Emmett.”
“Which means one of them is right.”
“Or both.”
That answer stayed with me.
My phone vibrated. A bank alert appeared: ACCESS SUSPENDED—IDENTITY REVIEW. Beneath it was a second notification from my apartment building. The lock charge had been reversed. The temporary authorization Emmett had arranged expired at noon.
I read it twice.
Ruth saw my face. “What happened?”
“My apartment is no longer mine to enter.”
At that moment, a message appeared from Emmett.
COME BACK. YOU HAVE NO SAFE PLACE LEFT.
I turned the screen toward Ruth.
She looked at the words, then at me. “He’s not asking.”
“No.”
I wrapped the drive again and put it inside my coat. “Then we leave before he decides he can come get me.”
May you like
Ruth rose with me. The coffee shop door opened behind us, letting in a gust of rain and a man in a charcoal overcoat.
Emmett had found us.
