Kingdom Come

xix. Tender

The glow from my phone illuminates the beaten path cutting through the back-garden. Martin's mansion casts a shadow that shrouds my surroundings in darkness. I step past the wrought iron gate and knock the way he had asked me to on the wooden door behind it.

Before I click my phone screen shut to avoid the attention of any campaign staff that may be working in the far wing of this mansion, I open the newsfeed again.

▲ TRENDING

1. ⇡ Westside and Bex relative poverty

2. ⇡ Fire Emory Avenue

3. ⇣ Second season of Miles Away does Serena live

My chest squeezes. Cherry's name has disappeared, and the fire at Emory Avenue continues to rise steadily up the chart. My hovering finger accidentally opens an article, with the bold headline: "Stove malfunction claims life in one of the duplet apartments at Emory Avenue."

I shove my phone into my pocket, shaking my head as if to clear my memory. But, it doesn't work. A silent film replays in my head till its tape is worn loose. Firefighters move around the taped kitchen, and their striking neon uniforms shine against the grim background. They huddle around a dark zipped bag carrying the victim's body.

"Cooked alive" is how Collin Hart had described it on air. "The floor was black with soot. The expensive furniture was charred and yet still glowing with embers. At the center of the horrifying scene lay the stove by Fritz, the company whose tagline reads: 'The King of Kitchens.'"

I feel ill. Underneath the guilt, there is a twisted sense of relief that births more guilt. If they killed him, they don't suspect me.

I tilt my face towards the sky and it's endless blue, allowing the cool air to calm me down. It's so quiet outside that you can hear the wind rustling through the leaves of the cedar trees planted along the driveway.

The door finally opens to reveal Cherry in a long floral dress with her hair pinned up. She smiles widely and ushers me in. The scent of freshly baked bread and caramel toffee wafts over me.

My forehead creases in confusion. As soon as I've hung my coat in the hallway, Cherry envelops me in a hug.

"I'm so glad you came," She whispers into my ear.

"Uh. Of course," I reply. "Martin said it was urgent and incredibly important."

She pulls back, pursing her lips. "He said that?" She shakes her head and her annoyed expression loses to a loving smile. "There is nothing to worry about. We're just having dinner."

I'm not sure what that means.

Instead of pressing her further, I quietly follow her into a large hall.

Mediterranean tiles line the arched entrance to the open kitchen. There is a stove at one end, a basin with copper-coloured fittings, and colourful cabinets. Emir and a man I can't recognise are huddled over a bubbling pot, too busy to notice anyone come in.

The archway faces the long dark dining table where Martin, Jeremiah, and Nora are sitting and talking with a curious intensity. They turn to look at us as we walk in.

"Hey. You came!" Nora exclaims. I return a clumsy smile and embrace her in a side-hug. Cherry leaves my side and heads for the kitchen.

"Yeah, well. Martin scared me." I give him a pointed look.

"I'm not going to apologise. I did what I had to do." Martin shrugs. My lips curve into a frown. I draw in a sharp breath, but before I can rebuke him, he adds, "Nobody eats alone tonight."

And my guard falls. I don't know if I could admit it out loud but I didn't want to be alone tonight. Jeremiah looks away, and so does Nora. She squirms in her seat, picking at her plaster awkwardly.

"The tragedy was first reported at nine this morning, when plumes of smoke began to escape through an open window. A resident of the adjacent building recorded the scene before him as his wife dialed the emergency number."

"Good. You came." Emir's voice calls from behind me. When I turn, it's almost jarring to see him dressed casually. A loose pale blue shirt and a finger-painted apron. I wonder if he did it himself.

"Nice apron." I smile.

"Thank you. I try." He chuckles. Taking a step back, he gestures towards the man who comes to stand next to him. "London, this is Riz. Riz, London. I think you know each other."

"Riz! Of course. We've been on call plenty of times." I extend my hand and he gives a firm shake.

"We have!" He grins. "I'm their head of IT. Nice to finally meet you."

I say, "Likewise," and then it dawns on me. With a faltering smile, I look around the room. Everyone complicit in today's murder is here.

I'm still processing all of it when Cherry's silvery voice floats in. She brushes past me and sets a large glass bowl of salad onto the table. It's enough to ground me to the present. She quickly puts everyone to work and I'm ordered to bring the wine glasses from the kitchen.

When I enter, Emir is chopping beans. With rapid rhythmic movements, he brings the knife down on the cutting board over and over again. The sound is relaxing enough, and I smile at him as I check the cabinets.

"Did you buy that book I had recommended?" Emir asks, sliding the chopped beans into a bowl. Carefully balancing the glasses, I walk towards him.

"Sylvia's? Yes I did." I nod. "And I made the driest bread, you can imagine."

"Bread takes practice." Placing the knife down on the cutting board, he looks up. His eyes bore into mine, and he asks. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

"You can't blame yourself for this, okay?" he says softly. "It was my decision."

I stand, tongue-tied, until someone begins to loudly ask about the glasses. My feet move without much thought, and the glasses are set on the table next to the ceramic plates and soft white napkins.

"Emergency responders who analysed the scene believe that the victim was cooking breakfast and had left his stove unattended. The victim, a senior accountant at Nutrien, was half-dressed for work when his body was found. Many took to social media to express their shock. But more on that later."

I'm not surprised that Jeremiah is the life of the party. He draws attention towards himself quite naturally.

We sit around the table, some with their elbows on its surface and others with their backs against the chair, joking as if we can't recall why we came here in the first place. Our conversation twists and bends like a river, from one purposeless thing to another. I don't do this with anyone except Chloe.

"No. No, no." Jeremiah wags his finger furiously. I bite back a laugh. "No, Riz. That's not how the story goes."

Riz dramatically drops his napkin next to his plate.

"Why don't you just tell us?" Nora rolls her eyes at Jeremiah.

He replies, "I guess, I have to."

With her elbow on the table, Cherry rests her chin on her hand and patiently waits for Jeremiah. He purposely takes a long sip of his wine, and we all wait with the same expression of annoyance and adoration written all over our faces.

He leans forward and uses his hands to add flair as he begins, "The story begins when our nation considers barricading its borders, a hundred years ago—"

Nora slaps the back of his head.

"Okay." He clears his throat. "The story begins with a radical outfit within the opposition. They had entered our country disguised as participants in the international talks and hoped to carry out the heist while the riots outside the talks got out of hand.

Their heist was successful, Riz. When the talks failed and procedures for immigration were dissolved, they tried to return to their own countries." He pauses, lifting his index finger. "But they were caught at the airport."

"Wait. What the fuck?"

"They were caught?"

"Let me finish!" He shouts over our voices. "Every single one of them was searched. But the authorities couldn't find the artifact"—Martin's lips part in shock—"They couldn't even prove that they were the ones who had taken it. So, they had to let them go. Decades later, the authorities recovered a recorded conversation between two members of that outfit, in which they confessed that they had to abandon their plan to leave with the artifact after they lost a member to the riots."

Nora and Martin, sitting adjacent to each other, look shocked, but Emir and I share skeptical expressions. Our eyes meet for a split second, and he acknowledges it too.