Discussions, Discussions (Day 2 Part 2)

Lucille stopped the elevator with her foot, allowing Ryder to slip in.

Part of him wanted to pretend to talk to reception, so that way he didn’t have to spend another painful moment with Lucille Warner, but then he thought of how awful that would be, so he scurried in.

He took a deep breath in—this time not to prepare for conversation, but instead to go without one.

Ryder forced himself not to glance over at her, because what if she was looking at him? Awful, he knew, awful that the idea of talking to her was so terrifying to him. He knew a stronger person would be able to breathe through the cloud surrounding Lucille. Ryder wasn’t that person. 

Instead, Ryder stared at the outline of his body in the reflective elevator walls. He thought about how little sleep he had gotten, which was a mistake, because quickly a yawn slipped out.

“Long night,” Lucille said, causing Ryder to jump a bit.

“What?” He asked. Shakily, he dared to turn over to Lucille.

“Did you go out for drinks with Hearst and Yuna? Do they still do that?” She asked. 

Ryder blinked, thinking over what Hearst was talking about before Lucille arrived, the drinks.

“Hearst offered it to me,” Ryder said, pausing for a breath in before continuing, “I declined.”

Lucille nodded.

Ryder debated whether to mention what Hearst said about her, if he should ask if she was going out with them, but he lingered on the choice for too long.

The elevator doors creaked open, allowing them to spill out onto the fourth floor. Most of the other employees were typing away at their computers. A few glanced up to gawk at Lucille, observe her.

She kept her head low as she walked past them to her desk in the back, since they eventually gave up her old desk in the middle of her absence. A timid man fresh out of the academy had taken Lucille’s spot across from Yuna. Ryder didn’t mind the man himself, although it was his twin sister who frequented her brother’s desk that Ryder detested.

Although one may ask who Ryder could tolerate there.

He didn’t meet eyes with any of them, escaping towards his desk in the corner where Hearst and the woman who sat directly across from Ryder were talking. Ryder had to weave around Hearst to get to his desk and set his suitcase down.

The woman in question was Sonia Broadwood. Sonia had a curt platinum bob and a thick southern accent. She called people things like sugar, babe, or her favorite nickname for Hearst, skeeter. Ryder assumed it was some kind of joke between the two of them, but he tried his best not to listen to their conversations. 

“She still looked like a babe when she left,” Sonia murmured, “round face, big eyes, silky hair . . .” Sonia darted her eyes back and forth, to Ryder it seemed like she wanted to see if anyone was listening in. Then, she continued.

“Now she looks as old as me!” Sonia chuckled, still whispering.

Hearst was smiling. Maybe he just smiled when talking to everybody—another reason Ryder couldn’t stand him.

“God’ll take care of her,” Sonia added, Hearst nodded, crossing his arms as he listened. Sonia continued about her Lord and Savior, and how if Lucille turned to him, the light would reappear in her eyes.

Ryder checked his “fancy” watch—which looks like a Rolex but isn’t, since Simone couldn’t afford a real one when it came to his birthday and assumed he wouldn’t notice. He sat down for a moment and logged onto his computer that somedays he wondered if it was older than him. It was one of those days, taking a dramatic time to load in, that by the time it was ready Ryder was already rising from his seat, heading to Prescott’s.

Prescott, the queen of the Philly FBI headquarters, had her office on the fourth floor. Ryder took the path down the long hall with the water cooler, which led to even more offices of important people he tried not to talk to. At the very end of the new hallway, Clove Prescott’s office was located. Next to it was the stairwell. It took Ryder a long time to understand the layout of the floor’s annex, not that he understood the reason it was set up like that back then. He just knew how to get there. 

He knocked his fist against the wooden door that had Clove Prescott – Supervisory Special Agent sprawled across where a window usually would be. 

“Come in,” he heard Clove reply, muffled.

Ryder turned the knob and pushed the door inward. He closed it slowly behind him, mentally preparing himself for the discussion with Clove. He wasn’t listening when she asked him to come.

Her office didn't match the warm browns and soft whites on the rest of the floor. Instead, everything was either a sharp porcelain or shocking ebony. Clove strictly wore sleek whites and mourning blacks, which is a reason Ryder didn't really like her either. It seemed pretentious. Even the photographs of her sons lining the walls were put into a grayscale—you'd think Clove was colorblind.

Clove pulled her face into a tight smile when she saw Ryder. “Sit,” she said, extending a hand to the chiffon chair in front of her onyx desk. Ryder obeyed.

Clove stared at him once he sat down for a moment. His mind raced, trying to think of maybe a really important case he was just working on, or if maybe he was a little too obvious about his dislike of someone.

Clove sighed. “You’re probably really confused,” she said carefully.

Ryder shifted around in his seat. Which route was the safest? 

“There’s this case, but it’s a bit of a doozy, a missing persons from twenty years ago and I figured you would be very successful with it,” she explained. “I wanted to ask you if you’d be up for the challenge.”

Ryder held in the sigh of relief. “Oh, oh, yes. Yeah, sure.”

Clove smiled once again. She pulled out her desk drawer and reached in for the file. But then her face fell.

Ryder waited a moment.

To Ryder, it looked like there was something stuck in the drawer, but then why did Clove look so horrified?

She got whatever it was out and held it in her palm. Her eyes widened as she stared down at it, slowly raising her eyes up to meet Ryder’s.

“You need to go,” she whispered, “Please, leave. You’ll . . . you’ll get the file later.”

Ryder blinked. “What?"

“Get out,” Clove hissed.

Quickly, Ryder rose from his seat, but not without daring a glance into Clove’s hand before he pushed his way out.

Resting safely in Clove Prescott’s palm, was a bug.

A listening device.