The Enemy

Chapter 2

Edward

Edward Dartmouth woke from another night of disturbed sleep and walked to the bathroom. He worked through the monotonous steps of his morning routine. Then, he stared at himself. He'd been fighting the urge to do it lately. Odd, since he most often preferred to avoid his reflection completely. A stranger stared back at him: dyed dark hair, horn-rimmed glasses that didn't require a prescription, and deep brown eyes that still felt foreign five years later.

Still an hour before he was due at the office, Dartmouth pulled up the BBC's site to check on the day's happenings before his first scheduled system analysis. Nothing to report. He sighed. Then, he pulled up the program he'd designed in uni, while attaining his computer science degree, and since perfected: a full web search. More powerful even than Google, it penetrated the dark web.

Like he did every morning, he took the encrypted image file and dragged it into the search bar. The features of the woman in the picture were far more familiar than the ones he'd seen in his own reflection. Perfectly styled light blonde hair, classic beauty echoed from the arch of her eyebrows to the point of her chin. Pale blue eyes. The hint of a smile. As the search ensued, he didn't feel a flicker of hope. 2,000 repetitions of the same task to no avail could do that to a person.

His cat skulked into the room and jumped up on the desk. "Lukas." Dartmouth ran a hand over his orange fur. "C'mon, buddy."

Lukas followed him to the kitchen as he scooped organic, overpriced food into the cat's bowl. Dartmouth flipped on the radio to Frankfurt ARD's station.

"Von Karin Bensch, ARD-Studio Brüssel, zzt. Innsbruck. Deutschland, Österreich und Italien - sie probieren den Schulterschluss in der Migrationspolitik."

Great. More immigration coverage. He turned the dial down. He flipped on his Jura coffee machine, cut off a thick slice of bread, and popped it in the toaster. He leaned on the edge of a slim, black leather stool and detached his phone from its charger. He scrolled through the day's early emails: Susie Pendleton, another ex-pat, needed her computer looked at again. He was to do his sweep of the boss's main hard drive upon arrival. Their junior intern needed another session of practice coding.

The toast popped up. Dartmouth sighed and navigated out of his inbox. He stared at his phone's home screen. The wallpaper hadn't been changed from the generic original. He had all the standard apps with nothing added except for a music streaming service. No social media. He clicked the screen off.

After finishing his breakfast and feeding Lukas, he was out the door and strode down the few blocks to the Alstadt neighborhood's historic and colourful Romerberg Square. At eight AM, it was bustling with people and noisy with never-ending construction. A few women gave him an appreciative glance, but he paid them no mind.

Though he longed for the isolation of his Audi, driving such a short distance was impractical in light of Frankfurt's perfectly fine public transportation. Circling around the large rotunda of the Dom / Romer U Bahn station, he pulled off his black scarf and unbuttoned his smart black coat. The tube was always stuffy no matter the country.

Exiting at Taunusanlage station, Dartmouth ascended beside the dark, looming Deutsche Bank twin towers. He filed into an orderly line, swiped his card through security, and made it up to the IT level a half hour early as was his usual custom. The junior intern, Nikolaus, arrived with a black coffee for Dartmouth then dutifully began his work.

Edward set the coffee down and let the focus of his eyes waver. He leaned back in his chair. The grey sky behind the floor's large windows turned fuzzy.

It was a funny thing, dying.

Someone else, not Edward Dartmouth, might've made that remark aloud. He might've shared with Nikolaus a story that seemed impossible. Dartmouth took a swig of coffee. Nikolaus might regard him with awe or horror. Might see Dartmouth as a hero or a villain. Might call the police or spend the rest of the day asking him questions.

Edward shook his head. But, that wasn't him. Edward Dartmouth was polite, efficient, forgettable. He took another swallow of coffee. What the fuck was wrong with him? He leaned forward and powered on his computer. It had to be the staring in the mirror. He needed to stop it.

After glancing at new, unopened emails, he pushed up and headed towards the boss.

Eight hours later, Edward powered his computer down.

"Tschuss, Herr Dartmouth."

Dartmouth nodded. "Tschuss, Nik."

"Headed home, Mr. Dartmouth?" The ex-pat accountant Susie Pendleton appeared at his doorway, hip jutted out and bright red lips set in a pout.