Diary of a Detectress – Episode 7 – The explanation of a lifetime
This is Episode 7 in the series. For previous episodes, please follow these links:
(You can also search for all episodes using the #diaryofadetectress tag.)
Dear Diary,
I stare after Smirk Guy’s retreating back as he weaves his way through the crowded café. The unexpected shock of finding him behind me, in the very café where I was sitting looking out for him, has thrown me off balance. What a cheek! Turning up like that and demanding me to follow him. I don’t even know who he is. He could be a murderer. Or worse.
Can’t think what’s worse than a murderer right now but whatever it is, he could be it.
He’s also the only one who seems to have a clue what’s going on. I sort of have no choice to follow him.
He’s standing holding the door of the café open for me. I do the typical cat thing of staring at him for a while to assert my dominance and then stalking slowly through the opening as if it was my idea the whole time. Ha! That showed him. But then once outside, I’m not sure where we’re going so I’m forced to stop and let him go in front. He shoots me a twinkle-eyed look to let me know that he hasn’t fallen for my display of arrogance.
We sit down on a bench at the edge of a paved area not far from the union. It’s pretty chilly so I’m glad of the hot coffee he hands me. Once we’re settled, he stays silent for a few moments, while I sit there in turmoil, wondering what to ask first.
“What do you..” I begin, At the same time as he says “So, you…”
He grins. “Go ahead. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
“Are you a murderer?” is the first one that come out. Shit! Way to go, Sophie. Interrogator extraordinaire!
His smile disappears, all the more striking in its absence. He regards me for a couple of moments and I shiver, despite the warm coffee that I’ve been sipping. “Let’s start with an easier question, shall we,” he says. “Don’t you want to know what happened to your student record?”
I nod. But is not lost on me that he failed to deny my previous question.
He is silent for a while, looking out over the paved area, his brow furrowed in a frown. Then he turns back to me. “Your name is Sophie Dayton, your parents were murdered when you were 8, you were handed through various foster families, enrolled in university September, 2017, all traces of your student record disappeared exactly 7 days ago…”
“Wait a minute,” I can feel the ground falling away beneath me. “What do you mean, my parents were murdered?”
He looks at me with narrowed eyes. All traces of his trademark smirk are gone. “I expect it wasn’t deemed appropriate to explain the situation to an 8-year-old. Now you’re old enough to handle the truth and my job is to explain a couple of things regarding your past and then present you with your options.”
My mind is reeling. My parents were murdered? As far as I knew they died in a car crash on the motorway. A tragedy, but something that could have happened to anyone. With no immediate family or godparents to take care of me I was taken into foster care and was passed along through various families for the next 10 years until last autumn when I started at university.
It always struck me as strange that no foster family managed to keep me for longer than a year or so, but there was always a good reason for it. Illness, emigration, changes in circumstances… Some of the families were nice and I was sorry to leave them. But in a couple of cases I couldn’t have been happier to turn my back on houses where I suffered neglect and even mild abuse. After a while, it was just a part of life that my home would totally change from one day to the next. I learned not to get too attached to material possessions. After all, I never knew what would be taken away from me in the next house. And I learned to charm people quickly, but not to let personal ties run too deep.
As the strangeness of my past is dawning on me, and my companion is looking at me with an expression of satisfaction. “Perhaps you’re beginning to understand. You’re special, Sophie. You probably never realised that your parents were highly respected agents in a secret international organisation. Some of their flair and talent has been passed on to you, and we’ve been pulling the strings to ensure that you had the best possibilities to exercise it as you were growing up." He gestures with his coffee cup. "Moving around, changing schools, dealing with bad foster parents. You learned the survival skills you needed to stay alive. And you were bright enough to get into university with a full scholarship. Have you ever stopped to consider just how surprising that is for a girl who changed schools as many times as you did? Have you ever had to study hard for exams?”
I shook my head slowly. School always seemed easy to me, although I complained like the rest of the students. I never had trouble keeping up in class, no matter what problems I might have been experiencing in my foster home. But I always moved onto the next school before the other kids had time to realise that I was beating them all in the test scores. And there were other things that came easily too. Picking locks, persuading drunks to do what I wanted. Blending in.. or standing out when it suited me.
Come to think of it, I would make a great secret agent. Wait, is THAT what this guy is offering me?
“It’s also impressive that you figured out that I was worth chasing up,” he says. You only saw me twice but you knew I was important and you were waiting for me in that coffee shop weren’t you?”
I nod.
He continues. “I’m not saying that you would have ever caught me of course. You only saw me the times when I intended it. But still, most people wouldn’t have put two and two together.”
I blush, and try to hide my confusion. “What did you mean about options?”
“Yes, well that’s the whole crux of why we’re here really. You see, I represent the organisation that your parents worked for, and we’d like to offer you a job. Full training provided of course.”
“Sort of. It’s along those lines,” he says. “Although there’s less skiing involved. I can honestly say I’ve never had to ski down a mountain with bad guys chasing me.”
“And if I say yes? What happens then?”
“Well it’s not as easy as simply agreeing. You also have to prove your worth. As with any job, you'll be required to go through an interview process. But in our case, the 'interview'..." his hands came up to form quote marks, "...consists of 4 tasks that you have to complete.”
“Four! Isn’t it usually 3 tasks?”
“Just be glad your name isn’t Hercules,” he quips. “Now, you don’t have to decide straight away. Take a few days to mull it over if you like. Your student loan payment has come through and you’ve been erased from their records so you should be alright for money for the moment. If you want, you can forget ever having met me and just get a job like a normal person. Heck, you can even re-enrol at the university if you like.”
“Aren’t you worried that I’ll expose you and the organisation?”
His smile is the widest I’ve ever seen it. “And how could you prove anything? Even if someone saw us talking together, we could just be two students on a date. Oh and there’s the minor detail of the fact that you’d never find me again.”
“Ok, ok I believe you. I wasn’t really planning to do that."
“I know.” His smugness would be annoying if he wasn’t so darned attractive.
“So if I agree, what’s the first task?”
“I’m already authorised to tell you the details, as it may help you to decide,” he says. “The first task is that you have to uncover the answer to the question that you’ve been searching for. Find out who was responsible for your expulsion, and how it was achieved.”
My mouth drops open. “I thought that was you guys.”
He shakes his head. “Sophie, Sophie, why would we arrange for you to be expelled? Wouldn’t it be to our advantage if you were highly educated?”
“But didn’t you just say that you’ve been pulling strings my whole life?”
He smiles. “You’re sharp. And you’re right. It could have been us. But it wasn’t. Find out who and then you’ll be through to the next task.” He rises, crumples his coffee cup and with a last nod and smirk, starts to walk away. Apparently our discussion is at an end. I could catch up with him and ask him more questions, but honestly, I can’t think of any. Or rather, the problem is that there are too many questions.
And I seem to be back at the drawing board so far as my mystery expulsion is concerned! Darn, I was so sure that HE would tell me the answer!
I go home with a spinning head and lie in bed musing it all over. My parents were murdered. My string of foster families was no accident. I have the opportunity to be an international (non-skiing) spy if I choose to be.
And to think that most girls only have to worry about what to wear on a night out!
This is an original piece, written for Steemit by @Victoria-Kelly. Thanks for reading!
If you enjoyed this installment of Diary of a Detectress, please let me know by commenting, and watch out for the next installment coming soon
Images from Pixabay
Awww no skiing :( lol. Very good stuff =), really liking this.
Glad! :)