Chapter 13: PRELUDE

Noah has been waiting for Rune in the door to the apartment building for an hour. It's Noah who's early. Rune is punctual. But Noah, being a wreck since he saw the news yesterday, he hasn't slept. His night was filled with weird nightmares, and sweat, and his bedsheets creating a twisted cocoon, suffocating him in its crushing hold.

His morning wasn't much better. He half ate a bowl of cereal with a barely hungry stomach. More than hunger, in his stomach it seemed to have nestled an essential tremor that vibrated deep inside him, stirring his organs.

In the bathroom, he looked at his pale reflection, his eyes droopy with sleepiness, and his eyeballs dark and swollen. His lips are pale and dry, even if sweat was already prickling down his brow. He showered, and changed the bandage of the puncture wound.

Now, he's listening to some music, willing for his mind to stop spewing nonsense. However, its useless. Seeing himself—his body—in the photo has set something in motion. He still remembers the grin. Did he use to smile like that? He's pacing back and forth, somewhat following the rythm of the song, but more importantly following the path of his thoughts.

Maybe, just maybe, he might recover his body. If he catches the person before Duncan. Which is going to be difficult, Noah thinks with a sigh. However, he might get some answers about himself. And that's worth trying.

He looks at the lock screen. It's almost time. Rune will arrive soon.

Noah hears the purring sound before the red Corvette appears in the corner. Rune unlocks the door, and Noah get on, his messenger clutched tightly against his chest to hide the trembling of his hands. He's grateful of Rune's usual silence, as he's not in the mood to strike conversation.

He distracts himself with the blurry buildings, but the ride is short. Duncan and Eve have brought the Tesla, they are waiting in the parking lot of a tower. Looking at the windows, Noah recognizes the name of the tabloid in the placard. Spreading rumors does give them a lot of revenue, judging by the building. Rune parks beside them.

Noah hasn't even closed the passenger door, and Duncan is already talking, "I contacted the journalist that wrote the article. We'll get the location."

Neither Noah nor Rune respond. Eve places a supporting hand on Duncan's shoulder, "We'll find him."

Duncan nods once, his face resolute, "We have to."

The couple lead the way, Noah following close behind, and Rune at the tail. They take the elevator to the 20th floor. The excited energy of Duncan makes Noah uncomfortable. He shifts in his stance, twisting his sticky hands.

Noah switches between the eagerness to find his body, and the fear of finding out the truth. Up until now, he could focus on Riley's death, avoiding any thought about the murder he was involved in. He said to himself he would tackle his own situation when he resolved the other. But that photo has changed everything. Now, Noah's own death is closer than he wants to admit. As well as his sins.

The tabloid offices are bustling with running journalists shouting orders to their assistants. Their desks are equally messy. Mountains of papers precariously balance on the little space left, their computers are fully covered in post-it notes of different colors, and their screens showcase writing programs, webpages, and even online poker sites.

"Jesus Christ, is this packed." Duncan mutters.

The ambiance is stale, filled with the smell of humans that spend too much time on a place. Nausea builds in Noah's stomach, already upset with fear.

"Excuse me," Noah runs to the door, his hand on the mouth. He shoves Rune aside in his path.  He half mutters an incoherent apology. Once in the bathroom, he reaches the stall and empties the little contents of his stomach.

While kneeling on the tiles, two people come inside. Noah can only see their feet as they approach the urinal.

"Did you see Monica's exclusive? She got the scoop from her ex."

"Can you imagine going to the supermarket and suddenly meeting the most wanted killer buying some bananas?"

"Dude, I'd lose my shit. Literally."

"Maybe I'll have to start going there. Did she say where it was?"

"Nah, she was mad protective of the source. But I stole a quick look, and the unedited photos were taken in Lion's Square."

"Oh, that makes sense. It's where his ex lives, right?"

"Yeah... I wish my ex would meet a killer, it would get me an exclusive, and she'd stop bothering me about child support."

"Jesus, Patrick, that was dark."

Soon, they move to the sink, they laugh some more and make some more remarks, and then they're gone.

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Noah pushes the door to the stall open, checking there's nobody else. But he's alone. When he goes to the sink, he sees his split reflection in the shattered mirror staring back at him. He quickly washes his face and hands.

Duncan is throwing hands with a journalist. His face is contorted in a mask of fury. Noah recoils in fear. He's never seen such a violent side to him before. He punches the man square in the jaw, launching him to the wall, where he collapses and slides to the floor.

The rest of the journalists are sobbing, frozen in their desks with phones in hand, or covering their ears.

A middle aged woman with platinum blond hair in a ponytail is facing Duncan. Even with the slight tremor in her shoulders, she stands tall, her chin up and her delicate hands crossed over her chest in an unmoving stance.

"Journalists are bound by professional secrecy. We protect our sources."

Duncan steps toward her. "I don't give a crap about it. Just fucking tell me where the photo is."

The woman—Noah guesses she's Monica— looks up to Duncan. He's a foot taller than her, so she seems like a fragile creature when compared to the strong frame of Duncan. His nostrils are flaring, his fists are clenched.

"Tell me," he says in a low snarl.

"I'm sorry," she says. Although, Noah thinks, she doesn't seem sorry.

Duncan takes a fistful of her blouse, leaning closer. His eyes look bewildered, as if there's nothing holding him back. Eve is staring at Duncan, her muscles tense in case she has to jump in, but otherwise leaving space for Duncan and his fit of rage. Rune is leaning on the wall, one leg propped. He's twirling his butterfly knife, drawing some terrified looks from the crowd.

"Monica, tell them, they're crazy," shouts a man.

"Yeah, we don't want to die," responds a woman.

Noah's stomach has turned upside down at the scene, and he'd run to the bathroom again if there was any content to empty. However, his trembling body only exacerbates the void deep inside him.

"Stop," he whispers. To himself, or to Duncan, he doesn't know. But his plead is lost in the chaos.

"Stop," he says louder.

"Fucking tell me." Duncan threatens.

Noah crosses the distance with Duncan in a few strides, taking hold of his elbow. Duncan looks at him, and it seems he sees him for the first time in years. His eyes full of rage open slightly as a sign of recognition, and the hand on Monica's blouse slides down, slowly.

"Riley," Duncan says breathless, panting as if he has just run half a marathon.

"I know where it is. So stop scaring these people." Noah says through clenched teeth.

"You do? Really?"

"Yeah. Some dumbasses were talking about it in the bathroom. Come on." Noah tugs a little, and Duncan surrenders. To the silent office, he loudly apologizes. "We're sorry about it. We'll be going now. Sorry, again."

Monica follows them with a death stare and pursed lips. Noah's cheeks are burning, so he avoids any eye contact and doesn't look back once they're out of the door. He sighs.

The ride down in the elevator feels less constricted. Some of Duncan's anger has already been released. Noah just hopes that it won't worsen if they find Noah's body. The sun is high in the sky, warming up the morning breeze. Sunlight filters and reflects in the windows of the tower. He takes off his parka.

Their shiny luxurious cars stand out in the sea of old cars. Like an heir to a tycoon walking among commoners in a busy city street. He swipes some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

It's going to be a long day.

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