Young Writers Society

May 3rd, 2017

Four-thirty am.

A Wednesday.

Becca awoke to her phone chiming, its hollow tone filling the dead space of her apartment. She sat up, pushing her grey comforter off her shoulders and squinting at the glowing text on her screen.

>He’s coming.

Becca’s stomach dipped as she read the message. She read the message again, letting the words settle on her lips. He’s coming.

Fingers trembling with anticipation, she typed a reply. >I’ll—

Her stomach twisted into a knot as she completed the sentence in her head.

—be there as soon as possible. Don’t speak to him until I’ve arrived.

Was this it? Was she going to take the lead on this?

She took a deep breath to quell the impending feeling of doom. The anxiety was always there, a constant throbbing in her chest. Sometimes, Becca felt like she was seconds away from exploding. She shut her eyes, blocking out the message from her line of vision so that she could think. Of course she had to go in. This was hers.

But…

Instead of the first message she had written, she typed another one instead.

>Where is he? ETA?

The response seconds later.

>London. He’ll be here in about eight hours. We need all hands on deck.

Okay. Becca took a deep breath. I can do this, right?

Ever since it all happened, it had gotten harder and harder to focus on the tasks at hand. What was the point of all of this, really? For posterity’s sake? What posterity would care?

>I’ll be there soon.

Becca slid off her bed and her feet hit the black yoga mat that lay on the floor. She couldn’t have gotten more than three hours of sleep. It was at least one in the morning when she opened her apartment door to ask the college students loitering in the hall if they could quiet down.

They had raised their eyebrows and a few snickered before retreating to the unit down the hall. If Becca could afford to move out of this building, she would. The kids in this complex were plenty reason to leave, and they seemed to enjoy the attention whenever she told them off. It was like they were loud for the sake of being loud.

There was apartment down the hall that was especially troublesome. Strangely enough, the weekends at that unit were quiet, but as the week went on, the visitors started showing up at all hours, slamming doors and talking loudly. Their arguments could be heard all the way down at Becca’s apartment. She’d confront the owners, except she wasn’t sure who was paying for the apartment. There were at least four or five regulars that were in and out.

But now the complex was quiet and Becca rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. When was the last time she had been able to get a good night’s sleep? She’d have to pick up a coffee on the way.

Okay. I can do this. Time to get going.

Becca took a lukewarm shower and then got dressed while the newscaster on the television behind her talked about the end of the world.

That’s all that was on the news these days.

One more time, Becca reminded herself you can do this.

Her phone buzzed one more time.

>I’m sure you already know this, but we’re not releasing anything on this yet. Keep it quiet.

Of course. They’d want to turn him.

>How important is he?

>Very.

Becca slipped on her shoes and took a quick glimpse into the mirror on her way out. Dutler wouldn’t have given you this assignment if he didn’t think you could handle this. Time to give these bastards hell.

And with that, as orange sunlight began to filter through the shades, Becca slung her bag over her left shoulder and prepared herself to interview Suspect Number One.