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“I think you need to. You need that control because it’s been taken from you time after time. I’m going to help you get it.”

“Suppose I attack you, what then?” I question, as I linger in the doorway.

“Who’s to say you haven’t already?” He eyes me with caution.

“You mean love at first sight?”

He nods. “I’m still trying to figure it out,” he admits, as his eyes drop to my lips. “I… I didn’t like the feeling at first.”

“Why?” I ask, feeling rejected.

“It makes me vulnerable to an outside attack. I have enemies and they can come after you now. I tried to fight it. I lost. Now I just need to keep you safe, and away from them.” He looks at me through hooded eyes.

He says nothing more. He doesn’t even watch me as I come back to my spot and open the laptop. It’s not password protected, and the only thing on it is a file with my name on it. I double-click the folder and start with the file named Hailey Eckelson. My mom.

The digital proof is weighing me down like a lead anchor. Everything is included, not only the files. I comb through the metadata, the timestamps, the GPS data; I even run a check on the EXIF data embedded in the photos.

“Why did you include the provenance?” I ask him after double-clicking the folder and reading the information. It provides file lineage and viewer records.

“Because you like hard facts. You’re not going to trust someone, hack something, without knowing you’d be successful. I knew, for you to trust me, I needed to present this case like a hack job.”

“This case is my life.”

“It’s your past. The future is still something you can control,” he says, swirling his drink. I watch the amber liquid swim around his thick crystal glass.

He pushes up his sleeve and looks at his watch. “Let’s leave it there for the night.”

My eyes stay on the computer. “You can go. I’m gonna stay here.” My fingers curl around the laptop.

He notices, but instead of arguing or taking the laptop away, he stands, puts his drink on the table in front of me, and says, “You need this more than I do.” He eyes the alcohol.

“My room is the last door down the same hall as your room,” he informs me. Then he walks away, leaving me here in his house with a laptop.

The things I could do… my fingers start to type. I dig, looking into the data on the laptop, hoping to find out more about him. I get lucky and find a file located where it shouldn’t be. I open it and can’t resist a snort. It’s a coded line that says, “Have fun shopping, Rylan.” It’s a credit card and a Pix address for delivering items. He knew I’d snoop; he knew I’d run a sandbox on him.

I shrug. “You want me to shop, I’ll shop. It just won’t be for the things you want.” I grin as I spend the next thirty minutes spending thousands on hardware. If he really trusts me, he will deliver; let me do what I want.

I close the laptop, set it down, and grab his drink. My eyes drop back to the laptop, then to the fire where nodules of my mother’s paperwork survive.

I just did it again. Ran from the truth by spending money.

Tipping my head back, I down his drink. Feel it burn, as if it is cauterizing the wounds that my childhood inflicted.

“Tomorrow.” I nod. “I’ll ask Steffen more tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 11

Rylan

“Do you want dessert?” Steffen asks, as we walk back into the sitting room.

The day has come and gone; I spent most of it in bed trying to sleep, but it was restless. Lying down gave me a headache. Steffen gave me medicine, yet the throbbing in my head persists. The only good thing is my ankle is not swollen anymore. Between the ice, elevating, and compression wraps I hardly notice the twist. There’s a slight ache to it when I roll it out, but I’m sure in the following days it will be good as new.

We had dinner with Torben. Salmon, potatoes, and carrots. Healthy food. Home-cooked food, which is unfamiliar to me. If mom couldn't cook it in the microwave, she wouldn’t buy it.

Steffen steered the conversation, breaking the awkward silence as he asked me questions and joked about all the tech I ordered.

The whole scenario was bizarre, yet I liked it. It was nice having someone to talk to. Since adopting my new identity, my social interactions have been limited to brief exchanges with grocery store staff.