Thirst No. 1 Page 6

  “Are you choking on something?” I ask.

  “Yes.” He coughs. “I think it’s you.”

  I chuckle as I continue to stroke his back. “You could do worse.”

  “You are not like any girl I’ve ever met.”

  “You don’t want just any girl, Ray.”

  He sits back, my naked legs still around him. He is not afraid to look me in the eyes. “I don’t want to cheat on Pat.”

  “Tell me what you do want.”

  “I want to spend the night with you.”

  “A paradox. Which one of us is going to win?” I pause, add, “I am a master at keeping secrets. We can both win.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  His question startles me, it is so perceptive. “Nothing,” I lie.

  “I think you want something.”

  I smile. “There is your body.”

  He has to smile, I sound so cute, I know. But he is not dissuaded. “What else do you want?”

  “I’m lonely.”

  “You don’t look lonely.”

  “I’m not when I’m looking at you.”

  “You hardly know me.”

  “You hardly know me. Why do you want to spend the night with me?”

  “There is your body.” But he loses his smile and lowers his head. “There is something else, too. When you look at me I feel—I feel you are seeing something nobody else sees. You have such amazing eyes.”

  I pull him back toward me. I kiss him. “That’s true.” I kiss him again. “I see right through you.” Again, another kiss. “I see what makes you tick.” A fourth time, a hard kiss. He gasps as I release him.

  “What is that?” he asks, sucking in a breath.

  “You love Pat, but you crave mystery. Mystery can be as strong as love, don’t you think? You find me mysterious and you’re afraid if you let me slip away you’ll regret it later.”

  He is impressed. “That is how I feel. How did you know?”

  I laugh. “That is part of the mystery.”

  He laughs with me. “I like you, Sita,” he says.

  I stop laughing. His remark—so simple, so innocent—pierces me like a dagger. No one in many years has said something as charming as “I like you” to me. The sentiment is childish, I know, but it is there nevertheless. I reach to kiss him again, knowing this time I am going to squeeze him so tight he will not be able to resist making love to me. But something makes me stop.

  “Look beyond the face and you will see me.”

  Krishna’s words to Radha that she has given to me. There is something in Ray’s eyes, a light behind them, that makes me reluctant to soil them with my touch. I feel it then, that I am a creature of evil. Inside I swear at Krishna. Only the memory of him can make me feel this way. Otherwise, if we had never met, I would not care.

  “I care about you, Ray.” I turn away. “Come on, let’s get out and get dressed. I want to talk to you about some things.”

  Ray is shocked at my sudden withdrawal, disappointed.

  But I sense his relief as well.

  Later we sit on the floor in the living room by the fire and finish the bottle of wine. Alcohol has little effect on me; I can drink a dozen truck drivers under the table. We talk of many things and I learn more details of Ray’s life. He plans to go to Stanford the next fall and study physics and art—an odd double major he is quick to admit. The tuition at Stanford worries him; he doesn’t know if his father can afford it. He should be worried, I think. He is a fan of modern quantum mechanics and abstract art. He works after school at a supermarket. He does not talk about Pat, and I don’t bring her up. But I do steer the conversation back to his father.

  “It is getting late,” I say. “Are you sure you don’t want to call your father and tell him that you’ve been sitting naked in a Jacuzzi with a beautiful blond?”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t think my dad’s home.”

  “He has a girlfriend of his own?”

  “No, he’s been out of town the last few days, working on a case.”

  “What kind of case?”

  “I don’t know what it is, he hasn’t told me. Except that it’s big and he hopes to make a lot of money on it. He’s been working on it for a while now.” Ray adds, “But I’m getting worried about him. He often leaves for days at a time, but he’s never gone so long without calling.”

  “Do you have an answering machine at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he hasn’t even left you a message?”

  “No.”

  “How long has he been out of touch?”

  “Three days. I know that doesn’t sound long, but I swear, he calls me every day.”

  I nod sympathetically. “I would be worried if I were you. Does he have an office in town?”

  “Yes. On Tudor, not far from the ocean.”

  “Have you been by his office?”

  “I’ve called his secretary, but she hasn’t heard from him, either.”

  “That is ridiculous, Ray. You should call the police and report him missing.”

  Ray waves his hand. “You don’t know my dad. I could never do that. He would be furious. No, I’m sure he just got wrapped up in his work, and he’ll call me when he gets a chance.” He pauses. “I hope.”

  “I have an idea,” I say as if it just occurred to me. “Why don’t you go down to his office and check his files to see what this big case is. You’d probably be able to find out where he is.”

  “He wouldn’t like me looking through his files.”

  I shrug. “It’s up to you. But if it were my father, I would want to know where he was.”

  “His files are all on computer. I’d have to go into his whole system, and there would be a notation left that I had done so. He has it set up that way.”

  “Can you get into his files? I mean, do you know the password?”

  He hesitates. “How did you know he has it set up that a password is required?”

  There is a note of suspicion in his question, and once more I marvel at Ray’s perceptive abilities. But I do not marvel long because I have waited for this very moment since I killed his father two days ago, and I have no intention of upsetting my plan.

  “I didn’t,” I say. “But it is a common way to protect files.”

  He appears satisfied. “Yeah, I can get into his files. The password is a nickname he had for me when I was a kid.”

  I do not need to ask him what it is, which may only increase his suspicion. Instead I jump to my feet. “Come on, let’s go to his office right now. You’ll sleep better knowing what he’s up to.”

  He is startled. “Right now?”

  “Well, you don’t want to go looking at his files when his secretary’s there. Now is the perfect time. I’ll come with you.”

  “But it’s late.” He yawns. “I’m tired. I was thinking I should go home. Maybe he’ll be there.”

  “That’s an idea. Check to see if he’s at home first. But if he’s not, and he hasn’t left you a message, then you should go to the office.”

  “Why are you so worried about my father?”

  I stop suddenly, as if his question wounds me. “Do you have to ask?” I am referring to the comment I made about my own poor dead father and feel no shame using him that way. Ray looks suitably embarrassed. He sets down his glass of wine and gets up from the floor.

  “Sorry. You may be right,” he says, “I’ll sleep better knowing what’s going on. But if you come with me, then I’ll have to bring you back here.”

  “Maybe.” I give him a quick kiss. “Or maybe I’ll just fly home.”

  FIVE

  At Ray’s house I wait in the car while he goes in to see if his father has returned, or if there is a message from him. Naturally, I am not surprised when Ray returns a couple of minutes later downcast. The cold has sobered him up, and he is worried. He climbs into the car beside me and turns the key in the ignition.

  “No luck?” I ask.

  “No. But
I got the key to his building. We won’t have to break in.”

  “That’s a relief.” While I had Ray look away, I intended just to break the lock.

  We drive to the building I visited only forty-eight hours earlier. It is another cold night. Throughout the years I have gravitated toward the warmer climates, such as my native India. Why I have chosen to come to Oregon, I am not sure. I glance over at Ray and wonder if it has something to do with him. But of course I don’t believe that because I don’t believe in destiny, much less in miracles. I do not believe Krishna was God, or if he was God—maybe he was God, I simply do not know for sure—then I do not believe he knew what he was doing when he created the universe. I have such contempt for the lotus-eyed one.

  Yet, after all these years, I have never been able to stop thinking about him.

  Krishna. Krishna. Krishna.

  Even his name haunts me.

  Ray lets us into the building. Soon we are standing outside Mr. Michael Riley’s office door. Ray searches for another key, finds it. We step inside. The lights are off; he could leave them off and I would still be able to find my way around. But he turns them on and heads straight into his father’s office. He sits at the computer while I stand off to one side. I survey the floor. Minute drops of blood have seeped into and dried in the cracks between the tiles. They are not noticeable to mortal eyes, but the police will find them if they search. I decide, no matter what happens, that I must return and do a more thorough cleaning. Ray boots the computer and hastily enters the secret password, thinking that I do not catch it. But I do—RAYGUN.

  “Can you check what his latest entries were?” I ask.

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He looks over at me. “You know about computers, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” I move closer so I can see the monitor. A menu flashes on the screen. The computer is equipped with a mouse. Ray chooses something called Pathlist. A list of files appears on the screen. They are dated. The number of bytes they occupy on the hard disk is also listed. A rectangular outline flashes around the file at the top.

  ALISA PERNE.

  Ray points to the screen. “He must be working with this person. Or else investigating her.” He reaches for the Enter button. “Let’s see who this woman is.”

  “Wait.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “That sound.”

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “I have sensitive hearing. I heard someone outside the building.”

  Ray pauses and listens. “It could have been an animal.”

  “There it is again. Didn’t you hear it?”

  “No.”

  I appear mildly anxious. “Ray. Could you please see if anyone’s there?”

  He thinks a moment. “Sure. No problem. Stay here. Lock the door. I’ll call to you when I return.” He goes to get up.

  But he exits the files before he leaves, although he leaves the computer running.

  Interesting, I think. He was willing to sleep with me, but he doesn’t trust me alone with his father’s files. Smart boy.

  The moment he’s out the door, I lock it and hurry to the computer. I enter the password and call up the files. I can speed read like no mortal and have a photographic memory, yet I cannot read nearly as fast as a modern computer can copy. From the other night I know Mr. Riley has a few spare zip drives in his desk. I remove two from the drawer and plug one into the computer. I am familiar with the word processor. I set it to copying the file. Mr. Riley had accumulated a lot of information on me. The Alisa Perne file is large. I estimate, given the equipment I am using, that it will take me five minutes to copy the file onto both zip drives. Ray will return before then. While the file copies, I return to the office entrance and study the lock. I can hear Ray walking down the stairs. He hums as he walks. He doesn’t think there is anyone outside.

  I decide to jam the lock. Taking two paper clips from Riley’s desk, and bending them into usable shapes, I slip them into the tumblers. The first drive finally fills as Ray returns from his quick outside inspection. I plug in the second drive.

  “Sita,” Ray calls. “It’s me. There was no one there.”

  I speak from the back office. “You want me to open the door for you? I locked it like you said.”

  “Never mind, I have the key.” He inserts the key into the lock. But the door does not open. “Sita, it won’t open. Have you thrown the latch?”

  I approach the door slowly so that my voice will sound closer, but I have turned the monitor around so that I can keep an eye on it. The bytes accumulate quickly, but so, I suppose, do Ray’s suspicions.

  “There is no latch,” I say. “Try the key again.”

  He tries a few times. “Open the door for me.”

  I give the appearance of trying real hard to open it. “It’s stuck.”

  “It opened a few minutes ago.”

  “Ray, I’m telling you it’s stuck.”

  “Is the lock latch turned up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turn it sideways.”

  “I can’t get it to turn. Am I going to be stuck in here all night?”

  “No. There’s got to be a simple solution to this,” He thinks a moment. “Look in my father’s desk. See if you can find a pair of pliers.”

  I am happy to return to the desk. In a minute I have to remove my second drive and exit the files. I open and close the drawers while I wait for the copying to finish. When it is complete, I jump into the file, scan the first page, then highlight the remainder of the file—which is several hundred pages long—and delete it. Now the Alisa Perne file contains only the first page, which holds nothing of vital importance. I return to the screen that requests the password. I put both drives in my back pocket. Striding back to the door, I pull out the paper clips and slip them in my back pocket as well. I open the door for Ray.

  “What happened?” he asks.

  “It just came unstuck.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Are you sure there’s no one outside?”

  “I didn’t see anyone.”

  I yawn. “I’m getting tired.”

  “You were full of energy a few minutes ago. You want me to take you home now? I can come back later and study the file.”

  “You may as well look at it while you’re here.”

  Ray returns to the computer. I lounge around the reception area. Ray lets out a sound of surprise. I peek in the door at him.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “There isn’t much in this file.”

  “Does it say who Alisa Perne is?”

  “Not really. It just gives some background information on who contacted my dad to investigate her.”

  “That should be helpful.”

  “It’s not, because even that information is cut off in mid-sentence.” Ray frowns. “This is an odd file for my dad to create. I wonder if it’s been tampered with. I could have sworn . . .” He looks at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  He glances back at the screen. “Nothing.”

  “No, Ray, tell me. You could have sworn what?” I worry he may have registered how big the file was when he first started on the computer. Certainly it is much smaller now. Ray shakes his head.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m tired too. I’m going to look at this stuff tomorrow.” He exits the files and turns off the computer. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Okay.”

  Half an hour later I am at home, my real home, the mansion on the hill overlooking the ocean. I have come with the zip drives because I need my computer. My good night kiss to Ray was brief. His emotions were difficult for me to read. He is clearly suspicious of me, but that is not his dominant feeling. There is something in him that feels like a mixture of fear and attachment and gladness—very strange. But he is worried about his father, more than he was before we went to the office.

  I have a variety of word processors and have n
o trouble loading the Alisa Perne file and bringing it up on the screen. A glance at the information shows me that Mr. Riley investigated me for approximately three months before calling me into his office. The data he dug up on me is interspersed with personal notes and comments on his correspondence with someone named “Mr. Slim.” There is an e-mail address for Slim, but no phone number. The number indicates an office in Switzerland. I memorize it and then proceed through the file more carefully. Riley’s initial contact note is interesting. Nowhere in the file are copies of Mr. Slim’s faxes, just comments on them.

  Aug. 8th

  This morning I received an e-mail from a gentleman named Mr. Slim. He introduces himself as an attorney for a variety of wealthy European clients. He wants me to investigate a young woman named Alisa Perne, who lives here in Mayfair. He has little information on the woman—I have the impression that she is but one of many people he or his group is investigating. He also mentioned a couple of other women that he might have me look into in this part of the country, but he did not give me their names. He is particularly interested in Miss Perne’s financial situation, her family situation, and also—and this is surprising—whether anyone she has been associated with has died violently recently. When I wrote back and asked if this woman was dangerous, he indicated that she was far more dangerous than she appeared, and that I was not to contact her directly under any circumstances. He said she appears to be only eighteen to twenty years of age.

  I am intrigued, especially since Mr. Slim has agreed to deposit ten thousand dollars in my account to start me on my investigation. I have already e-mailed back that I will take the case. I have the young woman’s address and Social Security number. I do not have a picture but intend to take one for my records, even though I have been warned to keep my distance. How dangerous can she be, at that age?