Secrets Of The Guilty [Nanowrimo 2019]

TWO

Nat stirred in bed, groaned and rolled over. Eyes still closed she reached out across the bed, feeling for the cold side and the dip in the mattress as Eli slides herself under the sheets.

Eli hadn't been quiet coming in. Her feet tipped some empty bottles over, and her keys made enough noise to start the dog barking in the apartment above. The TV in the living room hadn't given off enough light for her to be careful. Not that Eli cared much after the night she just had.

The red ticker tape kept rolling as video clips, taken from all angles, showed Charlie Fenton on his knees, police cuffing him, hauling him away. Her face showed up a few times, but the negotiation happened outside the view of prying eyes.

Nat hummed, rolling away from Eli, taking the sheets with her. "Eli," she groaned, voice thick with sleep.

"Natalie," Eli said back, mockingly. She settled against her pillow, back against the headboard. The chill still in her toes. "Do you want breakfast?"

"You don't cook," she sighs. "I left your dinner in the fridge, but I ate your mashed potatoes as penance for leaving me to clean it up."

"Not for leaving the wet towel on the floor again?"

"It's too early to argue, so I'll just tell you now. I also ate your dessert." Nat turned over to look at me. Goldeyes blinking in the blue light.

"Call it even then?" The only answer she got was a hum before Nat closed her eyes again. It was quiet for a long time before Nat spoke again.

"You can stay here, Eli. I watched the live stream. You don't have to be alone right now." Eli looked over at her friend. She tucked the sheets around Nat, keeping her warm.

Nat knew Eli well enough now that she knew not to ask questions, and for that, Eli was always grateful.

The news station switches stories, having run out of information to give. The only other story circling this city is the birthday of it's most loved politicians. Soon to be mayor, Lyle Belmont. The richest man in Capital City is talking to a reporter about how, instead of a birthday party, he's hosting a charity gala that will raise money for the homeless population in this great city.

Like a well breed racehorse, Lyle smiles his way through the interview. The subtitles were cutting across his head a bit. He's utterly calm on camera, keeping eye contact, shoulders straight, brows showing no sign of stress. If it weren't for the small sift in his arms, he'd be perfect.

He's probably touching his watch or taking his hands out of his pocket. A habit, most likely learned at a young age. In the same way, smokers in need of a fix, tap tables and liars refuse eye contact.

"You know he could afford to solve the homeless problem on his own," Natalie grumbles. They show the large hall and the other influential people on the guestlist before the interviewer thanks Lyle for his time and the segment shifts to the weather.

"But it wouldn't look as good to campaign over a single check and not a room full of politicians." Eli pulls herself from the bed, taking her pants off, leaving her socks on. "Nat, how long do I need to heat the leftovers?"

Her laugh chases Eli from the room — the chill coming through the floor. The carpet absorbing her footsteps.

Padding across to the kitchen, Eli pulls open the fridge. The broken light inside it making it hard to see exactly which container held her leftovers.

"Thirty minutes in the oven should make it taste as good as fresh," Nat calls from the bed. Probably listening for the click of the stovetop, the clink of the glass container cover and the squeak of the oven door. Supervising from a distance.

Eli follows the instructions, placing the wrapped food into the oven. In the reflection, she caught a glimpse of herself. Eyes were swollen from lack of sleep, her skin nearly a pale as the floodlights from a few hours previous.

Rather than dwell on it, she stepped around the stove to turn the coffeepot on. From the window, she could hear the hum of the traffic and the barking on the streets below. Nat's bedroom was the closest to the stairway, making it almost soundproof thanks to the extra wood around it.

Yawn, she turned to pull the food from the oven when Nat voice comes around the corner. "Eli, your phones ringing."

"Which one?" She asks, around a mouth full of garlic bread, the hot plate in her other hand bringing the food with her into the bedroom. The first murky hint of dawn slips through the clouds, slanting shadows across Nat's bed.

"BlackBerry." Nat rubs her eyes, then widens them as they zero in on the food.

Eli's work line. The number is only known to a small group of people, each a source or street-rat with secrets to sell. The list included her editor and Ryan. With a look of absolute defeat, she hands her friend the hot plate, shoving the rest of the bread into her mouth.

"Hello?" Eli answers around a mouth full just so he can hear her chewing. Nat balances the plate in her lap, already pushing her fork into the chicken.

"Oh good, you're awake. I have something you'll like but you'll have to buy both of us breakfast first before I tell you." The voice over the phone was the latter of the two men in her life. Ryan Edmond.

"I've already eaten breakfast." Says Eli, closing the door behind her. She could hear Nat moving on the bed, then the volume on the TV went up. Squatters' rights meant that Eli left when her phone rings.

"Then you'll be buying me breakfast. Meet me in an hour, usual place with my usual order if you'd be so kind." The subway screeches to a halt on the other end of the line. "You at Nat's? Give her my love will you?"

Back in the room, her phone off in her hand, Eli swipes a piece of chicken from the plate. Passing in front of the TV on the way to the shower.

"Was that Ryan? Are you leaving?"

"Yup." Eli yawns, picking her towel up from the floor. Still damp. "He says hello by the way. Sends all his love."

Eli waits for the steam to fog the window before stepping into the shower. The spray hot against her skin washing away the cold, the tired, and the empty.

11/02/19