At Any Turn

She made a face. “Yeah, well, I’d have to be assured of the quality of said clue before I’d commit to that deal.”

I shrugged, grabbed an onion ring and munched on it. “Have it your way.”

We went silent again and I looked around the bar. It wasn’t too crowded, now that the dinner rush was dying down. Several television screens were blaring the seven o’clock news.

I looked back at her when her hand folded over mine where it rested on the tabletop. Her face had grown completely serious. I turned my hand palm up so I could clamp it around hers.

“Everything okay?” Now it was my turn to ask it.

She shook her head, “Actually, there was something—”

I turned from her, distracted by the volume of the TV in the bar, which had just gone up a few notches. When I saw the screen, I froze.

“What is it?” she asked and I held my hand up to silence her. I recognized the woman being interviewed by the Channel Seven news. I’d seen numerous clips of her on other shows. She was the one of the plaintiffs in the lawsuit against my company. And the mother of the suicidal kid who had blown away his girlfriend and then himself. She clutched a note card from which she read a statement while sobbing about her terrible loss. She described how, toward the end, her son Tom’s debilitating addiction to a video game had been his downfall.

After this brief clip, there was a cut to an outside shot of Draco headquarters and then another taken of a reporter stalking me in the company parking lot on the way to my car while I refused to stop to give him a comment.

Our waitress was watching at the bar and as soon as the shot of me faded, she turned and looked straight at our table, her mouth open.

“Adam,” Emilia said, her voice tense. “Relax. Every muscle in your body is stiff and your veins are popping out on your forehead.”

“You just saw that, right? You saw that shit?” I turned to her, muttering under my breath, hoping no one else in the damn restaurant recognized me from that. And knowing the news, it had probably been shown at five and six and would be replayed again at eleven, and likely for days to come, in some variation or another. I rubbed my temples.

“Fuck me,” I breathed, my headache suddenly pounding down on me again. I buried my face in my hand.

Emilia had scooted beside me in the booth and she was rubbing my back between my shoulder blades. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I’ve been talking about it.”

“I never understood why the guy shot his girlfriend.”

I sighed. “He was a hardcore player. I pulled his logs myself. He logged at least sixty to seventy hours a week. He belonged to a power guild, went on raids practically every other day.” Raids were quests taken on by large gatherings of players who tried to take down an epic monster like a huge dragon or a powerful wizard. I shrugged. “One day the girlfriend got pissed at him so she used his log-in information to get on his character and promptly gave all his rare loot away. When he logged in, his character was stripped.”

“Oh shit. And CS said they wouldn’t restore.”

“Exactly. So he locked and loaded and went over to her house.” I pushed the plate with my half-eaten hamburger away and sat back with a disgusted sigh.

“I’m not hungry anymore.” I sat staring into nothing for a long moment before I turned to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I shook my head and stared at her for a minute. She had worry all over her face. “What did you want to tell me?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t anything big—I’m staying with Heath, in case you were wondering. In his guest room.”

I was about to reply when the waitress came up, laid the check tray on the table and left without asking if we wanted dessert.

Emilia had caught a strand of her hair and was weaving it around her forefinger. “Tell me,” I said, taking her free hand and pressing her palm to my lips. She curled her fingers around my jaw.

“It’s nothing. Nothing like what you’re going through.”

“You know you can talk to me, right? If you need anything.”

She smiled and nodded.

“So are you going back to Heath’s right now? You don’t want to come back to our—my house?”

She hesitated. “I want to, but not tonight. I’m exhausted and there’s work tomorrow.”

I fought the urge to push her on it. I had to force myself to remember my new stance. She’d come to me. I’d retreat and she would pursue. Just like the strategy dictated. I really wanted to push it, though.